Liberté Foncée

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye
I leave and heave a sigh and say goodbye -- Goodbye!
I'm glad to go, I cannot tell a lie
I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly
The sun has gone to bed and so must I

-- from The Sound of Music

CHAPTER ELEVEN: CHANGES

The tenth time in one month that Ayden awoke at night to hear someone knocking on his door asking to be let in, he began to seriously consider Adrienne's proposal of just offing himself and leaving the world to fend for its self.

"Above all," he told her bitterly one evening as he fixed her coffee, "I'd like to be able to sleep a full night without expecting to be woken at any minute because X had a fight with Y and got chucked out."

Adrienne nodded sympathetically. "Life's a bitch," she agreed and patted him on the arm.

"You know, things used to be simple," Ayden sulked. "Go to work, eat, see friends, sleep, repeat as needed."

"Don't forget 'get laid,'" Adrienne chirped.

"Of course." Ayden rolled his eyes.

"Hmph," said Adrienne. She reached into her pocket and gave him money for the coffee. "You've got a choice, though," she said. "Don't forget that you're not stuck with these people."

Ayden nodded. He felt uncomfortable having this conversation. After all, he didn't want to feel stuck with his friends, he loved them, really, he did. But everything else... and, okay, them too. He sighed, told Adrienne good night, and went back to work.

Later, at home, he walked through the door, locked it halfheartedly, and made his way straight to the small bookcase beside the couch. It didn't take long to find the two items he was looking for: a family photo album, and an old volume of short suspense stories that had once belong to his brother.

The album hadn't been filled, there were at least twenty photographs pressed between the pages, waiting to be mounted. Ayden had ignored it since Violet had vanished, but now, he flipped through the pages curiously. There was a single photograph of his mother, a formal black and white portrait. She was outdoors somewhere, and she looked content, a soft smile on her face. Ayden felt himself smile, too.

There were several of his father and Mark as a baby, playing with alpha-blocks, watching TV, men of the house, Mark squishing the life out of a Jack Russell Terrier puppy, Mark learning how to play chess at the age of two, trying to eat his bishop. It made sense that he'd started earlier, Ayden thought, he'd been a genius when it came to strategy.

There were the missing years, when Ayden had first come to live with them, and hidden at every possible opportunity. A series of photographs of Mark beckoning someone into the frame, getting exasperated, and finally sitting down, shaking his head, defeated. Several of Mark and their father, a blur in one of the corners that was Ayden escaping the shot just before the picture was taken.

Later photographs featured Ayden and Shane floating around on toy broomsticks, aged about ten years old.

There was a cute picture of Mark and Violet, twelve-year-old Ayden standing between them and looking up at them, nose wrinkled, as if to say, You're not going to kiss in front of the camera, are you?

Among the loose snap shots, Ayden saw Alena and Shane at the mini-party they'd had for their engagement, looking happy (gasp, shock, horror, apocalypse). There were a few stray shots of Ayden and Violet, from the days when she'd still been alive and he'd lived with her because for reasons he'd never bothered looking into, she'd been appointed his legal guardian. Ayden had come to decide that his guardians all kicked it eventually, so best get independent as quickly as possible.

He flipped through the rest of the pictures, then went back to the middle pages and carefully removed two photographs, one of Mark and himself, one of them with Violet. He turned to the other book and flipped to the index, looking to find a familiar title.

*

Shane had long since made the decision that the next time Alena threw him out, he would avoid going to Ayden's. Best friends or not, the bloke deserved his sleep. He'd looked awful for months now anyway.

Even though it was a convenient time to question him. Shane was still very curious where exactly Ayden disappeared to every time he suddenly had to go, particularly if Ayden was so keen on keeping it a secret. It was odd, Ayden had never been a very secretive person, not when it came to Shane, at any rate. It was only natural to assume something strange was going on.

Rayne wasn't sleep when he arrived at her place, there was a light on and when she opened a door the telly was on and there was a half empty cup of tea on the table beside her couch.

She didn't ask questions, just invited him in, which was nice. And anyway, what much was there to tell? Shout, scream, fight, there's the door, on your own. Same as every time. This wasn't every time, but no one had to know that. Not yet.

Rayne made up the couch, offered him a bit of food, and then they sat for a while at the kitchen table, her with her tea, him with his sandwich, just thinking.

"Worse than usual, huh?" she asked finally.

"What? Oh. Yeah, I guess so." He sighed and put his drink down. "She's leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Engagement's off. She said maybe Eastern Europe. Romania, Russia, Hungary. Somewhere in there."

"Leaving the country. Without saying anything to anyone?"

Shane shrugged. "'Spect she'll drop by to bid you adieu in a bit. Might not be a bad idea for me to be elsewhere when that happens.

