Jacqueline Dreams

Chapter 1: Nous saluons le retour!

She’d always dreamed of traveling the world, but the idea of abandoning everything and abruptly moving to France at the age of eighteen was unfathomable, even for Jackie Bank’s immense imagination. But, they told her she had witnessed the crimes, so she was going to have to get used to the notion sooner or later. She had no other choice after all. Fiddling with her charm bracelet, she gazed out of the airplane window. Her eyes became buried in the clouds as her brain got lost in deep thought. Her parents, her friends, her life, left behind. Her home in flames, her only belongings tightly packed into a worn suitcase in the cargo hold. She was angry, scared, crestfallen and excited all at once.

These last few days were a blur. The money. The blood. The cops. The judge. Somewhere in between, her father sent to prison, her mother declared missing, and her puppy taken away. They asked her if she wanted to change her name to Miranda, dye her hair red and move to North Dakota. Jackie refused. She didn’t like change. “I’d rather go to France!” she murmured stubbornly, never expecting them to take her seriously. In a way, she wished “Africa” would have slipped out of her mouth instead, but it was too late now. She could picture herself: a young black girl in the midst of porcelain men with rosy cheeks, red berets, and curly moustaches: a colorful giraffe surrounded by a herd of monochrome zebras. But, then again, what would she have to do in Africa? Shave her head, paint her face, marry a Zulu prince and change her name to Olufunmilayo? She was just glad that her name could stay Jacqueline. She used to hate it, but now nothing sounded better after being offered Gertrude, Ida Mae and Patrice. She was glad that her nappy black hair didn’t have to be cut off, permed, or dyed blonde. She was glad that she wouldn’t need a face lift or a breast enlargement. She was glad that she didn’t have to take pills to thicken her slim figure. But, she was angry about her parents lying to her. She was angry because she had to leave her friends behind. She was angry because she couldn’t even complete her last month of high school. She was sad because she may never see her puppy again. She was sad that her house had burned down but her memories hadn’t. She wished she could forget it all. That would make it so much easier to start over. But, the more she tried to forget, the more she remembered. The more her heart ached. The more her head hurt. Jackie closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.

Her eyes flung open. She heard a noise downstairs. Slipping into her fuzzy penguin slippers, she waddled out of her moonlit room into the dark stairwell. Entering the desolate ground level, Jackie could hear men murmuring in the basement. Her voice wanted to call out, but her lips were too shaky to open. She grew tired of hearing odd sounds and smelling odd smells. She wanted to find out what the monsters lurking in the cellar were up to at twilight. Her silky white nightgown swayed from side to side, dusting the walls as she glided into the kitchen. The basement door seemed to tower ten feet above her. Her heart skipped two beats thinking of the beasts that may lurk within, but her hand was braver than her soul, reaching out to twist the doorknob.

“I think I’m gonna end Amanda tomorrow night. Whatchu think I should use, Ron?”

“You know better than to kill her, Stan. He’ll never give the money back, then. He’ll have nothing to lose.”

“We’ll make ’em think she still alive.”

“But what happens when he hands it over?”

“I’m just worried. She a smart cookie and I don’t want her to even have a chance of escape.”

“Her trying to escape is better than the wrath of her vengeful father.”

“I ain’t scared of no Adam. Come after me and you ain’t makin’ it back home, brotha.”

“What if he goes after Jackie? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…”

“No way, man.”

“You don’t know. He could do anything. He could hire a kid to shoot up her school or something.”

“Then I’ll pull her out of school.”

“She’s about to graduate in a month!”

“What good’s a diploma if she dead?”

“Stan. You’re in too deep.”

“Whaddo you care anyway?”

“I agreed to the original deal, but this is getting way out of hand.”

“You ’bout to bail on me?”

“I’m not going to snitch or anything. I’m just trying to stop you before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late, Ron. Like you said, I’m in too deep.”

“Listen. If you come clean now, you’ll only have counts of theft, fraud, kidnapping, and illegal drug possession.”

“Do you know how many years that means?”

“It’s better than murder, Stan.”

“But not getting caught is better than turning myself in.”

“I’d rather turn myself in than go any lower than this.”

“But you said you ride or die, didn’t you? Huh? Remember that?”

“I’d let you stay out here, man, I just don’t think I can do it anymore. I don’t think I can go any lower.”

“I guess you give me no other choice but to put you out of your misery, then.”

BANG.

The overhead cargo hold slammed shut. Chatter of exhausted passengers with leg cramps and neck crooks filled Jackie’s ears. Stretching arms, rolling heads, busy feet, squeaky wheels. Feeling uncomfortably awkward, she arose hazily and loosely drifted behind the crowd, down the steps and into the airport. There was supposed to be a woman named Charlotte at the gates waiting for her with a sign that read: “Nous saluons le retour, Mademoiselle Jacqueline!” That was all she could remember. She looked all around, sizing up the large airport. Children running, lovers kissing, all different shades of skins. Maybe she was wrong about the porcelain men, even if she did see two or three of them on the tarmac. “Jackie!” she heard someone call, “Come out of that room! Jackie!” Suddenly, paranoia fell over her. Her mind began to race. Her eyes dashed all over the room. Her lungs hyperventilated. Her legs wouldn’t stop walking and her head wouldn’t stop turning. “Attention!” A young man screamed in anger as she crashed into him. “Pardon me.” She mumbled shamefully. Picking up her tote, she noticed an older blonde woman holding a pink poster with the words: “Nous saluons le retour, Mademoiselle Jacqueline!” Jackie’s feet couldn’t seem to carry her fast enough.

