Felicite Found

by Julia King

  “I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be good for you.” The doctor stood and took a seat on her chair again.

  “All right.” Félicité shrugged. “Well, I think you have helped me today. I’ve remembered something. Not something good but at least it is something, right?”

  “Yes, you’ve come a long way, Félicité. I know you will pull through this. Be brave and all will work out in the end. One day, this Anton will be caught, and justice will come to him through the right source: the police.” Doctor Garnier smiled. “I think this session has been mind-opening for you. If you feel you need to come back, please do. But I think you are on your way to remembering.”

  The doctor pulled Félicité into a hug. “You’ll get past this and the pain of what happened to you, too. You’ll remember your past, the good parts and the bad parts. Don’t be afraid to remember the bad ones,” she said as she escorted her out of the office to the waiting Madame Rose.

  Félicité mused over the session with Doctor Garnier as she and Madame Rose traveled home. She didn’t even realize that she zoomed underground using the metro again for being so deep in her thoughts. Somehow remembering more about Anton would help her recall her identity. Yet, it frightened her to delve any further into that part of her life. It must have been bad, maybe even worse than she thought to make her want to die.

  But, that was what happened: she attempted to kill herself twice; all because of Anton who had robbed her of happiness. Happiness she hoped to regain with Pierre. A smile formed on her face from thinking about the new love of her life. She could make it through anything—even remembering her terrible past—with him by her side.

  Claire

  Early one morning, Félicité was enduring some abuse inflicted by Anton when Claire walked in on her being shoved into the barn wall. Claire’s hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes were wide. She crept toward Félicité but not making it there.

  “Claire, leave her alone, this is between her and me. It always has been.” Anton stepped in her way. “She does not deserve anything but what she will get from me for the rest of her life.”

  “Come on, child. He will never treat you this way ever again. I will take this up with Monsieur Martin because he is the head of the family. He will make things right.” Claire narrowed her eyes at Anton and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Now, get out of my way you beastly man.” Claire skirted along the perimeter of the barn well out of his reach.

  “You will do no such thing,” Anton said in a booming, harsh voice. “I will not allow it. Martin may be the man of this house because father and mother died, but I am more powerful than him. I assure you, you will be dead before your words ever reach his ears.” Anton stepped closer to Claire, pointing his finger at her. “I warn you Claire, you had better be an obedient woman like this trash here.” He nodded toward Félicité. “You better tell no one about this little misunderstanding. If you do, she will die, and you will have to live with the fact that you were the one who killed her. Her blood will be on your hands. Mark my words, old woman.” He left the barn, slamming the door behind him.

  Claire embraced Félicité as she cried. “You cry this out, dearest. I am so sorry. How long has this been happening?”

  Félicité stammered for words, “I . . . almost two years.” She told Claire everything from the night he invited her to meet him at the stables to the moment that Claire had found him abusing her just minutes before. “I am so glad someone else knows, now.”

  “Oh, dear child; if I had only known, I would have branded a whip at that evil man. I am so sorry that you have dealt with this all alone.”

  For the next while, Claire rocked Félicité back and forth. When they decided to leave, she helped the young girl to her feet. With resolution, together they marched toward the châteaux to take this matter up with Monsieur Martin. He had always been the kinder of the two brothers and would have to take a stand against his younger brother.

  As they made their way up the stairs from the kitchen to the foyer, they heard a noise from below. They turned their heads to see Anton—mere steps away—glaring at them with a wicked grin. In that moment, a hand clamped around her waist; the other arm wrapped around Claire, her mouth covered by Anton’s large hand.

  Anton dragged them back to the barn. Claire kicked, but her screams were muffled by his hand. When the barn door shut, Anton knocked Claire to her knees and drew out a cloth from his pocket, tying it around her mouth. Félicité rammed all of her body weight into him. The blow caused his knees to buckle, which Félicité hoped would give Claire time to escape. But the older woman wasn’t quick enough.

