Her Innocence || Phantom of the Opera

Chapter Seven

Madame Giry POV:

I watched Christine and her lousy husband from behind the wall. Yes, 'friends' were missing her in Paris, but I had a sickening feeling that something horrible would come of their vacation... I gracefully left the scene, unnoticed by anyone at all.

Christine POV:

In the morning, I was finally able to convince Raoul to go with me to Paris. Five days later, we were on the train, luggage at hand. I had planned on staying only a few nights, but who knew what HE had in store?

Surprisingly, Meg and her mother had offered in letter a place for Raoul and I to stay, even before we asked: as if they were already expecting us. A strange feeling deepened in my stomach as the train jerked forward, inching its way from the station. 'He would leave me alone forever. That is the only reason I am going,' I continued to tell myself. The note that was given left little specifics, confusing me of His true intentions.

"Christine," Raoul chimed in my ear next to me, "you look nervous. Are you alright?"

I simply nodded my head. I would be.

***

The ride was only a few hours long. When Raoul and I disembarked the locomotive, Paris's familiar view encircled me in a comfortable embrace. I missed the city; the only reason we left was because of HIM, and the untruth of His rumored death. I knew He hadn't been killed, He was much to smart for even the finest police. I suppose they gave up after no luck, stating that the ghost had 'obviously died in the Opera fire.' Bull crap.

"Little Lotte, let her mind wander," Raoul teased as I blankly stared ahead in thought. I smiled, coming out of my trance.

"And the Angel of music plays songs in my head," I sang back in a mocking tune. He chuckled in response.

My husband lead me across the road to an empty horse carriage. I lifted and placed my bags on the back of the cart, and with Raoul's assistance, climbed into the carriage myself. The driver, a tall man covered in a black cloak, asked where we were headed. "To the Opera Populaire," I whispered in a daze. We had agreed to meet Meg and Madame Giry at the old opera house, only a few minutes away from their own home.

I didn't pay attention at all for the rest of the trip. Perhaps if I had, I would have recognized something very off and familiar with our driver. Something that only brought back nightmares.