|Un Monstre À Toulouse
Author: SJRivera PM
Okay fine, I admit it. I made Lucille marry Commissioner Maynott. And no, stupid, she didn't choose it. Though one good thing came from this pairing. A daughter named Frankie. Francœur found a small girl he dubbed Audrey. Long story short, Frankie ran away from and teams up with Audrey. The very different girls have one thing in common: An amazing singing voice and a wish.Rated: Fiction T - English - Francoeur & Lucille - Chapters: 3 - Words: 3,385 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 06-22-12 - Published: 05-27-12 - id: 8155278
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hello all you happy people. This story happens in a different universe than the original movie. :3 In this story, Lucille never ended up with Raoul. Here, she ends up somewhere much different. This story was only written 50% by me. The rest [and this whole chapter] was by my friend Esmara.
Lucille watched as Francoeur leaped from building to building, further and further away, turning into a speck in the distance. Tears filled her eyes, and when the hand settled on her shoulder, she turned, hoping to see Raoul or Emile with a comforting look. The man who stood instead glared at her.
"Your friend may be safe, but the police will continue to search for him, and eventually kill him. That is, unless you are willing to negotiate…"
Her gaze went to the street as more tears spilled. "Whatever you want," she sobbed, "so long as he is alright…"
"C'mon, where's all the paperwork?" Frankie grumbled, looking around the Captain's room. "It's gotta be here somewhere. Something I can burn." She tried tapping her cheek, an old tic, but flinched when her nail scratched the sensitive burn tissue on her cheek and around her eye. Despite the scar being over a year old, it was still tender. The 15-year-old walked around the room, trying to find something - anything - that would either hurt the Captain or help her mother, whom, despite her loathing of her biological father, Frankie loved and near-worshipped. If only she would smile again…
Frankie looked down at the floorboard she had stepped on, and pried it up with her bare hands. Underneath were a poster and a letter - a letter in an envelope marked "From Lucille, to Francoeur". The poster was for the Bird of Paradise cabaret, and on it showed a very tall man in a white suit, and… her mother. She looked… happy... Frankie had never seen her mother smile like that in real life. And the way she and the man were looking at each other... and the letter looked new. Had the Captain taken it from her mother when he found her trying to send it? He would… Frankie tucked the note and poster into her messenger bag before replacing the floorboard and running downstairs.
You will NEVER speak to him again! Is that understood?" the Captain yelled in frustration. "He is nothing more than a sewer rat!"
"That's not true!" Frankie yelled back, her anger and pride on the same level as her opponent's. They were arguing about a homeless boy, who played the flute on the corner of the street Frankie's house was on. Frankie would listen to him play and give him spare change she had, whenever she did, so he could buy food.
"A respectable young lady shouldn't be affiliated with such scum! You are almost of marrying age and should be seen with respectable people so any potential suitors don't get the wrong idea!"
"Well, maybe I don't want to BE a "respectable young lady", tyran!"
"How dare you speak to your father that way!"
"You were never my father!"
"That's it!" the Captain yelled. "If I am not your father, then YOU are not a member of this household! Pack your things and GET OUT!"
Lucille jumped up. "No!" she cried. "No! You can't!"
"It's alright, Maman," Frankie said as Lucille wrapped her arms around her. "I'll be okay. I know where I can go", she said, and looked at the Captain. "Tomorrow morning, I will be nonexistent to you."
Frankie pulled the fedora in place as she stood at the train station. She'd taken the money she earned cleaning cabarets and theatres behind the Captain's back. She had shed her dress in favor of the radical, off-beat and unusual suit she wore now – pants, a sleeveless blue-green shirt, and a white mini-jacket. It was her turn in line.
"Where to, mademoiselle?" The ticket-seller said.
"Anywhere," she responded, placing the fare on the desk. "I want the next train away from Paris."
With her free hand, she checked her messenger bag, feeling the thick white envelope and rolled up poster in one of the pockets.
I'll find you, Francoeur, she thought as she took her ticket. And when I do, you're going to help my mother smile again.