Not To Me

This is tentatively set three years into her life as Christine.

They found her in the final room of the building, curled in a fetal position and unresponsive in the copper-scented darkness.

They wrapped her in a scratchy gray PD blanket, for warmth and dignity, and loaded her into the van with the others.

Eventually, the light, the voices, the antiseptic smells and the clinical sounds of the hospital began to penetrate her awareness. She did not respond, but she listened. Quietly, she asked for Dr. Grace.

The doctor was a long time coming. When she reached the final woman she was tired and unimpressed with emptiness of the chart in front of her.

"Is there anyone we can call for you?"

"No."

"I'll need your name and phone number, for follow-up."

The woman knew the type of follow-up that would happen. The cops would interview her relentlessly until she finally convinced that them she could not provide any more details, then ignore her. The information would make its way to the press and they would hound her for interviews.

She had seen it all before, but always from a different perspective. It was The Phantom's job to protect the victims from stuff like this. It was The Phantom's job to ensure that there were no victims.

"Sally Freedmont. 49A Riverview." A disposable ID and a rarely used safe-house.

"I see all your inoculations are up to date. That's commendable, but I'll still need the name of your primary physician."

Her primary physician would confirm that Dr. Grace had prescribed the correct antibiotics, and she would schedule extra screenings for the next few years. Due to her unique job she was already getting those screenings; it had taken her years to find a doctor in whom she could confide enough to get them.

"I'm between doctors. I'll have the new one call."

"Are you sure there isn't anyone to take you home?"

"No."

Dr. Grace performed the exam and specimen collection and cleaning and stitching with her usual care and thoroughness. Some women objected to her demeanor, treating the whole procedure as something unpleasant but necessary, like a root-canal. She did not ignore the emotions of the patient, but she didn't let them get in the way of her job.

This patient appreciated that attitude. She wanted forgetfulness, not sympathy, and co-operated in efficient silence. Besides, she was just going through the motions. There was sufficient evidence elsewhere to convict anyone who was likely to be caught. The rest would probably get off scott-free.

After the examination, she was left alone until a female uniformed officer brought her clean clothes; the scent declared them as from the Salvation Army. She was left in a small interview room.

The detective in charge was Chief Inspector Samuels. The Phantom had dealt with him before, from behind a mask. Samuels was very good with the criminals, able to get them to confess and provide details necessary for proof. He never missed a conviction, rarely left a case unsolved; equally important, he never pressed for a conviction on the wrong person. His skills with the victims, however, were lacking.

I was in the area where other women had been abducted, hoping to see the perpetrator, or at least prevent another abduction.

"They came up from behind."

I was fully armed, with nunchucks and a garrote disguised as a necklace, sharp heels, extra-strong hat-pins in my hair, and guns in my boot and my pocket. I have killed people with my bare hands.

"They surrounded me."

I was concentrating on the wrong person.

"They overwhelmed me."

I jabbed one in the stomach and broke another's kneecap.

"They stabbed me with a needle before I realized. After that, it's hazy."

I didn't defend myself adequately against drugs.

"I think they took me directly to where you found me."

They took the victim there, and gave her a trial run.

"They forced me to do ... things."

She tried fighting, to escape. That just made them laugh and hit her harder.

"I really don't remember much."

She went into a trance, an out of body existence. My former trainer would not have approved; she would have insisted the victim remain alert and in control through the entire experience.

"I think I was there for five days."

The clock in the corridor shows today's date. She had been there for seven.

"I don't remember."

What's the point? Most of them lead normal lives. You'll never catch any who weren't there during the raid. Not from just a description.

They called a taxi to take her home. As soon as she was alone she went to a concealed panel and removed the identification which Sally Freedmont would have had on her when she was captured. She burnt it over the sink. Sally would call the authorities next week to have it replaced -- the cops would expect that -- but Sally herself would cancel her lease by month end and disappear.

She showered and soaked, easing out of one persona and into ... vacuum. She was nobody. Not one shred of Sally could be carried into the next identity.

Eventually she rose and dried and dressed in the black jeans, dark shirt and sensible shoes she kept there -- the same outfit she kept in all of her safehouses.

The Phantom took public transit to her next site, taking a few more transfers than strictly necessary, adjusting her stance and demeanor as she went. She checked with a few of her irregulars on the way, confirming that nothing significant had happened and that she was back in town. So sorry for the absence, but it was unavoidable.

At one point she turned out her reversible jacket and redid her hair, obscuring the scar over her left temple.

Christine Daaé waved at the gate guard and climbed the stairs to her expensive condominium rather than having to make conversation in the elevator. The other residents had identified her as a recluse and accepted that behavior. She checked the tell-tales and keyed in her entry code. The milk was going off. The peaches had turned. It was otherwise just as she'd left it before her business trip. Clean, tidy, and professionally decorated. No real clue to the personality or life of the woman who lived there.

She did three sets of Tai Chi, showered, and changed into a flannel nightgown before taking a sedative.

I've been having nightmares all week about what happened to Sally. I don't want them to continue.

Nightmares ... that did not happen to me.

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