Shosanna started to dream. IT had been how many years since she ran from that farmhouse. His words ringing in her ears; almost masked by her desperate grabs for air to fill her burning lungs. "Au Revior, Shosanna!" yelled in the most gleeful way. Blood matting her hair and the arid smell of smoke itching in her nose. This was what she started to dream about. Glimpses of his boots above the floorboards, shiny and sharp. A lot like his eyes she's heard in passing since that time so few years ago. Thank God she hasn't had the misfortune of seeing him within the city. She knew he was here at times. But she was comforted in the fact he would no interest in a tiny little movie house. He was to cultured to want to spend what little free time he had wasting his gaze on the flickering screen. So she felt safe until the dreams came.
It started the day she went to the market. Marcel was gone, off one some errand from a past life she wanted to know nothing about. She had stopped to read some film review at a coffee shop, cigarette dwindling down in her hand as she became absorbed in her article. Her time alone was precious, then she could be Shosanna again and not Emmanuelle, at least pretend she was away at school from her family enjoying the exciting city growing up in a girlish fashion. It was then she felt a crisp breeze pass by her as she sat at a café table, glancing up she caught from the corner of her eye a grinning skull. It was perched on top a head held high and a face framed by caramel hair shot with grey at the temples. It shaded fever bright hazel eyes that demand you look into them only to turn away in fear, the depths holding more than the boyish charm his smile promised. Shosanna shrank into her seat and turned her paper to hide her face. Of course her hair was a different color and her body more filled out, she couldn't stay a young teenage girl forever and events had forced her to grow quicker than she ever dreamed possible. Still she knew he would know and if she could a little bit longer then all would be well. His steps faded off into the distance and she lit a fresh cigarette, her nerves clattering in her body. It was as though a winter gall passes by, flowers sprang back to life and the sun returned its nourishing warmth. The earth started to turn again, but for her it was still stuck titled just slightly off its axis.
Just as before Hans Landa entered her life again in the most dramatic way possible. And so she started top dream of him. First nightmares of him finally catching her, running her down that pasture either shooting out her knees or crushing her throat as she bleed out underneath him. They changed within the weeks; he found her now appearing above her bed in the room at the top of the theater. Darkly above her whispering those words form long ago while effortlessly snuffing out her life. They changed even then while she lay in Marcel's arms, more violent so she trashed and kicked in her sleep forcing her gentle giant to seek refuge in his own room only coming to her for short periods of time. Still more the dreams changed moving into territory they had no right in being. At times it would be in that field after he wounded her, taking in her arms lapping at the blood on her neck and valley between her collarbones and chest. Promising dark secrets in that singsong voice of his, promising her that even though this was good bye for now he would find her again. Then she would be in his arms now, her honey colored hair twisted in his grasp pulling till her scalp burned. He would take her, biting and marking showing the whole world nothing ran from him without getting its deserved punishment. She would wake from these, limbs aching with a phantom need and thighs moist with her own betrayal. She started losing sleep.
Soon she started seeing everywhere; the man not only haunted her dreams but her waking reality. Still she was safe from him in her theater, he couldn't physically touch her there even though he tormented her in sleep, or she just tormented herself. She spent hours in the office, starting down a glass of wine finally figuring out her subconscious craving. He showed no fear and weakness, only command. She never had that command while her family lived. Always the good daughter and sister, smiling and knowing her life would be stuck in that little dairy village, marrying and growing old never having lived. Always dreaming a pipe dream of lost Paris. He gave that freedom and almost control of her life. And now she felt as though she owed some source of payment. So she gave herself over to her dreams, welcoming them with open arms. Panting in the middle of the night and wishing with fear in heart he was here to kiss and kill her and tell her of her mistakes in that voice, boyish smirk mocking her as he took her over the edge of reality again and again.