It was a foggy Friday evening, silver mist engulfing the city of London like a lion devouring its prey. There were no stars, no moon to light his way, yet he knew his way from memory. He remembered the route perfectly, even after all this time. All these years of faded memories and half-memorized conversations, but this was the most important of all. This was the one thing he had forced himself to remember. The route to Eleanor Lime's world-amous bakery.

But when he arrived, he stopped short. This couldn't be the place, surely. When he had left, Eleanor's business was booming. Now, the sign was cracked and faded. The door was rickety, and it seemed as though the place were completely deserted. He hesiated for a moment, taking a deep and shaky breath before pushing on the door. The heavy door swung open with a haunting creak, the small silver bell tinkling melodiously.

A middle-aged woman with skin as white as snow and hair as wild and red as a raging fire stared up at him, wide, suken eyes dull yet excited.

"A CUSTOMER!"

She was very excited now, rushing to his side and pulling him into a chair.

"Afternoon - emmm...evening - Sir! What can I get you?"
"Eleanor?"

It just slipped out.

He covered his mouth, cursing his impulse. She fixed him with a questioning glance, her eyes then growing wide as she looked at him, really looked at him.

She knew those eyes, those unforgettable onyx eyes. She knew those lips, those lips she had dreamed so many a time of kissing. She knew this man.

"Ben?"
He nodded, slowly. She let out a startled gasp, then enveloped him in what was quite possibly the tightest hug in the history of hugs. Seriously, it was Guiness World Record Book worthy, as was this moment.

"You've so changed!" she breathed in awe, studying his features. "What did they do to you down there in bloody Australia or whatever?"
"Where's Lauralie?"

The words came out a choked whisper. Eleanor drew back, face paling even more if that was possible. She bit down on her pouty lower lip, eyes dark with worry

"Oh, love..."
"Where is she?" he growled gruffly, gripping her firmly by the shoulders. He was once again surprised at his impulsive, and somewhat mad, behaviour, but that did not prompt him enough to release her. Oh no. He needed answers.

"She poisoned herself..."

"WHAT?

What?
How?
When?
Where
WHAT?

"She...she drank cleaning liquid..."

What?
How?
When
Where?
WHAT?

"I tried to stop her! Really, I did, I did! But...she wouldn't listenn to me, and...and - "
A strange feeling overwhelmed him. Anger. He raised a hand to slap her, but quickly decided against it. He gritted his teeth, glaring at her. He could see how scared she was, how terrified he was. Some part of him ached to wrap her in a comforting embrace and tell her that he did not blame her, while another part of him wanted to rip her head off, right then and there.

"Fifteen years..." he snarled dangerously. "Fifteen years sweating in a living hell on a trumped-up charge, dreaming o the day whe my Lauralie would welcome me home with open arms, and you tell me THIS!"

"Well what do you want me to do? Lie?"
He stopped, breathing havily.

"There was nothing I could do! I tried to stop her! I told her she was being ridiculous! BUt she wouldn't listen to me!"

A long silence hung uneasily in the air.

Neither spoke,

neither moved,

neither even dared to breathe.

It was though time itsel had stopped still.

Finally, the man broke the silence.

"What happened? What happened to my beautiful Lauralie? And where is my Belladonna?"