It was time to go, and she was terrified.
Raoul had come back from work, and he was sprawled out on the couch, reading a horrible-looking book about economics or business or…something else she couldn't understand. She was getting ready in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She needed to look like she was going out—but she didn't want to have to walk down those streets in heels. She needed good running shoes…just in case. And so she dressed in casual jeans and a nice blouse that could be easily concealed by her coat. While Raoul was at work, she had guiltily rummaged through his clothes and had found a baseball cap, which was currently rolled up and stuffed in her coat pocket.
She went back to the guest room and shrugged on her old coat. Raoul had tried to persuade her to let him buy her a nice, thicker winter coat, but she hadn't let him yet. No, she would hold off on his extended charity for as long as she could. Nervously, she felt the pocket of her jeans. The small wad of money was in there, and she tried not to shake as she thought of what she was going to do with it tonight.
"You'd better get going if you want to get to the restaurant in time!" Raoul called to her.
She left the room then, knowing she couldn't delay it anymore. She needed to be sure that she was at the appointed street. If she got there too late, she might miss him—it…
"Have fun," Raoul said, smiling at her. "Text me if you're going to be out late, okay?"
She nodded. "Okay." Then she kissed him and left hurriedly, not wanting him to sense her anxiousness.
The night was bitterly cold, and she shivered as she entered it. She rode the bus down to the appointed street, huddled in the front near the driver. Raoul was right—crazy people rode the bus at night. Although it wasn't too late, she knew that soon the buses would be full of…scary people.
When it was her stop, she thanked the driver demurely and stepped out onto the sidewalk, looking around in slight fear. The bus rolled away, and there was no more going back. She would have to be here—she would have to find him. Taking out Raoul's hat from her pocket, she jammed it on over her curls and tucked the rest of her hair into her collar. She didn't want anyone to see any distinguishing features on her at all. Zipping up the coat to her chin and pulling the visor low, she shoved her hands into the pockets and set off.
Christine walked through the streets quickly, her heart pounding louder with every step she took. The few people she passed did not glance at her, and she was grateful. She didn't want any distractions. All she wanted was to focus on her task of finding the Phantom, and that thought was scaring her much more than she would have wanted to admit. She wondered what he looked like. As she hurried through alleys and side roads, she thought of Joe from that awful bar, and she envisioned the Phantom to be much the same. She was sure that he was broad and burly, with a leering smile and rotted teeth. He probably stank of blood and sweat and chose not to wash himself regularly. To add to the picture, she could not help but envision a bloody, short knife clasped in his large, hairy hand, ready to kill anyone.
She shuddered.
Pulling the coat around her more tightly and lifting the collar a little higher, she hurried past a loud bar and headed for the narrow street—Jackson Street. Thankfully, it appeared empty. Dank, dirty buildings lined the street, and the sidewalk was overgrown with dead weeds and spotted with stains. Graffiti was on several buildings, proclaiming crude messages and gang signs. It was still relatively early in the evening, just barely after sunset. She had wanted to come as early as she could to make certain she did not miss the Phantom.
Quickly, quietly, while no one was around, she settled herself by the side of a building, just by the end of the street, next to a disgusting dumpster. She would wait right here and watch it all night long. He had to enter some way—the street only had two outlets. It was more of an afterthought street, connecting to two larger ones, almost like an alleyway, really. She sank as deeply into the shadows as she could and kept the hat low, obscuring her face as best she could but still keeping visibility high.
The pointy brick was painful against her thin back, but it kept her awake during the long hours. She stared at the narrow street dutifully, watching as some men entered and exited. However, most came in groups of three or four, laughing loudly and crudely, and she knew instinctively that none of them were the man she was looking for. A cold breeze kept sweeping through, and she shivered and tucked her hands inside her coat, hoping to keep herself warm through the night and praying that it wouldn't snow. People had been known to freeze to death while sleeping on the streets during the winter.
As the night progressed, she felt her anxiety rise. What if he never came? What if he had already come, and she had missed him? What if she wasn't able to speak with him? What if she couldn't recognize him? What if he refused to help her? What if she went up to him, and he shot her in the head? Tortured thoughts ran through her mind, and she continued to stare at the street, forcing her eyes to remain open as the night passed slowly. She checked her phone, the light illuminating her hiding spot like a beacon. It was nearing midnight. Her back was sore and her behind ached from sitting on the cold cement. She shifted uncomfortably and texted Raoul.
Hey! Things are fine. We're at her hotel room now—you know, girl talk lol. Don't wait up, k?
A few minutes later, there was a reply: Thanks for letting me know. See you in the morning. Lol hope you don't have too much fun!
She put the phone back in her pocket and crossed her arms over her chest, her teeth chattering. She hoped she didn't catch a cold.
Finally, when it was very dark and extremely quiet, something caught her eye. It was like a shadow moving along the walls—almost silent, save for the soft sounds of material rustling. She sat up a little straighter and watched, her heart racing, as the shadow continued. She could not make out any features whatsoever; it was like a figure of black. Quickly, it slipped into a building, and Christine breathed raggedly.
She had seen him—the Phantom. She knew she had. How many people could say that they had seen the Phantom and lived? There was a menacing, overpowering presence about him, and Christine suddenly realized that her palms were sweating and her mouth was dry. She did her best to remedy both as she waited. It was probably better to wait until he had his business completed. After that, hopefully he would have a few minutes to spare. As she watched the street, she thought of her father, and his smiling face gave her courage. She felt emboldened for a few moments.
