A/N: I apologize for the abhorrent brevity of this chapter; this is kind of a test-run, to gauge interest levels and such. Also, this is not only my first PotO fic, but also my first multi-chapter fanfiction, so please be kind. All types of constructive criticism is welcome, but flaming is not and any reviews that contain "flammable" content will not be acknowledged in any way, shape or form. Any questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions are welcome - through PM's or through Reviews, whichever is most convenient for you.
Disclaimer - All Phantom characters belong to Gaston Leroux. All OC's and the plot belong to ME! Steal the plot or the OC's, and I WILL find you.
P.S. I don't have a beta, so please be forgiving if my grammatical errors slap you in the face every time you read a sentence.
Chapter One -
Christine was running. She didn't know where she was going, or how she would get there. All she knew was the feeling of her worn sneakers smacking the pavement, the feeling of the old backpack holding her hopes and dreams slamming repeatedly against her back, a steady rhythm amongst the boiling sea of chaos. Christine focused on those two things: smack, slam, smack, slam, smack, slam… Looking back on it, running probably wasn't the best or wisest course of action. But Christine couldn't find it in herself to care too much; she was being pushed by the human race's greatest weapon and worst weakness: its closest ally and most powerful rival: fear. Fear pumped like liquid fire through Christine's veins, pushing her harder and faster. Adrenaline picked her up every time she fell; raw energy licked her wounds every time Christine felt past the point of healing.
Christine grinned, a rare expression to cross her face. She wasn't running away from her past; she was running towards her future. Christine wasn't forsaking old possibilities; she was welcoming new opportunities. After all, what did it matter? Maybe she was running away, but Christine didn't care at all as long as she was getting away from Joseph Buquet and the demons that had plagued her for so long.
Christine didn't know how long she had been running, only that she had fled under the cloak of darkness, and now was exposed by the cold, unfeeling light. After another half hour or so, the ache in her feet and the pain in her sides forced her to stop. Christine was lucky; she had run into a well-populated area, where plenty of benches were visible. Christine collapsed into one and rifled through her belongings. Two bottles of water - oh, how Christine wished she would have remembered those on the way here, a spare change of clothes, a couple cans of food, and the two hundred bucks she'd managed to sneak out of Buquet's money safe over the past five months. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. If Christine could find a cheap guitar, she could play and sing, and while she definitely wasn't one to be vain, Christine knew she was good enough of a player to earn enough money to get by on until she managed to find a job. She had no idea where she'd sleep, or what she'd eat beyond the two cans of soup she'd brought with her, but at least she was free. Here, in this dank alleyway, with poor lighting and questionable characters, with rats scurrying about and the stench of the sewer permeating the air and turning stale, Christine had never felt better. She threw back her head and laughed the wild, manic, hysterical laugh of a prisoner just beginning to feel the sweet, succulent taste of freedom form on their parched and cruelly starved tongue.
Christine ate half of a can of soup and packed up her few belongings, looking for a cheap hotel. She eventually found a dingy little establishment, leaning on one side with thick, heady smoke curling out from the entrance, that boasted of cheap room and board. Christine smirked in satisfaction and rushed in. Normally, when someone as small and frail-looking as Christine entered such a questionable establishment, they would be singled out, harassed even. But when that someone's been through as much as Christine, the onlookers saw the dangerous gleam in her eye, the wariness of her stance, and the wiry muscles knotting her arms, and left her well alone. Christine walked forward, her chilly manner cooling the overly-heated room, and managed to haggle with the owner of the inn until she got the smallest room available for a reasonable price.
Christine walked into "her" room and turned to shut the door behind her before realizing there was no door. She shrugged and dug through the drawers, looking for something sharp. Finally finding a shard of an old mirror, Christine carefully cut a hole in the creaky, bed-bug infested mattress. She was reasonable certain that the manager wouldn't appreciate her defiling his property, but what the old man didn't know wouldn't kill him… this time.
After a bit more pushing and pulling, Christine was satisfied with the size of the and unobtrusiveness of the hole. Making sure the hallway was empty, Christine slid her backpack into the small alcove. It put a slight lump in the mattress, but the bed was already so lumpy that it went practically invisible. Someone would only find it if they knew where to look and what they were looking for. Finally appeased, Christine collapsed onto the rickety mattress, pulled the moth-eaten blanket up to her chin. Despite the huge adrenaline dump and her newfound freedom, Christine let sleep envelop her in its warm, enticing embrace - something she hadn't allowed to happen properly for years now.
A/N: Whew, first chapter! What were your thoughts? Favorite lines? Once again, I apologize for the embarrassing lack of length in this chapter, once I can judge interest levels and similar factors, and if there IS any interest, the chapters will be much, MUCH longer. Even if you read this and walked away in utter disgust, thank you for trying it out. If you liked it, drop me a review or a PM! That way I can know you liked it and get the next chapter up to you soon.
Thank you,
Exploding Pumpkinhead