The Malheureux
By: Catalina Ricci S. Madarang
The huge trepidation had already been built up. Everything was in ambivalence. The walls seemed like melting candle, crying upon the mournful solace. Blood flowed unceasingly against her frail body. Her heart was drumming painfully against her poor chest. Her legs could no longer support her body. She collapsed loudly unto the marble floor.
She could only hear whispers calling her name.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's all welcome, Natalie Swan!" The British host had an excellent stirring tone. The audience roared with claps against the dark walls.
Demure and sophisticated, with her olive-tone skin and angelic smile, the American couturier ambled gracefully against the brightly lit runway. She posed for the inundating flashes, then, waved to the audience.
"Another round of applause everyone for Natalie Swan, tonight's featured couturier in this annual Fashion Show for the Spring Season. She would be taking your interview after the show at the gala."
Afterwards, she did a catwalk back again with her same lithe feet from where she came.
Natalie Mary Anne Benigni Swan is a 30-year old former Class A model and now one of the prominent fashion designers today. With her half Italian blood, she still has her ethereal beauty from when she had come out of the spotlight. As she sat on her trailer like a goddess on her throne, she poured over her designed pieces as young models put them on. She was proud of what she'd done. All her sacrifices had been paid out finely. Her actions might've been uncouth, appalling, and even heedlessly outrageous throughout the way, but all she did without regrets.
As she heard the speculators comment amazingly at her work of art, she closed her eyes to breathe. It is when one's ego is high that the emotions are strong enough to beguile one's perception.
"Ms. Swan, here's your martini."
She opened her eyes. It was Chris, her husband. He was her dream partner. Time had passed quickly and she was now in one of New York's prestigious hotels having the after-show party. She was given a chance to give a brief speech as the official opening. But to the astonishment of many, it came out curtly spoken, and it wasn't fully proven that her elegance did the job of covering it up.
"Thank you for attending in tonight's dinner party after another successful show. I hope you enjoyed it with the many designers that participated. Thank you for having me, it was an honor. "
The people, most especially the media, could never forget moments wherein they have the chance to make coverage most especially from people who got it big. As Natalie made her way down the lavishly-designed platform, everything was in quiescence, up until the host shattered it with the microphone.
"Alright, everyone, that was Natalie Swan, the featured designer of tonight. Thank you, Ms. Swan. Now, let's enjoy the night because we have something special…"
Apparently, in all of the opulence of the guests and of the place, she couldn't care less of any of that. As she drinks her martini while eyeing down Chris, memories flowed incessantly down her conscience in front of her eyes. Once again, the egotistic part of herself was resurfacing from the depths of her mortality. She remembered her mother's caring eyes as she explained in a soft, delicate manner when her parents discovered she was no longer as innocent as they thought she was. She had felt that intolerable fright when she was about to be maligned by a notorious gang if not for her father's abruptness and valiance. Vivian, with her unwavering smile, ditched her dream excursion to Rome and watched her winning team in her University cheer-offs. All she ever wanted in her life, even in her days of memorizing those gallant heroes in the wars and practicing what to say in her thesis defense, is to be popular and successful. She never cared if people would cause her the hindrance or pathway to achievement.
"Nice crowd, huh?"
It was George von Douche, a married man in the 40's; she believed he wanted something from her, something she could never give.
Before George got the chance to begin his occasional impish dialogues, flashes of camera had drowned his view.
"Ma'am is this gentleman disturbing you?" an innocuous yet resolute female voice asked directly.
Natalie was bewildered. She took a good look at her savior for a moment .She eyed her from her sheath turquoise dress and glossy black pumps to her alluring mascara and daunting blue eyes. It finally clicked to her she must be one of those journalists who had this saving business to get her for an interview. She found it hard to believe but for the first time in her life, she was thankful for this ambush.
"Yes, well, thanks to you," Natalie quickly answered as she ogled George. George, on the other hand, made a sweet escape before he could manage to destroy his reputation, again, live on international telecast.
