Disclaimer: I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters, or the events in which they take place in any of his publications. However, I do own all the original characters within this work of passionate fiction.
The last chime of the Christ Church bell rang at 3 minutes to eleven o'clock, calling the city's loyal Anglicans to noon service for their week's fill of the lord's word. At that very moment, an oven opened releasing the pungent scent of cinnamon rolls to venture through the room, and more importantly, up the ventilation system of the 14 storey apartment of rather nice décor nestled snugly in a rather expensive area of downtown Toronto. Also at that very moment, an alarm clock was set to go off, waking a woman in an 11th floor apartment overlooking the city. However, it did not go off.
Finally, the smell of cooked raisins and cinnamon filled the 11th floor apartment, and 11:07, the occupant of the room was awoken by the smell. The woman slowly awoke, and rolled over to her clockradio, anticipating another 15 minutes of half-consciousness.
"Merde!" The woman yelled.
"I'm late! My first bloody day of training, and I've messed up before even getting out of bed! Oh, horrid Omens!" She yelled, in a mock-British accent, while running frantically in a bee-line for the shower.
Christine Marie Berge. That is the young woman of 23's name. She had grown up in Quebec city with her parents, yet her career had unfortunately brought her to a city she had told herself she would never return to of her own will. Yet, there she stood. Naked, fumbling with a bottle of Fructis: Anti-dandruff, preparing for her first day as an apprentice at an advertising company known for it's production of youthful, hard-ass high class socialites, transmogrified from innocent young university students, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and oh-so-ignorant as to what the real world really meant; Pushing other people out of your way, and climbing their discarded carcasses to the top of the success pile, and becoming Alpha being in a city of striving Alphas.
Christine was no Alpha. She wasn't even a Beta. She studied advertising to sate her father's desires for her to mirror his own greatness. Her killer instincts didn't even compare to those of her father's. He was a renowned lawyer and Author, who'd recently closed a deal for $10 Million for his theories of Psychology in the courtroom.
Her family had come from Alsace Lorraine when the ownership of that land was due to change hands. Her father grew up in Quebec city under the watch of his father, who uprooted him to Canada at a very young age. Her mother was pure Quebecois, however.
"Where is my blouse? Merde, I just set it down. Ah! Now, my watch. Jesu, I'm almost ready." She muttered to herself while hurriedly mixing herself an energy drink. She grabbed her Louis Vuitton purse, kissed her family's Fleur de Liz, and exited the 11th floor apartment just as the clock rolled to 11:30. She was due across town at 12:00.
She blew past the front desk waving adieu to Gerald, the watchman of the upscale complex, and dashed straight into the underground station adjacent to her building.
She sat silently, as all people do on the underground, and prepared her introduction to her employer in her mind.
Good day! I am Christine Marie Berge. I am the apprentice here now. She thought. "Non!" Hello. Christine Berge, your new apprentice! "Oui, that's it!" She said in a whisper. She looked across from her momentarily, and peripherally saw a man in a cloak shading his visage in front of her.
"God damnit! Fucking lousy trains." A random man yelled, as the power failed on the train. They were in the middle of an underground tunnel. Moments later, the lights returned. The man was gone.
"Hmm. Must've been seeing things" She said to herself. She shook it off, and her train docked in her station. She dashed out of the train, and hurried up the urine-scented stairway past dozens of beggars and buskers. She entered daylight, and gazed upon the iron fortress that was her new employer.
"Sweet Jesus. What have I gotten myself into."
She made her way upstairs past judging glances, and unfriendly stares. "Floor 7. Door 113. Mr.Lehman. Ok, show me your worst, Mr.Lehman!" She said while reading her directions aloud.
"Hopefully, just my best today, miss Berge." A voice answered. "I am John Lehman, the boss on this floor. Nice to meet you, Christine I assume." The towering man leered down with no trace of friendliness in his eyes, and offered his hand.
Dear Christ. She thought. "No worries, dear. It's expected. I of all people know how much of a prick I am." Christine broke a smile, and anticipated one in return, but no such thing was offered. He was serious?
The clock rolled over to 7:00pm. She left the building, not smiling or frowning. She didn't care about the events of the day. It's hard to when you have absolutely no passion for the job you are doing. She sat in the crowded train car, and closed her eyes, wrinkling her brow in disbelief of what her life had become. I just want to run. She thought.
The power went out again. Fortunately, they were at a station. Unfortunately, not her station. She trudged irately to the street, and began her search for a taxi. The sun had set, and she was on Yong street. That wasn't good. Before she even hailed a cab, one pulled up beside her. She opened the door, and was lifting her leg to climb in to the back seat when she realized the cab was already occupied, by the man she had seen on the subway. The man with the cloak. She wasn't quite sure how to react, and before she could she was being pulled forward forcefully by the cloaked man.
Before a scream could escape her lips, she was being held down by the man, and the doors clicked locked behind her.
"What the hell is…" Before her sentence finished, she felt a sharp prick in her neck, and darkness started to creep closer toward her. The man pulled back his hood, and the last thing she saw in her fading consciousness was a pair of cold eyes bordered by snow white eyelashes, and the skin of an Irish hermit.