She was there; laying there on the cold cobblestones at the end of the
alley, clearly unconscious. Just as the note had said.
Madame Giry shivered. The note…she'd not received a note as this in years. It was terrifying – and strangely thrilling. The Phantom; had he returned once more, to prey upon the Opera? Had he come back to kill again? Or was he back to force them all to better themselves?
…Or, had he never gone? Had he lain in wait, watching them all…
Madame Giry shook her head. She would not think on this now, not when that girl was in obvious trouble. "Meg, over here!"
A young woman with curly blonde hair made her way quickly to her mother's side, peering curiously over at the girl lying in the shadows of the alleyway. "Mother, why am I here? You still haven't told me a thing!" She was indignant at not having been entrusted to this obvious secret; she did not like not knowing what was happening; especially not since the whole Phantom affair.
"Quiet, Meg. I didn't want to start a panic. I received a note, today." Perhaps her daughter would catch her clipped tone, and the enormity of those words. Not waiting to see, Madame Giry strode forward, glancing about her once as she neared the fallen girl. "Come and help me, here." The elder woman crouched next to the girl, who looked as if she was younger than her daughter. Carefully, she lifted the girl into a sitting position, propping her against herself and holding her up that way. Catching a glimpse of her face, she frowned and pushed her thick ebony hair away from her face. She heard Meg gasp somewhere in front of her and looked up at her daughter. "Sit down and help me," she said strictly. The young woman obeyed, handling some of the girl's weight.
"Look at her face, mother. Who did this to her?" She glanced up and around them; Meg knew very well what her mother having received a note meant; the Phantom had returned once more. She knew they'd done nothing to offend him, but she still felt herself itching to raise her hand to the level of her eyes. She forced her attention back to the unconscious girl.
There was a large bruise covering her right cheek; and it looked painful. Her clothes were torn; all that was really covering her was a long, black cloak. Both mother and daughter frowned at this; where would she have gotten a cloak like that? It was very nice; it looked to be the caliber of something expensive. And she…the girl looked as if she didn't have the money for the smallest of housings, the most meager of food…and certainly, her torn clothes paled terribly in comparison to the cloak. It was obvious. The covering was not her own.
She groaned, and shifted her head slightly. Madame Giry held her breath for a moment, and then let it out when she made no more movement. Slowly, she shifted the cloak away, and found the front of her modest dress to be mostly whole; it seemed as if only the back had been torn off. Frowning, the ballet teacher swept her gaze over the girl, stopping at her hips. Her eyes widened, and her face paled. She swallowed hard.
"Mother, what is it?" Meg was alarmed to see the change in her parent, not thinking to look and see what had caused it.
"Oh, my," the elder Giry murmured. "Lift her skirt."
Meg was taken aback, and blinked in surprise. "What? You're joking, mother, surely?"
"I am not. Now do it. My arms are getting tired."
"But mother, why can't you do it? I don't want to see –" Before she could finished, Madame Giry had shifted the girl's weight and snaked out her arm to slap her daughter. Meg blinked, raising her hand to her cheek. It was not often that her mother hit her; and she seemed scared herself. Wordlessly, she reached forward and lifted the girl's dress. She gasped at the sight.
"As I feared," The elder woman muttered sadly. Blood coated the poor girl's thighs. Giry motioned for her daughter – who was now as white as she – to replace the skirt. "Help me." She started to rise, holding the girl. It was still early; they could hold her without anyone important seeing. No one should be out, at this hour.
"Mother," Meg started, working to raise the girl as she spoke. "Where are we taking her?"
"The Opera Populaire."
The young woman's surprise was wordless, but she almost dropped the girl's burden. "Why there," she asked apprehensively. To the Phantom's home? Did her parent intend to bring her to where the Phantom could easily see her?
"Because," Giry grunted as she held to girl's torso, motioning for her daughter to lift her legs. "There she will be safe. Which is what I was instructed to do, Meg. Now, let's hurry, before we seem too suspicious, carrying a motionless body to the Opera like this." She smiled softly, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. Of course, she really didn't feel like smiling; this was horrible! It seemed as if the poor girl had been raped, and left in the alleys to rot. She needed help, certainly, and Madame Giry could give it at the Opera, in her rooms there. That was where she would bring the girl; and then…
Then she would wait for further instructions.
