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Mireille comes out of the den and looks at us, frowning. She snaps
the cell phone shut.
“What are you two doing?” she gives me a suspicious look.
“Just…talking.” I shrug.
“You don’t really think Marchaud will give you any answers,
do you? Not after he instructed him not to. I’m so glad
he’s gone.” She tosses her hair. Marchaud clears his throat,
but says nothing.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve made my calls. Everything
Droger said in the letter is true.”
“And what might that be?” Marchaud inquires. Mireille looks
at him and arches an eyebrow.
“My secrets for yours.” she challenges him. The room falls
silent, and I can hear Henry talking to someone outside the door. Marchaud
stands up and twirls his gun in his hand.
“Let me see who that is.” He nods at me to stand back. He
cracks open the door, and I hear him talking to Henry in a low voice.
He reaches his hand through the doorway and pulls back in a small envelope.
“This was dropped off by the hotel staff. No name on it, just
your suite number. Henry has already checked it.” He hands the
envelope to me.
“For me?” I’m surprised. I expected another letter
from Droger, for Mireille.
“Well, take a look. It’s pretty obvious.” He sits
back down and cradles the gun in his lap.
Mireille stands behind me as I take out the folded paper. There’s
something inside. It’s a short lock of dark hair- not even as
long as my little finger.
“Did they cut a sample of your hair when they kidnapped you?”
Mireille asks.
“I… I don’t think so.” I don’t remember
for sure, I know I did pass out during the ordeal. I look at the note,
a single line scribbled across the page:
You know who this belongs to.
“So odd- maybe he feels badly about the whole thing and wants
to return it to you.” Mireille’s voice is puzzled. “It’s
definitely his handwriting- it’s the same as the letter he sent
me.”
I tap the note so the lock falls out into my hand.
A scream fills my ears and I feel a wave of panting fear roll over me.
There is no escape… I collapse to the floor.
“Kirika!” Mireille kneels down on the floor, pulling me
up to her. “Kirika- what is it?”
“Did you hear it?” I pant out. “Did you-” I
can tell from her eyes that she doesn’t know what I’m saying.
I turn away from her and stay on all fours, my head down.
“I’m not… I’m not well.” I feel myself
shaking. Mireille runs her hands down my back.
“Marchaud. Take her to the bedroom. I’m going to make her
some tea and toast. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast. That’s
what all this is about.” Mireille’s voice is shaking like
mine. “She just needs to rest and eat.”
The journey to the bedroom is slow. My legs give out often, but I refuse
to let Marchaud carry me. Although my heart is no longer racing, I feel
terribly weak. My stomach is back in knots- I don’t want anything
to eat, not now.
“You should lay down.” He admonishes me as I crawl across
the bed.
“Tape. Get me some tape.” I plead with him as I crawl towards
the picture. He leaves the room and I make my way across the large
bed, finally reaching the other side by the wall and sliding down to
the floor. He comes back in, walks around the bed and holds out the
tape to me.
“Just what exactly are you doing?” his voice sounds concerned.
“Putting it back where it belongs.” I tape the hair across
the pillow on the bed in the picture.
“What is going on in here? Kirika! What do you think you’re
doing?” Mireille’s voice is shocked. I hear the clink of
dishes as she sets them down on the nightstand.
“She said she’s putting her lock of hair back where it
belongs.” Marchaud’s voice is full of disapproval.
“What? That’s enough- Marchaud, rip that picture off the
wall immediately!” Mireille’s voice is furious. He bends
down and my hand comes up, chopping his wrist and twisting the gun out
of his hand. I point the gun at him.
“No. No one touches it.” I wave him back. The gun
shakes in my hand, and my finger trembles over the trigger.
Marchaud and Mireille look at each other. She nods her head and he backs
up, then walks quickly over to the doorway. I lay the gun down on the
floor.
“Kirika, this is nonsense. Just because you think you were there
once- you have to stop this obsession.” Mireille says, putting
her hands on her hips. I violently shake my head, because she is wrong.
“No. This hair belongs to Anna.”
Marchaud makes a strangled sound and steps back.
“You must never say that.” He chokes out. “Take that
horrible thing down now, I beg you.”
“No.” I reach for the gun again. Marchaud puts his hands
to his face and gives a long sigh.
“I warned you earlier. God help you, my child.” Marchaud
shakes his head and walks away.
Mireille and I stare at one another. I take the gun and lay it on the
nightstand, keeping it within easy reach.
“Kirika- don’t go down this path. There’s a reason
you don’t remember your past. Let it be, please. Please.”
Her voice is strained and she looks like she’s going to cry.
“I can’t- any more than you can.” The words come out
of my mouth, and I see the look on her face change. She turns to go
out of the room.
“Sweet dreams then.” she slams the door.
I sigh and lean back against the bed, exhausted. For some reason a tear
rolls down my cheek. I know they are right, and I remember my conversation
earlier with Marchaud.
Chasing the ghosts of the past- will surely disturb those who should
not be disturbed.
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