NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale

“Halloween season is here soon.” Even though it wasn’t coming until next month, it was the arrival of the pumpkin flavor in every treat. I displayed a creepy face to Emma. “I hope your coworker is scared of the haunting spirit of a corpse bride, unless he prefers clowns. I can do clowns—”

“There is no need to frighten him. I already stood up for myself and won the approval of my team.” Emma’s eyes glittered with pride. “I’ve followed up on your advice, and I almost won over my hopefully one-day mother-in-law by doing exactly as you advised me.”

I leaned over with a sharky smile. “You finally told her to fuck off and to mind her own business because her son is one lucky bastard to have a girlfriend like you?”

“No, the other thing,” she chuckled.

“You splashed water on her face in the middle of a restaurant? Always dreamed of doing that.” With Spectre, we could have before hooking up in a—

“No! And how on earth would I win her over that way?” She gave me a stop sign with her hands, shaking her head. “I just told her the truth. That I love her son and that she needs to stop making me feel like I’m not good enough, or else we won’t visit her for the Christmas holidays.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” I said with malice. “You’re threatening to ruin Christmas already. You’re the grinch.”

She made a face. Emma didn’t want to be the grinch, and knowing her, she was already regretting having spoken her mind. “And did you follow my advice?”

“You mean about opening my heart like a marshmallow and that true-love bullshit?” And here the words felt bitter across my tongue, devouring my pride within seconds.

“I saw the way Ajax looked at you at the gala… I like him, and he did nothing wrong. He’s not Spectre. Not all men are the same.”

“You’d be surprised how similar they can be.” My heart contracted. I didn’t like to lie to Emma, but I had no choice. NDA or not, I wouldn’t betray his trust. “Speaking of Spectre, I decided to give the other half of the money to the L’espoir foundation. We’re planning a big spectacle with the children, with costumes and all of that. I don’t know how you do this; planning an event is such a nightmare. Plus, I promised someone I’d make her fly, and I don’t know how yet. And don’t look at me with those big eyes of yours. I’m doing it for karma,” I added. “Because I’m selfish.”

“Yeah, right.” She burst into laughter, lifting her arms in the air as if we were about to party all night. “Looks like my fairy godmother is back.”

“Wicked,” I pointed that detail out. “Luna is coming in a week, and I’m proud to announce I have a semblance of a manuscript ready.” And Spectre would do as he said—he’d hand my manuscript over to the big guys. I’d impress them, and I’d finally get what I’d always craved by keeping my promise to Luna. See, it wasn’t that hard after all. And despite this optimistic perspective, my heart still ached.

“It’s weird. Since you worked with Spectre, you’re inspired.” Emma was the only person who could give a warm smile while having a doubtful frown. “You hated him, and now, you seem… happy?”

“I’m not!” I could feel the crimson red creeping on my cheeks as the villainous traitor that I was. “He’s not that bad when you get to know him.”

And even better when you sleep with him. Get him to cook shirtless for you. Get him to sit on the sand for you. Go on a date with him and—

Emma clicked her tongue in her cheek. “Would there be two men fighting over you, Miss Bardot?”

“Don’t tempt me with a good book trope.” I switched the subject. “Anyway, I have to close the store, and we’ll meet later, okay?”

She lifted herself from the chair. “Fine, but think about what I told you. Oh, and I heard something in the headquarters of Ever After about that Spectre of yours, since you obviously seem to like him and you didn’t even tell me shit about it.”

“I would tell you everything if I could.” And that was the truth.

“I know. That’s why I’m not pissed at you.” She was the more sensitive and the better person of us both. “There is a rumor that Ever After will do a collaboration for their one-hundred-year anniversary with an artist. I’m not supposed to know; I just happen to have an ear everywhere, so I bet I’ll be able to see how you inspired him.”

The lift of my brows was the only answer I could give her.

“Oh, Léo is calling me. I have to go!” Saved by the bell. Emma gave me a kiss on the cheek and rushed outside as I tightened my grip on the spatula.

For the next few minutes, I heard the fireworks exploding in the sky and the applause in the distance. I closed the curtains and went to unplug my computer when a notification appeared on my screen. I had received an email among those of my mother’s tarot divinations.

One that was titled: Meeting about our common friend.

I clicked to open it.

From: Bernard Dupont-Brillac

To: Aurore Bardot

Subject: Meeting about our common friend.

Hi Miss Bardot,

I must admit, it took me some time to replace you in my memory, my apologies. I thought you were familiar, but it was only at the gala I began to place the pieces together of the puzzle that you are, Miss Bardot. I indeed remember you: the strange girl with dresses who used to model for our school—or should I call you The Sad Girl?

My heart blazed at the sight of the attached photos. The first was one of Ajax and me dancing at the gala—from the moment I caught Bernard peering in our direction with his creepy smile on. The second was an incomplete sketch of me. Me, the day of The Sad Girl. I had the same dress on. Bernard had kept Ajax’s drawings. They were signed under his real name before Spectre was born. He’d put all the pieces together.

