A Woman's Devotion (Phantom Of The Opera x Reader)

10. The Orphan With the Shotgun

(A/N: As the the title suggests, this chapter contains irresponsible use of firearms, including the weapon being handled by a child. If that's something upsetting for you, proceed with caution. -Samantha)

Christine's POV:

The entire muddled plot had felt ridiculous until this point, but ever since the introduction of a genuine lead in the form of Jonvier Rousseau, I finally regarded the whole thing with slightly more hope.

Until I had to step foot in a stranger's house. That part alarmed me. We didn't know how he lived, what he was truly like. Someone could get hurt, or something terrible could happen.

A part of me wanted to run, to tear down the streets like the hysterical woman the papers labeled me as. I could very well confront the notorious Phantom of the Opera today. I should've stayed at the hotel; I should've fought harder against entering a stranger's home to capture my angel, but I didn't. No amount of fear outweighed the shame of still dreading my 'angel'. I was a grown woman and had no reason to fear a deranged man, who had no power over me anymore. I was in the safe company of the police and and my husband, after all.

When we arrived at the Rousseau home, we knocked upon the door, yet nobody answered. Hervé Mattis knocked once more, assuring us it was merely a slight bump in the road. This man's constant, forced positivity frayed my nerves. So we stood in the blistering July heat, staring dumbly at each other. I swore, if I suffered a heat stroke, I would be blaming Mattis for dragging us out in this weather.

Finally, after several knocks and no reply, the door opened. I expected a butler, maybe Monsieur Rousseau himself. But, no, we were greeted by a little boy pointing a gun in our faces.

 "Did you kill my papa?" He asked.

Before the true weight of his words registered, Chief Mattis took charge of the situation.

 "Your father is dead?" He clarified.

The boy nodded, though not one tear stained his cheek. God, this child had lost his father, and I knew the culprit instinctively. Even then, my heart crumbled for him. Losing a father is one of those pains best kept out of written language, seeing as there are no words to properly describe it.

I barely knew myself when I kneeled at his level, matching his gaze with sympathy.

 "You can put that down, I promise." I gestured to the shotgun in his hands, which were much too small for such a contraption. "We won't hurt you. What's your name?"

He hesitated, evidently testing my sincerity, perhaps wondering if he could actually trust me.

 At last, he mumbled, "Gabriel Rousseau."

 "He's the Rousseau boy? And his father is..." Mattis trailed off. "Oh... we're too late."

 "May we come in?" I asked, appealing to Gabriel.

There was no point in knocking the boy over in our haste and traumatizing him further. Even if it prolonged our search a minute, I determined to be civil to him.

Glancing at all of us, his eyes finally rested on me with a slight smile.

 "Are they nice?" He asked, pointing to the imposing surete officers and my overzealous husband.

I nodded.

 "Yes, very nice. We only want to figure out what's going on."

With a final look around, he stepped aside, allowing us in.

 "Where's your father, little Rousseau?" Mattis asked, following my lead and stooping to Gabriel's level.

Using the shotgun, he waved to a nearby office.