Coming back...

Автор: Anastasia

"Should I consider it a warning?" Lindsay asked, looking straight into Elsinger's eyes.

"Yes, who knows, little accidents happen now and then," his glance was as cold as ice.

"I presume our talk is over. Take care," the glare of her gray eyes was as firm as his. Elsinger watched her go and silently wished she weren't so cocky. It would be a pity to hurt this woman.

In two weeks everyone who knew Elisa was charmed: she was loved by everyone in the O.S.I.R., Peter enjoyed talking to her and he was surprised to find out the girl could understand some physics and as for Marc he simply adored the child and spent as much as possible with her and Lindsay. It was a happy time going out for trips, strolling down the town eating ice - cream, taking Elisa to the Zoo or to a park. But everything had an end on the day Lizzie was due to go to school for the first time.

"I'm so worried, Marc," Lindsay said waving her hand at Elisa disappearing in the building. "I have a bad feeling."

"That is what every parent feels sending his child away for the first time. Are you perhaps still worried about Elsinger's words?"

"I don't know but her both parents died and I am sure that it wasn't a casual death," she looked up at Marc. " I am so afraid to lose Elisa," she added. The wind gust blew her hair upon the face and Lindsay remembered how Lizzie said that wind could talk. And now she had a feeling it was a warning.

Lindsay and Marc couldn't see a man entering the building from the back door and they couldn't see him approaching the door of the class where Elisa sat.

Elisa didn't listen to what the teacher was saying. She was smiling to herself thinking that Lindsay was waiting for her. She had a mother. Even if only for a short time.

It was only when the man burst into the room that Elisa understood: she won't ever see her mother again.

Tom felt pain. He had the pain for already twenty years, because he knew that his family died because of him. Now it was their turn to pay: the man told him that if he kills the girl, he will be free from his tortures. It was the only way to be forgiven. And taking out the revolver he fired at the little girl who made him suffer.

Lindsay had heard the shots and within seconds she was at school, running in the direction of the classroom. It was over, she hasn't been able to defend Lizzie. As she entered the room she saw Elisa lying on the floor, scared teacher and children around her. She took the bleeding girl into her hands. "Mommy, thank you for all. I am sorry it happened." "Don't say it, please," Lindsay fought tears," the ambulance is on its way, you'll be again healthy in a week or so."

"I know I won't. I am sorry not to have told you about it."

"You knew it would happen? But why did you tell me nothing?"

"We have no right of changing the future, Mommy. Please don't be unhappy."

"No, don't go away, don't leave me, Lizzie, you mean too much," tears ran down Lindsay's cheeks.

And before the girl closed her eyes she whispered: "Do swidanja." Lindsay could hear the wind crying outside.

Elsinger was reading a report as he heard someone knocking at his door. And then without asking permission, Lindsay entered the study. "She's dead, Frank. Is it what you wanted?" her eyes fixed his.

"You have no right talking to me like this, Lindsay," Frank replied calmly.

"And you had no right to let them kill Elisa. She was just a child, not one of your toys, Frank."

"She had to die, Lindsay. She shouldn't stay living," this time his calm voice was obviously an effort.

"You are not God to decide who should stay alive and who should die. And they have no right to play God either. Elisa was none of your dirty business and none of theirs," she still spoke in a low voice but the words struck.

"Lindsay, I am warning you directly: you know what happened to Doyle," Elsinger began to speak louder.

"Oh, yes, he went against you and against them and had to die. Why, Frank? Why Natasha? Why Elisa?" she tried to fight back her desire to throw the files on the desk into Elsinger's face.

"I like you, Lindsay and that is why I will give you a chance to get away with the whole affair. I won't mention your name to them. As for the whole Doyle business, I advise not to get involved. Connor knew what he did, he could still live if he were a bit cleverer. Go home, Lindsay. I hope you have understood everything."

He smiled watching the door closing after Lindsay. He won again. It wasn't very hard, he was sure that Lindsay would never try to do anything against him. She knew too much.

Lindsay felt as if she were drowning. The head pounded and she felt sick. She could do nothing. She knew the whole machine and she couldn't go alone against the whole world. And even if she took revenge: it wouldn't help her to revive Connor or Elisa. She has again lost. Like always.

And then she remembered the poem and a faint smile touched her lips. Who knows what will happen if she goes on believing? Wind touched her face and ruffled her hair, flying away and returning back, playing with the clouds.

Cold November rain was falling down like a heavy curtain, making the few people out in the streets shiver. Wet night was descending on the town, lights of cars melting to a shining stream. The wind whining in the trees was watching a lonely figure on the graveyard, standing lost in thoughts near a grave. Lindsay didn't notice her hands grow cold or rain upon her face. She was thinking about the past. "Please forgive me," she whispered, not knowing whether she was addressing the living or the dead.

Marc touched her hand and she startled. "You shouldn't stay here, come along, I have news for you," he saw her wet cheeks and was not sure whether it was tears or simply rain.

"Do you know what she told me before her death?" Lindsay looked up at Marc. He shook his head: "No, Lin."

"She said good bye. It wasn't a farewell," it was already too dark and Marc couldn't see her eyes.

"Perhaps you'll meet someday. Perhaps it was really only a "good bye"?" "Perhaps," Lindsay answered, taking his hand. They went to the car, night absorbing the two figures.

Wet blanket of the night still covered the graveyard and rain still fell like tears on the tombstone as if reading the words from a verse:

"No matter that the years will pass,
I'm sure I'll find my track
I know for you I'll never die:
I will be coming back…"

Written by someone years ago and saved by someone who loved. No matter whom, where or when. It was all the same for the blind darkness.

The End

Август, 2001,
by Anastasia.

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