  Anton recovered and rose to his feet. He shot a deadly look at both women with an evil as Satan smile. “You think I cannot handle two women at once. Oh, I can.” He chuckled to himself as he paced around the room. Claire didn’t move, not even to remove the cloth from her mouth. “I will give you both exactly what you deserve. Félicité, come here.” Anton patted his thigh as if beckoning a dog to his side. He grabbed one of the ropes that lay on the dusty floor and knotted it into a loop and then threw it over one of the barn’s beams. “Place the noose over Claire’s neck and tighten it.” With tears streaming down her cheeks, she inched toward Claire. His orders were obeyed as he slouched against the barn door. “Good, now grab that rope on the floor by Claire’s feet. I need you to tie it securely around her hands behind her back.” Hardly able to see, Félicité picked up the rope and wrapped it around the wrinkled and callused hands of a good woman.

  “Since you have been such a good girl, go pick up the stool behind you.” Again, she did as she was told. “Place it in front of Claire.”

  “I am sorry, Claire. Please, forgive me.” Félicité stared up at her surrogate mother, wanting nothing more than to save her from Anton. A smile tugged at Claire’s lips, but the cloth around her mouth prevented it from showing fully.

  “Claire, step onto the stool.” She stood her ground, only shook her head as her body trembled. “Now!” He took hold of the rope that was looped around the beam and tugged at it hard. She had no choice but to step up.

  He adjusted the ropes slack until there was no more rope to tighten and then he tied the rope to a rung on one of the support columns. Claire gazed at Félicité with pleading eyes, brimming with tears. Claire wasn’t crying for herself and her imminent death, but most likely for Félicité. She would be unable to free her beloved daughter from the awful hands of the man standing before them.

  “Please, do not do this, Anton. Please, please, please,” she entreated her tormentor. “I will do anything you want just do not do this. She does not need to be a part of this. It is me that you have always wanted. Please, let her go. I beg you.”

  She stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck and then proceeded to kiss him with passion. Her hands found their place in his hair. He drew her in close, melting into her lips. His hands pressed roughly at her back, making her wince.

  What seemed like an eternity later, he broke free of the kiss and thrust Félicité into the wall. “You are going nowhere, Félicité. I know you will never discuss our dealings, but this woman.” He pointed at the trembling Claire. “Will not keep her mouth shut as you have. Although, I did enjoy your passable attempt to save your dear friend.” He licked his lower lip. “But I will not allow her to live.”

  “Anton, if you love me or if you ever did, I beg you, please let Claire go.” Félicité shook, almost unable to stand. Her heart pounded in her chest as her throat swelled with tears about to spill from her eyes.

  “No, Mademoiselle. No.” He made his way to Claire, circling her. Félicité fell to his feet, sobbing and pleading. He kicked her in the shoulder until she recoiled away. Anton only stared at Claire with disgust in his eyes.

  “People who are hanged are offered their last words, but as for you, Claire, I will not give you the satisfaction. You, like her.” He pointed at Félicité. “Do not deserve any last words.”

  Through Clai
re’s tears, she took one more look at him and yelled through the cloth tied around her mouth. Her muffled words echoed throughout the barn. “You will not get away with hurting Félicité or murdering me. Mark my words, you will not.”

  He cocked his head to the side and smirked before he kicked the stool out from under Claire’s feet. She struggled and flailed around trying to save herself, but died a minute later, killed at the hands of a filthy monster.

  “Félicité, untie the rope from around her hands and remove the cloth from her mouth. We need to make this look like she did it to herself.” Once again, Anton was obeyed. Félicité threw up after completing the task. Anton only laughed as she was hunched over, heaving up nothing.

  Félicité woke up screaming at the top of her lungs. Pierre rushed to her side. “Félicité, it’s me, Pierre. I’m here.” He cradled her in his arms.