Minutes later, she was in the back of a small black car, where Charlotte helped her to brush up on some of the basic French she’d begun learning back in the states, informed her of where she would be living, and handed her a small purse full of seventy-eight Euros, a credit card, an apartment key, and a French National Identity Card with her picture and her new name: Jacqueline Brun Donnadieu. Then, Charlotte began to go over some brief French history, discussing landmarks, the current prime minister, and other assorted trivia that got lost in the cabin before it even made it into Jackie’s eardrum because it was too busy listening to the engine hum. Her bright brown eyes were too busy staring out at the city as it came to life before her. Instantly her heart was teleported into the fantastical worlds of Beauty and the Beast, Les Miserables, The Hunch Back of Notre Dame, Madame Bovary, and other fictional romantic rendezvous that took place in France. Maybe all the men weren’t artists wearing berets and striped shirts. Maybe there was a handsome young someone named Francois with whom she’d fall in love. Maybe French coffee tasted better than the kind in Maine. Maybe she would climb the Eiffel Tower at night and breathe in the crisp air. Maybe she’d learn to paint and become the next Monet. No. She couldn’t do that. She had to stay low key. What was she thinking? She was thinking too much. Maybe she shouldn’t have been thinking at all. Maybe, when she finally did get to her apartment, she would crawl into bed and not get back up until she was thirty four years old.

The car pulled up to a tiny quaint but sophisticated building, which was to be her new living quarters. She nodded to Charlotte as if she’d been paying attention the whole time, when all reality Charlotte knew she hadn’t. The driver opened her door and fetched her bag from the trunk. He walked her up the steps and into her room to insure everything was set up just right. As the black car drove off on the wrong side of the street, Jackie made a mental note that she would have to learn to drive all over again. When she was sure they were out of sight, she shut the curtains and collapsed onto her new little bed. Her head was heavy, her heart was thumping, and her stomach was twisted in knots. “I miss you, Dodo,” she whispered to her pet dog that could be anywhere on Earth, or, God forbid, in puppy heaven right now. Silently, she cried herself to sleep.

“Stanley Banks. Leave a message. Peace (Beep).”

“Say hello to your father, Jackie!” Adam grinned from the driver’s seat, steering with one hand and holding his phone in the other. A big, burly man sat in the back pressing a gun against Jackie’s head. “I will kill you. I will kill you if it’s the last thing I do. Your dad took Amanda away from me, so I’ll take you away from him. I should have known better than to partner up with your crooked, conniving father, but he should have known what he had coming to him, getting my daughter involved in this.” The car sped up, cutting turns, burning rubber, and revving engines. “If he doesn’t bring me back my Amanda safe and sound, I promise he’s gonna wish he could take back every single stupid little thing he ever did in his life. I only promised him half of the fifty, but he just got greedy when he found out there was more to the deal. I don’t owe him anything more than I’ve already given him, but if he keeps on barking he’s bound to lose everything he’s got.”

Swerve.

Crash.

Sirens.

Jackie woke up in a cold sweat. The room was dark, but she could still hear a siren. Could it be the police? No. It was only her new alarm clock sitting on her side table. Snatching it up, she threw it across the room, breaking it instantly. She pulled the covers back over her head, not caring what time it was.

Near noon, Jackie finally felt bored and confined staying cooped up trying to inspect every inch of her mediocre apartment. She was overtaken by curiosity and decided to venture out into the big city and explore. There was a vintage yellow bike sitting on the back porch which she used to meander the streets. She saw, smelled, felt, heard, and tasted the wonders of Paris, visiting shops and patisseries, relaxing at parks, people watching, patronizing street performers, and just letting the wind envelope her sun-kissed skin. Hours flew by like minutes, and Jackie was so busy absorbing her new environment that she almost forgot about her hardships. She almost forgot who she used to be. She almost forgot to be paranoid. Curled up on a bench at Jardin du Luxembourg, sipping on noisette, Jackie watched as the sun set slower than she’d ever seen it before. Each new breath felt like a new life. She finally felt free as her worries slipped away with the evening breeze. As the sun lowered, her eyelids lowered. She held her coffee close, kicked off her flats and dosed off to sleep. A young man spotted her from afar. He saw her hair, wild and free. He saw her smile, slight and cute. He saw her blouse, frayed and bright. He saw her purse, free for the taking.

