CHAPTER SIX

A STORY OF A CURSE


Everyday this week, I've gone to the mansion. I go and help Emile cook and clean. I go and talk. We just talk. About everything. I ask him questions and he answers.

Until Friday when I busted out laughing uncontrollably in the middle of our conversation in the study.

He gave me a look as if I were crazy, "What are you laughing at?"

I tried to fight my giggled and calm down. I took a deep breath, "Oh wow. I just realized that I don't know your name."

He cocked his head for a second, thinking about it. Then he busted out laughing, "We don't know each others names!"

I started laughing with him. "Well tell me. What's your name?"

He looked at me for a second, "It's been so long... I almost forgot it."

I looked at him weirdly, "Who forgets their own name?"

"I've been around for a while," He answered idly.

"Well do you remember?" I looked at him expectedly.

He nodded shortly, "Gaspard."

I ran the name over in my head. Gaspard. "Hmm..." I put my hand out to him, "Well nice to meet you, Gaspard. I'm Belle."

He laughed and took my hand.


"Gaspard?"

"Yes?" He glanced at me from the table while Emile and I rolled dough.

"One of the articles was about the missing Tomas boy," I started, "What really happened?"

Gaspard was quiet... "So long ago, nearly fifty years. The boy wandered to the house and I freaked out on him. Much like I did with you. But he begged me to kill him quickly. Something about that struck me, so I asked him why he wanted to die. He told me how unhappy he was in his life. His parents ignored him when they weren't pushing him to become a doctor and marry. The girl he believed he would spend his life with, left him for someone of distant relation. And his brother he was much close to had died just the summer before."

"What happened to him?" I asked.

Gaspard sighed as he fingered his way through the pages of the book, "I told him that it wasn't worth dying for. I arranged for Emile's brother to take him to California where he would stay and make a new life for himself. Last I heard from Emile, who heard from her brother, the boy was now a man, married in Lake Tahoe with three kids and one baby grandchild. Very happy."

I let out a breath of relief, "Good to hear."


I kept having dreams. The same ones basically. Tonight it was the boy. And I was there.

He was sobbing into his knees by an oak tree. I knelt by his little body, "What's wrong? You can tell me."

He peered up at me through his tear-filled eyes and puffy cheeks, "Belle, he's gone. He's dead."

I ignored that he somehow knew my name and asked, "Who? Who's gone?"

"Daddy..." He hiccuped.

Every time I woke from that one, I wanted to cry.

I tried to fix it into conversation that Sunday. "Gaspard?"

"Yes?" He asked, not looking up from his book. He showed me his library. I have never seen so many books in my life. I could spend days in there. But it wasn't what I was here for.

"I keep having these dreams. Tonight it was a little boy. He was crying..."

No answer. I looked over and he hadn't moved. He was still. Listening attentively.

"I was there this time – not just watching, and asked him what was wrong. He said his daddy died."

I turned and looked at him, "The little boy is you, isn't it?"

Gaspard sighed long and slowly nodded.

I stood awkwardly, "Can you tell me about it?" I came over to sit by him at the table.

He didn't look at me as he spoke, "I was a young boy – maybe four or five. My father died of some illness he had caught abroad at England. It was too late once we knew he was sick. He was already dying. Not even the finest doctors my mother could buy could help him."

I slowly reached out and took his hand out of some instinct, "Go on."

He didn't moved or take my hand back, "My mother left me with a fae, to go search for a new husband to support us. She died of the same illness, she'd gotten it from my father."

"The woman from my dreams..." I trailed off.

"She was a fairy. Magical. Rare. Sinister. Le mal. I was in her charge. But I was very cautious. I never trusted her. Then I grew older and more attractive and she decided that she wanted me. She tried to seduce me like I'd watch her do to many. But I refused her. I rejected her. So she cursed me."

It was quiet then for a while. Until he suddenly looked up at me from his book, "After all this time, not once have you asked me if there was a way to break the curse."

I thought about it, leaning back in my chair. I guess I always thought of curses as permanent. No cure like diseases. "I guess I never thought about it."

"But wouldn't it be easier to look at something other than this face?"

"It's not like I know what you really look like," I lied and shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me."

He whispered out, "Etonnant." (Suprising)


The little boy, with his tear-stained face, was gazing straight forward. I was about to ask him what was going on when his face started to morph and grow and he grew older and older and older until he was an old man.

Then I suddenly saw the most terrifying vibrant green eyes flash before me.

I yelped as I shot out of bed. My face felt sweaty. I put a hand on my heart and tried to control my breathing.

What was going on?


That Monday I went to the library instead of Gaspard's manor. I couldn't spend all my time there. Myrtle leaned over and asked like a gossiping school girl, "So who's the fella?"

My mind instantly went to Gaspard as I started and stuttered, "W-what – fella?"

Myrtle smirked and giggled, "There has to be some lad keeping you away from little old me."

I blushed, "There's no fella, Myrtle. Trust me." Technically he was like 260 years old. Too old to be a fella.

"There has to be! Come on, Belle. You have to put yourself out there and let some bloke capture your heart sometime." Myrtle was earnest and excited at the very idea.

I shook my head, "It'll happen. And when it does, I'll tell you all about it. But not in high school."

We were interrupted when we heard someone clearing their throat. We turned our heads to see Emile standing on the other side of the counter, looking out of place.

Before Myrtle could say anything I greeted her, "Emile? It's nice to see you. Come to get a book... or uh... boulez... un livre?"

