It has been one week since Jules died. I am back slumming it on the streets, spending my nights curled up in dark, filthy alleyways dreaming of soft, cracked bar stools, a hot bowl of gumbo and Jules.

Always Jules. Jules' smile and his comfort. His advice and his warm laughter.

After my emotional breakdown at the murder scene the numbness set in; the cold emptiness that took away the pain and replaced it with indifference. To avoid questioning from the local law enforcement, I had dissolved into a puddle of water and trickled through burnt floorboards until I was safe and away from prying and judgemental eyes.

The next day I watched the news report on the fire from a murky television shop window:

There were three lucky survivors and one unlucky casualty, Jules Henri Dubois, who died from smoke inhalation. He had no living relatives and his funeral was to take place next Tuesday at St. Luc's church.

The new report confused me; smoke inhalation?

I clearly remembered seeing Jules with his brains blown out; it wasn't smoke that had killed him, it was two shots to the head.

So why had the news report said smoke inhalation? When Jules had obviously been murdered. I hadn't even considered the possibility of Jules taking his own life; he was far too cheerful for it and anyway, it went against his catholic schoolboy teachings.

But Jules didn't have enemies, so who would kill him? I frowned as I tried to work it out; I was missing something - something big.

My musings were interrupted by the chirpy reporter saying 'Breaking news,'

'Police are on the look out for missing child 'Camille Maryse Rousseau'; it is believed she is somewhere in the French district of the greater New Orleans area. Camille's parents are desperately worried about their child and if you have any news please call the help line at the bottom of your screen.' The presenter gave a small, sypathetic smile to his audience before a picture flashed on the screen.

My blood ran cold and an icy shiver crawled up my spine as I stared, frozen in shock, at the child on the television.

She had mocha skin and a wild pile of chocolate afro curls on top of her head, her 'oh so innocent' wide brown eyes were framed by thick dark lashes and she was smiling brightly at the camera without a care in the world.

It was me.

I ducked my head down and subtly checked the small crowd gathered to see if anyone had recognized me. They hadn't. It was unsurprising really; the picture had been taken three years ago when I was 10. Back when I was a smiling bundle of energy and curly hair, who had family and friends and hopes and dreams.

But three years could do a lot someone.

My round cheeks had been lost during the two years I spent living on the streets and even after I met Jules I still rarely smiled. I was no longer a carefree child, but an untrusting teen who had seen far too much in her short life. I even walked differently; I no-longer skipped down cobbled streets but slunk. Wary and slippery with a stance that said 'back off'.

Yes, three years could do a lot.

As I hurried away from the shop and its rows of tv's plastered with my grinning face, my mind was working quickly - you could practically hear the cogs whirring.

It made no sense!

My parents were dead. They died three years ago; I remember their deaths as if they happened yesterday. Their faces blurred under a deep swirl of inky water; their mouths agape and screaming. I shuddered violently, dispelling the images from my mind.

But, if it wasn't my parents looking for me, who was it?

Who had the resources and the money to file me as a missing person, when technically I was dead? Because on record, I died the same fateful day as my parents.

I stopped dead.

Even more importantly, how did they know me?

Nobody knew me!

I left everyone I knew behind me in Mississippi, I even changed my name. Not even Jules knew my real name; he knew me as 'Anna the street urchin' he had found and brought back to his bar to patch up and love.

After all this time who would want to find me and why?

All I knew was that it couldn't be good.

Hiya, sorry for the lack of Remy, but I promise you he will appear in the next chapter! I just had to sort out some things.

Please could you review? Please? It really makes my day (how sad) so please review! I'll make the next chapter reallly long if I get some reviewsxxxxxx