Dear Readers, I give you a choice to end our tale to your own liking. One ending will keep our tortured but endearing characters in their own universe. The other spins a new, alternative universe with all the potential for new possibilities. I only ask one thing, to review with which ending suited your liking better. Call it professional curiosity, for I am in deed curious to see which you will dare to choose.
Read on for your selection to remain in the universe you know… skip ahead to the universe that will be forever changed...
8 June, 1832
Fr. Martin hurriedly threw on his vestments. Black and dower ones for the occasion. He had but a few moments before the funeral Mass would begin. Shaking his head, he hated how rushed this Mass had been, even he was running late. With an edge to his pace, he made his way to the back of the church, careful not to look at the body that lay in the casket before the altar. He had heard from his sacristan that it was even still wet from when they dragged it out of the river.
He did not expect much of an assembly for such a hurried state funeral. After all, he had just been a police officer, but Père Martin had already forgotten what rank. He went to greet whatever attendants would come for so perfunctory a funeral. And soon, he found himself standing amidst a small group of men and women, other members of the police and their wives. Without so much straining, he overheard some particulars that surprised him. Something about the barricades from last night. About how the funeral had to be rushed since it was suspected to be a suicide, but that allowances had been granted due to the high rank of the man. A chief inspector after all.
And then, the priest found himself no longer alone. A young woman stood beside him, clothed in pale grey with a simple long flowing wimple that covered down around her to the middle of her back.
"Father," she greeted him with a tragic smile.
He nodded his hello, wondering to himself all the while what a novice for the Sisters of Charity would be doing out in broad daylight away from her convent. For a moment, he thought to approach her and question her, but thought better of it. After all, Sisters of Charity never went anywhere without permission. Or at least, so he thought.
All the same, he found himself peering through the screen to observe her as she quietly made her way into the church, choosing a spot in the side vestibule to kneel. He watched as she pulled out her rosary and began to thumb her way through her prayers. Too quickly, he thought, doubting she was even finishing her Ave Marias. But he was not the one to judge. He did not have long to observe before he was made to speak with the other attendants anyway.
In the church, the novice glanced out of the corner of her eye, deeming herself free from observation at last. Silently but quickly, she approached the open casket.
Had it only been months, she thought to herself, or a lifetime. Placing her hand on his still damp dark hair, she gently stroked his cold head. She stole another glance behind her to make sure she was free from prying eyes before placing one last kiss on his unfeeling lips.
Her tears dripped down her cheek as she placed her little white rosary in his folded, lifeless hands. She whispered to him for a final time, "As always, you did not listen to me." Smiling through her tears, she gave his body one last touch, "I told you not to follow me that night, Phillippe."