Felicite Found Read Free Page B

shooting sounds started again. It sent shivers through her body still, yet, oddly not as severe. Her mind wandered to Pierre’s face—the sharp features with the strong jaw. His dark hair made her blond hair appear transparent. His tall stature was comforting; she found it appealing, desirable. He reminded her of someone—from her past, perhaps. However, Pierre seemed more gentle and loving and tender. Her mind fluttered through a never-ending void of darkness to remember the man from her past, yet couldn’t grasp hold of any memory.
    Pressure surged in on her head, so she brought her thoughts back to Pierre. She wished he were holding her hand through this awful experience. The X-ray wasn’t bad, but this was so foreign to her. Her mind couldn’t comprehend how this procedure could give the doctor any conclusions about her condition.
    I wonder just how much I have forgotten. They say I hit my head, but how could that have wiped my mind so clear, so empty of anything but . . .
    Her thoughts were cut short when she pictured the handsome boy who had saved her from drowning.
    He saved me. He cared enough to save me. Someone cares about me, a girl who has no claim on her own memories. A girl who tried to kill herself. But over what? What happened to me? And who am I?
    The slow, fluid movement of the platform interrupted her musings. She hadn’t even noticed what was taking place during the procedure.
    The nurse helped her up. “Good job. I’ve never seen anyone so still. Whatever you were thinking about must have been nice.” The nurse grinned and patted her arm.
    The girl only smiled in response. She wanted to see Pierre again. The ache in her chest swelled . . . for need of him. It was as if she had known him her whole life.

 
    Prognosis
     
    Pierre’s head perked up at the sliding sound of the elevator doors opening. The nurse and the girl shuffled out toward the examination room. The nameless girl pierced Pierre with pleading eyes, begging him to come with her, but he didn’t want to get in the way. He smiled and nodded to reassure her as she disappeared back into the room. He bent over to rest his head on his palms and pictured her face. Her blue eyes showed a deep history of pain from the darkened circles framing them. He wanted to remove the sorrow from them—but how?
    He couldn’t stop thinking about her—especially her eyes, but also her drying curls of blond hair. They were like a swift waterfall swirling down from her face to her back. He thought of her pale, white skin and how she stood with precise posture, elongating her petite, slender stature. All this made him feel as though fireworks were exploding in his empty and growling stomach.
    Interrupting his time - exhausting musings, the familiar black and white held-together-by-tape shoes Luc always wore moved into his vision. Pierre angled his head up to see his friend. “Hey, Luc. What’s up?”
    Luc Broussard, a tall but slender blond-haired teenager, replied in a sing-song tone, “Hey, I should be the one asking you that. You just decide to take a swim in the Seine, huh?” He laughed as he lightly punched Pierre on the arm, dancing on the balls of his feet like a boxer.
    “Funny, Luc.”
    “So, what do you think she was doing . . . suicide or something?” Luc said while he plopped down on the chair next to Pierre.
    “Don’t know.” Pierre shook his head and took in a deep breath. His nose crinkled from the heavy stench of hospital disinfectant.
    The door to the examination room squeaked open and then the girl and nurse went to the elevator. Again.
    Where are they going now? Pierre wondered while scratching his head.
    “Who is that ?” Pierre glanced over at his friend. Luc gawked, eyes roaming up and down the girl’s body. “Is that her ?”
    “Sure is,” Pierre said through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists.  Luc starred at the elevator door, jaw dropped and all. Silence stung the air between them until the mounting