But she—her life was cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.” ― Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary
New Brunswick, Canada, ten years ago
Brielle blinked.
The air stilled around her as her body left her thoughts behind.
When her back peeled away from the seat, she gripped for her sketchbook that was sliding off her lap, but her fingers were too slow, and it tumbled to the floor, leaving her hands to clutch at empty air.
Somehow, her chest stopped its forward momentum though her head did not, and she tacitly wondered if her skull could separate from her spine.
It can, her memory insisted, but a lot of times it’s the loose objects that get you.
Brielle gripped for the sketchbook again, not wanting it to fly forward and hit her father, but her body was travelling away from the book, which had slid under her father’s seat. An instant of relief flushed through her – her dad would be okay. The book wouldn’t hit him.
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But he wouldn’t be okay. None of them would.
Without warning, Brielle’s head smashed against the window beside her before bouncing back against the headrest. As her head swam, the clashing and screeching of metal reached her ears from much too far away.
Dazed, she blinked again, but once her eyes closed, they refused to open.
“Mademoiselle Revelles, regardez-moi.”
“Look at you?” she wondered silently. Had she slept? Brielle didn’t remember falling asleep. Where was she?
“Ici, ma fille. A moi.”
She blinked again, focusing on the voice that tugged her out of her lethargy. From a foot away, a copper-skinned woman with the blackest of eyes called to her, and Brielle was drawn to the gentleness and confidence she read there.
“Ça va aller. Comment appelez-vous ?
My name? “Brielle,” Brielle answered, and her voice scratched out like it was passing through gravel.
“Je m’appelle Georgine. Nous allons a l’ambulance, mais vous êtes en bonne santé, d’accord?”
Was she fine? Brielle wondered, despite the woman’s reassurances.
Abruptly, Brielle realized that she was lying down, and above her stretched a skyful of stars. They were the manifold, deep pinpricks of light she had only encountered in the country, and they were scattered against the stygian darkness of midnight. Even as the pain began to creep into her consciousness, her mind took an image of the beauty.
When a spasm of agony stabbed through her side, the stars disappeared as Brielle cried out, and Georgine leaned over into her vision. “Tu vas bien, Brielle. Seul un moment.”
True to the woman’s word, a moment later, the steel doorframe of a large van interrupted Brielle’s view of the sky, and a hand slid over her face, unattached to a visible body. An instant of panic subsided as the mask slipped over her mouth and nose and the drug dragged her away from awareness.
Fading into sleep, Brielle noted the compassionate smile of Georgine, and allowed her eyes to close into unconsciousness.