L'affaire Bob

1. Who I Really Am

A doorbell woke me up and scared the hell out of me. Now that my friend had left us, I didn't have someone to spend the evening with, and so I had unusually fallen asleep at about seven o'clock.

I wondered which neighbors were so disrespectful to us, peacefully snoring humans who only wanted some rest after a tiring day, they dared to receive visitors at this ungodly hour. It was three in the morning; the sun would soon be pointing its nose.

A knock echoed in the main hall. Realizing just then that the doorbell I heard earlier was actually mine, I got out of bed, slipped on my dressing gown, and headed for the door. I opened it to a woman tall and slender who was about my age-- twenty-five years at most. Her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her grey, vibrant, and dominating eyes pierced my soul, giving me horrendous flashbacks of those times when Lavande Blondinette and her group of friends would force me to play with them and their dolls during middle school.

I closed the door in the woman's face.

What? In my defense, the memories she triggered were not from a time I dared to remember. The things these girls made me live... Atrocious. Truly atrocious.

I shuddered, trying to get these thoughts out of my head.

I got back to my armchair and tried to continue my nap in the living room this time, but to no avail. Just as I was closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep, a silhouette shimmered next to me, making me jump and fall from the chair in the process.

-"Lord have mercy...," I muttered, seeing that the woman was, God knows how, standing in front of me right now.

Getting back up, I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.

I was not.

Heading to the kitchen, I went to check the counter. Maybe I had drunk a bottle of wine last night, and this was simply the fruit of my imagination.

There was nothing on it. The bin, too, was empty.

-"I'm not dreaming, nor am I drunk, so who the hell is she?" I said to myself.

-"That's what I've precisely come to tell you, boy."

A "Jesus, Christ!" escaped my lips as I whirled around only to end up vis-à-vis the same woman I had left in the living room.

-"How did you-" I started, astonished.

-"Take a seat, Paul, please. I have something important to tell you," she said and led me towards the living room again.

I was pretty sure I did not introduce myself, so how was it that she knew my name?

She made me sit down in the armchair and took a seat on the couch in front of me.

-"Paul René," she continued. "Your friend recently died. You were probably going to investigate the cause of his death, as I know you. We, therefore, offer our help, but on one condition: Paul, are you ready to risk your life?"

***

I was shocked.

Not because this woman forced herself inside my home in the middle of the night or because she just invited me to risk my life, but because she knew almost everything about me, which was intimidating. Her "Oh-I'm-a-badass-queen-and-you-better-do-what-I-tell-you" attitude was starting to get on my nerves.

-"Since your friend wasn't someone very known nor active," she had continued.

The most infuriating part in all of this was that all she was saying was true. Bob rarely participated in the missions or worked on-ground, and would rather stay at the headquarters, taking under his wing the novices and supervising their work.

But how did she know that? Was she working for Albrecht? Were they spying on us again, plotting revenge? However, this shouldn't be possible. The boss had signed a peace treaty with them a few months ago, and we hadn't seen any of their agents since then.

-"I do not think that the murderer is someone from the enemy association-- umm, what was its name, again? Ah, yes! Albrecht's agency-- So, as I was saying, I don't believe the murderer is an enemy or someone he does not know," she had gone on. "I tend to think of the hypothesis that Bob may have influenced someone negatively in the past and hurt them. Later on, they might have felt the need to exact revenge, and that was what led your friend to death, but that is just a proposition," she had explained.

Right now, she was still there, immersed in an endless explanation.

"And that's where you need my help, or rather our help," she said. Her voice was familiar, but I thought that if I had known someone that boring, I would have remembered it.

- "Indeed," she said, "to know the identity of the culprit, you should know some important details of your friend's past. We will, therefore, resort to time travel."

I choked. Did I hear correctly? She couldn't have possibly-

Alas, judging by her facial expression, she could. God, yes, she could. And she pretty much did, much to my dismay.

At this point, I was sure she was crazy, or suffering from some kind of mental illness. I was about to get up and gently ask her to give me peace and leave my house, but then she took me by the collar of my nightgown and pulled me towards her. She looked down at me and, in a very stern and earnest tone, murmured: "It's time to tell you who you are, Paul. To discover your true identity."

This statement caught my attention.

Eager to listen to the explanation, I invited her to continue, but given her character, that's what she was going to do anyway. 

- "You have in you a power that few people have. Those who possess it are able to return to the past or visit the future. For the moment, we do not know which of the two you are, but one thing is certain, you are part of ours."

-"What... How do you know? That I am a...," I asked, curious and longing to know more.

-"A time-traveler. The first individuals of our species were British, so it was they who gave us our name. And we have kept it as a tribute to everything they did for us. From safe high-tech shelters for those leaving on a mission all over the world to places to hide from the enemies, they did not fail to seek out the best for us. Anyway, a few of our specialized members-- most of the time the elderly-- are the ones who look for the time-travelers using gadgets that we've brought from the future. Once we find a time-traveler, we track him wherever he goes. The searchers record all of his movements and store them in a special room. Thus, you will find a pile of information about you at the base. Oh, and about the base, I intend to make you visit it tomorrow, since, later on, it will be your house. Meet me at about ten o'clock, at the Gare Saint-Lazare."

Thereupon she got up and stalked out of the apartment. I was going to close the door when, at the last second, I asked her: "Miss, what is your name? You said everything but that."

 For a moment, the shadow of a smile appeared on her lips. 

Then, in a whisper, she said: "You'll know later," and went down the stairs.

I went back to my apartment. Slumping down on my couch, I noticed that the uncontrollable but familiar fidget I had always encountered before leaving on dangerous missions had once again taken hold of me. I tried to ignore it, in vain. The lady had affected me much more than I wanted to admit.

I wanted to forget her. I truly did. But the image of her appearing next to me that was flashing before my eyes made me fail miserably. Who was she? What were those powers?

Was the time-traveling concept even real?

So many questions swirled in my head, yet I had answers to none.

This mysterious woman had captured my attention, which was something incredible. Whereas a few minutes earlier, she had looked crazy to me, now, on the other hand, I had concluded that she was one of the most intense and solemn people in the world.

I admit, as enigmatic and dangerous as she could be, she still had something fascinating about her, maybe even attractive.

***

mademoi -: It is actually the word Mademoiselle, which means myLady, or miss, in French :-)