City of Lights
Paris. It’s amazing how dark it can get. You’d think it would be a bright city, even at night, wouldn’t you? I suppose most of it is, but the back alleys of any city tend to be shady, even if they are in the City of Lights.
I don’t think Jenine knew quite what she was getting herself into when she ran away from home and decided to come to Paris. She’d always had big dreams of living in splendor, like the elegant ladies in the old tales of the French Court under Louis the Sun King. When she told me where she was living it hit me that maybe she’d never realized those days were long gone. The back streets of Paris are anything but splendid.
It was the year we both turned eighteen, and she’d been in Paris for nearly six months. I was at university, but she’d given up on a real education when she left home after graduating from high school. She’d finally convinced me to visit her and had given me directions from the airport.
I’d gotten a taxi to a restaurant, but I hadn’t been able to catch another after I’d eaten. On an impulse, I decided to walk rather than wait.
It was fine at first. It wasn’t too cold out, and, although it was overcast and a storm was predicted, the rain hadn’t started yet. It was close to one in the morning in Paris, but I was still on New York time; besides, I’d slept most of the time on the plane.
Then the streets started getting narrower and less well lit. There were fewer people. Then the temperature began dropping and the wind picked up.
I turned a corner and a gust of wind swept past me, tearing my map from my hands and nearly knocking me to the ground. I swore and chased after it down the ally, finally catching it when it flapped against an old phone booth.
I peeled the map from the glass wall, then jumped and nearly dropped it again when the phone started ringing.
I glanced around, expecting to see someone coming to answer the phone, but the ally was empty, at least from what I could see in the shadows.
The phone rang again.
If the phone rings, answer it! my mother’s voice sounded in my head. I don’t think she meant public phones, but still, I stepped into the booth automatically and lifted the phone from the rusty hook.
I placed it against my ear, and opened my mouth to greet the person on the other end.
“Bon soir, Mademoiselle Johnson.” The voice was light, male.
My jaw dropped. How did this person know my name?
“Bonjour, monsieur,” I managed to choke out.
“No need to sound so frightened, ma chère.” It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. He spoke English with only the slightest French accent.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” I demanded, not comforted in the least by his words.
“I am no one special, not yet, at any rate. But you must do something for me, chérie.” He couldn’t have been too old, but he wasn’t a child.
“How do you know my name?” I insisted, anger worming its way into my fear.
“I know much more than your name, Alicia,” his voice was smooth, almost silky.
My hand flew to my mouth, map and all.
“You needn’t be so flustered, mademoiselle,” he seemed to be enjoying himself.
“I’m not flustered!” I hissed.
The wind was blowing into the booth and the rain had started to fall. I wedged the door shut with some difficulty.
“Good idea,” he murmured approvingly. “You wouldn’t want to get that lovely blue coat wet.”
I twisted around, peering frantically into the darkness around the booth, but it was impossible to see more than a few feet away. “How do you know I shut the door? How do you know I’m wearing a blue coat?”
“I can see you, of course, chérie. But that is not important. You must do something for me.”
“Excuse me?” What an arrogant little bastard! The familiar fizz of anger that warmed my chilly face was minimizing my fear as the more aggressive emotion took over. It had always been easier for me to attack than defend.
“Get out of Paris.”
“What?”
“Leave Paris. Tonight.” It was clearly a command.
I blew up. “Why the hell should I?”
“Please, ma chère, leave the city. Get as far away as you can.”
“Why?” I repeated.
I heard what sounded like a sigh from the other end. “I wish you would trust me,” he whispered.
“I have no reason to trust you,” I snapped. “You’re some freak who seems to be stalking me. I don’t even know where you are.”
“If I tell you why, will you promise to leave the city?”
I hesitated a moment, shifting from foot to foot. It was getting chilly. “I will promise you nothing until I know what I’m promising, and why.”
He was silent for a moment.
I was suddenly very aware of the rain on the glass and the wind howling outside the little booth.
“Your friend, Mademoiselle Jenine, told me about you,” he said at last. “She is… very close to my brother. She has already left the city. He would have stayed, but I could not let him.” He sounded abruptly cool – almost cold. “There are several bombs planted around the city.”
I felt numb, suddenly, as if his voice had seeped through the phone line.
“They’re set to go off at dawn.”
“I have nowhere to go,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
There was a moment of silence.
The rain continued to beat against the booth, the wind whipping the little drops through the air.
Then…
“I will get you out. My brother promised Mademoiselle Jenine, and I promised him. Wait there.”
There was a click, and I let the phone fall from my fingers, almost paralyzed with shock.
It seemed like hours, but barely a heartbeat at the same time, before he appeared on the other side of the glass door. He had on a black greatcoat with its collar turned up and a hat pulled down low over his eyes. A bit of sandy hair peeped out from between hat and collar. He beckoned.
I forced my feet to move, pulling open the door and stepping out into the driving rain.
“Come, ma chère,” he murmured. He pulled me along after him.
I didn’t know where we were going, couldn’t even organize my thoughts enough to try.
The rain stopped, and still we hurried through the city, the streetlamps shining like silver on the slick pavement.
We left the city, moving out along the road, still at a half run.
The clouds parted as the eastern horizon turned pink and gold.
A muffled boom sounded behind us, followed by another, and another.
We turned, panting, and watched the clouds of smoke billow above the City of Lights.
A/N: To e-mail me (reviews etc.), click the link below.