Chapter 7
The man awoke to bright sunshine streaming onto his face. His mild annoyance at being roused so early was erased by the sheer pleasure of waking up to natural light. He blinked, enjoying the slight disorientation that accompanied his coming out of REM sleep.
He had been dreaming… dreaming of the world as it had been, before the Snakeheads had come. He had been high in the clouds, soaring in a small plane, surveying the Earth as it could be: beautiful… peaceful… free…
The man did not know if the dream was a memory of his past resurfacing, or simply a wish for what could be. But he did know that the thought of flying, of being one with the sky, held an enormous appeal. Perhaps he had been a pilot, before he had been arrested.
Was that why he had been a prisoner?
No further answers were forthcoming. The man sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes and wiping the last remnants of sleep from them. He moved on silent feet over to Kristin's bedroom door, easing it open without the slightest sound.
The young woman was still sleeping, her red hair splayed across the pillow as her chest gently rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. Not wanting to disturb her, the man closed the door, leaving Kristin to her rest.
The man went back into the main room, spying the bag Father Richlieu had given him the day before. He had been so tired the previous night he had forgotten all about it. Opening the bag, he found a change of clothes inside, along with an electric razor.
The man was grateful for the gift, and picked up the bag and its contents, heading into Kristin's tiny bathroom. He hesitated only for a moment before turning on the shower, then stepped into the cold blast of water that came from the ancient, shuddering pipes. No matter the temperature, it felt good to be clean.
Borrowing Kristin's soap and shampoo, the man vigorously washed his skin and hair, rinsing the dirt and grime of the past few days down the rusty drain. Curiously, he looked over his body, recalling the numerous bruises and scars he had seen only a few days ago.
All he saw was clear, unmarked skin. All signs of mistreatment were gone.
The man was surprised, but not unnerved. He chalked this up to yet another mystery about himself that would have to be solved. And the number of those mysteries was mounting.
Stepping out of the shower, the man felt human again, and he gratefully donned the clothes that Father Richlieu had provided. As with the ones given to him by the farmer's wife, the garments were plain and unremarkable in design and color.
Lastly, the man turned his attention to the mirror and his face. He had again grown a beard, although not as much as he might have expected. Using the electric razor, he was able to remove the stubble, revealing the face underneath. Curiously, he stared at himself. It was the first chance he'd truly had to examine his face in proper light, since his rushed time in the bathroom at the farmer's home.
His appearance with a full head of hair was completely different from that when he had been nearly bald. Longish, damp, auburn strands ran in every direction, even when he picked up Kristin's comb and attempted to make them lie still. Deep blue eyes stood out more than ever, orbs of brilliant cerulean against pale, unblemished skin. The man's facial features were refined, almost delicate, yet when he clenched his jaw at the thought his expression became coldly menacing. He appeared to be young, perhaps in his early twenties, at the oldest.
How had he come to experience so much, at such a young age? He felt as if he was a hundred years old, but his outward appearance clearly belied that assumption.
Sighing, the man returned to the main room, stopping briefly to check on Kristin again. She had moved slightly in her sleep, but still appeared to be resting peacefully.
In the tiny kitchenette, the man searched for food. He found a few general supplies, including some eggs, cheese and tomatoes. Without understanding how he had obtained such a skill, the man quickly beat two of the eggs into a yellow froth, poured them into a frying pan, and made an omelet seasoned with salt and pepper. Kristin had no coffee, but the man found a selection of herbal teas, and while the eggs were cooking he brewed a pot of peppermint tea.
A soft murmur came from the bedroom, and the man turned off the stove, moving over to knock politely on the door.
"Come in…"
The man entered to find Kristin still lying in bed with a somewhat shell-shocked expression, as if she were attempting to recall exactly how she had arrived there.
"You passed out, shortly after we entered the building." the man explained. "I had to carry you upstairs. I also ran into a Madame Mincan…?"
"My landlady." Kristin sighed. "Always sticking her nose into everyone's business. What did you tell her?"
"I said I was your brother, and told her that you had had too much wine to drink."
"What?" Kristin sat bolt upright, before putting a hand to her head and sagging back down to rest upon her pillow. "You said I was drunk? And that you were my brother?"
"Yes." the man confirmed. "It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I said that we had met for lunch and you had drunk too much wine, and since you were unused to it…"
"I apologize." he said, seeing the distraught expression upon the young woman's face. "I wish I could have come up with a better explanation."