She was in a ballroom,wearing a beautiful gown. Her fantasy realized. The music was lovely. The night was breathtaking. She danced about and spun around. Everyone clapped. There were princesses, princes, kings and queens. All the royals chanted for Mademoiselle Jacqueline. Each nobleman couldn’t wait for their turn to dance. As the last one stepped up, he did not kiss her hand. Instead, he slapped her clean across the face. She fell to her feet, but her eyes arose to meet her attacker’s: grayish blue they were. His face was pale, his eyebrows were bushy and his hair was dark. He had one golden tooth and a crooked smile. It was Adam. He pulled a gun from his coat and pointed it at Jackie. “Daddy, no!” Amanda cried with a blood-curdling scream from the balcony.

With a thud, she collapsed face down onto the floor.

Her chest was hot. It burned.

She heard footsteps running away from her.

She opened her eyes to see that she’d fallen off of the park bench. Her coffee had spilled down her yellow blouse. Her purse was gone. A young man now yards away from her was running like the wind. She tried to yell “Thief!” but no words came out. How wonderful it was for a perfectly lovely day to end on such a sour note. Fortunately, her bike was still lying in the grass behind her. Mounting, she tried to steer after the purse snatcher , but her legs would only pedal in the direction of her apartment. It was no use. What would she have done anyway? She would have probably ended up being stabbed or worse. It wasn’t worth it to lose her life over nineteen puny Euros. Finally arriving at her apartment under the light of the ten-o-clock moon, Jackie realized that her key was still inside her purse. Without her key, she could not enter the building. By now, she was too afraid to ask anyone for help. If she was robbed on her first day in Paris, who could she possibly trust? Not even her neighbors, she supposed.

Jackie tried to calm down and reorganize her thoughts.

She called the bank to freeze her credit card.

She started to call Charlotte and tell her of the incident, but, she thought again.

If Charlotte knew what had happened on her very first day in France, surely they wouldn’t find her safe on her own. They would deem her unable to take care of herself. They would take her away from her new and exciting life just after she’d began getting used to it. She didn’t want to change her name to Miranda, dye her hair red, and move to North Dakota. She had to figure this out. Jackie wheeled her bike around to the side, stood on it, and attempted to climb up into her open bedroom window.

With a scraped knee and a sore elbow, Jackie sulked back over to the front steps to try a different plan. Removing a bobby pin from her hair, she knelt down. “They always do it on the spy movies.” she whispered to herself and began trying to pick the lock. After seventeen minutes, she became too fatigued and fell asleep on the small porch.

They thought she’d be okay on her own. She was technically a young adult after all. Sitting on the couch watching cable. Just flipping through the channels. Nothing good was on. She was tired of seeing her dad on the news in an orange jumpsuit. She was tired of seeing her moms face on the missing posters. She was tired of thinking about what happened to Ron and Amanda in the basement. She tried not to think about it, but the whole house felt haunted. She tried to forget, but the walls were closing in on her. The scenes replayed in her mind. She wished it would all go away.

She smelled smoke.

She felt heat.

She saw flames.

Suddenly, everything was bright, orange, and hot. She couldn’t stop coughing. She screamed out for Dodo. She was only a scared little girl. She wanted to run, but her legs didn’t know where to go. She tried to call the police, but she forgot the number. “Help me!” she screamed. Everything was too loud. Everything was too bright. Everything was too smoky. Everything was too hot.

Sitting on the back of an ambulance. wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate, watching her house burn like firewood, Jackie couldn’t speak. She wished it would all go away, but not like this.

Poor Dodo.

“I’m sorry.” one of the paramedics sympathized.

“I’m sorry.” Jackie heard.

She opened her brown eyes to find a pair of young blue ones staring right back. It was a boy with brown hair, a red jacket, gray shirt, and khaki shorts. He extended his hand. Inside it was a purse. Her purse. “It was a dare,” he fumbled, “My friends thought I couldn’t do it. I thought I could. I sort of did, but I really couldn’t. I’m sorry, Jackie.” Jackie didn’t know whether to feel angry or flattered. Was this boy the villain or the hero? She tried to say thank you, but no words came out. She figured that was for the greater good. Snatching her purse, she ripped out the key, unlocked the door and fell inside. Slamming it shut, she wished the boy would simply walk away. She peeked through the peephole and sure enough, that’s what he did. He looked sort of solemn as he moped away. She wondered how he knew her name and found her house. Then, she remembered her identity card. She quickly poured out the contents of the bag onto the floor to make sure everything was there. One credit card, one French National Identity Card with her picture, name, and address, and twenty-four Euros. She was sure there were only nineteen left after her small shopping spree. Had he added the other five? There was one more thing, a note that read: “I’m sorry, Jackie. I promise never to steal again. Syd”

Syd.

Now she had a name to the handsome face.

For some reason, half of her heart wanted to see him again. The other half wanted him to get robbed. For some reason, her soul knew that they were destined to meet, and her brain knew that this wouldn’t be the last of him. None of her knew why, exactly, but all of her knew that she would soon enough find out.