It was pouring rain outside in Paris, France. Such dreary weather was unwelcome at any time of year, but now that summer had come rain was loathed by the city-goers. Every home could hear the tapping of droplets hitting the windows and the crashing of wind against the walls. Apartment number eight was no different. Water had been trickling onto the windowsill since the storm had begun. The young man who took residence there placed a towel to keep the rain out upon notice of the leak.

A long night was ahead of the young man. He had blueprints to complete for his construction job. Blueprints were the young man's speciality. When he was a child, his father bought him a blueprint making kit that immediately sparked his interest. As a boy he thought it was exceedingly exciting. He marveled at the fact buildings began on paper, and the he himself could design any building he wanted.

Now blueprints were the young man's career. They covered the apartment floor to ceiling in perfect lines and rows. Rulers were placed with care on either side of the man's desk , one on the left and one on the right. Above both rulers were matching compasses, and above both compasses were white color pencils, equally sharp and long.

The young man's electricity had not gone out yet, but it would given a couple of minutes. He would have to work quickly if he wanted light on his subject. Smooth like silk, the young man maneuvered around the neat piles of blueprints to his desk chair and slid quietly into it. He grabbed the white color pencil to his right and began to draw.

Seventeen minutes later, his lamp shut off silently. In the dark, the young man scrunched his eyebrows in rolled overhead. What terrible consequences he had to meet, and now, of all times, the power had to go out? His work would need to wait till the morning, or at least until the electricity came back. Leaning back in his chair, the young man thought of what he could do about his current blueprint. It was no where near finished, and the deadline was noon tomorrow. He was a slow worker because of his habit to make everything absolutely as perfect as it could be. But because of this, his managers adored the blueprints he made. When they arrived seemed unimportant.

Though, the storm would make an excellent excuse for not finishing. The young man could go skate boarding in the rain while the sidewalks were void of people. He could get a good night's sleep for the first time in forever as well. Closing his eyes with a content grin, the young man chose the latter option. Sleep sounded appealing.

RING!

The young man cracked open his eye. How could the phone ring without electricity, he wondered.

RING!

He glared at the phone from behind his desk, but went to answer anyways. Stupid phone, he thought, having to defy the laws of nature just to spite me.

The young man picked up the phone. "Salut? Benjamin Arquette parlant," greeted the young man. He was in no mood to deal with a call, but he at least had to be civil while conversing with the mystery caller.

"Hello? Who's there? Is this the number 119-411-9445?" a woman's voice on the other line asked. She had an American accent. The young man had not heard one for so long, and it made him nervous. More so at the mention of the number she asked for. He felt his hands become sweaty on the plastic of the phone.

"Wi, y-yes, you 'ave ze correct number. I know why you called. I'll be zere as soon as I can, Madame," the young man answered shakily. English sounded foreign on his lips, and after all of his years in France he adopted the French way of speaking.

"Wait! Who are y-Lemme talk now, sis!-Give me the phone back! Hey!" the woman on the other end of the line appeared to be fighting for the phone with another girl, her sister, apparently.

The young man ended the call. The woman's words were ringing in his ears. He sat down on the floor in shock. That lady's voice had seemed familiar, but the call number more so. It was a number specially made as an emergency contact. If it was called, he would answer and be notified of the problem. The woman did nit explain the situation, but he hang up on her too quickly. She might have told him what happened to make that phone number accessible if he had given her more time.

The young man grimaced . He ran his hands through his hair. The number the woman had asked for, 119-411-9445, was only supposed to be used in an emergency. In fact, the only time you could find that call number was during an emergency. The young man had hoped he would never get the call he just received. Lightning flashed beyond the one window, illuminating the blueprints he created that covered his apartment. The young man sighed a long, forlorn sigh. He would have to leave his dear blueprints and country by sunrise. His managers would have to wait. The young man got to his feet and rushed to his room. He found his suit case and hastily started placing clothes into it neatly. Slamming it shut, the young man hoisted the luggage on to his bed.

Stealing a glance to the opposite end of the room, he saw his girl turn in her sleep. The young man softly crept to her small bed, and petted her hair back. The girl woke up. Her eyes blinked open delicately, and she let out a yawn.

"Penelope, sweet'art, wake up," said the young man. The little girl squirmed in her bed and rubbed her eyes.

"Daddy?" she groaned drowsily. It was late for a girl of her age, five, to be awake. The young man figured she would perk up at the news he had to share with her.

"Bonjour Penelope. I 'ave a surprise for you," began the young man in an excited voice he forged for his little girl, "We are going on a trip!"

The drowsy girl's eyes widened, and she hopped out of bed. As fast as Roadrunner, she ran out of the bedroom. A clatter was heard shortly following her departure. The young man smiled. He had been nervous that his daughter would be reluctant to go, but he had worried without reason. He calmly strode out of the bedroom to see his little girl fussing with her coat's zipper. She already had her light pink rain boots on with her matching cap. It was an adorable scene. The young man could only wonder why he was blessed with such a precious child. She made everything worth while for him. A flash if lightning lit the room for a moment, it's sound crashing down on the apartment.

The little girl squeaked and ran to her father, burying her face in his body. The young man smiled at her antics. He would have to take his daughter out in the rain. She wouldn't like that, but they needed to be there by noon the latest. What state the city would be in when they arrived was unknown. But the young man was sure they could escape quicker than they arrived if needed. Running away would be cowardly, but if it ensured the safety of his little daughter, he would run.

Penelope gazed at her father with moist eyes. "Do we 'ave to go in ze rain to go on our trip?" she asked.

"Yes, but we will be fine. You will not melt, sweet'art. I'll protect you from any 'arm," the young man answered, and leaned down to kiss the top of her rain cap.

Penelope giggled. "I want to get ze umbrella!" said the young man's daughter, who skipped away to fetch her umbrella. He watched her disappear into their shared bedroom with a sad smile on his lips.

The next few weeks will bring so many dangers to her. Penelope was sweet and innocent, pure as an angel's soul. She was exceedingly naïve. Her father hoped to keep her that way for as long as he could without being overbearing. But now that they were heading back to the young man's hometown, how could he possibly protect her from his haunting past? The barriers he worked so hard on and sacrificed so much for would be demolished. Everything the young man slaved on for five years could have been for nothing. If he died, who would take care of Penelope in his place? How would she survive without him? The young man rubbed his temples. It was too early to be thinking if worst case scenarios. She would be okay, he would be okay, and hopefully things at home were just enough chaotic to set off his emergency number and nothing more.

Penelope came running back to her father with her pink flower patterned umbrella in her hand. She beamed at him, displaying her pearly little teeth. The young man smiled. No, nothing would go wrong. Thy would come out of this adventure alive.

"Ready to go Penelope?" he asked the little girl.

"Mhm," replied his daughter.

"Zen let's go," the young man said, taking Penelope' hand in his, and exiting through the front looked back at his neatly organized blueprints as he closed the door slowly so he would not wake his neighbors.

Running out into the rain screaming, the young man and his little girl left their cozy home in Paris France to journey to Death City, Nevada.

Translations:

"Salut? Benjamin Arquette parlant," "Hello? Benjamin Arquette speaking,"

"Wi," "Yes,"

"Madame," "Miss,"

Please excuse any incorrect translations and grammatical errors. I wrote this on my IPod, and autocorrect can be annoying. If you see anything wrong, don't be shy to say something about it! Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, along with any other replies. I hope you like it! ~Mimi011