"It's all right." Kristin sighed. "I suppose that's better than telling her I was attacked by Snakeheads. I would hate to think how quickly I'd be investigated if that got out. But I already told Madame Mincan that my family was dead."
"I know." the man smiled ruefully. "I told her that I was lucky to find you."
"Well, that's almost the truth." Kristin sighed. "I was lucky that you found me, when you did."
"In any case, I hope that you are feeling better this morning." the man said, eager to change the subject.
"I am, somewhat." Kristin said. "At least, I was feeling better until I tried to sit up."
"And then you were dizzy again?"
"A little. And a mild headache too."
"Do you have any analgesics?"
"Yes… there's some ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet."
"I'll bring you some."
The man got up and fetched the medicine, stopping briefly in the kitchen before returning to Kristin's room.
"I brought the ibuprofen, and some breakfast as well, if you're up to it." he said.
"Oh… that smells wonderful." Kristin smiled. "I didn't realize how hungry I was, until I saw this. And tea as well! Thank you."
"I hope you enjoy it." the man replied, moving to leave.
"No, please stay." the young woman shyly requested. "I… I'd enjoy the company."
"Okay." he said, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed as Kristin swallowed some of the ibuprofen with the peppermint tea. He had set the tray of food down next to her, and now watched as the young woman pulled herself into a semi-reclining position.
"An omelet?" Kristin smiled, taking a forkful and putting it in her mouth. "Mmmm… delicious!"
"I'm glad you like it." The man felt his cheeks warm slightly, pleased with the young woman's praise.
"I wasn't sure how it would turn out." he admitted.
"You didn't taste it?" Kristin asked. "Haven't you eaten anything?"
"It's your food." the man responded. "I didn't think it was right to steal from you, especially since you were so ill."
"It's not stealing if I give you permission." Kristin said sensibly. "Have some." She took another forkful and held it out to him.
The man felt somewhat foolish eating in this manner, but obligingly leaned over and accepted her offering.
It was good. The man smiled, in spite of himself. It seemed that he had some useful talents after all.
Talents other than killing.
Images of the previous afternoon flashed through his mind.
One green-uniformed man, falling to the ground… two men… three…
"More?"
The sound of Kristin's voice brought his mindset to the present.
"Please."
The young woman fed him another bite, then ate one herself, alternating between the two of them until the entire omelet was gone. She sipped slowly from the mug of peppermint tea, a soft smile of genuine pleasure on her face.
"I don't remember the last time I was brought breakfast in bed." she said. "And I'm feeling much better now."
"I'm glad to hear that." the man replied.
"I know I was somewhat mistrustful of you yesterday, but…"
"I understand. It is a harsh world, and strangers can be dangerous."
"I appreciate that." Kristin smiled. "Thank you. I seem to be saying that to you a lot."
"I'm just doing…"
"I know, I know." she laughed. "You're just doing what's right. Father Richlieu was correct. There is something special about you."
"I appreciate the Father's confidence, but I'm not so sure about that."
"I am." Kristin replied seriously. "You said you didn't have a name. Is that right?"
"Yes." the man nodded. "I woke up a few days ago, buried alive in a pile of rubble. I didn't remember anything about who I was, or how I got there. Since then, I've learned only one thing about myself."
"What's that?" Kristin asked curiously.
The man hesitated before responding. He felt a connection with this woman that he couldn't explain. It was something new, and therefore fragile, and he didn't want to risk shattering it. Yet, at the same time, he knew that he owed her the truth.
As always, he decided to do what was right.
"I was dressed in a prisoner's uniform."
"A… prisoner…? Of the Snakeheads?"
The man nodded, the shocked expression on the woman's face causing his hopes to plummet. Kristin couldn't deal with this.
"I guess I'll be leaving now." he said, moving to rise.
"Why?"
The man had been in the process of standing up, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him. He stared at Kristin, confused.
"Don't you want…?"
"No."
"No?"
"I want you to finish your story." Kristin said simply. "I'd like to know."
"You're not… afraid?"
"No." she shook her head. "If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so already. And if the Snakeheads were holding you prisoner… they must be afraid of you."
"Afraid? Of me?"
It was something the man hadn't contemplated before.
Five stars…
"Yes." Kristin confirmed, speaking her thoughts aloud. "If you were a prisoner, and you escaped, they must be looking for you.'
"I don't know." the man replied. When Kristin looked at him quizzically, he attempted to explain.
"The rubble I awoke in… it was a prison building. I suspect they think I was killed in its destruction."
