Disclaimer: Berusaiyu no Bara & all characters © ® All Rights Reserved Ikeda
Productions 1972-1973, Tokyo Movie Shinsha Co. 1979-1980.
Except faux Oscar
Part 4: Shattered Pieces of a Mirror
by Aria (crune@coqui.net)
He woke up to feel a cool wet cloth on his face.
"Grandma?" he asked.
"Shush," she answered, "It's your own fault, you realize."
"What is?"
"That you're sick."
He opened his eyes then and sat up. "I'm not sick, Grandma".
"Then why did you faint like a girl during the trial?"
The trial...Andre closed his eyes. He failed her; the sadness
threatened to overtake him. No, he thought, not now. Instead he tried to feel
anger--the blackest hate towards the murderer. It was easy and empowering...
"Andre!"
His eyes snapped open.
"For goodness' sake boy, you *say* you're not sick."
"I'm not sick, how long have I been here?" he smiled.
"Could have fooled me," she replied, "You've been sleeping since
yesterday noon. There's no way you could have slept that much if you weren't
sick."
"No, I mean it Grandma. I probably fainted before because of the lack
of air."
"Hmm," was all she said.
"I'm okay."
"Well since you're fine, you wouldn't mind going to the stable..."
***
Andre, in fact, didn't mind going to the stable at all. Working with
animals always relaxed him. In particular he had a fondness for horses.
"Andre," he heard a quiet voice behind him.
He tensed.
"Andre, I-I-I want you to listen to me."
What a good actress. Oscar would have stammered that way if she had
come to apologize. She was always awkward with emotions. Andre didn't even
turn to look at the impostor.
"I just...wanted to say how sorry I am. I shouldn't have said what I
said the night before yesterday."
Oh, that line about him getting in the way. He shrugged mentally.
Like it mattered, he thought dismissively, Oscar didn't say it.
"Are you going to talk to me again?"
No, never--not even when I tear out your heart and feed it to you,
murderous bitch. He only wished he could have said it.
"C'mon Andre..."
If she touches me I'll break her arm, he promised silently. The only
thing that held him at arm's length from her was the fact that anyone could
see them.
She made no move to touch him.
Her tone grew cold. "Fine, have it that way Andre. Go ahead and act
like a child." She left.
Andre looked at his hands and realized they were trembling.
***
The days melted to a week. It felt like an eternity to him.
It seemed to Andre that there was a stone in his chest made up of
pent-up sadness and fury. Some days he thought it would kill him to keep it
all in. It was like bleeding slowly to death.
No one knew that Oscar had died.
No one knew that the murderer lived with them and took Oscar's place.
He felt terribly alone. His only comfort seemed to be his dreams.
He'd dream of Oscar and him. Before...when they were children.
He dreamed of long ago when they were playing near a river and Oscar
had fallen. They current would take her away...he had jumped and held on to
her hand. It had been difficult, but he pulled her out. They had been
exhausted afterwards and lay side by side looking up at the sky. Oscar had
turned on her side.
"Thanks," she said and had promptly fallen asleep. Like a log. He had
to carry her home...
Not all his dreams with Oscar were pleasant. One time he had dreamt
of her as she died. As the impostor shot her. She had an expression of
sadness that broke Andre's heart.
"Why didn't you save me?" she had said in a broken voice. "I...
counted on you. I...trusted you. You let me down Andre. I didn't think you'd
ever let me down."
Then tears, shinning like diamonds would run down her face. And she
looked beautiful, like a saint.
There would be nothing he could say then other than "I'm sorry," but
it wouldn't be enough. And her warm tears would somehow flow down his cheeks.
Andre would wake up with moisture dripping from his eyes and be surprised. He'd
promised to himself that there would be no tears from him until he had
vengeance. Only then could he afford the luxury of pain. He'd weep then for
both Oscar and himself.
But only then.
Not that he planned extensively. Andre knew somehow that when the
time came the impostor would die--it didn't matter if he had to do it with
his bare hands, but he also knew that the time wasn't right just then.
He busied himself studying the girl carefully. Little by little, he
became conscious of the small details that made the girl different from Oscar
--her hair was a bit darker, her eyes were a lighter blue, her smile had a
sharp edge to it. Yet she was the same height and build as Oscar and knew
most of her mannerisms, which made the impostor indistinguishable from her now
that she was...gone. It was no wonder that everyone was convinced.
The week passed and Oscar's birthday was approaching. It became
excruciating to watch the impostor walk around as if she was Oscar. It was
even more painful to watch Grandma prepare a party in her honor. That was
too much. On so many occasions he had been close to telling her what he knew,
each time he lost his nerve. The girl probably had hidden the ring she had
stolen; she wouldn't be stupid enough to have it with her. All his
accusations wouldn't even have been considered, the girl was too good.
