Disclaimer: See chapter One.
Author's Note: Thank you soooooo much for everyone that has reviewed! You guys have no idea how happy I am. I was so nervous posting this up, but when I got those good reviews it just made my day. Thank you again!
Here's chapter two. Hope you like it!
Turah!
~Ayesha
CHAPTER TWO
Weird. I thought he said the luggage would take four hours.
I opened the door to see a middle aged man whose face looked a lot like a rats. He was wearing a suit, but it appeared as if he had not changed for a couple of days. His shirt was a bit wrinkled and the first two buttons were undone, the tie loosened. The man in question also had bags under his eyes, and the little hair he had left was ruffled up and standing at all ends, as if he had ran his hands through many times. When he spoke, his voice was tired and weary, but was kind and held a delightful French accent.
"Welcome to Paris, mademoiselle Richards." But it sounded like: Welcome to Parie, mademoiselle Reeshard. "I trust you like your hotel?"
"Yes I do, thank you. Who are you?"
"Oh, how rude of moi. Je m'appelle Francois Eyraud. I am the chief of police of the Paris Police Department and Forensic Laboratory. We spoke on the phone."
We did? Searching for said conversation. Searching…searching…found.
"Oh yeah. Wanna come in?" I asked. I opened the door wider and moved aside to let him step through. He, however, shook his head and continued to speak.
"Non, merci, mademoiselle. I have come here to take you to what was found."
"But I just got here. My luggage isn't even here yet," I answered.
"Yes, but we would like your opinion as soon as possible. The whole police force and theater staff are very curious to what this discovery can mean. This could make history."
I hesitated, glancing at the mini fridge. "All right. Hold on, I'll get my coat."
~***~
In the chief of police's car…
"Were you born in France, Mr. Eyraud?" I asked, glancing at him as he drove.
"Oui, mademoiselle. Why do you ask?"
"Well, other than your accent you speak excellent English." I looked out the window, admiring a lit up fountain as I waited for his reply. Paris really was a beautiful city. Even in the dark of night.
"Merci, mademoiselle. My mother was English. She and my father met in university. When I was a child, both languages were spoken at home."
"That's great. I'm guessing you didn't have to take English during school?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from a particularly beautiful old building.
He chuckled, "No, I didn't. I read at those blocks." He made a turn and glanced at me. "We are almost there."
"Mr. Eyraud, what exactly is this that was found? All you told me over the phone was that the old Paris Opera House was currently under renovations down in it's cellars when the workers came across the skeleton of a human body. I hardly find that unusual as the Opera does have a dark history concerning the period of the siege and the commune. Also, why have you called me? You could have easily called in a French forensic anthropologist."
There was silence for a moment. "I called you because I heard that you can keep things to yourself and that you are the best of the best," he answered. He glanced at me with his gray eyes filled with amusement at my confusion, then returned back to the road.
"I still don't understand w -"
"Have you ever heard of the Phantom of the Opera?" he asked, cutting me off.
I stared at him for a couple of seconds. "Is that why I'm here? Because you believe that this skeleton belongs to a fictional character?"
"Non, mademoiselle. You are here to tell us what to believe and maybe prove us wrong." He stopped the car and turned to me. "We have arrived."
