|Write, Edit, Publish at Denise Covey's site|
Parts 1 and 2 are summarized, Part 3 is New
Take Me Away - Part 1, Beginnings
As I gaze at the Seine River from the Pont D'Iena, I don't regret what I have done. My past life is gone forever. My family, my work, all gone. I wish the river would take me away too, but I have a few things to do first.
In this, my new beginning, I burned the letters which would incriminate others. They were worth a fortune. But there is one more, an important one. The Paris letter is hidden in the lower levels of the Louvre, in one of the statues in Antiquity.
I know which one. . .
(for full original post click on title)
Part 2 - Louvre Antiquities Letter: The April Fool
I looked at the charcoal grey envelope in my hand held close, as if I might lose it. This was my freedom letter, my payoff. The last thread of my old life. . . before they kidnapped my sister. The envelope had been exactly where I was told to find it, in a cleverly concealed narrow crevice in the back of the Sekhmet statue. Perhaps the Egyptians had passed missives that way too.
As I sit waiting in the private train compartment at the Gare St. Lazare, my thoughts are interrupted by the rumble of the engines, the ringing of the bells and blowing of the whistles, interwoven with the slightly oily smell and the hissing of the air brakes. I close my eyes to shut out the noise and drift into a short nap, finding myself back in that dimly lit hallway of an older apartment building. . .
. . .I'm walking down the corridor. . .I hear small noises like talking, I'm almost there, get ready, release the safety, secure grip, push door, throw in a smoke device. It lands between them on the bed. This man killed my sister. They turn as one, I aim and fire, intent only on accuracy. Snick! Smoke is filling the room. No witnesses. Aim. Snick! Keep moving fast. . . Focus. Remove silencer, empty chambers, get out of the building. Into the car and on the road.
I live in Paris now, maybe a long time, maybe not. Yesterday, I went to the old cafe in the Marais. I sat at a different table the first time after the surgery and they treated me as if I were a new customer. On the second visit to the Cafe Louis Phillippe, I sat at my old table, but none of the waiters working now had been here five years ago.
(full original post click on title above)
|Paris - Cafe Louis Phillippe, by DG Hudson|
Part 3 - Changing Faces: What Now?
I've been transformed, given a new lease on life, but the inside me is still the same. The voice is slightly smoky now, an effect achieved by fraying the vocal cords minutely. . .all part of the Changing Faces deluxe identity package.
Changing faces gives me freedom, protects my identity and may even give me cover. I've cut all the ties to my previous life, so I've closed any way of them tracing me. No forwarding addresses are sent out and I've moved a few times.
I can't communicate with anyone, relative or not. I need to blend into the centuries old buildings that survive in Paris. They said disappear. I plan to, including disappearing from them too. Never trust those who want you to disappear.
It will take a long time for the fear to recede. I will stare at those who look similar to the ones responsible. One day, I may get my revenge on all of them. Or not. I don't know how I'll feel about it once I feel settled. But will I ever feel safe?
|Paris - the Eiffel Tower, Seine River, Bridges and Lampposts by DG Hudson|
My name is now Lise, although that isn't my birth name. I'm sitting at a table for two at the Resto Med, a cozy family owned café at 77 rue St Louis, Île Saint Louis, one of the islands in the Seine.
I saw an old and dear friend come in and my heart jumped, but he walked right past, even though he looked directly at me. He saw my face, and my eyes, which are colored by opaque contacts. There was no sign of recognition. He looked no different, just a slight graying at the temples, and now he wears a neatly trimmed mustache. He was a lover at one time. After he was gone, my mood changed. I was not 'me' anymore. That fact had just been slammed home.
In the mirror, I see a face with no flaws, a mannequin face. No one warned me about the psychological implications of morphing into a different shell. C'est la vie! It is done. I will try to wear this skin as if I was born with it. A sip of wine and a perfectly seasoned curried chicken on rice will help me to soothe my woes.
My new life begins today. From now on, I live for me.
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http://www.yelp.com/biz/cafe-med-paris-2 Images on Yelp of the Resto Med. ( I didn't get a photo when we were there)