That's when he came to a decision.
She would die that night.
The day before Oscar's birthday. The day before Oscar had begun her
life sixteen years ago, she would end hers.
He could only call it a sign of fate.
***
Andre let himself quietly inside her room. Only two candles were
lighted, leaving the room in semi-darkness. He could still see her bed, her
bookshelves...
The impostor's back was towards him as she looked out the window. In
the light of the candles, he almost thought she was Oscar. He shook his head,
trying to dispel the thought.
He reflected, instead, if she'd have time to scream before he slit
her throat.
But would it be of any consequence if anyone heard? He thought. He
would be found guilty of murder and probably be executed for it. He didn't
care. Living without Oscar was pure misery, death couldn't possibly be worse.
"Hello Andre," she said when she turned around without any surprise.
"Something on your mind?" she asked and noticed the dagger in his
right hand. "Oh, you've come for your revenge," she said casually.
She sat on the bed and crossed her legs. "By all means go ahead, I
won't stop you." She smiled.
He said nothing.
"Maybe you'd like some help?" She stood up and neared him.
Andre resisted the urge to take a step back--something had gone
terribly wrong. Before he could analyze, however he found himself thrown
against the wall with surprising force. The dagger fell to the floor with a
sharp noise.
He winced. What had happened?
"Don't ever underestimate me," a low voice stated coldly.
It was her. She was pinning him against the wall, Andre was too
numb to feel surprise. He had no doubts that he could push her away easily,
he was stronger than she was. He knew she wasn't Oscar, why was he
hesitating? Her nearness was clouding his senses, until he could only see
and smell *her*--that distinctive smell of cleanliness and freshness he'd
come to associate with Oscar and something more, something exotic which
betrayed the fact that she wasn't Oscar.
He looked into her eyes. They weren't Oscar's eyes, but in that light
they seemed just as dark as hers. They held humor.
She was laughing at him.
She hadn't said a word, but she was laughing at him. Why did she
have to taunt him? Hadn't it been enough for her to take away the person he
most cared about? He had to quiet her.
In the haze of turbulent emotions, he found himself leaning forward
and pressing his lips against hers with bruising force. He was kissing her,
his fingers digging through her hair. There seemed to be no coherent
thoughts within him--only bits and pieces of emotions he had never been
familiar with--that he hadn't even thought he had. It felt surreal; his
subconscious tried to find out the reasons now that he had abandoned all
logic.
//BecauseshewasthereandshewassosoftandOscarwasgoneandshesmelledlikeherand
shetastedlikeheimaginedOscarwould//
Her lips were cool like a breeze during autumn. His hands roamed
around her lower back. They traveled upwards to the nape of her neck, where
her skin was exposed through the open collar. There he traced a
crescent-shaped scar across her collarbone with his thumb even as they
continued to share the brutal kiss.
Oscar didn't have a scar...
He pushed her away forcefully.
"What are you doing?" she asked with irritation.
What are *you* doing?
*What* are you doing?
No...he couldn't have...
He looked at the girl, the *murderer*, his mind screamed. She was
looking at him with a puzzled expression. As if she could not believe he
had pulled away.
His expression mirrored hers. *He* could not believe what had
happened between them only seconds before.
But had it really happened? It hadn't seemed more real than the
nightmares he'd have. A cold knot of fear mixed with other unpleasant, yet
unidentifiable emotions began forming in his stomach.
The proof was there. Her blonde hair was disheveled, her lips
slightly swollen. There was a smear of blood on her lower lip.
Funny, he hadn't tasted any blood. The thought made him wince. What
had gone wrong? Hadn't he been prepared for everything? What had he done?
Finding no immediate answers, Andre turned and ran from the girl's
room without even looking at her. He had to get away; he had to find solid
ground, somewhere...anywhere... The more he tried, he failed and to his
horror, he felt a small tear slide down his left cheek.
No, I have to be strong, like Oscar, she is always strong, he thought
as he ran through the hall that would lead him to his room. The emotions
tore at him with crushing force.
I have to be strong...
But it was to no avail when he arrived at his room. He closed the
door behind him and shattered into a million pieces.
I'm sorry I broke my promise, he thought as violent sobs wracked his
body.
to be continued...
END part 4
feedback--> crune@coqui.net
(
geocities.com/tokyo/highrise/Highrise) (
geocities.com/tokyo/highrise) (
geocities.com/tokyo)