Disclaimer: I do not own Erik or any of the characters found in Gaston Leroux's and Susan Kay's books. I am writing only for fun.

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I have never been to Paris, therefore I have no idea what it looks like. I made up my own Paris, so it is not accurate. On the other hand, this is my first fan fic, so please be kind. Flames and reviews are greatly appreciated, but the later will be appreciated more than the former ;) Also, one last thing. This story will move a little slow at first, but it will get better. So please, bear with me.

Turah!

~Ayesha

CHAPTER ONE

It was a hellish trip. One for the books, I'd say. All of my enthusiasm and excitement at the beginning ran alarmally short and disappeared all together by the time the bloody plane reached the half point. By the end, I was ready to kill.

Seat belts were required to be worn at all times because of the turbulence the plane couldn't manage to shake off. One couldn't even make oneself comfortable. Not that I would have been comfortable anyway. It was just my luck that I was seated beside a child who apparently didn't know how to sit still or keep that big hole in her face shut.

The radio on my seat was out. The English and French dialogue buttons didn't work, and as I do not know German, watching the movie was also out of the question. Not that I would want to anyway. The movie was "Bicentennial Man." Thinking about it makes me shudder.

When the cursed plane finally landed, it took all my will power not to simply run out. I also managed to approach customs without pushing anyone out of the way and gave the man my passport. He obviously must have been new, for he was far too energetic and eager with his job.

Most annoying.

"Penelope Richards. Lovely name, Ms. Richards. And may I say that your passport picture turned out fabulous," he said, smiling.

Suck up, I thought. Flattery will get you no where, my friend. "My name is pronounced Pen – ell – o – pee, and if you don't mind, I would very much like to skip the pleasantries and get out of here," I replied.

"Of course. My apologies. Will your stay be business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"And how long will your stay be?"

"Depends how long it will take me to do my job."

"May I ask what you do?"

I sighed, "I suppose."

There was silence for a moment. He looked at me expectantly and then he seemed to realize what I said.

"Oh! So, um… what do you do?"

"I am a forensic scientist."

"Are you really? Wow. So what are you doing in France?"

"My job. Are you finished with that?" I asked, indicating my passport.

"Yes, Ms. Richards. Welcome to Paris."

~***~

Paris. The city of love and lights. Historic buildings were everywhere one looked, some wedged in between modern ones. They were all alight with various forms of lighting, giving the buildings an almost supernatural glow. Young and old lovers alike could be seen walking hand in hand, pointing with awe at these glowing architectural structures. Small cafes littered the streets, where one can buy a mouthwatering coffee, sit at a table on a comfortable chair, and relax as a street performer's music soothes ones nerves.

And then at the airport, there was me: "What do you mean my baggage is in Warsaw?!?"

"We are terribly sorry, mademoiselle, but there seemed to be a slight mix up. If you would care to wait, the luggage will be here in four hours," said an elderly airport worker, trying to calm everyone down.

"Well, monsieur, as delightful as that sounds, I would not care to wait." I could feel my control slipping. This was just too much.

"Very well. If you would be so good as to give me the address that you will be currently staying at, your luggage will be sent to you as soon as it arrives."

~***~

My spirits lifted considerably when I first entered my hotel room. It was very spacious, and the walls were a lovely shade of maroon that gave a sort of cross between class and comfort.

The furniture itself was breathtaking, all of it made out of dark cherry wood, and furnished in an old – fashioned style, giving the whole room a warm, Victorian feeling (which was odd considering this was France). The bed was what every little girl dreamed a princess slept in: a queen four poster canopy bed, with delicant white curtains tied to the posts. Directly across from the bed was a double-doored glass window, which opened up to a delightful little balcony that overlooked the Parisian streets.

Upon further inspection, I noticed a small, rectangular object near one corner of the room with a fancy little handle.

Score! I thought. Mini fridge!

As I was making my way to look over (and maybe sample a few of) the mini refrigerator's contents, I was interrupted by a knock on my door.

What do you think? Not bad? Bad?

This was not beta read, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling mistakes.

Please review : )