Emile smiled gently and shook her head, "No, Belle." She put a stack of papers – old and worn – onto the desk and slid them over in front of me. She placed my hands over them, "Ceux-ci auront les reponses (These will have the answers)." She then cupped my face like a grandmother and told me firmly, "N'ayez pas peur d'elle... ou l'amour (Do not be afraid of it... or love)."

With that, she turned and left.

"What did she say?" Myrtle asked me.

I shook my head and peered at the papers she gave me, "No idea."


Aunt Silvia walked through the door to find me in the kitchen peering down at old worn out papers with my glasses pushed up my nose. She asked me, "What have you got there?"

I stuttered for a non-suspicious answer, "Um... th—this woman that I've helped out at the library gave them to me. But they're in French."

"Ah, France," Silvia sighed dreamily, "I spent quite a summer or two over in the city of love back in my day. Some of the best days of my life."

"You've been to France?" I asked with interest.

She nodded proudly, "Had to learn every word of the language too."

I sheepishly lifted the papers and asked her, "Do you think that you could translate these for me? I'm curious and computer translators don't do much with grammar rules and what not."

Silvia pondered this for a moment before she got this determined look on her face, "I'll see what I can do, dearie."


I was on my way to Gaspard's house that next Wednesday when I heard, "Lookie here! If it isn't Miss Solitude!"

I barely turned my head to see Joey, Brody's lackey. Brody, Hannah-and-Cathy, Jennifer Billford, and Cameron Samuels flanking him. The 'it' group. Joy.

"What do you want? A blow job? I'm sure J-wow has got that covered for you," I snapped back.

Jennifer turned two shades of red while the others 'oooooh'ed around her and Joey. It was no secret they hooked up, despite Joey dating Hannah-and-Cathy two and Jennifer practically engaged to recently graduated Gregory Scott.

"Shut up, loner. Gosh, no wonder people never want to be around you. You're such a bitch!" Joey said cruelly.

I heard all this before. It didn't phase me. And sadly, Hannah-and-Cathy – my own sisters – taking part in it didn't phase me anymore either. But what he said next...

"Your own mother had to die to get away from you!" He laughed and looked around him for high fives. But no one was. Not even J-wow or Hannah-and-Cathy.

Hannah-and-Cathy looked ready to burst into tears or punch him – maybe both.

But I beat them to it. I smacked my fist into the side of his face as hard as I could, hearing the satisfying crunch as he stumbled back into his buddies. I then brought my knee up into his groin, making him cry out and bend over painfully until he fell to the group. I heard some clapping around me but ignored it as I bent down to look at Joey's face. "If you ever – talk about my mother again I will make sure that you can never have children and that you look as ugly as you are on the inside."

With that I walked away quickly, ignoring Hannah-and-Cathy when they called my name.


"Ow!" I hissed as Emile dabbed the cuts on my knuckles with something.

She shushed me, "Une telle pleurnicheur (Such a whiner)."

"What happened?"

We both turned to see Gaspard in the doorway, robe abandoned – he stopped wearing it after the night I convinced him to take it off – and arms crossed over his shirt-clothed chest.

I blushed, "I punched Joey Tamerson. Think I broke something. Of his, not mine."

He came over to my side immediately, examining my hand, "Was it a good punch?"

"Not really," I shrugged, "But I made up for it by kneeing him in the groin." I felt proud of that.

Gaspard laughed, "And what did Mr. Tamerson do to deserve such wrath?"

"Teased me," I answered shortly, not wanting to go into the details.

"Teased you?" Gaspard asked, shocked, "That's all?"

When I glared at him he elaborated with, "I don't mean to excuse him... but you're usually not very violent and you don't seem like the kind of person to let things like that bother you."

I scoffed, "Yeah, well, when he brought my mother into it, I... I snapped."

It was quiet as I looked down. I felt gentle hands take mine and looked up to see that Emile had gone and Gaspard had taken to tending my wounds. His voice was just a whisper when he asked, "What did he say?" in his french accent.

I took a deep breath to push down my anger, "That she had to die to get away from me."

His actions paused over my cuts momentarily before resuming and pressing lightly to the skin. "What happened to her really?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said shortly.

He lifted my chin up and said softly, "Now, Belle, I told you all about my life. Can you trust me?"

I sighed through my nose and nodded slowly.

"Tell me."

I took a shaky breath, "My mom and dad had me and my sisters when they were young. For some reason she had to die young too. She got brain cancer when I was four. Died about three years later. She was my best friend. Everyone always say that I look so much like her. Hannah-and-Cathy take more after my dad I guess. But they never say that I am just like her. I just look like her on the outside. But I can't be the person she was on the inside."

I sniffed slightly and looked away from him, "She was so kind... brave and outspoken. She never cared what anyone thought about her. She never once complained about being stuck in this small town. She always volunteered or sacrificed for others before herself. I never heard her say a bad thing about anyone."

I looked up at him, beginning to cry, "I may have her eyes, her hair, hell I have her face. But I don't have her. I lost her years ago and I can never have her back!"

"Oh, Belle..." Gaspard sighed and brought me into his arms. I sobbed into his shirt, soaking it. "It's okay to miss her but... all the things you just described her as, you could say about yourself." I made a noise of disbelief but he shushed me, "It's true. You are kind. You'd have to be brave and outspoken to have kept coming here and bothering me the way you did." We shared a laugh at that. "You've never complained about anything and I know you're always volunteering at that library. It seems as if you're just like your mother... only better... because you're uniquely you."

I didn't say anything. Just reveled in the feeling of being in his arms. It felt too... right. I didn't know quite what to make of it. I sighed, "Thank you, Gaspard."


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