"Why was the building destroyed?"
"I don't know. The Snakeheads claimed it was an 'accident', but I'm not sure it was."
"Then, it must have been something embarrassing for them." Kristin surmised. "They must have been… attacked?"
"But by whom?" the man asked. "Who would attack them?"
"That's what we're going to find out." Kristin grinned.
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When Father Richlieu arrived an hour later, the man was in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes. A polite knock on the door made the man jump; he had been lost in contemplation of the conversation he had had with Kristin. They had discussed what little they knew of the 'accident' at the prison, and the man had related his experiences since waking up in the rubble. By then, Kristin had become tired with her exertions, and the man had left her to rest while he went to clean up.
"Good morning, Father." The man greeted the priest. "I must thank you for the change of clothes." He gestured to the garments he wore.
"Good morning, my son. You are most welcome. And how is Kristin doing today?"
"She is much better." The man replied. "She woke up with a mild headache, but took ibuprofen and that eased the pain. She ate breakfast, and appeared to be more lucid. She is resting now."
"Wonderful!" Father Richlieu smiled. "May I look in on her?"
"Certainly." The man raised his arm to indicate the bedroom door. "I don't think she is asleep. But may I ask a favor of you, Father?"
"What is it?" the priest asked curiously.
"I was hoping to visit a local market. Would you mind staying with Kristin for about an hour?"
"Of course not!" the priest said warmly. "You will find a small market up the street, about two blocks to the north."
"Thank you." the man said gratefully. "I will not be long."
"I will await your return." the priest bid the man farewell.
The man left the apartment, taking Kristin's key with him. He walked north on Rue Servandoni and easily found the market that Father Richlieu had mentioned. Inside, he confirmed that the vendors there would accept his Federation currency, and then set about purchasing a selection of foods: fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese, and meats. The man did not have any kind of plan, but merely selected things that appealed to him, hoping that he would be able to prepare them instinctively, as he had the eggs.
Although Kristin had given him permission to eat her food, the man felt guilty doing so, when she was also providing him with a place to stay.
Upon returning back to the apartment, the man heard voices coming from the bedroom.
"I'd like to know more about this 'accident' at the prison." Kristin was saying. "What really happened, and why?"
"I agree, it's something worth investigating." the priest replied. "Are you positive that he doesn't remember anything further?"
"I don't." the man said, walking into the room. "But certainly if I did, I would be happy to tell you."
"I appreciate that." Father Richlieu replied, turning to look at him. "Can you at least tell me where this prison is located? There are a number of them, out in the countryside."
"I'm not certain." the man admitted. "All I know is that the farm house I chanced upon had access to an underground tunnel between Paris and Marseilles. I do not know how long I was walking in this passageway, but I had to rest twice during the journey to Egly."
"I will make some discrete enquiries." declared the priest.
"Thank you, Father." Kristin said.
"So I gather you have not remembered your name yet, either?" Father Richlieu asked the man.
"No." he admitted. "It is a constant source of frustration for me, not to know who I am."
"Well, we can't just keep calling you 'him'!" Kristin laughed. "You should have a new name, at least, until you find out your real one."
"I agree!" the priest concurred. "But what should it be?"
"Luc!" declared Kristin, with a sudden burst of inspiration. "I shall call you Luc. Does that meet with your approval?"
The man thought it over, repeating the name in his head. The name sounded right: short and masculine, with a hard consonant at the end. And somehow, it sounded even more right when Kristin said it.
"I like it." he smiled.
"So do I!" agreed Father Richlieu. "You have been named after one of the four apostles, my son."
"I suppose I can live with that." Luc grinned wryly.
"I can see that you are in good hands, here." the priest said to Kristin. "I will come again tomorrow."
"Thank you, Father." the young woman said. "For everything."
"You are very welcome, my dear." Father Richlieu patted her hand kindly before moving toward the door. Luc followed the priest out into the main room.
"You are taking good care of her, Luc." Father Richlieu said, his eyes glancing at the foodstuffs the man had left on the kitchen counter. "For that, you have my gratitude."
"I'm just doing…"
The man stopped himself from uttering the words he had repeated for the past two days. With his new name had come a new realization, and a new truth.
"It is my pleasure." Luc replied.
Father Richlieu smiled, then bade Luc goodbye before leaving the apartment. The man went back to check on Kristin, but the young woman was fast asleep. Smiling to himself, Luc began to put the groceries away.