Natalie took a good look at the woman's face, from her blonde bangs that waved elegantly on her hair, to her eased fuchsia lips. She began to have this sudden strong sense of familiarity, but she knew better than to frown in front of her cameraman especially if they're already on air. She examined both of them as the journalist made her formalities on the camera. Probably a local station, she thought to herself. Wow, they must be pretty lucky to have gotten this far.
"Good evening Ms. Swan. It is an honor to finally have the chance to meet you in person and speak to you."
Natalie just nodded. That voice. Why do I have the feeling I've known it for how long?
"We are from The Felice, one of Italy's local magazines and a sister broadcasting firm of Nazionale Dal Vivo," the journalist introduced. Once again, Natalie just nodded. Italy? Do I know someone from Italy?
"I'm Vivian Bottice-"
"Wait! Are you the one who wrote 'The Impervious Man of Nature'"?
"Why, yes, that's me, in person. It was an honor for you to recognize that. I didn't know that you have a thing for such controversy."
Her angelic Italian accent left her in mystery even more. Her voice became intensely familiar. Deep within herself she knew that, that wasn't her real accent. She had this ardor that this beautiful lady in front of her was a person that was buried too deep and perilous to emancipate. The fazing soul was piercing into the light of reality.
"Well… "She doesn't want to be deemed as an earth advocate. "I presume you are supposed to ask me something."
"That's right, signorina! Is it true that il signor von Douche had been truly crude in the unveiling of The Amore boutique branch in the New York Times Square on the 22nd of March?"
She was suddenly wrapped up in ambiguity. Why do I have the feeling that place is much more common to me than it really is? She answered two more controversial and rather vexing questions then the camera was off air. Ms. Botticelli allowed her cameraman to enjoy the night after they've packed up in their van. But before she could leave, Natalie couldn't keep herself from solving the obscurity that's been disturbing her.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, signorina?"
Ms. Botticelli faced her with truly anxious eyes. Natalie found it an even more perplexing matter because it seemed to her she was expecting the question that she was about to ask.
"Do I know you from somewhere? I felt like I really do," she asked.
"Um… I don't know, Signorina Swan. I've met a lot of different people. The most mystifying probability would be you're one of those rare instances that I've met you before you were divulged into the limelight," Ms. Botticelli mused, then giggled. Then, she bid her goodbye.
Well, that was nice. The reply raised her curiosity even more. A lot more. But before she could get herself from pondering once again, the chandeliers in the brightly lit hall began to flicker. Murmurs and nervous rambles began to surge from the guests. A sudden tension was felt by everyone. The head waiter, a tall Romanian-looking man, waved in the middle of the crowd.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. I assure you this rarely happens in this hotel and all of you are indeed in good hands."
Apparently, that did little of a help. In a trice, the chandeliers all went off and it was pitch dark. Terrified groans and radical complaints were immediately heard as the managers and planners of the supposed to be grand dinner bash did the best they can to solve the problem. Natalie, on the other hand, as she herself was awfully filled with disappointment because this was supposed to be her night of excellence, felt a sudden pang of fright.
As she was about to look for her husband amidst the darkness, a large handkerchief was suddenly stuffed into her mouth making her unable to neither scream nor breathe. Cold arms then wrapped her neck and yanked her heavily down against the marble floor. She hit her head too hard for her to stand up again. Blurred horrifying images were the only things she could manage to make out. It was all too fast for her to comprehend! Deep within her subconscious mind, she was screaming, she was crying out something, crying out for her husband, wailing for help! She knew she was trying to struggle, flailing her arms and her legs to let go from their strongly bounded grasps. But it seemed as if there were about a lot of her attackers, and they were too strong. There was something in the handkerchief that made her dizzy. The unbearable pain of her pointless efforts drowned out her senses. She began to become unconscious.
It felt like an eternity before she made an effort to open her eyes again. A blinding light impeded as she slowly opened them. She was having a hard time concentrating to make her own self, conscious again. Out of nowhere, she felt herself flying, then landing, finally hitting hard against the ground likely crushing her left jaw. She felt tears coming out of her eyes, her head throbbing with pain, but she couldn't move anything.