  She was unaware of her surroundings—lost and confused. All she could see was Claire’s lifeless body hanging in the barn. “Pierre, why did he do it? Why, Pierre? Why?”

  A desperate rapping on the door took Pierre away from her side for only a moment. Madame Rose peered into the flat, eyes wide open and flashing from side to side. “What is going on in here?” she squeaked out, holding a knife upright in her shaking hand.

  “Everything’s okay, I think,” Pierre said as he made his way back over to Félicité to soothe her. He sat and held her tight. She wouldn’t stop crying and muttering incoherent phrases. She gripped Pierre’s shirt with one hand and with the other the key necklace that Madame Rose had given her.

  The old woman shut the door and entered the small room, sitting on the other side of Félicité. They both attempted to soothe the young girl until she stopped crying. Pierre kept on eyeing Madame Rose as if she would know exactly what to do in this situation. The old woman only shrugged and continued to brush her hand through Félicité’s hair.

  After about five minutes, Félicité settled down and was quiet. She wouldn’t say or do anything but stare at the television as if she had been transported to another world far, far away from Pierre.

  Real World

  Félicité came to as Pierre wildly shook her back and forth. “We need to take her to the hospital.”

  “Pierre, what are you doing?” A pounding headache slammed full force behind her eyes, causing her to wince.

  “What am I doing?” he yelled. He pulled her toward him and hugged her roughly as though he would never let her go again. “I was watching the girl I love drift away from me. That’s what I was doing.”

  “What happened, Pierre? Are you mad at me? Madame Rose, what are you doing here? And why am I wet?” Félicité’s hand brushed her damp face and blouse.

  “Pierre, perhaps you should let her go,” Madame Rose suggested. Pierre did as he was told, backing away. He pulled up a chair from the kitchen table and placed it directly in front of her, banging it into the coffee table, sending puzzle pieces scattering to the floor. He reached out and squeezed her hand, massaging it with his thumb.

  Madame Rose continued calmly, “That’s better. Félicité you have been unresponsive for the past half hour. We couldn’t get you to move, talk, or hear us. We tried everything to make you come back to us, but it didn’t work. We thought that splashing you with water would help; it did nothing. Pierre arrived home a while ago and found you asleep on the couch.” As Madame Rose spoke, Pierre stared—hardly blinking—at Félicité. “Minutes later, you woke up screaming. I heard you all the way across the hall.” Madame Rose directed her hand toward her flat.

  “Of course, I ran over to make sure everything was all right. All you did was rock back and forth and mutter nonsense. After that you just froze. We were scared—actually terrified is probably a better word for it. And dear, Pierre isn’t mad at you. Right?” Madame Rose pierced Pierre straight through with a threatening stare. All he could do was nod in agreement. “Now that you know what happened, you need to tell us what happened to you?”

  Félicité pulled her thoughts together, even though it brought stabbing pains to her heart. Telling of the abuse she bore, she found herself explaining the dream about Claire and her brutal death. She fell quiet again, deep in thought of the man who had abused her so many times and how she had to bear it silently for all those years. The worst part about Claire’s death: that Anton used it against her to keep her quiet. If she said anything about how he treated her, she would end up dying of the same cruel death.

  Félicité almost gagged with the taste of stomach acid invading her throat. Her fingers traced her neck where the rope burn had faded from her skin. She wondered if Anton had done that to her. Maybe she hadn’t tried to kill herself. Perhaps, he had done this to her. But then why had he let her live? He didn’t seem like the type of person not to finish what he had started.

  “Félicité come back. Don’t leave me again,” Pierre said, anguish in his voice. “What’re you thinking?”

  She shook her head to clear her still throbbing mind. “I am trying to pull my thoughts together.”

  “Please, what can I do?” Pierre’s poor face turned pale, and his brow knit like deep, furrowing canyons.

  “I do not know, but I will be fine.” Maybe she should let Pierre go until she figured out her mess of a life; she dismissed the thought immediately, though. Being so deeply in love with him, she knew she couldn’t bear being away from him like that.

