Chapter 1: Rescue Me/p
I dig through the trash bins, desperately trying to come up with something to eat. It has been so long since I've had a real meal, I can barely remember what it's like not to be hungry.
"No one pays attention to the little ten year old girl digging through the bins, her black hair oily and full of rat's nests, the left side of her face hidden from view by shadows. That would be me. People this year, 1867, are not exactly what one would call considerate or caring enough to even so much as throw me a scrap of meat or bread. My clothes are almost falling off in their tattered state, my once nice dress torn and stained by six years in the alleys. It's nearly dark, but I don't have to worry about getting home, as I have none.
My parents died when I was no older than four, and I have no family. I look around, trying to remember where in the city of Paris I am. I'm not French, in fact, my mother was Scottish. I don't remember who my father was, as he wasn't around very much when I was little. I do remember my mother singing to me at night, in fact that's the only thing that I remember of her.
that's why I am here at this time of night in this particular section of Paris. I am in the trash alley behind the Opera House, the famous Opera Populaire. My mother used to sing these songs to me, so they are always familiar. It's dangerous around Paris at night, but I have to risk it. I must hear these songs. They're the only thing that I have left of my family, and they're part of me now. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say goodbye," Someone sings.
I begin to sing along, as I have heard this song so many times from when I was a child. "Remember me-" I start, before A voice says "Oh, I'll remember you, sweetheart." I jump, pressing myself against the cold stone wall of the alley. Three men approach me, one carrying a club, the other, a metal pipe. They smack the clubs into their palms, approaching me with malicious intent.
I stagger backwards, stumbling and falling to the dirty ground as they come at me. "Oh, come on now, girl. We just want to have a little fun!" They say, and two of them grab my arms, yanking me to my feet. The third, pulling out his club, starts hitting me in the ribs with it as the others hold me back. The other two men laugh, throwing me back down to the ground as they grab their own pipes and sticks, and begin to hit me, laughing and yelling insults like "Alley freak!" "Stupid rat!" And some that I won't put down into writing. "I cover my face with my arms, a desperate attempt to stop the blows and the pain. I've dealt with this all my life. All of it. They continue to hit me, and I scream with pain and fear.
One of them kicks me in the mouth, saying "Shut up!" I cry, sobbing so very hard as they beat me to a pulp. I can't do anything about it. They continue to slam their clubs against me, and I know that they won't let me go alive. But, as the biggest one smiles evilly, his rotten teeth showing as he raises his club for an extra hard blow, a rope goes around his throat and he's wrenched backwards.
The other two men stop hitting me to see what's happening. The songs from the Opera house drown out all the sounds of the struggle. No one can hear what's happening. The man was being choked by a large rope, and the man that was choking him….he wore a black cape and a black Spanish-like suit with a black tie/ascot.
He threw the man he had choked into a bunch of garbage cans, and they crashed and clanked as the choked man flew through the air, the rope still around his neck. This cloaked one must be strong, because each one of the men who had beaten me had to be at least 300 pounds each. But what really got me about this rescuer, was that he wore a strange white mask over one half of his face.
His hair was black and slicked back, his eyes a beautiful shade of blue. He landed a kick on the other attacker's stomach, whipping around and punching him down. The man tried to get back up, but one kick to the face from my rescuer stopped that idea. He picked up one of the clubs, throwing it aside so it was not to be used again. /p
p class="MsoNormal"He turned his masked face and laser-like glare to the last attacker, who promptly dropped his club and ran for his life. The masked man looked down at me, and I scrambled backwards, not really knowing if he was a true rescuer, or if he just wanted to scare away the competition. He approached me slowly, carefully, and I saw him scanning me, taking in my appearance. But that's all I saw before everything faded into darkness.
3rd Person's POV
The masked man knelt down, picking up the unconscious girl in his arms and carrying her limp form into a small door in the side of the huge theater. The music from the opera still sounded out strongly, so he figured he'd have plenty of time.
"He took a few steps inside, pushing a curtain aside and pressed his gloved hand against part of the wall, a panel sliding into its proper place, and slipped into the passage that slid open at his touch. He pulled a lever on the other side of the door, and the stone wall closed behind him, a gentle thud echoing throughout the hallways. He walked down the stone tunnel, with only a few torches on the walls to light his path.
He carried the girl through the many twists and turns of the labyrinth beneath the opera house, the labyrinth that only he knew of. And only he could navigate properly. Many twists and turns later, he came upon a large lever on the wall, along with what would one day be known as a two way mirror. He pulled the lever, being careful not to drop the girl in his arms as he did so, and walked through the full length mirror into a room.
The room was small, and it looked more like an abandoned attic, which is exactly what it was. There was clutter just about everywhere, but in the back corner was a bed, pillows and blankets. The masked man walked over to the bed in the back corner and laid the girl down on the bed, gently resting her head on a soft pillow, and then pulled a blanket up around her shoulders.
She looked so peaceful, so serene. But the way that he had laid her, he could only see the right half of her face. Come to think of it, he'd never even seen the left side. But he didn't mind that.
"He bent down, gently caressing the side of her face with his gloved finger. "Sleep well, my nightingale." He whispered, taking off his cloak and lying it on top of her to help keep her warm, then stood back up, slipping back into the passage with one final glance back at the sleeping little girl.