"It was nice to see you again, Mme. Swan. I thought you would never wake up. Did you enjoy our trip? I hope you did, because it was the last trip you'll ever have."
This made her gasp. Once again, the voice sounded deeply familiar, and this made her heart pound heavily against her chest. One thing's for sure, it was feminine. And she sure did an excellent job bringing out the frailty in her.
"You had the time of your life. You definitely are parfait. But unfortunately, you dealt people wrongly, and all your hard work would be as good as cendres."
She felt herself shaking with fear. But her mind was numb; she couldn't command it for escape.
"You're going to take away everything from me, you know. I sacrificed everything for you, you ingrate!" She shoved Natalie on her stomach. Natalie cried out. She was still lying down, defenseless. "I lost all of what I put my heart and soul into, even my home in New York Times Square I've worked all my life!" For Natalie, it felt like an endless torture. The hatred of her attacker crushed into her bones as she was kicked and punched on all her vulnerabilities. She felt herself sobbing to the most of her effort.
"Oh stop it, you pathetic, despicable creature! The world would do without you." Then, she felt her attacker's frigid powerful knuckles landing a truly painful blow unto her face. Her pain was truly excruciating, she fainted once again.
At the next moment she tried to open her eyes, she feel herself being dragged against the floor. She was no longer tied to anything. She was just being dragged like a ragged doll. But because the floor was too rough for her skin, and the person dragging her didn't seem to care, she moaned with anguish to her scraping skin against the ground. She kept hitting herself with something too hard for her to handle, so she kept fainting. Deep within herself, she knew she was being carried, thrown, and dragged, somewhere. But she could only open her eyes halfway, and she could only hear mumbles. From time to time, the voices increase, then too chaotic for her truly damaged head.
The next time she woke up, she was shot in her stomach. She saw her husband kissing the journalist she spoke to awhile ago, who was holding the revolver that shot her.
Then, she screamed at the top of her lungs. She was now fully awake. She found herself in a hospital, no revolvers, no journalist. It was all a dream? Then, she saw Chris lunging into the room, with terrified eyes. He kissed her face, and then wrapped an arm around her waist.
"What happened, my angel? Why did you scream? A bad dream I suppose?" he asked.
She looked at him, and then she knew it wasn't all a dream. She saw in his magnificent blue eyes her bruised pale face. Then, without a few more moments, Natalie jerked at the sound of a few knocks.
"Come in," Chris invited.
A tall, well-built man with frizzy brown hair that seemed as if he never combed at all went into the room and leaned against the white wall across the bed. She was shocked to find that the man wasn't as poorly- groomed as he seemed to be. With his audacious brown eyes and insidious wide grin, he left her in unnerving mystery.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Swan," his voice was surprisingly soothing. "I hope you're well enough."
"G-G-Good afternoon, to you too, um…"
"Oh, I'm quite sorry. My name is Inspector Stephen McGregor. We thought you were dead that day, Ms. Swan. We found you just in time in when your limousine crashed."
"My limousine crashed?!" Natalie cried out. Chris immediately hugged her as she was about to get up.
"Well, let's begin shall we?" Inspector McGregor brought out in his bag a brown envelope. "We found a letter filled with bloody fingerprints strapped on you when we found you." He handed out the letter to Natalie. Natalie and Chris immediately read it.
Natalie,
I can't kill you, even if I terribly wanted to. I already called the police. You may be an insensate repulsive being, but you're still my best friend. Goodbye.
Natalie was shaking again. It was too gory, too bloody. She immediately handed it back to the inspector.
"The fingerprints were found to be from Vivian De Castro. You went into the same school until college together, am I right?"
Then, everything flashed to her.
"She's dead," Inspector McGregor announced. Natalie looked up. "We believe she saved you. My opinion is that she was the master mind. But something went wrong and she became your angel."
She couldn't hold it any longer. It was too agonizing to hear.
The letter fell from her hands.