"It's the Ooh La La Girl!" a sweating man in an orange cap shouted as Meg boarded the ferry
"My name is Meg Giry." She said looking up
He seemed confused and annoyed she wasn't playing along. Meg closed her eyes.
"Where are you going sweetheart?" asked a tall lean man grinning
"Paris."
He stepped closer to her wiggling the cigar back and forth in his mouth.
"You can't be serious. Come on let me go buy you a drink honey." He laughed
Meg flinched as he put a hand on her shoulder. She knocked it off quickly and pushed her way through the mass of people, leaving him at the other end of the crowd. She never wanted a man to touch her again. She pushed her way to the edge of the ferry. Wind blew across her face, she reached up to brush her hair back. Her fingers traveled across her cheek, she pulled them back surprised. It was foreign for Meg Giry to be without make-up. She had it somewhere in the depths of her bag. Along with the make-up were several dresses and toiletries. The seven million dollars received from Phantasma was converted to francs by means of the forgotten money Erik had hid away from the first step into the amusement park from Paris. They were sewed into the pockets of her dresses folded in her bag. She gripped the luggage tightly. She had done it; within a week she'd sold Phantasma, and left her mother behind with the other half of the money. Left her alone, it was over. Meg breathed slowly and the recent pain in her chest decreased slowly. In time this hell would end, it would be in the past. The ferry stopped and hit the pier with a thud. It vibrated through her and she slipped off the boat to board another that would take her to Paris. She walked onto the dirt ground and was shoved forward by the crowd escaping the ferry. One of the heels on her shoes broke. She tumbled down for a second, picking up the slim stick she examined it for a moment. Meg then proceeded to break off the other heel. With both in her hands she flung them into the water. Awkwardly boarding the new ship with lopsided shoes she stared back at the distant Phantasma. Lights were bright, colors were neon, and show music was drifting across the sea to her in familiar melodies she could just pick up. Somewhere in the recesses of the attraction was her mother. For a second Meg stopped walking forward. She watched the ferry getting ready to make another departure to Phantasma. An irritated passenger pushed her angrily up the ship ramp.
"Are you waiting for something? My husband is on the ship hurry up!" the woman cried
Tearing her eyes away from Phantasma for the last time Meg entered the ship's door quivering.
Meg opened her eyes. Her body was stiff, and her legs were sore. For a moment she feared she'd find someone next her in the bed. She turned and found she was alone. In a small room with a water jug, window, bathroom, and low bed. The room was minuscule, her bags lay open in the corner. Faint fading memories found their way to her dizzied head. Stumbling off the ship… walking in the dark, finding the cheap inn and falling onto the bed. No sunlight poured through the window, it was a dismal day. The gray clouds were overflowing with potential rain aching to fall. Slipping out of bed, she realized she wore the same clothes she'd used departing from the United States. The room was cool she wrapped a scarf around herself; she opened the door and exited the inn. Breeze hit her body. She shivered and took small steps. She might have known this place; she might have passed it or even stopped to stare at its pastel colored peeling walls and sad houses. Ten years ago she could have been right here. She'd forgotten Paris. Without any sense of direction she wandered mindlessly. The roads grew wider and the houses more elaborate. Noise became evident as she neared the core of the city. An average cafe stood in front of her. Meg fingered the francs in her breast and took them out folding her hand over them. She entered the cafe. Cautiously she went. The room seemed empty, she scanned it and found one lone man sitting at the bar she could see his back. No one came to her as she sat down. She wondered if the café was open. She sat in silence for moments in sweet thoughtlessness. At last the sun began was high in the sky and the dismal clouds had cleared.
"Monsieur?" she asked turning to the drinker at the bar
His shoulders tensed and he turned slowly. Meg looked up at his face and her lips parted. Her hands shook slightly and she grasped the table firmly. Keeping her head down she turned away. Away from the Vicomte Raoul.