LES DÉSCENDANTS

~Chapter 17: Le passé, Le présent et l'Avenir de Jean Prouvaire~

Take her back.

Jehan's words echoed in my ears. Where he wanted me to end up, or what he wanted me to see, I did not know.

It turned out that back meant way back, to Marseille. I found myself in a dark alleyway and heard shouts echoing from the next street over.

One of those shouts was the voice of my br- of Jehan Prouvaire. I had to start correcting myself on that, but if I thought of it too much, it would bring with it too much pain.

"Stay away from here. Clear out of here. I should kill you right now," I heard Jehan shouting at someone.

Jehan rarely shouted.

My hands trembling slightly, I peered around the corner. Jehan was holding a pistol, poised and ready, pointing it at a shadowy figure dressed in what I recognized as the Marseille officer's uniform. Jehan stood between the figure and a small child on the ground, maybe around three years of age. The child had one hand out, reaching for Jehan, and as I mimed this own action with my own hand, I realized that I was viewing a memory from my earliest moments of life.

The child was me.

"Now get away from us. Leave us alone, and let me do my job," said Jehan, pressing further, his hand toying on the trigger. "You've lost your chance. You've chosen the wrong side, and you've lost."

The shadowy figure took one step toward Jehan, and hissed, "No. It is you who have lost. For she bears witness, and she now knows who her real family is." And he drew himself to his full height, looked just past Jehan, and right into my eyes. "She's already turned on you."

I saw myself reflected back in the figure's brown eyes and short black hair, and it was as if an electric force had struck my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut and lightning bolts forked across my vision. I heard a gunshot ring out, the officer's low voice give a shout, and a young girl's voice cry out.

I, too, cried out, and then the world was spinning around me, and I was no longer in Marseille.

Jehan had just shot my brother.

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I opened my eyes, and I was back in Paris, in a dark closet, surrounded by articles of clothing that I recognized to belong to Jehan Prouvaire.

I peered out through a crack in the door and saw Prouvaire pacing the floor. "She's here, Montparnasse, she's here. She was at the rally and she recognized me; now she's off to speak to Enjolras and I don't have much time. I don't have any time to prepare, and I don't know how to tell her..."

"You worry too much, amour," a smooth silky voice spoke softly. "You've prepared for...centuries...for this moment."

"You don't know of what you're speaking; she called me brother at the rally today; am I supposed to lead her on? Continue living the lie? Let's face it, mon cher, I'm a coward. I'm hiding here in the past; I was always on the run since..." His face scrunched, holding back tears, and he was unable to continue.

"You're acting as if you have that boy's blood on your hands," said the strange voice of velvet. The voice paused. "Not to worry...that's my job." The sound of something whizzing through the air was heard, and I watched as Jehan caught a small knife quite effortlessly in his hand, by its handle, as if he was used to doing so, as if this stranger often taunted him with weapons.

"STOP this foolish behavior."

"You were getting distracted, dearest."

"Never mind that; I might have just as well murdered him."