Chapter Twenty Four

The Truth

For a few moments, all she could do was sit in the bed. She'd pulled her pyjama pants up around her knee to stare at her shin, but there was only a silvery white circle there where the wound had once been. It didn't even look like any gunshot wound she'd seen, and it was almost hard to remember how much it had hurt.

Her chest felt hollow, and so did her stomach.

She swung her legs out of bed, her eyes darting around the room. How had she even got back here? How was she in her pyjamas? She shook her head, like a dog trying to shake water from his fur.

She stood on shaking legs. She remembered leaving the book of Aeschylus plays on her desk, wedged between a pile of textbooks and one of her notebooks.

But it wasn't there. There was only an empty space where it should have been.

Frantically, she searched her bag, but couldn't find it in there, either; she tore apart her desk, searched all the drawers, even looked in her wardrobe and in her sink. She found herself barrelling through the flat, searching the kitchen and the toilet and even the shower. She couldn't find the book anywhere.

She hadn't realised how loud she was being until she found Noémi, Pauline, Sophie and Élodie in her doorway, all looking incredibly sleepy. "Whilst I'm glad you're alive, Clementine, do you really need to wake us up at six o'clock in the morning again?" Pauline drawled.

"Again?" Clementine put her hands to her head. "What do you mean, again?"

"Yesterday morning," Noémi said. "There was a loud banging noise outside and we found you collapsed outside…"

"You're lucky we didn't call an ambulance," Sophie said. "Were you on drugs or something? Because that's why we didn't."

"You…You put me to bed," Clementine said. Her hands were shaking. "Did – did any of you find my book?"

They were all silent, and looked at each other. "What book?" Élodie said.

"My book of Aeschylus plays," Clementine said.

"Wow, what the hell did you take last night?" Sophie wrinkled her nose. "Whatever it was, I'd like to try some." She wandered off down the corridor, yawning.

"You leant it to me last week," Noémi said, slowly. "I was writing that essay and you said I could use it. I didn't realise you wanted it back so badly…" She turned around and disappeared into her room.

Pauline touched Clementine's arm. "I'm glad you're all right," she said. "We'd all agreed if you weren't awake this morning we'd call someone."

"Thanks," Clementine muttered, wondering why on earth she would have leant Jehan's book to Noémi. It was her book and it was old and private…

Noémi returned, holding a book in her hand. "Is this it?"

It wasn't it. This book was a fairly new paperback.

"No," she said, pressing her hand to her forehead. "No, that's not it. I mean my old one – you know – brown leather – falling apart? Really old?"

The three girls remaining in her doorway exchanged glances. "I don't remember you having a book like that," Noémi said, slowly.

"Yes, yes you do," Clementine snapped. "You used to hide it! Because you didn't like it, you thought I was obsessed and that it was unhealthy –"

"Unhealthy," Pauline echoed. "Yeah, I'm definitely seeing that."

"Maybe we should call an ambulance," Élodie whispered.

Clementine backed away from them. She grabbed her boots from where she'd flung them whilst searching her wardrobe and shoved them on her feet. "I have to go," she said.

"Clementine, it's six in the morning," Noémi said, exasperated. "Where could you possibly be going?"

"The fortune teller's!" Clementine threw over her shoulder, pushing past them and darting down the corridor.

None of them stopped her.

III

Although the sign on the door said it was closed, the fortune teller's door was unlocked. She went straight through to the back, where she found Margaux sat at the polished table, elbows on the surface and fingers linked together. She wore white, today, and diamonds glittered at her throat.

"You're in your pyjamas," Margaux observed.

Clementine flung herself into the chair opposite her. "Did it work?" she asked. "Did he survive?"

A few heartbeats passed, and then Margaux bowed her head. "He did. He lived."

Clementine let out a sigh of relief. "That's why I couldn't find the book, isn't it?" she said. "Because he lived?"

Margaux shrugged. "If you like."

"So, what now?" Clementine said, feeling excited. "Will he come to live here, with me, or…?"

Margaux raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Clementine frowned. "How will we be together?"

"Together?" Margaux echoed. "You won't."

Clementine felt like her stomach had dropped out of her body. "I – what? But – he's – he's the one, that's what we agreed!"

"No, you said he was the one," Margaux said. "I said that the matter concerned you finding the one and that making you happy. Now, you haven't found the one yet, but –"

"What do you mean?" Clementine's face felt very hot and she felt like slapping Margaux across the face. "What do you mean, I haven't found the one? Jehan -!"

"Isn't the one for you," Margaux said. "He never was. I know you love him and everything, but he's not the man for you and he never has been."

"So why would you let me think that?" She was so furious she was finding it hard to speak. "How – why? I don't…"

"You needed Jean Prouvaire to survive so you could be happy," Margaux said.

"Yes, with him," Clementine spat.

"No, not with him," Margaux said calmly. "Not with him. If Jean Prouvaire died, he never marries and never has children, and in turn, you never meet his great-great…I can't be bothered counting them all now, but let's just say, you never meet his great-grandson."

"His – his grandson?" Clementine blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, Clementine, I can't spell it out any clearer," Margaux sighed with a roll of her eyes. "You will be happy when you meet the love of your life who just so happens to be Jean Prouvaire's descendant. Now, there was a blip, a mistake in fate's working, that meant that Jean Prouvaire died on the barricades. That shouldn't have happened, as you know. But by involving you in the situation, Jean Prouvaire was not there to be captured and executed, and went on to marry and have lots of babies with his wife, lived to be old and died happy, and now you, in 2013, are going to meet his descendant, his great-grandson, who will make you just as happy. I can't tell you if lots of babies will be involved, because that wouldn't be fair, but…" She winked at Clementine. "There might just be!"

Clementine stared down at the tabletop. She pressed her hands to her face. "This can't be true."

There were a few moments of silence, and then she said, "I am sorry, Clementine."

Clementine whipped her head up. "What are you apologising for, in particular?" she snarled. "Letting me think he was the one, or letting me fall in love with him?"

"Both," Margaux said. "But you have to understand. It was necessary. It had to be done, to make sure that fate –"

Before she could say anything else, Clementine had reached across the table and struck Margaux across the face. Then she jumped to her feet and ran out of the building.

A/N: I'm sorry! I know a lot of you will absolutely hate me for this but when I started coming up with ideas for this story this was one that came up immediately and refused to go away. I hate myself a little bit, so it's fine. Only two more chapters to go.