Papillon

Chapter 38: Red

Francis

Blood dripped to the floor.

All I could see was red.

That, and the screens Moreau had placed all around me, forcing me to stare at. I didn't know how much time had passed since I first walked into this house and I only knew because the grandfather clock in the hall dinged on the hour.

On the screen, was Mama.

Moreau had his people doll her up the way he did for years, making her look like the quintessential wife. Her hair was flawless, makeup slathered on her face, and she was dressed in a fancy dress for the morning show they were going to be guests on. Though she looked beautiful, she didn't look like her. Mama was simple, she was happy in simple clothes with a clean face because that was how she grew up. She didn't know a life of luxury and quite frankly, she didn't need it. Mama could find happiness in everything.

Moreau, on the other hand, was beaming, his hand on Mama's back as he posed for pictures with her on the red carpet.

Mama smiled glamorously but only I could see the pain bleeding through her eyes. When Mama was sad, her eyes became darker. As if she put up a shield against the world. For the nine years we lived with Moreau, Mama was a fixture at his side.

Because she was beautiful.

Because she was intelligent.

Because she was the only thing in his life that was good.

"Where have you been all these years, Mrs. Moreau?" A journalist asked in French.

Mama smiled softly, though her hand clenched at her title. Legally, she was still married to the man but in every other way, she couldn't be tethered to him at all.

"Unfortunately, my health has been terrible for a long time. I spent the last few years seeing different doctors and therapists to help me."

Moreau pressed a tense hand on Mama's back. As if on instinct, she continued reciting of her pre-rehearsed script.

"Alex has been so good to me," she said, placing a trembling hand on his chest. "He's made sure I'm seeing all the experts and kept me from the public eye to heal without the speculation."

"Ah," Moreau cooed. "Anything for my beloved wife."

Lights. Camera. Action.

"These years have been difficult," Moreau sighed. "Without my wife by my side, I've been so lost. I've been utterly devastated. She's my strength, you see. She's taught me what it's like to be brave, to be strong."

Moreau brushed a strand of hair from Mama's face and every bone in my body tensed. I screamed, lashing out at the screen.

All that happened was that one of Moreau's men lashed a whip across my back three times, until I was able to keep my mouth shut and not cry out in pain. I was light-headed and dizzy, still suspended from the ceiling.

Over the last six hours, Moreau's men had come up with more creative ways to torture me.

Spikes under my nails.

Hot coals under my feet so I had to use all my strength to stay off the ground.

Waterboarding for a full minute.

The pain was only too familiar, the feeling too real.

Blood spilled out of my mouth, a mixture of saliva and tears smearing all over my chest.

I trained my ears back to the end of Moreau's little speech. "...But, I'm so glad my wife is here with me today. She makes everything better and I do love her so."