[modern au - fic: when the evidence comes along]
Title: When the Evidence Comes Along
Characters/Pairing: Mireille and Jean Louis.
Summary: See a body and a dream of the dead days, a following lost and blind. There were two paths to choose between - and he took the other one.
Warnings: Implicated murder, gore and rape.
When the Evidence Comes Along
Mireille,
It’s untraditional for a pornographic movie to involve any speech worth of note. You wouldn’t know, of course, which is why I’m having Marcel read this letter to you now. Actions, the nonverbal implications, have always been best understood within a linguistic framework, for you. And you’re the star. The prize of the set. So I’ll humour you and your needs, even if it breaks the flow. You won’t live to regret my decision and I know you’ll listen regardless. You just can’t keep your mind shut, after all, even when you’re about to break. I don’t know how you became so ridiculously inquisitive, Mireille. You certainly didn’t get that from Philippe.
You haven’t yet been told exactly why you’re here. In some god-forsaken warehouse on the outer skies of Moscow, wearing much too little for the northern-European winter. It hasn’t even occurred to you, naturally, that the war is over. The war you’ve been waging against me since you first found those unimportant notes from my Nigerian weapon’s trade, the war you’ve been slowly winning ever since. Because you have, you see. Even if you’ve failed to notice (and Mireille - that’s quite infuriating in its own right, for the victor to ignore her spoils, too blind to recognise them for what they really are). I’ll open your eyes to this today before my men close them for good. Show you the weapons you’ve deployed and tell you why it’s been too little for too long. I always enjoy leading you by the hand, even now when you’ve turned around and betrayed my expectations.
When I married you, I wanted to give you the world. You didn’t want it, probably couldn’t for fear of losing face to a dead man. Fought off my offerings at every opportunity and left us stranded by the side of the road, simultaneously worn out and under-exerted. Even so, during our trip to Seoul this summer, all I could think about was you. The beauty of your hair, the warmth of your eyes, your cold humour and the brightness of your silence. You, you, you. Not a problem, surely, if only I hadn’t been so unwilling to think about anything else. You are poison to me; and unlike you, I don’t practice self-degeneration. Thus, I’m taking you apart today for the sake of both you and me. It’s this or suffer constant decline and between the two of us, I’m the only one with the necessary agency to break the monotony. You won’t understand and since it proves me right, that’s fine too.
Something I’ve never told you - as a child, I used to like termites. Ants. The efficiency of an insect colony, of workers and rulers and giant constructions, serving as proof of production. Usually, this process goes on undisturbed because nature’s uncomplicated like that. There are no complaints, no rebellions and no questions asked. But ever so often, Mireille, something peculiar happens. Sometimes, singular individuals start acting up, disengaging themselves from the colony, preferring instead to run around in circles. As if their prior duties, dictated to them by nature and genetically encoded have lost meaning for them, leaving them fumbling about aimlessly, getting nowhere.
They’ve breathed in something dangerous. Something which will, eventually, tear out their brains and eat them up from inside. A parasitic microbe - a disruption which will wipe out the colony unless eliminated quickly. Forcefully.
You’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met. I don’t have to expand upon this clumsy metaphor to make you understand why you’re currently here. Why they’re leaving holes upon holes in your body. You know me however; I wouldn’t want to leave you with doubts, so to be on the safe side: this is not a punishment. It’s not revenge. It’s survival, plain and simple, and please note - there are no other paths for me to choose anymore. You’ve played your cards to a loss and yes, truthfully I should have seen it coming. I’m sure I would have saved you from yourself if it hadn’t been an impossible enterprise. You’ve always had so much willpower, strength that can’t be broken. What were my options, realistically? Should I have left you with the ruins of my kingdom? Dust and debris is worth even less than your present existence, which speaks volumes. To put it into perspective, once they’re done, you’ll be little but a mix of limbs, thrown into the Serebryanka like garbage. That’s the best I can do for you, Mireille. I won’t pretend that it’s a pleasant thought, even if the purpose of this shoot is to fill out one of the many, empty spaces you are leaving behind.
I didn’t ask for this exit point, Mireille. Neither of us did. I’ve given you too much room to fly, too many chances to run us aground and as a result, you’re paying for your bravery and for my inaction. I’ll be honest with you now: I regret it. I regret what you’ve done to me and to us, by proxy. If you’d done it on purpose, I suppose it would have been easier to accept but I’m not as blind as you. This destruction is not of your conscious making and I can’t blame you for it anymore than I blame you for nearly destroying my very foundation. Human nature - we all do as we must, don’t we? I’ve long since forgiven you but the truth is, you’ve been practicing dying for long enough.
Try not to breathe too quickly. It will be over soon.
I love you.
Signed,
Jean Louis.
~