JEAN-LUC
After they let him telephone Charlotte, Bradley and the two officers left the interview room, locking it on their way out. Jean-Luc has been sitting there for what feels like hours, but when he looks at his watch, he sees it’s only been fifty minutes. He’s desperate to get to Charlotte. He should never have broken the news to her like that, on the phone. What was he thinking of? It must have been the shock. The guilt.
An officer he hasn’t seen before enters the room. “You’re on a flight tomorrow morning. You can go home, pack a bag, then you have to come straight back here.”
“But I haven’t seen a lawyer. I want to see a lawyer.”
“A lawyer can’t help you. We’re sending you back to France. You can have one when you get to France.”
“But… but what about my rights?”
A smile stretches across the officer’s face. “Mr. Bow-Champ, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of your crime. And we have no reason nor wish not to comply with the French. It will be up to them now to decide if it was kidnapping or… something else. The matter is out of our hands. We’ll take you home now; you can have ten minutes to pack.”
“Ten minutes! But I need to talk with Charlotte and Sam. I can’t just leave like that.”
“I said ten minutes. Now quit your whining, or it’ll be down to five.”
“Please…”
Folding his arms, the officer looks down at his wristwatch.
Without another word, Jean-Luc gets up and follows him out to the waiting car. Thank God, there are no handcuffs. He gets in the back with the officer. They drive to his home.
“We’ll wait here,” the officer says when they pull up behind the oak tree.
Jean-Luc gets out of the car, vaguely aware of Marge’s kitchen curtains twitching. He walks up the garden path and pushes the front door open. Cautiously he breathes in, wondering where Charlotte and Sam are. An eerie silence seeps from the walls.
He hears shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. He goes on through, the blood racing through his veins.
Charlotte, a small suitcase in her hand, stands in the middle of the room. Her mouth drops open when she sees him, the color draining from her face.
He knows what she’s doing. His heart sinks, heavy with the weight of her pain. “Charlotte.” He reaches his arms out to her.
“We have to go. Now!” she screams at him.
He touches her shoulder, bringing her gently toward him. He can feel all her hot energy dissipating.
She falls into him.
“Shh, shh… mon ange.” He feels her body give way as she sinks down to the floor, as though she’s crumbling away under his fingers. Sinking with her, he crouches down, stroking her, murmuring, “Charlotte, Charlotte.”
Someone coughs. He looks up to see Sam standing in the doorway, his little face ashen.
With one arm still around Charlotte, Jean-Luc opens up the other. Wordlessly Sam walks into the fold. He wraps his little arms around Jean-Luc’s neck and whispers in his ear, “Daddy, please don’t go away again. I’m scared.”