It was growing colder, and Christine thought she would have to wait a long time until he emerged, but she was wrong.
Her heart picked up again as she saw the figure slither out to the street again. It continued down the way without pausing once, a shadow seeming to billow out behind it. Without a second thought, she stood and followed.
The Phantom moved very quickly, and she was having trouble keeping up. However, she only had to follow him to his home. Then she would knock and arrange a business deal with him. That suddenly seemed very easy in comparison to following a shadow in the dark streets.
She was practically running to keep up with him, though she tried to be as quiet and inconspicuous as she could. There was something eerie about the way he moved, about the way his shadows jumped from each object, but Christine counted on seeing the shadows disappear when he turned down a street or alleyway.
She followed him for several minutes, a stitch beginning to form in her side. A little desperately, she wished that his home was nearby so she could stop running after him. It was beginning to become increasingly difficult to keep up, and oftentimes she had to sprint to catch up as best she could.
He turned down a long, dark alley, and she stopped for a moment and peered around the wall, making certain that he hadn't turned around. To her complete surprise, the alleyway was empty. A little nervously, she walked forward a few paces. She could see the other end, but the Phantom had disappeared. A terrible feeling overcame her. The trail had been lost—she hadn't had the chance to speak with him, and her father wouldn't be found! Giving a foolish, despairing gasp of tears and horror, she began to run to the end of the alley, hoping that he had simply turned the corner and she could pick up the trail again.
When she was about halfway through, a hand suddenly shot out of the darkness.
Faster than she could comprehend, too fast for her to even scream, she felt herself being slammed against the wall of the alleyway. The rough, uneven stone scraped her back, shooting fierce pain up and down her frame. The hand grabbed the front of her coat and literally picked her up off the ground by several inches, her feet dangling. Another hand appeared and took her jaw, long, hard fingers digging into her cheeks. Terrified, she watched as two glowing yellow lights appeared just above her.
"And just why exactly are you following me?" a terrible voice hissed out.
She blubbered out something unintelligible, and the fingers pressed harder into her face. She felt her teeth cut the insides of her cheeks, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
"Speak, you idiot!" the Phantom snarled. "My patience is thin."
"Please—please," Christine cried. The fingers pressing into her mouth made it difficult to speak, but she did her best. "Please, I need your help."
There was an audible pause, and the hand at her jaw suddenly moved to her head. She flinched, expecting a slap in the face, but he only took off the hat and pulled out her dark, curly hair. He held it in his hand for a moment.
"A woman?" came the awful voice, slipping out of the darkness. The two yellow lights narrowed slightly. "Time and time again it is proven that your kind can sink to unimaginable depths." Suddenly, she was dropped, and she yelped at the harsh contact with the cold ground. She hit her elbow hard, and it began to throb immediately. Shaking, she pushed herself to her feet and looked toward the shade in front of her. It was much too dark to make out anything definite, but she could see that he was frightfully tall. The two glowing dots appeared to be his eyes, and Christine shivered a little. It was obvious that this was not a man, but a monster—a terrible monster her father had told her about in his stories.
"Well?" There was weight and impatience in that single word.
Quickly, she stammered, "I—I'm sorry for following you...sir," (the word felt awful in her mouth) "but I need your help."
"Yes, you've already told me that—quite pathetically, too. Hurry up about it."
Her cheeks flared up, and she hurriedly chanted, repeating her rehearsed speech in a breathless rush, "My father was taken several days ago. I can't find him anywhere, and I need him to come home. Please…he means everything to me. I love him so much."
"Unfortunately, love does not pay my fee," was the cold, indifferent response.
Christine fumbled with her pocket and took out the wad of bills, tentatively holding it out to him. Before she could blink, it had been snatched from her hands, and there was silence as he examined the worth of the contents. It was very dark, and she wondered how he was able to count it. Perhaps he could see in the dark, like a real phantom.
Finally, he said icily, "Is this supposed to amuse me?"
"What?" she whispered tremulously. "No! I—"
"I have never done anything for such a pitiful amount," he said, sounding annoyed and disgusted.
Christine felt the blood drain out of her face, and her hands trembled as she clasped them together. "Please, it's everything I have," she said tearfully. "I've done everything I can. The place where I worked closed down months ago, and I can't find another job. I don't have anything left to give. I'm begging you, please take it and my thanks. I need my father—please. Please." She began to sniffle a little.
"Save your tears," he said, uncompassionate and obviously irritated. "I do not work for empty promises and vows of thankfulness and blessings. Yours isn't the first story I have heard, and I do not want to listen to anything more." Her money was tossed at her feet. "You may find me again when you have enough." So saying, he turned and began to walk away.
In complete panic, Christine ran after him.
"Wait—!"
He continued to walk, ignoring her.
In high danger of succumbing to absolute hysterics, she reached out and clutched at whatever she could to ensure he wouldn't leave, crying, "No—please!"
With inhuman speed, he turned around and took her by the throat. She choked on her scream and frantically pulled at the hands that had cut off her supply of air. She was too close to him, and she could now see that he wore a dark mask over his face. Christine was so overwhelmingly terrified that she felt her vision begin to swim.
"If you ever touch me again," he hissed, "I swear that I will kill you."
He then roughly shoved her away, and she stumbled to the ground, gasping in air and clutching at her neck. When she looked up, the street was empty, and she was alone.