“I know I’m the one he loves, you stupid bitch. You think I don’t know that? He just needed a little reminder, that’s all. Which is why I told the press we were engaged. I knew it would make him come back to me, make him remember how perfect we were together.”
Suddenly I remembered how angry Édouard had become when he’d seen the People magazine in the dance studio that night. And I could still see him frantically trying to tell me something as I’d slipped away.
He was trying to tell me that it wasn’t true. He wasn’t engaged to Solange. He never had been.
Solange resumed her pacing. “I followed him to the studio that night; he was being so stubborn. I just needed to make him understand that I was the one for him. That I was the one he was meant to spend his life with.” Her eyes darted throughout the apartment, the sound of her heels beating against the hardwood floors making me jump with each step. “But then he told me to leave before he rushed into that dance studio, and when I followed him in, I saw you, Claudia. I saw you dancing with him. And the way he touched you…the way he was looking at you…” She turned to me once more, aiming the gun straight at my head. “I won’t let you take him from me. I won’t.”
“Solange, wait, please. I’m not taking Édouard from you. You don’t have to do this. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and tightened her grip on the gun.
“You still don’t get it do you? Oh, poor Claudia. You’ve been so confused since you arrived here. You don’t think I’d come all this way and kill you just because of the way you looked at Édouard, do you? I mean, surely I’m not that desperate.”
Before I could tell her that I’d already figured out who she was in this life too—Antoine’s wife—a startling ring pierced through the air.
She flipped around and glared down the hallway. It was a telephone.
“Fucking Antoine,” she murmured under her breath as she tore through the living room and headed down the hallway.
Had Antoine really been working with this evil woman the whole time to frame me for all of these murders?
But what about his beloved sister, Gisèle? Surely he couldn’t have had anything to do with her death.
What in the hell was going on?
I knew there was something I was missing—something huge—but I didn’t have time to figure it out because I only had a few seconds before she would fly back into this room and point that gun at my head again. I struggled to my feet and scoured the room for something sharp that I could use to cut the rope off my wrists. Spotting a glass coffee table, I ran over, crouched down and rubbed the rope against the corner as rapidly as I could manage.
The shrill ringing continued while Solange’s boots thumped down the hallway on a tile floor, and she hurled incoherent words through the air. I pulled my wrists as hard as I could to loosen the rope while I continued scraping it along the sharp edge of the coffee table, hoping, praying, I could free my hands and get the hell out of this apartment before this woman did what she’d come back to this lifetime to do.
The phone stopped ringing, and with it, my heart ceased its beating as I waited for the sound of Solange’s boots to come roaring back down the hall. But as the rope loosened just the slightest bit, my wrists screaming in pain to be released, the phone rang again, and this time brought with it the sound of cupboards slamming then glass breaking.
“This is my fucking house,” she screamed from down the hallway, more dishes and more glass clattering to the floor.
I rubbed the rope at an inhuman speed, pulling and pushing as hard as I could to get out of my binding. I had to get out of here. This woman was beyond insane. Madame Bouchard had been right—Solange was an evil soul, and I had to escape. I couldn’t let her take me down again.
The rope loosened another millimeter or two, but then the shattering came to a halt. My heart slammed into my chest, sweat dripping down my neck as Solange’s boots pounded back down the hall.
“Did you hear me, you dumb slut? This is my fucking house. Mine!” She charged into the room, her wet hair plastered around her face while fiery red blotches splashed onto her cheeks and her eyes raged with a fury I hadn’t yet seen.
I slumped to the ground next to the coffee table, still pulling at my wrists, determined to free my hands, determined to stop this crazy woman from hurting me.
She didn’t seem to notice my new location or my struggle to break the rope as she marched in circles around the living room, knocking over vases, pulling framed pictures off the walls and throwing them to the ground. “This is my house!” she screamed again. “And you, you little dancing slut, you think you’re going to get to live here.”
Solange ripped a framed photograph off the coffee table and marched it over to me. It was a photograph of Antoine and Gisèle. His smile was so bright and happy, his eyes shining and carefree as he hugged her close.
Antoine would never have hurt his sister. And he wouldn’t have harmed me either, not in a million years.
But this woman—the woman he’d married—she would’ve. I only wished he’d told me about his raging bitch of a wife before I’d found myself tied up at her mercy.
“You look so confused, Ruby,” she spat. “So lost. Like you have no idea that you’re sleeping with Antoine—my husband. Like you have no idea that you stormed back to this life, seduced him just like you did the first time around, and made him think he’s in love with you. Well, he’s not! He’s mine. This house is mine. Antoine is mine. And his money is mine. You’re stealing him away from me just like you’re going to try to steal Édouard in the future. And I won’t let it happen!” She hurled the framed photo across the room, where it smacked against the wall, its glass shattering all over the sparkly wood floors.
As my brain continued to piece together this deranged woman’s story, my gaze traveled from the broken frame and stopped on another object carelessly strewn on the apartment floor.
It was the magical purple journal, resting next to my purse, which was crumpled on the ground only about five feet away from me. Solange must’ve carried my purse in with her when she’d forced me into the apartment.