  “Positive?” He let her hand go and sat erect.

  “Yes,” she said not quite believing it herself.

  “Promise me that you are?” he asked again; this time an edge to his voice.

  “Pierre, the dreams—my life, it scares me a lot. I do not like what happened to me or . . . who I was.” For the first time, she fully started to grasp the oddity of her past. It didn’t make sense—none at all.

  His face flamed red. “I wish I could get my hands on whoever this Anton loser is. He’d pay for what he did to you.” He stood and paced the room, hitting his fist against the palm of his other hand.

  Cold flashed over Félicité, and her muscles tensed as she watched Pierre acting so out of character. She automatically changed the subject. “Madame Rose is having all of us over for dinner. Is not that nice of her?” Pierre continued to pace as she babbled on, knowing very well her words weren’t piercing his ears.

  “Pierre, come sit down.” She patted the couch cushion.

  He shook his head and ambled over, landing hard on the couch. A huge humph exploding from his mouth. His face was still as red as a pepper.

  “Can you please do something for me?”

  “What?” Pierre inhaled a deep breath and then raked his fingers back through his hair disheveled hair.

  “Can you forget about Anton? I have forgiven him—”

  “What? You have forgiven him?”

  “Yes. It’s in the past, and I want to be in the present now.”

  “It will be hard because . . .” He threw off his coat, tossing it across the room. “Because he messed with the girl I just happen to love.” He wrapped Félicité in his arms. She moved his face toward hers and kissed his lips.

  Madame Rose cleared her throat. Pierre and Félicité’s kiss ended abruptly; they both jumped apart, not touching anymore. They looked anywhere but at the elderly woman.

  “Um . . . I’ll see you both in half an hour, then. Don’t be late. Your mom will be home soon, right?”

  “Yeah,” Pierre answered as Madame Rose stood and shuffled across the room, picked up the knife that lay on the table, and left.

  “I think that Madame Rose is about to put you in her will, don’t you think?”

  “I think so.” She slid into his arms. Safety rushed over her body for the first time since she had come home from the psychologist.

  “I’m here for you always. You know that, right?” Pierre tucked Félicité under his arm. Her tense muscles loosened like a rope unraveling its threads.

  “I know. Thanks.” She smiled as her headache faded into nothing.
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  After a while of them enjoying each other’s company in silence, Pierre twisted around to face Félicité. He gazed into her eyes and said with a mischievous smirk on his face, “We should probably get going or else that little old lady will never forgive us. But I think she can wait a little longer, don’t you?”

  “What for?”

  An eager expression painted itself handsomely on his face. He leaned in until his lips reached hers. Their mouths moved gracefully. Pierre picked Félicité up with ease, placing her on his lap. His arms wrapped around her small frame. Her left arm found its home around his shoulder and the other framed his strong jaw line. He played with the long curls that cascaded down her back. They could’ve kissed for hours and not felt as though any time had passed. It would’ve been treason to steal this moment away from them.

  Unfortunately, Madame Rose came knocking on the door. “Where are you two? And whatever is distracting you from my home-cooked meal can wait until later.”

  They reluctantly parted lips, both taking in a deep breath.

  Pierre whispered in Félicité’s ear, “I love having you here.”

  “I love it, too.”

  And then Anton’s harsh face flashed into her mind, replacing Pierre’s kind one. She shuddered. The beautiful moment was ruined by the face of a murderer.

  Impossible

  Félicité dozed restlessly for most of the night. She woke up many times wondering where Pierre was, but remembered he slept in the other room; his snores thundering through the shut door.

  Between moments of wakefulness, she dreamt. All of her dreams made no sense—all blurred faces that screamed for mercy, begged to be left alone and offered peace from the hell there were trapped in.

  Extreme agitation—mind muddled with thoughts of her past—overtook her each time she woke up from the repetitive dreams. She thought a bath would help her unwind.