Tête-à-Tête

3. Heart to Heart

"A grey veil has fallen over my spirit and I no longer believe in anything. This lack of faith at times makes life very wearisome to me and makes me all the more desire the completest solitude, to give me what I want, which is rest."
– Giuseppina Verdi, 1874

~~~~

It rained most of that day and continued until well into the night, the damp grayness settling over the city and muting the bright gilt halls of the Paris Opera.

Sometimes Odette would hear a far-off peal of laughter or see a flash of red from the edge of her eyes, just startling enough to momentarily snap her from her stupor. Then she would close her eyes, take a deep breath, and press those thoughts and feelings deep inside so she wouldn't think of anything- not of Félicie, or her home, or Mérante... she couldn't think of it. Not yet.

The day passed in a numb haze and she wasn't consciously aware of walking back from the theatre that night- all she recalled was the rain running cold down her neck, and the nausea that worsened the closer she went to her apartment. There was no moonlight piercing the thick clouds; it was truly dark when she passed the gate to Le Haut's building, with neither streetlight nor lamplight to guide her.

As she stepped past the threshold of her home a shudder ran down her spine- something was wrong. Even hidden in the darkness everything was... off. She tripped over unseen objects on the floor as she fumbled for a candle and match- they weren't where she had left them- why? Finally the match flared and settled, revealing her ransacked apartment, everything thrown about the floor, her things scattered everywhere.

She clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream and nearly dropping the candle in her shaking hands. Someone must have broken in- maybe they were still there! Hardly daring to make a sound, she stumbled back through the open door and saw Mme. Le Haut walking towards her through a thin gray curtain of rain, smiling.

"Good evening, Odette." Mme. Le Haut said, voice pouring out like poisoned wine.

Odette stopped in her tracks, still clutching the candle that hissed and died, leaving only Le Haut's covered lamp to see each other by. Barely moving, she glanced back at her home, cold realization settling on her.

"What happened?" She managed to say, afraid of the answer.

"I had to make sure you hadn't taken anything that wasn't yours. You know I don't trust sneaking, lying little rats." Her simpering smile ground into a sneer. "You will leave these premises by morning. If you're not gone by then I'll have the police arrest you for trespassing, is that clear?"

Odette couldn't speak, could barely breathe...

"Answer me!" Le Haut shouted.

"...Yes, Madame." Odette murmured, her hands balled into fists to stop them from shaking.

"You should be thanking me for not calling the police already. After today I never want to see your face again." Le Haut said with a disdainful sniff and turned away with a whirl of her skirts.

"Wait!" Odette cried, taking a half step towards her. "Please, where did they take Félicie?"

Le Haut didn't even bother to face her. "She's not your concern anymore."

"Just tell me if she's safe, please..."

"Safe enough, I would think." She said with her thin, poison-wine laugh before she shut the door with a harsh finality.

Odette was alone. Again.

She felt a familiar sickening swoop in her stomach at the thought, and a hot burning in her eyes that she once again held back. Not now, God, not now. Don't think about it...