Chapitre Zéro- The Perfect Red

In the hot sprawl of weather during the frantic French summer, a young Evaline Pierre sat scrawling with a quill in her husband's office chair, thinking of ideas to create life with.

She thought of writing as creating lives and worlds.

Yet, there was no life in her that could contribute to the world she wanted to create.

It was mid- day in the city of Nice, and the soft blossoms of flowers whipped at Eva's nose through the open window in her husband's office.

I sigh. What kind of world am I to create just sitting here, in a chair, staring at a blank sheet of paper and quill?

I stand up quickly and close the windows just in time for my butler to come wrapping on the door three sharp times.

He comes in with a cup of warm coffee with lots of sugar, just how I like it.

Black coffee, with loads of sweetness.

"Mistress? Your coffee." Henri says.

"Thank you, my kind butler." I reply, taking the saucer and cup from his hands and sipping the warm syrupy and sugary mix.

"It tastes good again today." I say.

"Of course, only the finest for my wonderful mistress."

I smile, and Henri holds the door open for me as I pass through.

He closes the door and waits silently, patiently.

"Nothing." I finally say. "I can't come up with a single word that will capture anyone's attention. What am I going to do?"

Henri comes to stand by my side, placing a soothing hand on my shoulder and my shoulders drop in displeasure.

"If I can't come up with anything for my novel, I'm going to lose my home and have to go live with my mother."

"I don't want to live with your mother." Henri says, and I sniff.

"I don't want to either! This is horrendous! I wouldn't dare lose my home because of some.... man, who's selfish and can't work right!"

Henri pats my shoulder lovingly and I sigh.

"Master Louis will be home late tonight. He'll be working until early morning."

"Great." I say. "Bring out the Absinthe. Supper tonight will be pork and bread with a fruit dessert as usual."

Henri is silent as he looks at me.

I turn to him and say nothing, watching him as he watches me in silence until he finally smiles.

"We both shall, and always forever, have a lousy life and love until the day Death stops his carriage for us to get in." Henri says.

"And get in, we happily shall." I say, smiling.

There is only one thing my butler and I have in common.

We connect.

On a level such as high as the god in heaven.

Both of our lives are the equivalent to horse manure and old coffee.

Why don't we just run off together? I think at times, but I'm almost certain that the butler I know is the only man I'll ever know in him.

I enter my husband's office again and fix everything as they were.

I gather ny papers and fix his quill and ink.

Silently leaving, I close the door behind me and go to my bed chamber.

A novel has to have some important things.

A beginning, an end.

Something in between and in the gaps of the beginning, middle, and end.

The problem is, what goes there? What possesses those gaps, nooks, and crannies?

Coffee keeps one awake when in thinking times of these.

"Well, of course!" Henri says as he bursts through the slightly ajar door and into my bed chamber.

"I know just what to write!" He exclaims. "A horror novel is best!"

"A.... horror.... novel? Wouldn't that scare away the people I wish to attract?"

"Why, maybe, but scaring them will keep them intruigued!"

"Well, then, I might consider. What might be such a fanciful idea?"

"I'll tell you! Now, listen closely!"

Alone stood a tall man with fiery, long red hair.

He was in a back street near a shop in which sold dolls. But, he was not there to purchase such a thing.

He was waiting.

Waiting for a woman who also had red hair.

She was thin and resembled a bean stalk, with short, fiery red hair.

They were both dressed in red when they had now seen each other.

They loved the color red, desired to paint the sky with all of it's various shades.

The woman and man met beside the door of the shop and with a short stare, they knew who each other were.

The tall man raised his chainsaw, decorated with golden and red embroidery.

Did they have such a thing in the early Sixteen hundreds?

The fancy beanstalk woman smiled, and so did the man, they took one another's hand to paint the town red.

After all, looking for the perfect shade wasn't easy. Was it blood red that was right? Or could it be crimson?

A gust of sharp night wind tugged at the couple's clothing, as they gazed at their newfound prey.

Children. Small, elementary children.

Did they have an education? A family? Who knows, but if they did, they wouldn't dare to play outside in the park this late in the night.

The tall man and woman smiled, and approached the children casually and waved.

"Hi children! Would you like a toy?"

The woman said so, as the two small children, two girls, looked at her cheerfully.

The girls nodded their heads frantically and smiled, and then remembered what time it must be.

"Ah, home!" One of the girls chanted, and the other looked at her friend.

"Ah, yes! We forgot! Momma and papa are worried!"

"Do you need us to take you home sweeties? We'll even let you keep the toy!"

The doll that they didn't seem to need was actually needed, and the woman displayed it from behind her back.

The children flailed along, and clasped the couple's hands happily.

"Please take us home!" The children begged, and the tall man smiled sweetly.

"Of course we'll take you home.... you'll be there quicker than ever!"

The children cheered and held tightly to one of the two adults' hands.

They begin to silently walk home, and the man noticed the woman humming.

"How delightful," He said. "My cue."

"Yes, we seem to be approaching a small town." The woman said.

And with a sharp turn, the children hung lifeless by the wrists as the woman now gripped them, and the couple headed to whichever opposite direction they pleased.

Behind a quiet house in the nearby town, they dropped the children's dead bodies against a wall and the man raised his chainsaw.

"Remember to be quiet so you don't wake the people." The woman said.

"Of course." The man said. "Only two swift chops.

And so, he did. Two swift chops to the neck, and the girls' heads went either direction.

The woman frowned. "That isn't the right color."

"What is so wrong about it?" The man inquired.

"It is too dark and chunky. The other color is too slimy."

Of course. The woman wanted a rich red, not one too slimy and fluidic, not one too chunky and grimy, but one that stood out against all of the reds and was as fluid as it was chunky.

"Should we at least get a bit?" The man asked.

"No!" Said the woman quickly. "Now, let's hurry along and go. My husband might suspect I'm cheating around if I stay out too long."

And so the couple hurried along to their own places and slept like babies, out to find the best shade of red the next night.

"Red?" Eva questioned, sipping on a cup of warm black coffee with lots of sugar, just how she liked it.

Henri nodded. "Red."

"And..... Why did this couple go around killing young girls specifically, in attempt to find the perfect red?"

"No reason, mistress. Simply because they wished."

I nodded. The story was intruiging, yes, but-

"If there is no explanation, then the readers would be left with questions. And I'm writing a novel, Henri. I want a full, long story that is good. Besides, how did the couple kill the two girls?"

Henri was silent for a few seconds.

"Mistress," He finally said. "What would you like for supper?"