The Followings of a Red Beret

Finding A Friend

The same monotonous routine starts up again today as well. Nurse comes in to change my IV, and glares at me because I am a bad, mean person. And it is too late to fix that. I've been raised this way, not knowing my behavior is wrong and cruel. A particular scene from my childhood comes to mind, an old man sitting on a nameless street in London. I was wearing my favorite dress, it was light pink, with ivory ruffles made of chantilly lace. I remember how nice the dress felt against my skin, I used to be able to sit for hours and stroke the silky satin. The old man, on the other hand, was wearing layers and layers of torn and dirty clothes, and he was wrapped up in an ancient, smelly sleeping bag to protect him from the cold. The contrast between us was huge. He crawled up to me, his hand shaking, asking me for money. At the time, I was astounded that he had the guts to come up to me and ask for money. Him, the lowest of commoners, and me, Elise DuCorbeau, for money. I kicked him in the shin and threw a burning jibe at him "Sea urchins should know their place!" Now, as I relive the memory, I am horrified that I could be so cruel and heartless. Why couldn't I see that he was desperate, that he didn't know where his next meal was coming from? How could I have done that? How? 

How?

The accusations my brain throws at itself start up a whirlwind of chaos in my head until I can't stand it anymore. Only sleep or scratching will help the emotions settle down, so I do just that, scratching until my wrists are raw and bleeding. Nurse thinks nothing of it, and no one else knows. My mom and dad are gone forever, and nobody visits me, except Mael, that jerk. Nurse Mia scolded me for shrieking at him, but she doesn't know, and she will never know what he did to me. I hate him so much.

That "accident" wasn't chance. The Yakuza couldn't have just happened to choose our car. There was no motivation for them to kill us. But if Mael paid them, it would all make sense. He was engaged to me, and always was courteous, no matter what I had said to him. Petra didn't trust him. And, on the day of the accident, Petra was transferred to Canada. Quelle coinkydink. He just wanted her out of the way. I suppose it's lucky that she wasn't killed as well. The bullet wound starts to ache as I wander through my memories. Oddly, I don't remember much pain when the bullet hit me. It just felt like someone had hit me, really hard. But then, instead of the pain slowly ebbing away, it just kept increasing, and radiated out from the center like the flavor of starburst radiates out on your tongue. I remember slowly looking down, and I was surprised to see a crimson rosette of blood bloom on my shirt. But then, piercing screams filtered into my consciousness, and I saw Father and Mother clutch at their sides. Two more crashes shatter the silence in the car, and blood splatters from Fathers mouth. He was shot through the throat. The next second, a bullet flies out of Mother's head, and a stream of the precious red liquid follows it, staining the seat, the windows, everything. I felt a scream rise to my throat, but nothing came out. I try to get up, but as I leave the seat, I fall forward, just a few inches shy of Mother's bleeding body. She had fallen forward out of her seat, and Father's head was tossed back, his eyes rolling madly. I want to help them, I need to help them, but a horrible paralysis is gripping my body. The scene in front of me seems to zoom out, the bodies and the seats grow tiny, then grow larger and are portrayed in sickening detail. Mother's skull has collapsed, a big chunk is missing, and her brain is showing, the light pink contrasting with the pooling blood. Fathers eyes roll back, and his hand stops twitching. His throat looks weirdly normal, with a small hole in it, but his shirt is stained with blood. The black suit is haphazardly open, and his arm is resting in his lap at an unnatural angle. Broken glass covers the floor. I slowly become aware of the screaming of the crowd and sirens. I want to get up, to scream for help, even though I know my parents are beyond this world. But the paralysis won't go away. I am locked in this same position, my cheek bathed in the spilled blood. I feel the vibrations as the car door is wrenched open, and hear the familiar voices of the Renards'. In my mind, I rejoice, because surely they are coming to help me, help my parents. But I am in for a rude awakening. The words passed between the two show that the accident was planned. Mr.Renard says "Gwendolyn in obviously dead, no one can survive that. But Malthus, I'm not sure of." He goes over and checks my fathers pulse. "Nope, dead as a doornail. Now the company is ours." Unnoticed by all, Mael snuck into the car, and now he kneels beside me, with a horrible expression twisting his usually pristine countenance. With a cold and cruel voice, he tells me "I told you your days were numbered, princess." After that, he walks out of the car to talk to the EMT's. Right after he walks out, I remember falling through darkness, and then nothing. Until the realizations started. I surface from the memories, and I feel myself sobbing as my vision blurs from the tears. Warmth drips onto my ice cold hands, and my body is racked with sobs. I want somebody, anybody to comfort me, to tell me its going to be ok, that this will stop someday, that this was all a nightmare. But no one comes. I'm alone with my thoughts and my favorite teddy bear. My bleeding wrists hurt, and the sobbing has aggravated the gunshot wound. Through a haze of tears, I push the button that will dispense more painkiller into my IV. After a few minutes, the pain begins ebbing away, but not the thoughts and emotions swirling around in my brain. But its ok. Today, I will be free from everything.