Eyeing the journal, I remembered the last entry and the chilling words that I hadn’t truly understood until this moment.
That little bitch won’t steal what’s mine this time around, and she won’t steal it from me in the future either.
I’ll be sure of it.
It seemed impossible, but as I watched the woman who was raging around the house before me, I knew that in this insane past-life experience, the impossible wasn’t only possible, it was real.
I had to repeat it over and over in my head though before I truly believed it.
Solange Raspail, Édouard’s fiancée from the year 2012, was Antoine’s wife in her past life.
Unbelievable.
When I’d passed out in Édouard’s arms and had traveled back in time to my past life as Ruby, Solange’s evil soul had been sucked back in time to her past life as well.
But as Madame Bouchard had said, this wasn’t supposed to have happened. Solange was not supposed to have been sent back. And as this vengeful, maniac wife of the man I was in love with destroyed what I now realized was Antoine’s apartment while she waved her gun through the air, I understood why.
“Do you get it now? Are the pieces coming together in that dim-witted dancer brain of yours?” she spat.
“You don’t even love Antoine,” I said, ignoring my more rational side, which was telling me to keep my mouth shut and not provoke her any further.
Solange’s hands trembled as she lifted the gun once more and walked slowly and deliberately in my direction. “Of course I love him. Why else do you think I’d be protecting him from you?”
“If you really loved him, then why did you kill his only sister?” I was assuming this insane woman had been the culprit behind all of the murders that had gone down in the past week, but I wanted to be sure.
“You want to know
why I killed Gisèle, that dirty whore of a sister?” She let out a loud, dramatic sigh as she advanced toward me, knelt down, and pushed the cool barrel of the gun straight into my cheek. “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. Claudia, Claudia, Claudia.” The edgy, hysterical sound of her voice was like nails down a chalkboard. I pulled at my wrists, but the rope was still too tight. I couldn’t free them.
She leaned into my face, her breath chilly despite the heat that emanated from her body. “Don’t you remember how this all played out the first time around? It was perfect. Oh so perfect. And now, I have the pleasure of making it all happen again.”
This was it. This crazy murderer was going to shoot me right here and now, and with my hands bound together and my body weakened from the struggle, there was nothing I could do. If I bit her, if I kicked, if I screamed, she would shoot me.
There was no way I could stop this horrific event from taking place again.
I’d been sent back to stop this event, to stop my own murder, and because I’d stepped into that damn car without being absolutely sure that the man in the driver’s seat was a real taxi driver, I was about to fail.
And failing in this instance meant my own death.
Just as a tear escaped out of the corner of my eye, I jumped at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Solange wasn’t startled, though. She smiled that sickening, evil smile before lifting the gun to my temple and standing up in front of me. “Right. On. Time.”
I whipped my head up and felt relief flood course through my veins as Antoine took a step toward us, his smoky-gray eyes not wavering for a second as he reached his hand out to Solange.
Thank God this woman had been dumb enough to take me to what was obviously their former apartment.
I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life…or lives.
“Solange,” he said without even a hint of panic in his tone. “Give me the gun.”
I wondered how Antoine knew her name would be Solange in the future, but then I remembered what Madame Bouchard had said about evil souls not changing much when they’re reincarnated. Solange must’ve stayed so similar—so corrupt—that she’d even kept the same name from one life to the next.
Solange tilted her head back and laughed so hard that tears sprang from her eyes. “Let me guess. You want to make amends now. Now that I have a gun to Ruby’s head, you want to make it all better. Just to save the girl who’s fucking you senseless and making you think you love her. Well, it won’t work, Antoine. It didn’t work the first time around, and it won’t work this time either.”
Antoine didn’t do as great a job hiding the confusion that passed through his eyes as he looked from Solange to me and back to Solange. “What do you mean, the first time around?”
Solange peeked down at me and winked. “He doesn’t know about our little secret, Claudia. I don’t think I should keep this juicy story to myself, though. It’s just too good not to share.” Keeping the gun at my temple, she turned back to Antoine.
“You see, the first time we were married, I was sick of you hanging around that sleazy club and watching out for your trashy little sister. I mean, you’re a renowned surgeon, for God’s sake! Spending your nights in that dungeon of a club. And you know the kind of family I come from, and there you are, supporting that slutty sister of yours and making my family name look bad. Making me look bad. Plus, I knew it was only a matter of time before one of those hookers got their paws on you and made you cheat on me.
“So, after you made the biggest mistake of your life and tried to divorce me, I used little miss Véronique to help me rid the earth of your low-class sister. But just as I was about to leave her bleeding body behind, I heard your precious Ruby here fucking that sleazebag politician François Lefevre in the office next door. And when she walked him out of the club, her necklace fell to the floor.” Solange peered down at me and snickered. “Things must’ve been getting a little rough in there, hmm?”
