The haze of the fog made Brigitte press her face even harder on the glass. It had been hours since Alain had left to tell his family that he and Brigitte were going to get married. Brigitte stayed behind and waited, but he did not come. Therefore, the last train to Paris left without them. Brigitte again looked out into the foggy evening, hoping to see Alain walking toward her. But, alas, no one was there. It was eerily quiet, as the fog seemed to muffle all sounds. Only the lonely cry of a train coming up the track could be heard.
“I’ll be back soon, my sweet,” Alain said as he kissed her hand, “you’ll see.” And with that sweet kiss, he waltzed out the door. He looked back before he stepped off of the curb and blew Brigitte a kiss. She blew a kiss back and fought the urge to run to him. Maybe I should have, she thought to herself. I wonder what is keeping him.
“Mademoiselle, are you alright? Why did you miss your train?” the ticket counter peered down at Brigitte sitting alone.
“Oui, I am alright, Monsieur. I am just waiting on my riding partner to arrive.” Brigitte smiled.
“On a night such as this? Oh, no. Have you not heard? Germany has invaded Poland. We are at war!” the ticket counter announced, “They are not allowing any citizens to leave their stations tonight. That was the last train to Paris.”
Brigitte jumped up, letting her train tickets fall onto the floor, and ran toward the door.
“Mms. you may not leave! It is not safe!” a man with a brown trench coat blocked her exit.
“I must leave! You cannot stop me!”
“I recommend you stay, but if you must leave you will not be allowed back in. Do you understand, Mademoiselle? I recommend that you stay until tomorrow.” The trench coated gentleman said.
“I understand your concern, but I leave of my own free will. Now, out of my way.” Brigitte shot past the man into the waning hours of the afternoon. The fog was quickly becoming incapacitating as Brigitte struggled forward, hoping desperately that she would find Alain walking toward her. She could see no one, however. She inched her way along Rue Browning, feeling for the familiar buildings to be her eyes in the dense fog.
Once she reached the peak of Rue Browning she turned north on Rue Champpús toward Alain’s home. When she reached his gate, the lights of the front of the house cast a warming glow on the fog. Brigitte flung the gate open and knocked on the door. Alain’s sister, Adelaide, answered.
“Is Alain here?” Brigitte asked, panting as she tried to catch her breath.
“Alain?” Adelaide asked, looking shocked, “No, of course he is not here. You should know that! Why would you come here?”
“I came here to find Alain! Did he come to see you tonight?” Brigitte asked.
“You wretched, horrible woman!” Adelaide screamed. “You know he’s dead! How dare you come here? You killed him! In this very house! Murderess! You murderess!”
At first, Brigitte wanted to deny it, but the memory of that night came back to her. She saw herself standing over Alain with a knife, dripping with his blood. And then she remembered why he killed him, how he had looked at that woman on the street that evening, and she began to laugh.
Brigitte, you can’t forget important things like that, she laughed to herself as she walked into the fog, not caring where she was going.