Prologue

Chinese New Year '2000

First night at home… for what, weeks? Maybe that's why she couldn't sleep, she had started feeling home at the hospital. And those beds turned out way comfier than she expected….

After yet another visit to the bathroom she dragged exhausted feet to the window and leaned on the frame. She didn't need light, the night was bright enough. Because of the tall hedge the ground floor didn't offer much of a view other than the silent early spring snowfall, but she didn't mind. She didn't even miss the spacious bedroom and their king size bed. With a smile she took a peek at the half open door of the guest room, just… just in case, to make sure this was not another dream. Then her attention returned to the window.

This was not a dream.

All she needed and cared for in this world was in the small ground floor bedroom. Almost all.

She held her arms tight and her mind drifted to the past year and ahalf.

As if it was yesterday when she started preparing for her assignment to Mexico. The morning she returned to Sloanville felt like it had happened hours ago. She had planned to go back home in China when she was done, but Fate had something else in mind.

It was surreal.

Tired eyes started closing but she resisted. She giggled, still not completely believing the dreamlike events that had changed hers... and the lives of so many. Instinctively she checked her ring finger again… just in case.

And there she was now, living a profoundly different life, in her home in Sloanville, having an actual… family; God, a large one, too! Where did all these people come from? The same place – Loneliness City. Family, such a grand word. Few letters that held an entire world. Few letters, as a rule appreciated chiefly by those that never beheld them.

She shuddered. Having got used to happiness too easy, last weeks' events caught her off guard. When her world nearly shattered she was brutally reminded how fragile paradise was. Now, after the struggle to accept the unacceptable, the fight to forgive herself, there she was, back home, adjusting, yet again... to happiness.

She was about to break down again when she heard the gentle rolling of a wheelchair…

X

February '99

Henry DuJeanne was a nervous man, not by disposition, but as a result of his current state of affairs. He had married a visibly docile woman, who despite her mental issues easily agreed with his ideas, and yet she somehow always managed to do just what she wanted. But considering her being his ticket to riches and an elevated social status, he had surprised even himself with just how much he was willing to put up with.

Henry was currently trying to protect them both from impending evil, and he couldn't figure out whether his wife still wanted to escape or had finally decided to give up. He had bought them a house in a village that was not even on the map, he took care of every detail that proved they've ever been in Paris, and despite all of this she kept coming back, always to one specific little (and very smelly!) shop.

'This will be the last time I'm dealing with you.'

'It isn't up to me, monsieur.'

'She is not to step here again, you understand?'

'I can't stop her.'

'Well, you'll find a way!'

Henry never understood his wife's interest in that place. It had nothing but dried weeds and old furniture. He even suspected she might be having an affair with the owner.

He was just getting caught in the heat of the moment when the door opened and an odd looking stranger got in. The angry man sneered at the archaic looking oddball and returned his attention to the shop owner.

'I'm warning you! My wife is not welcome here any more!'

The man shrugged.

'And I'm telling you it's not up to me who comes to my shop and who doesn't.'

Henry hit the desk with his fist and fled out, demonstratively shoving the newcomer on his way out.

'Is everything alright?'

'Ah, Monsieur… Yes, yes, everything is alright. This man, he… he has many problems.'

'But he threatened you.'

'Nah, he's done it before, nothing to worry about.'

Mr Clarette carefully took three paper bags.

'There they are, just as your father asked. Took me a whole night to sort them.'

'We are both very grateful. Is it difficult to find these herbs?'

'Sometimes it is, but my family has been doing this for hundreds of years, we know where to look. They're just so rare that very few people know of them… and I have so many kinds here, as you can see.'

'Yes. Again, I am grateful. I believe this should be enough for several months at least….Mr Clarette?'

'...I'm sorry… I got thinking of Mrs DuJeanne.'

'Who?'

'Ehm, the wife of the imbecile who just left. Such a kind, lovely woman, I don't understand what she's doing with this man, she has implied several times that she fears him.'

'If she needs help…'

'I know, I've thought of you many times. I'll keep you in mind.'

'Does she come here often?'

'Quite so, yes, especially after they closed café La Lune. Every time she comes here she tries a different tea, you know that our teas…'

'…are the finest in the whole of Paris, yes, I know. …Tell me… did you mean the café in the park across the main road?'

'Yes, yes, with a lovely view to the Eiffel Tower. It's some useless boutique now, Dior or the like.'

'And you say that this Mrs DuJeanne used to go there often?'

'But of course, she was there every day from Monday to Friday at 4 o'clock sharp, she had become the symbol of La Lune, tourists were even taking pictures with her. …Such a lovely woman…'

Clarette's customer felt his body slowly turn cold. He reached in his satchel but together with his hand-woven wallet a piece of paper fell on the counter.

'Oh, you dropped this…'

'Thank you.' Then he stopped. '…You know… This photo has been taken at that same café, perhaps the lady you mentioned might help me find this woman…'

Mr Clarette didn't even need to look closely.

'Hehe, that won't be necessary, that's her!'

'Her?'

'Yes, here, that's her, that's Mrs DuJeanne!'

XXXX