Chapter 11: Trust

"Thank you again, my dear; I always love company on the walk home."

"Welcome."

Mireille, carrying a sack of groceries, walked down the riverside with her neighbour, reflecting upon the water's surface.

"Too bad Miss Yuumura wasn't with you, as well; the more friends, the merrier, I always say."

Paper crinkled as her hands clutched at the sack. Her eyes narrowed, as if determined to plumb the river's dark depths.

"I haven't seen you in nearly a month, I think?"

"A month?" she said, taken aback.

"At least. And you left so suddenly, dear. We all missed you terribly, the Duceppes especially…'We'd prefer it if she'd stayed where we could see her,' was the way they put it, I think; they've such a strange way with words, don't they?"

"Only a month," said Mireille, to herself. "Feels like a lifetime."

"I tried to track you down for Toulouse's birthday," said Madame, not listening, "It's usually just the two of us, but, well, we thought, 'Why not?' But you were always out and about town, and we never did quite run into you. I do remember spotting you at Julie Julie, but, well, you seemed to be getting along so well with your Uncle that I —"

Mireille snatched her arm and spun her around so they were face-to-face. "How did you know that?" she hissed.

"Miss Bouquet!?" she exclaimed.

Her gaze was murderous, her grip steel. "I never told you about my uncle. How did you know we met? How?" she shouted.

"H-h-he came by the apartment, said he was your uncle, wanted your address!" said Madame, shaking. "And Julie Julie doesn't take phone reservations! Toulouse, he likes the soup there, and, and I saw you two in the corner!" She quailed, unable to meet her neighbour's fearsome eyes. "Please, you're hurting me!"

The words hung in the air. A few passer-bys looked on, curiously.

Three ragged breaths passed.

Slowly, like the blood from her face, the malice drained away, displaced by horror and dread. Her hand released its grip, and then crept towards her lips.

"Oh…god…I, I'm so…god, what have I…" She covered her face in both hands, letting her burden of goods fall away. She sank to the ground, her back against the railing.

Madame cradled her arm, her fear of her neighbour's burst of anger precariously balanced by her confusion on how quickly it had passed. Cautiously, she reached for the sack.

Seeing no reaction, she carefully dragged it towards her.

Slowly, knowing that she was treading on thin ice, she slinked over to her distraught neighbour's side, and settled earthward. "Miss Bouquet?" she whispered.

Was that a sob?

"Mireille? What is it, dear? What troubles you?"

It was not the cold, empty dark around her that caused her to tremble, but that which lay within.

She cursed, aimed, and fired at the distant circle on the wall. Repeatedly.

She didn't even have to look; the ricochets told her what she already knew.

Complete misses, all of them.

The striker clicked uselessly. "Damn!" She let the gun fall, and buried a fist into the implacable stone of the sewer wall. "Damn damn damn damn damn!"

"Stupid," she thought. "It's all so stupid. All this time, my worst enemy, my nemesis, the blackness that surrounds me, surrounds everything…I was a part of it. My parents…they died to save me from it, and they too were part of it. Even Claude, Claude, for heaven's sake." She wiped what she told herself was some dust from her eyes.

"And the one in the middle of it all, the one who swept me back to the past, like the hands on that damned watch of hers…the…the only one who'd understand…I sent her away. I told her to go…" She remembered her tears, how the trigger had trembled against her skin.

"I'm…alone again. All alone, in the dark."

A single drop plummeted from above, and disappeared into the black waters.

"Nothing," she whispered, her throat tight. "It's nothing. Nothing at all."

A slow sigh escaped Madame's lips. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. 'Nothing,' is it?" She sat down next to her. "That's the most complicated thing of all."

A dark ship passed over the horizon; an old dingy followed in its wake. Madame twirled two loose threads from her shawl between her fingers, just to pass the time.

"It's all messed up…" said a whisper.

Madame carried on, as before.

"It's all gone wrong." Mireille took a ragged breath. "You…you think you know how the world works. You think you know yourself. It's so simple: there's you, there's the job, and there's everybody else. You do the job, and the rest sorts itself out. And then…and then someone drops a heap of baggage at your feet, and expects you to do something about it. And whoosh! Down the rabbit hole you go, and heaven help you if you ever reach the bottom."

Madame settled into a more comfortable position.

She sighed. "We were…close. Very close, my Uncle Claude and I. Uncle? No…more than an uncle. A…big brother. A guide. A friend." Mireille took a breath. "He was always around the house when I was young. My father, he was always busy at something, and my brother was too young to do much of anything, so we'd hang out together all the time. We'd walk, we'd talk, ride horses over the fields. When we moved to Paris, away from home, I was so alone, so scared. He never left my side. He, he even read stories to me when I couldn't sleep. So many stories…he had this huge library in the house; I'd raid it every chance I'd get. And…and there was this lake, just north of Paris. Whenever I was feeling down, we'd go there for a visit." She looked to the heavens. "So quiet, so warm, so green there. The light, like rain, falling in sparkling motes through the branches. The soft grass, the cool, clear lake…you could see right to the bottom if the sun was right."

"When he showed up in town, after so long, I couldn't believe it. We got to talking, remembered all the good times…heh, he even said we might head up to the lake again. And then…" She laughed, sadly. "So much can change in an instant. One word, one look, and the mask falls away, and you're never prepared for what's beneath it."

"Something happened, then?" said Madame.

A few blossoms fluttered down from a hanging planter.

"He, ah, promised we'd go to the lake. But he…had to leave town suddenly. So, ah, we…didn't."

"Oh," said Madame, shaping the word carefully. "That was all, then?"

"…Yeah."

She nodded, knowingly. "Well, maybe next time he comes to town, then?"

"…Yeah," she whispered. "Next time…"

"A broken promise…it means a lot, doesn't it?"

"You think you know your friends," she said, passionately, "your family, your self…and then, then you don't. And there's no one you can turn to, no one you can trust. How can you, after something like that? How can you trust anyone anymore?"

"Oh, Mireille…" Madame reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"How can she trust me?" she thought.

She gently pushed the hand away. Madame let her, surprised.

"Madame?"

"Yes?"

"Can you make it back on your own?"

"Eh? Why, yes, yes I can. Toulouse fixed the wheel on the cart; of course, now the other one's acting up, but —"

She turned away from her. "I…I'd like some time alone."

Madame nodded, and loaded up her cart. She took three steps away, intentionally dragging her feet, as if expecting something.

Her neighbour rubbed her forehead.

Madame waited. "Um…"

"Alone," said Mireille. "Please."

"Ah. Right. Alone. Of course." She made to leave. "Ah, I guess I'll see you and Miss Yuumura in the park this weekend?"

She gave a full-body sigh, one that started at the heart and worked its way down, until every last life giving breath had passed, leaving only a hollow shell. "I…don't think so, Madame."

"Next weekend, then?" Hope radiated from her every feature.

"…I can't…anymore…"

A chill wind blew between the two of them.

Madame took one, last, look at her, that sad shape huddled by the riverside, turned, and walked away.