Maiah and Jean sat outside the apartment and looked out at the same moon that Antonio had gazed at while he drove away. Rain had soaked both of them, inside and out. Jean sighed as he remembered the look of horror on Mireille's face as she had told the cops about the brawl that he had started. It had frightened him to see her looking that sad. Where was that light that he had told her about, the one that he had said would always return, even if it left for a time. When was his light going to return? Would it ever return to him, or would he be left to wallow pitifully in the shadows of his own mind?
"I don't think that we'll work out anymore," Maiah said all of a sudden. "You're so wrapped up in your own thoughts lately, Jean, and I'm over being jealous. Go back to Mirielle and explain or stay here, it's your choice, but last night I figured that we're better off as friends. She needs you now more than I ever will, Jean, so maybe you should go to her. You can't hide forever, and if anyone is going to strike at Mireille, they're going to do it now, while she's still hurting." The truth hit hard, and Jean knew that Maiah was speaking from her deeply affectionate heart.
"I'll go," he said finally, "and Mireille will have someone to lean on."
As he drove away in Maiah's car, Jean smiled at the thought of seeing Mireille again. Her melodious voice might have been soiled by bitterness, though. If so, he wanted to start anew, without the guilt of the past on his shoulders. Thoughts flew around in his mind that had become so reflective as of late. He wished to feel her body pressed against his once again, to hear her telling him of the hopes and fears that had filled her heart, the one that she couldn't show to Kirika, the one that only Jean had seen. Suddenly, he stopped when he saw a young woman standing in front of the old Renault.
Getting out of the older car, he looked the girl up and down. She was dressed in an outfit of solid black, and her vividly red hair hung down her back in a long, thick plait. "What are you here for?" he asked, recognizing her from the attack. "If you have anything worthwhile to say, then say it now, while I'm still listening." She smiled at Jean's courage and stepped closer to him, laying a comforting hand on his tensed shoulder.
"I followed Altena in her days of life," she said. "And I came to tell you that Antonio plans to offer himself as a lamb on the altar, a lamb that will atone for the sins of House Ammoure. But you....you cannot be with Mireille, my friend. Her poor heart is clouded with bitterness, and you must let her live through this on her own."
"Why?" Jean asked, his temper rising. "Mireille needs my help, and my negligence would only tear us apart."
"She is a flower of death," the redhead said solemnly, "one that is meant to be with friends yet always alone. Only her one friend, the other half of Noir, can possibly offer her any real comfort. Leave her, Jean Mieuret, and you can move on with your life. Unless, of course, you prefer the alternative? As you've always known, I am the angel of death that came to you in your dreams. If you leave, then I will allow you to keep your life. I know you, Jean, and I know your lust, but it will take you....nowhere..." Jean growled as she fell dead, dead from his own bullet. No angel of death was to tell him to stay away from Mireille when she needed him most. Yet he picked up the body and laid it in the trunk of his car, so that he could give the girl a proper burial.
He drove on, knowing in his heart that Mireille would be happy to see him, happy to see a friendly face returning to an old acquaintance. Everything became more joyful as he slowly came closer to the small Parisian apartment. There he would find the solace necessary to restore his shattered life to what it once was, and it was there that he intended to live out the rest of his life. If that didn't work out, well, he'd go from there, but that was his original plan. Maiah would be a valuable friend, but somehow he felt that Mireille would be a wonderful wife, the one person who would begin to heal the scars of his past, from both the old and the recent.
Finally, he reached the apartment building and heaved a sigh as he climbed out of Maiah's Renault. The entire place looked deserted, and the rain gave the already cold air a frigid chill. In little more than seconds, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was soaked to his skin. It was as if the rain of his bitter past was trying to drag him down, down, down into the pits of Hell where he seemed to belong. But he continued on and eventually knocked on the door to Mireille's apartment. "Come in," called a remorseful voice, one that could barely be heard above the patter of raindrops sounding from an opened door. Disregarding it, he turned the knob and walked in to see Mireille, her face stained from recently-shed tears, her eyes sunken from a lack of sleep. When he walked in, she drew a gun out from under the pool table, rage flaring up in every part of her entire being. "What do you want from me?" she asked furiously, stepping forward a couple paces.
Jean threw up his hands in desperation, stepping back as she came forward. "I only wanted to come back, Mireille," he said helplessly, looking around the room. Even if she did shoot him, he knew that he deserved it, and would have no regrets. "All I wanted to say to you is that I'm sorry. I know that I was out of line at the cafe, and I won't even try to make excuses for what I did. Just listen to me this one last time if you're planning on pulling that trigger. I love you, Mireille, and I never loved anyone like I love you now. Just forgive me for that one sin of hurting you. Rather than leave my spirit restless, just find it in your heart to forgive one sin of mine." She stood there, shocked at his speech. Before, she had been angry because of his brutal display at the cafe, and she had been scared of him becoming a maniac. But now...now she felt a new trust rising in her heart. It was that same trust that she had felt for him before, the trust that had driven her to open up to him.