I went to his latest exposition in Honfleur, which was a pungent bore, hoping to run into you, but unfortunately, we didn’t, and I’m forced to send this email. As you can see, I have tangible proof attesting that Mr. Ajax Clemonte is indeed Spectre. Could you imagine: the great Spectre was a failure, one of the worst Beaux Arts students? One who didn’t even have the money to pay his tuition in full, while he came from a very wealthy family? I bet the newspapers would kill for this news and the view of his mentor and teacher: myself.

I did not teach you anything. That’s why I’d like to meet with you about an artistic collaboration: one of being my muse.

I’m expecting a response within the upcoming days if you care enough for our friend, or I’ll be forced to release his true identity, and it’ll be only you to blame, as it had always been from the start.

I trust you to keep this to yourself or I’ll know.

From one artist to another.

My nostrils flared, and my heart pounded. The lights of the shop shut off like a loss of power, and I remained in the dark, my screen and the distant fireworks the only light. I did not react, my gaze remaining fixed on Bernard’s words. So it had happened. I flipped the computer shut with trembling hands and sat down on the cold tiled floor, curling into myself. Bernard knew who Spectre was, and it was all my fault. Again. Because of the past we shared. It was another reminder, a sign of fate, we couldn’t be together, and now, his happy ending could be jeopardized.

But in another way, if his identity was revealed, if Spectre chose me, we wouldn’t have to say goodbye. It was selfish, but if I told him, we could have it all.

I needed to fix this.

I sent a text to the first person that came to my mind. My sister.

Me: Question. 1) You could be happy, honest but selfish by hurting the person you deeply care for. Would you do this? Or 2) Would you protect said person and hurt yourself in the process? (It’s obviously a plot issue.)

I bit my nails, waiting for her reply in angst.

Luna: You’re writing the backstory of the villain? Definitely the second option. The villain would never let the only thing he/she loves get away. So they’d do a heroic act at the price of being miserable.

Luna: The right heroic act would be to give the other protagonist a choice though, so the first option above.

But that was it.

I dropped the phone on the ground and took up my notebook, writing a note of my reality disguised behind a fantasy tale.

The villainess would sacrifice herself because she knew the wizard would never choose her over his kingdom. It was a lost battle. And sacrificing herself for love was better than being rejected. Because no one had ever returned her love. No one knew how to love her. Perhaps, she wondered, she wasn’t worthy to be loved at all.

And a tear coming from her bleeding, cold heart dripped over onto her cheek.

Like a day where nothing goes right—the kind where you miss your bus after sprinting after it, almost get run over by walking on the sidewalk through a green light, and get yelled at in the grocery store—I climbed the stairs to my apartment like an undead, and when I reached my doorstep, I was unable to find my keys. This little incident made me want to tear apart this page of my life and burn the book of my existence.

“Fuck it! Fuck this!” I screamed, finally getting a hand on those silly keys.

I laid eyes on a package on my doorstep. It had no name on it. At this point, I was almost sure it’d be a dead fish from the mafia or a bomb planted by destiny itself. That the thing had been sitting there for hours, and that no one had stolen it, it could only be bad news. Not that I feared bad news. I was the ruler of it.

I entered my place, shut the door with my foot, and tore up the package. The theory of the bomb placed inside dissipated when I took notice of what the object in question was after opening the package like a brute. The latest MacBook Pro, released a few months ago, one with a high processor and the kind of battery that could last a full day of work.

“Are you kidding me?”

It was the queen bee of laptops.

And it was on my doorstep.

“Oh my god!” It probably wasn’t destined for me, but I couldn’t care; I’d keep it. I’d use it. I’d make it my own.

I tore my eyes away from the computer only to notice that I had completely ignored the little card stuck to the packaging.

Your computer was ancient. Please throw it out and don’t fight me over this. You deserve to write in the outdoors like the crazy lady that you are.

Another person would have smiled. Texted back something like “you’re the best person I know, thank you so much,” or they would have started using that computer already, but I remained blank.

Blank and sad. Terribly sad.

I had found the right person for me, and I had to let him go. I had to do the right thing. My phone vibrated like a sign. Not once, but three times in a row.

Veronique: The theater room is booked for the gala with the children. Please, call me back!

I had people counting on me. People I wouldn’t let down.

Mom: Your sister will arrive Friday at 3pm, don’t be late to pick her up! I’m so excited for you to be back home soon. Your old room is ready.

Mom: Today mercury is in retrograde and karma is about to strike! One of my guides told me that we were finally going to get what we deserve. Wear some onyx to protect yourself just in case, honey.

Even my mom didn’t believe I was on the good side.

And at this point, I didn’t think having an onyx with me would help.