She leveled her gaze back at Antoine and continued on her diatribe. “It couldn’t have been a more perfect setup if I’d planned it myself. I snatched up the necklace and planted it underneath Gisèle’s body. The police would find the necklace, trace it back to Ruby, throw her in prison for the rest of her life, and you, Antoine, you would come crawling right back to me.
“But then those fucking imbecile police thought the necklace belonged to Gisèle and gave it to you, leading you to Miss Star of the Show here. Then, Véronique, God rest her soul, was kind enough to inform me that Ruby, the new, undeserving star, was making a move on my husband.”
“You killed Véronique too?” Antoine said, taking a step toward Solange.
She lowered her eyes to me once more, expelling daggers with her gaze. “Véronique was an efficient partner in crime, but she knew entirely too much, didn’t she, Claudia? After I arrived here from the future and got my bearings on what the hell was going on, Véronique came to me and told me that the star of the show had fallen, that she had suddenly lost her memory, and that she was claiming to be someone named Claudia. That’s when it all clicked for me. That’s when I knew what I was sent back here to do. I tried to be nice to you, Claudia, by warning you with those gorgeous roses and those sweet notes, but you poor, lost girl. You didn’t get it. You clearly didn’t adjust to this whole past-life adventure as well as I did.”
“You were responsible for Gisèle’s death,” Antoine cut her off as a new rage fired up in his eyes. “You killed my sister, and Véronique too. And now you’re talking about arriving from the future and past lives?” He stopped speaking, his grave expression making it clear that he had much more to say to her, but as his eyes darted back and forth from her wild face to the gun in her hands, he demanded in a calm, cool tone, “Hand me the gun.”
She laughed again, the sound so sickening and evil I felt my body shaking as the vibrations ravaged me.
“I didn’t have my way with only your perfect little Gisèle, Antoine. Or with Véronique, my informant. My brother, Alexandre, and I also had a little fun with that low-life politician François, and that sexy film director, Robert. I framed Ruby for both of their murders, of course, but when those idiot police failed to arrest her, I remembered the beautiful way things had happened last time and realized I wouldn’t need to rely on Ruby getting locked up for life. I wanted to take care of her myself. And so here we are.”
So it hadn’t been Thomas all along like I’d thought. That explained the first creepy note I’d received under my pillow, with the clear warning not to speak with A., or Antoine, and the ambiguous signature. I’d thought it had been signed “T. R.” for Thomas Riley, but I’d been wrong. It had been “S. R.” for Solange Richard and Solange Raspail.
The red roses and the note addressed to Claudia also made sense now—in the most deranged way. Solange—and only Solange—understood who I really was because she’d made the same past-life trip as me.
And now I understood why the memory of that dangly diamond earring had stood out to me from the night of Gisèle’s murder, and why I’d found the same earring at the scene of François’s murder. She’d been responsible for all of it. Even my own grandfather’s death. And it just so happened that her brother, Alexandre, held a striking resemblance to Thomas, which reminded me that we still didn’t know if he too was hunting me down in Paris.
The determination in Solange’s eyes made me forget all about Thomas. Nothing would stop this woman. We had to get that gun out of her hands before she killed us both.
“Solange, did you ever think about the fact that maybe what happened last time didn’t work out so well for you in the end?” I asked, stalling for time. “And that maybe you’ve been given a second chance so that you can change things…for the better?” As Solange tapped her boot on the ground and mulled this over for a second, I flicked my gaze over to Antoine and noticed the confusion in his eyes. Seeing as how he had absolutely no clue what I was talking about with second chances, and the last time this had all happened, I would have
been confused too. I didn’t care, though. I just hoped he would go along with whatever I was saying because we had to do something to stop her from pulling that trigger.
“Nice try, Miss Psychologist. You can’t use your dumb therapy tricks to talk me out of this, you little smart-ass. I’m going to do exactly what I did last time, but this time it will be even better. This time, the effects will last forever. You see, last time we all did this little dance I killed you and framed Antoine for your murder. Then when you were reborn as Claudia, like the dumb girl you are, you repeated the same damn mistakes. You’d think you’d have learned from the first time around and not tried to steal my man from me again. But you did. So the beauty of tonight is that this time, when I kill you, your soul won’t ever be reborn. You, Claudia Davis, will never exist. This way, Édouard will be mine, and the world will be rid of you forever.”
As she cocked the trigger, my entire body tensed up in anticipation of the blow. But the ear-piercing sound I was expecting never came, and instead the gun suddenly went flying from Solange’s hands. She lunged for it, but Antoine was quicker as he tackled her to the floor.
She flailed and screamed beneath him as he struggled to pin her arms above her head and keep her wiry, frantic legs down at the same time.
I rose to my feet and tugged so hard that one of my wrists finally slipped out of the binding. And just as Antoine turned toward me, I spotted something shiny in Solange’s hand.
It was a jagged piece of glass from the picture frame she’d thrown across the room.
Flashes of déjà-vu paralyzed me as Ruby’s memories came into full view. I remembered exactly what had happened the first time around.
Solange had lied earlier. She hadn’t killed me and then framed Antoine for my murder.
Dancing with Paris (A Paris Time Travel Romance) Page 25
