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