Life to Live

Solaire barely felt the blade pushing through his flesh, breaking-tearing-shredding its way through. He didn’t feel any pain.

It was like feeling a syringe enter your arm. Mild discomfort, but quite bearable. Then the syringe was pulled out rather roughly, tearing more flesh on the way out and spattering the floor with scarlet.

And then he felt the strangest sensation. He felt his body falling forward, a useless sack of flesh and blood encasing a skeleton frame.

But he wasn’t falling with it.

He stared forward, at his body lying unconscious on the ground, bleeding away on the wooden floor.

“Arianne,” Janus said, “now I’m going to have to clean that mess up. You need to be more careful.”

She nodded silently. Tears were already running down her cheeks, tears for the love of her life and death, whom she was forced to kill.

Solaire was watching the scene in amazement and more than a little perplexity. Could they see him?

Janus sighed, shaking his head. “Poor soul. At least the girl won’t die, not right now, at least.”

Arianne nodded, her face buried in her hands. Solaire could hear her breathing coming in short gasps; she was crying.

Just like the woman in the other room was crying.

Solaire straightened up suddenly. He had to do something.

Comfort Arianne or the woman?

“Arianne,” he said, speaking aloud. She didn’t respond or move at all.

He turned to look at Janus, who was now picking up the body. Janus retrieved from his cloak a miniature white glass knife, which he waved over the blood spots that had soaked the floor. The blood vanished, leaving no sign that someone had bled out his life there.

“Janus?”

Janus stood up, carrying Solaire’s body. He didn’t give any sign that he’d heard Solaire.

Could they really not hear him?

Solaire strode over to the bed, looking down at the little girl asleep in her bed. The little girl’s breathing, though labored and difficult, was mostly even, save for the occasional little cough.

He reached out and touched her face, wondering if he was nothing to everyone forever.

She tensed under his touch. He drew his hand away cautiously, and watched as she shifted, turning over in her bed, still asleep.

When Solaire looked up, he discovered both Arianne and Janus frozen, staring not at him, but at the little girl.

“Why did she move?” Arianne breathed, in a hushed voice. “Did she sense us?”

“No,” Janus whispered under his breath. “I think there is something else in the room with us.”

They both slowly turned their gazes from the girl to the left of her.

Solaire stood at her right side. Clearly they had no idea where he was.

He decided now was a good time to leave, though it pained him to leave Arianne like this in her moment of grief. Quietly, he slipped out of the room and stood in the hallway, wondering where to go.

A fresh outbreak of crying from the other side of the house decided for him. He set off in the direction of the piteous sobbing, towards the grieving mother, grieving for her daughter whom she thought dying, having no idea how narrowly her daughter had escaped death only a few minutes before.

He hadn’t stopped to look at himself, see if he was a ghost or not, to see what had changed with him. He simply went forward to his goal.

Following the sounds of sorrow, Solaire found the room easily enough. The woman didn’t look up as he quietly pushed the creaky door open, entering the room and closing it softly behind him. He wondered if she could even tell at all that the door had opened.

Looking up, he glanced at the woman and took in the image before him. She was about thirty-two years of age, with long soft black hair flowing around her, untied, falling down her back. Her head was buried in her hands in an obvious but unsuccessful attempt to muffle her sobs, though it did obscure the details of her face. She wore a thin robe that was untied, revealing just slightly the violet nightgown underneath. She was seated on a bed with sheets just as threadbare as those covering her daughter across the house.

Solaire slowly crept forward, wondering if she could see or hear him at all. She didn’t move as he advanced, her only movement being her shoulders shaking as she wept.

He stood right before her, gazing down at her for a long moment, wondering what to do.

“My sweet child,” she whispered suddenly, startling him, “my sweet little Aline, I don’t want to lose you, I don’t. Why is God taking you away from me before my eyes? Why?”

And then he knew what to do.