The Red Nights Of France

April 2, 2012
By MainstreamFiction BRONZE, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
MainstreamFiction BRONZE, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Dôs moi pâ stô, kaì tàn gân kīnā́sō." ("Give me somewhere to stand, and I will move the earth.") - Archimedes

It was a dark and stormy night when I walked up the steps of the eerie, ivy covered mansion. I had just inherited it from my great-great grandfather who had died three months earlier. The coroner says he died of a heart attack, but I know someone murdered him. Why wouldn't they? He was the richest man in all of France. He was also high up on the popularity scale, what with being a close, personal friend to the Queen of England. I took out the key I had in my purse. It was sent to me in the mail with a vague letter saying "You'll know when to use this." I slid the key into the hole in the door and sure enough it opened. The inside smelled like rotten meat, and I had to hold my breath just to keep from gagging. I set my bags down in the foyer and looked around for a light source. Over on the far wall I saw a switch. I flicked on the switch and the lights came on. The first thing I noticed was the blood. I gasped in fear. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. "Oh my god" was the only thing I was capable of thinking. I was looking at the east wall. It had writing on it. Blood writing. It said “You’re next Liz." This person knows my name, but how does he know it? I wasn't aware that my mouth was gaping until I could taste the decay. I shut it with an audible snap. The rest of the night was a blur. I do remember pulling out my cell phone and dialing 911. I stayed in a hotel that night, afraid of whoever is after me. When morning came, I gathered up the courage to go back to the mansion. The police were still there, and I asked them who was murdered. "Jacques Fransuare, mademoiselle." a handsome policeman said in the cutest french accent. Jacques Fransuare, My great-great granddad’s assistant. I read up on his life history. I may not have known him, but he certainly knew me. "Are you Liz?" Another detective came up to me, this one with an american accent. "Yes I am. Liz Martin." I held my hand out for each of them to shake. “We would like to place patrolmen around the exterior and in the interior of the house." "Thanks Detective......." "Taylor" "...Detective Taylor, but I'll stay at a hotel if you don't mind." Detective Taylor gave me an exasperated look. "Miss Martin, you are missing the point. You are in danger, and as long as you're in danger you will be staying at the mansion with patrolmen watching the area. No one will get in or out of the house without our permission." I hadn't noticed the handsome detective was gone until he suddenly reappeared and whispered something in Detective Taylor's ear. Then he turned his gaze on me. It's the first time I actually saw his face. He had a downright gorgeous jaw line, with some stubble. It looked like he hadn't shaven in a day or two. His eyes were a smoldering shade of jade, with long eyelashes to match. His lips were full, pink and turned up into a smile. That's when I realized he had caught me staring at him. "I am Detective Du-Bois. It's nice to meet you." "You too." "May we talk down at the station?" "You could talk to me here." I didn't know why, but it sounded as if he wanted to interrogate me. It must have been the nerves. After the police talked to me, for several hours I might add, I went to a local coffeehouse and ate. Suddenly, I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. I twirled around to see a young couple staring and pointing at me. I was tempted to walk over there and ask what their problem was when they called my order. There was a booth in the back that was empty. I walked over, sat down and ate my lunch quietly. When there was no food left to consume, I went shopping. I bought a new blouse and some cute Gucci shoes. I drove up to the mansion around eleven at night, surprised to see there was another car already in the driveway. He found me. I was terrified. The killer found me. My breath was shallow and my hands were slick with sweat as they tightened their grip on the steering wheel. I felt like I might pass out. He was getting out of the car then, and when I saw his face, I sighed loudly with relief. It was Detective Du-Bois. Worry and concern were plain on his face. I was able to relax enough to pry my hands from the wheel and get out of the car. "Are you alright, Miss Martin?" He asked gently. "I'm fine. You just scared me to death. I thought you were him." I replied. "I, um, we won't let him touch you. You're safe." "I feel safe now that you're here." I smiled a little cute smile, hoping it would get his attention. It did, and he blushed. "Do you need help with your bags?" "I would like that. Thank you" I unlocked the back door and he got my shopping bags for me. He is so cute. I couldn't help but think that. He was cute after all. He walked me to the door. I got my keys out and opened it for him. He set the bags down on the couch then walked back outside. "Goodnight." I told him. I was so tired I just wanted to get rid of him so I started to walk inside.He spun me around and kissed me. "Goodnight." He whispered. "Look, I really am scared about whoever is after me. Could you spend the night tonight?" I was nervous, asking a cop to spend the night with me. Wasn't it against the rules? "Alright." he finally answered me. "But we will only sleep." "Sounds good to me." I was relieved. I would be safe, at least for tonight. It was well after midnight and I was tired. He said he would sleep on the couch, but I told him that I would feel safer if he slept in the bed with me. He reluctantly agreed, and soon we were both asleep. When I woke up, I was on the floor. I slowly got up and went into the kitchen. I got a towel to wipe off the knife, then went back into the room, and started to clean up. My eyes were on him, Detective Du-Bois, as I cleaned his blood from the room. As I was cleaning, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I straightened up, and looked at my bloody clothes. The clothes that were soaked with his blood. I still had the knife in my hands, and with that I squared my shoulders, looked myself in the eyes, and gave myself a knowing smile.

The End

The author's comments:
This piece started out being a cliche story I was writing a couple of summers ago, and it just turned into this.

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