Madame Giry shivered. The note…she'd not received a note as this in years. It was terrifying – and strangely thrilling. The Phantom; had he returned once more, to prey upon the Opera? Had he come back to kill again? Or was he back to force them all to better themselves?
…Or, had he never gone? Had he lain in wait, watching them all…
Madame Giry shook her head. She would not think on this now, not when that girl was in obvious trouble. "Meg, over here!"
A young woman with curly blonde hair made her way quickly to her mother's side, peering curiously over at the girl lying in the shadows of the alleyway. "Mother, why am I here? You still haven't told me a thing!" She was indignant at not having been entrusted to this obvious secret; she did not like not knowing what was happening; especially not since the whole Phantom affair.
"Quiet, Meg. I didn't want to start a panic. I received a note, today." Perhaps her daughter would catch her clipped tone, and the enormity of those words. Not waiting to see, Madame Giry strode forward, glancing about her once as she neared the fallen girl. "Come and help me, here." The elder woman crouched next to the girl, who looked as if she was younger than her daughter. Carefully, she lifted the girl into a sitting position, propping her against herself and holding her up that way. Catching a glimpse of her face, she frowned and pushed her thick ebony hair away from her face. She heard Meg gasp somewhere in front of her and looked up at her daughter. "Sit down and help me," she said strictly. The young woman obeyed, handling some of the girl's weight.
"Look at her face, mother. Who did this to her?" She glanced up and around them; Meg knew very well what her mother having received a note meant; the Phantom had returned once more. She knew they'd done nothing to offend him, but she still felt herself itching to raise her hand to the level of her eyes. She forced her attention back to the unconscious girl.
There was a large bruise covering her right cheek; and it looked painful. Her clothes were torn; all that was really covering her was a long, black cloak. Both mother and daughter frowned at this; where would she have gotten a cloak like that? It was very nice; it looked to be the caliber of something expensive. And she…the girl looked as if she didn't have the money for the smallest of housings, the most meager of food…and certainly, her torn clothes paled terribly in comparison to the cloak. It was obvious. The covering was not her own.
She groaned, and shifted her head slightly. Madame Giry held her breath for a moment, and then let it out when she made no more movement. Slowly, she shifted the cloak away, and found the front of her modest dress to be mostly whole; it seemed as if only the back had been torn off. Frowning, the ballet teacher swept her gaze over the girl, stopping at her hips. Her eyes widened, and her face paled. She swallowed hard.
"Mother, what is it?" Meg was alarmed to see the change in her parent, not thinking to look and see what had caused it.
"Oh, my," the elder Giry murmured. "Lift her skirt."
Meg was taken aback, and blinked in surprise. "What? You're joking, mother, surely?"
"I am not. Now do it. My arms are getting tired."
"But mother, why can't you do it? I don't want to see –" Before she could finished, Madame Giry had shifted the girl's weight and snaked out her arm to slap her daughter. Meg blinked, raising her hand to her cheek. It was not often that her mother hit her; and she seemed scared herself. Wordlessly, she reached forward and lifted the girl's dress. She gasped at the sight.
"As I feared," The elder woman muttered sadly. Blood coated the poor girl's thighs. Giry motioned for her daughter – who was now as white as she – to replace the skirt. "Help me." She started to rise, holding the girl. It was still early; they could hold her without anyone important seeing. No one should be out, at this hour.
"Mother," Meg started, working to raise the girl as she spoke. "Where are we taking her?"
"The Opera Populaire."
The young woman's surprise was wordless, but she almost dropped the girl's burden. "Why there," she asked apprehensively. To the Phantom's home? Did her parent intend to bring her to where the Phantom could easily see her?
"Because," Giry grunted as she held to girl's torso, motioning for her daughter to lift her legs. "There she will be safe. Which is what I was instructed to do, Meg. Now, let's hurry, before we seem too suspicious, carrying a motionless body to the Opera like this." She smiled softly, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. Of course, she really didn't feel like smiling; this was horrible! It seemed as if the poor girl had been raped, and left in the alleys to rot. She needed help, certainly, and Madame Giry could give it at the Opera, in her rooms there. That was where she would bring the girl; and then…
Then she would wait for further instructions.