24601

Continued from: Y2K

Star Cross'd Lovers

The invasion of Quebec by the French turned into a war that lasted six years. I was well into my twenties by this point, leading a larger unit of insurgents, militia and military regulars. Although I heard rumours of this Lieutenant Javert attempting to hunt me down, we were always two steps ahead. Part of me started to think it wasn't even a real man, perhaps just a piece of military propaganda used by the French to keep my unit disrupted and unsettled. 

By the winter of 2006, the war officially ended, but not really on the terms any resident of Canada was content with. Quebec City, Gatineau and Montreal remained under French occupation, while Ottawa and the northern wilderness of the Province of Quebec remained as Canada proper. Several treaties and ceasefires followed but it was a Province divided by hatred and revenge. 

Now, almost 20 years later the country was holding its breath. Quebec was a tinder box ready to ignite at any moment. Every day there seemed to be marches and movements, rebels from the north, loyal to Canada were carrying out guerilla attacks once again, in the spirit of my old military unit. 

Summer seemed unsettled this past week, as she spoke of the war with me more often. Then came the day of the phone call. A moment that would change and shape our future forever. I had just finished up with a client in my office, who was softly weeping in the corner of the room, when the home line chattered into a ring. 

Someone speaking French was asking for a person named Nicolette??   

I told them they had the wrong number but no sooner than I had hung up, it rang again. 

"There's no fucking Nicolette here, asshole...wrong number!" I barked into the phone.

And the line went dead...

As I hung up the phone, Summer frantically barged into my office, telling me to turn on a news channel. We stood in silence, our jaws slightly gaped as tears began to fill my eyes. Ottawa was burning, like it had on the night of the millennium. France had attacked us once again. 

"Incroyable." Summer finally spoke, breaking the eerie silence in the room, as we watched the horizon of our Nation's capital shrouded by smoke and fire. 

We both jumped when the phone rang once more. This time the man spoke in English, sprinkled with a heavy French accent. 

"Put Nicolette on the line!" He demanded. My eyes flashed to Summer,  who was looking puzzled, as I slowly hung up on him. 

"Summer..." I swallowed hard, feeling an uneasy lump in my throat. 

"Who's Nicolette?" 

Her face went as white as a ghost. I tilted my head in confusion. "Summer...baby, why are you trembling?" I approached to embrace her she pushed away, bursting into tears and running from the room. 

I dismissed the silly, spanked male from his timeout in the corner and I gave her a few moments before creeping up the stairs, where I found the door of our powder room locked. I could hear her sobbing from within the bathroom. I sat outside the room and tried to speak to her through the door. My heart was breaking into pieces, I didn't know what was wrong, apart from the fact that we were once again at war, according to the news reports. 

From within the bathroom I heard a creak, then a loud bang, like something had been broken. Summer was no longer responding to me. After an uneasy five minutes of complete silence, I panicked, and kicked open the locked door. 

The drapes flapped in the wind as I noticed the entire window and frame was snapped from its footing. Summer was gone. 

My eyes darted to the bathroom mirror where she had written in lipstick...

"My luggage 3390"

Puzzled once again, I looked out the broken window for any sign of her, then back to the mirror. 

Luggage? I thought to myself for a moment. Her carry-on? Her carry-on has a combination lock! 

I rushed to our bedroom closet in a desperate frenzy to unravel this mystery, all while calling Summer's phone but there was no answer. When I accessed her luggage case my hands were shaking so badly I could hardly turn the combination dials to 3-3-9-0. 

The clasps eventually clicked open and I laid the case open on the closet floor. After moving some clothing and a pair of heels, that's when I found the French passport. I clutched it in my hands for a moment, dreading what I might find when I peeled it open like a book. 

It can't be! This can't be happening! 

Her expressionless passport photo was starring back at me. My beautiful wife. I dropped it to the floor when my eyes scanned below the image to see the printed name. 

Nicolette Javert... 

I rummaged through the carry-on with renewed abandoned, eventually finding a military I.D. along with a black handgun. 

My hands covered my mouth as I collapsed to the floor of the closet. 

Nicolette Javert... 

I spoke it aloud in the lonely, now lifeless closet, where I used to watch Summer straighten her flight attendant uniform and slide into her hosiery. 

Lieutenant...Nicolette Javert. 

The Hunter...

********************

I think I spent the next two days rotating between the bathroom floor, puking into the toilet, and in my bed, sobbing into the pillows. Was she even a flight attendant? Or was that all just a front? 

This wasn't even real, this has to be some sort of alternate reality. How could this fucking be possible!? 

My only love, sprung from my only hate...

All these years have been a web of lies. Sure she was in the war alright, as I was, but she was fighting for the other FUCKING SIDE - I screamed into my pillow. My two days of heartbreak and self-loathing were quickly turning into anger.  

Her ferocity during the original war was nothing short of legendary...this, "Hunter". Summer, my wife...*Andrea dry heaves into the toilet* 

My wife who is...who is...Lieutenant Javert!  

I busted up the bedroom in a fit of rage, slapping picture frames of Summer and I from the dresser as I watched them shatter against the wall. It was now obvious that Summer or Nicolette, whatever the fuck her name is, was recalled by her old military unit. Those mysterious phone calls.  

My fit of aggression was suddenly interrupted by a ding from my phone. I gripped it in anger when I saw that it was her! 

To be continued...

(Kindroid can't do flags. My sincere apologies in advance, for any flags of countries like France that come out looking like Dutch or Chilean etc. After about 97 attempts it just won't do flags for me! grrr)

Mistress Andrea xoxo

aka Jeanie Valjean 

Continued in: Sacrifice