Her Innocence || Phantom of the Opera

Chapter Eighteen

Phantom POV:

She was going to go with Raoul. Christine chose him over me, again. I suppose I really never had a chance, but to know assuredly that she was going to leave me put a huge dent in my chest.

After all I've done for her, this is what I get in return?

I went back to the Opera Populaire, easily sneaking inside the abandoned building, and made my way back to the catacombs underground with a heart full of love and with no one to share it with.

Raoul POV:

I heard something rustling outside the complex, directly through the open library window. I peaked my head through the pane, determining where the sound had come from. The cool, night breeze made me slightly shiver. As I was about to give up my quest, I spotted the shine of a white mask through the shadows of the evening. The familiar, longing feeling of revenge deepened in my gut. Without a second thought, I jumped silently through the first story window.

I followed secretly, making sure to keep as much distance between us without getting lost. The Phantom lead me through the empty streets of Paris without a clue that I was sulking behind. The Opera Ghost opened the front door of the old Paris Populaire and entered without noise. He didn't even bother shutting it behind him, poor fool.

I waited behind a building for a few moments, making sure that he was going stay in there. "Perfect," I whispered to myself. Finally, I could get my revenge on this so-called 'Angel.'

Eventually, I too was inside the Populaire, planning out my next move. I was going to call the police and just show them to the Phantom, but He didn't deserve the simpleness of living the rest of his life in prison; surely there was something more meaningful that could show just how miserable his life would be as a murderer and liar.

Indeed, I found my answer leaning up against one of the walls in the entryway.

I walked over to the shotgun, clearly left by one of the policemen or guards when the fire was set to the opera. The weapon was dirtied and covered with ash and dust, but with a quick wipe on my vest, it appeared in functioning order. I examined the loading shell, half expecting it to be empty, buy happily accounted for two bullets that weren't shot. I tucked the large gun under my arm and quickly made my way to the passageway (showed by Madame Giry so long ago) that lead to the catacombs of Paris.