"Lissette," Sister Marion said softly, stirring the poor girl from a fretful sleep, full of hellish nightmares and gruesome scenes. She'd reread every one of Pierre's letters before falling asleep and couldn't help but dream of the terrible things he must've seen.
"Yes?" Lissette asked softly, her voice laced with emotion and the horrible lethargy from a very small amount of sleep. Her face seemed to have two permanent paths; carved from the rivers of tears she had been crying, almost non-stop.
"You have a caller," Sister Marion said sweetly, trying to be gentle with the poor girl, who seemed to be falling apart completely, "He's here about your parents' home."
"Please," Lissette pleaded, begging to be left alone.
"Lissette," the Sister said sternly enough to get her attention, "You can't stay in bed forever. I know how much you loved your brother, and I know how much he meant to you, but you must go on. It's been months since your letter arrived, and you only sulk and cry. I'm worried. Now, if you let your father's house rot right under your nose, do you think Pierre would appreciate it? You need to talk to this man." Lissette, who was shocked by the care and motherly tone the woman was using, sat up in her bed, stood, and went into the bathroom.
"Tell him I'll be ten minutes," she said, closing the door behind her.
----
Lissette had half been expecting an old, decrepit man with bifocals sitting low on his nose, and a bald head, but was quite surprised when she found someone who seemed to be quite the contrary.
"Hello," the man said, his accent strange. His voice was deep and Lissette could feel her heart fluttering.
"Bonjour," she said sweetly, extending her hand. Something about this man was strange, yet familiar, almost like there was some kind of connection she didn't know about.
"Miss O'Brien," he started, "Your brother and I were great friends in the war. I need to speak with you about some things, is this an okay time?"
Lissette smiled thoughtfully at the mention of her brother before telling the officer that it was a fine time. She excused herself for a moment and ran back to her room.
"I needed to get my key," she said plainly.
"Oh," he said. Eventually, the pair formally introduced themselves, and Lissette allowed his name to roll off of her tongue a few times before she was completely comfortable.
"Adrian Caparzo," she said slowly. He grinned slyly and nodded.
"It's Italian," he informed.
"I see."
They stepped out of his government-issued automobile and Lissette felt sick as she trudged up the long path. They entered the cold, quiet house and Lissette's stomach churned.
"I feel sick," she announced, grabbing the doorjamb to brace herself.
"Whoa!" Adrian exclaimed, catching her as her body fell limp beneath her. He draped her legs over his strong arms and rushed her in the house, his survival instincts returning.
"Yes?" Lissette asked softly, her voice laced with emotion and the horrible lethargy from a very small amount of sleep. Her face seemed to have two permanent paths; carved from the rivers of tears she had been crying, almost non-stop.
"You have a caller," Sister Marion said sweetly, trying to be gentle with the poor girl, who seemed to be falling apart completely, "He's here about your parents' home."
"Please," Lissette pleaded, begging to be left alone.
"Lissette," the Sister said sternly enough to get her attention, "You can't stay in bed forever. I know how much you loved your brother, and I know how much he meant to you, but you must go on. It's been months since your letter arrived, and you only sulk and cry. I'm worried. Now, if you let your father's house rot right under your nose, do you think Pierre would appreciate it? You need to talk to this man." Lissette, who was shocked by the care and motherly tone the woman was using, sat up in her bed, stood, and went into the bathroom.
"Tell him I'll be ten minutes," she said, closing the door behind her.
----
Lissette had half been expecting an old, decrepit man with bifocals sitting low on his nose, and a bald head, but was quite surprised when she found someone who seemed to be quite the contrary.
"Hello," the man said, his accent strange. His voice was deep and Lissette could feel her heart fluttering.
"Bonjour," she said sweetly, extending her hand. Something about this man was strange, yet familiar, almost like there was some kind of connection she didn't know about.
"Miss O'Brien," he started, "Your brother and I were great friends in the war. I need to speak with you about some things, is this an okay time?"
Lissette smiled thoughtfully at the mention of her brother before telling the officer that it was a fine time. She excused herself for a moment and ran back to her room.
"I needed to get my key," she said plainly.
"Oh," he said. Eventually, the pair formally introduced themselves, and Lissette allowed his name to roll off of her tongue a few times before she was completely comfortable.
"Adrian Caparzo," she said slowly. He grinned slyly and nodded.
"It's Italian," he informed.
"I see."
They stepped out of his government-issued automobile and Lissette felt sick as she trudged up the long path. They entered the cold, quiet house and Lissette's stomach churned.
"I feel sick," she announced, grabbing the doorjamb to brace herself.
"Whoa!" Adrian exclaimed, catching her as her body fell limp beneath her. He draped her legs over his strong arms and rushed her in the house, his survival instincts returning.