Disclaimer: I own only my ideas and my imagination.

"Tristan, how am I going to go to college when I'm here with you? I'm supposed to be in class tomorrow!" I realized half-way through my singing lesson.

"Jack, relax. I called the Dean and he shipped over your books and assignments from your classes for the week. He promised to send your assignments every week so you wouldn't fall behind," Tristan said calmly. "May we continue?"

"Of course."

For the next few hours, Tristan and I explored the realm of music. He would compose short songs for me to practice my scales on. Then he would critique me and we'd try the song again. I'd improved so much in the past few weeks that I'd begun to sing duets with Tristan. Every time we'd sing a duet, I'd feel so incompetent. My voice was no match for his.

"That's it for today. Well done, well done ma belle! You are improving greatly!" Tristan praised. "Time for dinner."

"What are you going to make? Spaghetti? Meatloaf? Stroganoff?" I asked. His dinners were always a surprise and delicious.

"Go into your parlor and work on your first assignment. It should be there on the table. It's something about my great-grandfather I think. Are you taking a class on him?!" Tristan asked jokingly.

"No! It's probably an assignment from my literature class. Right now we're reading The Phantom of the Opera so obviously I'm going to be writing about him! I'll need your help though!"

"Of course. Now go. Shoo! I need to make dinner!"

I took my sweet time getting out of the kitchen, peeking more than once into the pot on the stove. When I finally made it out of the kitchen, I walked down to the parlor. I had moved my desk in there, and Tristan had given me pens, pencils, and paper. My assignment was sitting right there on top for me with a note on top that read,

Don't trust those you're close to.

You will only get hurt.

~votre EnneMi

I was puzzled by the note, especially the signing. Votre ennemi. What could that mean? I wasn't close to anyone in France besides Tristan. Could Tristan be hiding something from me?

I was musing about the note at dinner and Tristan could tell that my mind was not on the food.

"What's wrong? You're not eating," Tristan queried.

"It's nothing, just part of my homework assignment."

"Can I help?" Tristan was too kind. He was always asking if he could help.

"I might ask you later. Right now, I want to see if I can come up with the answer on my own but thank you."

After dinner, (it turned out to be pesto pasta) I went back to the parlor while Tristan cleaned up the kitchen. He was very precise on how he wanted to have the kitchen set up so he did it himself. I was just finishing my assignment when the note came back to mind. I need to ask him. He knows French obviously! I brought the note to the kitchen but he wasn't there. I looked in the library, parlor, and my room with the same outcome. The boat was still on this side of the river so he hadn't gone up to the surface for supplies. The only room left was the forbidden one, HIS.

I plucked up my courage and knocked on the door. When he didn't answer, I knocked again. I could hear movement so I walked in. What I saw frightened me! Tristan was writhing on his bed, soundlessly screaming. I dropped the note and ran to him. I grabbed his wrist and blood oozed onto them. I looked at the underside of his wrist and found two puncture marks. A snake must have bitten him, but how it got in I didn't know. Tristan was almost unconscious from the pain.

"Tristan! Stay with me Tristan! I'm going to get you help." I ran to the parlor and dialed the number for the ambulance. There was no ringtone. Our phone wires had been cut. I ran back to Tristan and found him on the bed, not moving.

"Tristan! Tristan! Come back!" I screamed as I smacked his face. I checked for pulse and found a weak one. His breathing was shallow as well. I tried to think of a way to get him help. Nothing was coming. Our phone lines were cut and we didn't exactly live where I could run outside and scream for help. I didn't have a car to rush him to the Emergency Room. The boat! We had a boat!

I dragged Tristan out the door and into the boat. Then I ran back inside and grabbed a blanket. The outside air was chilly this time of night. I wrapped the blanket around Tristan, picked up the paddles and started rowing across. By the time we reached the opposite shore, my arms were sore and Tristan was barely breathing.

"Stay with me Tristan. You can make it!" I grounded the boat and pulled Tristan out. I tried to carry him like a baby and then like a sack of potatoes. Neither idea worked. I wasn't strong enough. I needed a stretcher or something to drag him with. The paddles and blanket! I wasn't sure how long they'd last but it was worth a shot!

I tied one end of the blanket around the tops of the two poles. Then I tied mini knots with the two bottom corners to the two poles. I laid Tristan on it and started pulling him toward the elevator. Thank goodness he put that in a few years ago! He would have been dead by the time I got him to the surface if we'd have had to take the Communists' Road! I thought.

The blanket's knots had started to untie. As we rode up to the surface, Tristan's breathing slowed even more. How that was possible I don't know. We reached the surface floor with a DING! I hauled Tristan out of the elevator and onto the street where the stretcher fell apart. I caught Tristan's head before it hit the pavement.

"Help! Help me please!" I cried. Some pedestrians came over to see what the matter was. "I need a hospital! He's dying!" I said while gesticulating. One bystander knew enough English to tell the others that Tristan was in trouble and needed medical attention. Four men picked Tristan up and started to carry him to the nearest hospital.

Halfway there, Tristan's breathing stopped. I shouted at the men to stop. They set him down and I felt for a pulse. Nothing. "Oh no," I cried. "Not after all this. I'm not letting you die! Do you hear me, Tristan?! You are not leaving me!" With that said, I started CPR. One of the men that used to be carrying Tristan called the ambulance. I didn't know that until the sirens and lights came around the corner. The sound could wake the dead (which was what I was hoping it would do for Tristan).

They picked him up and laid him in the ambulance. I jumped in beside him. The paramedics started pumping air in and out of his mouth while trying to start his heart back up. The entire ride to the hospital was terrifying.

When we got there, they wheeled Tristan to the Emergency Room while I was forced to wait in the hall outside the door. I waited there for what seemed like days. I'd even begun to sing a song Tristan had composed to help me work on my scales.

When I'd sung the song probably more than a hundred times, a nurse came out and gestured that I could go in to see him. Tristan was lying on the hospital bed, pale. I started crying when I saw him.

"Don't cry, ma belle! I'm alright thanks to you," Tristan whispered. I ran over to him and knelt down beside his bed. I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my cheek.

"I thought you were dead! I was so worried, especially since I saw the note."

"What note? I didn't write you a note."

"I know. It wasn't your handwriting. It said something like 'You can't trust those closest to you. They will only hurt you,' signed votre ennemi."

"Votre ennemi means your enemy. The person who set the note must have been the one who placed the snake in my room. I don't believe we're as safe as we thought, my dear," Tristan said gravely. This was not going to end well.