"Jesus."

"She'll be back. She won't be able to make it anywhere else, doesn't know any other language. Give her a week, tops. She probably doesn't even want to go anywhere to stay. She's not that impulsive. Just wants a few days to calm down."

*

There was a huge floo port not far from where Alena and Shane had lived, and at that moment, it was almost deserted.

A concrete slab stretching half a square kilometer lined with fire places, the floo port was guarded by four sleeping wizards. There wasn't much to guard, after all, it was empty except for the grates, and who stole a fireplace?

Alena reached inside her pocket and pulled a small pouch of white powder from it. She felt like throwing darts at a map, shouting the first location that came to mind. Two grates over, there was a green glow and someone stepped out of their fireplace, tripping over something on the ground. The voice cursing was familiar.

"Ayden?"

Ayden Ryan, looking considerably more sooty than usual, came into view. "What in God's name are you doing here?" he asked. She didn't answer. "Ah."

She toyed with the strings on the pouch of floo powder. "It was a bad fight."

"Ah," he said again. "Any idea where you're headed?"

"I've got a great Aunt, lives in Bulgaria," Alena said. "Maybe I'll drop by for a visit. "Maybe I'll go the other way. Always wanted to visit New York. Maybe somewhere in South America. Big world out there." She glanced at her suitcase, into which she'd jammed every pair of shoes she could fit and some money. Clothes could be bought later, shoes were more important.

"That bad?"

"I might be back."

"Might?"

"I don't know, Ayden."

"I love it when you're so decisive."

She smiled. "Didn't we tell you enough that sarcasm looks bad on you?"

"Probably not enough." He yawned. "Damn, what time is it?"

"Late. You don't seem too concerned with my going away. Should I feel unloved?"

"I'm too tired. Besides, I'll see you again. And what should I say? 'Have fun outside Mother England, don't die?'"

"Something like that. Maybe I'll bring you a souvenir."

"If you stop by France, I've always wanted one of those little Eiffel Tower paperweights."

"Duly noted."

There was a pause.

"Best be off," Ayden said finally.

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"Well, take care, love. Send us an owl." Ayden forced a smile.

"I will." There was an awkward moment, then she gave him a hug. "G'night, Ayden. I'll see you sometime."

"Yeah, we'll keep in touch. Don't get lost, not everywhere speaks English, can you believe it?"

"The bastards," she laughed.

And shortly after, she was gone. Ayden walked home from the floo port and sighed. He wondered how he was supposed to react. He was surprised, certainly. Somehow he'd always though Alena and Shane would patch things up. But he felt strangely calm and apathetic about the whole thing. It was mostly just strange, almost surreal.

But it also made clear something he hadn't quite grasped before: leaving wasn't impossible.

*

"You're finally getting that, are you?" asked Adrienne.

"I still feel like I should be more upset about the whole thing. She was one of my best friends, and they were a great couple." Ayden sighed.

"But you're finally getting the picture," Adrienne said insistently.

"Yeah, I am. But I can't just... Fine, fine, I can. But it's weird to think about. Almost a Close Encounters deal. Would you get on the ship or not?" Adrienne stared at him, mystified. "Er, never mind." Ayden busied himself with pouring her coffee.

"I think you should do it. If you think it'll be better. And look at it this way, if it doesn't work out for you, you can always just turn up a few weeks later and pretend your memory's been wiped. No big deal."

Ayden snorted. "For you, maybe."

"Say what you will, that's the way I see it. But really, it would be muchly appreciated if you'd just make your choice and stop blabbering about it. I'm getting rather sick of it, truth be told."

"A moment of honesty. And the planet still hasn't blown up. Impressive." Adrienne rolled her eyes. "I've got people I love," he said after a while.

"So did I. Well, not love. Too strong a word. I had people I sometimes regret leaving."

"Ah, a soft spot."

"Nah, it's just you'd be surprised how deathly boring most of the people there are. And not attractive, it's not easy to find a decent shag among the dead of the dead, I'll tell you that right now."

"Just so I can consider it as one of the cons, right?"

"Exactly."

"How considerate of you. Are you going to pay for that coffee, or just stand there and drink it?"

"You know, just because I kill people, it doesn't mean I'm dishonest," Adrienne said, reaching into her pocket for some loose change.

"Adrienne, you and honesty are at opposite ends of the spectrum. Unless we're talking honest in terms of tactless."

"Hiss," she said by way of reply. Ayden thought for the thousandth time that she was insane.

*

"Somehow, you always manage to land on your feet."

-- Suzy Becker, All I Need to Know, I Learned from My Cat

JANUARY, 2117

Adrienne was panicking. And numb. Neither thing happened often. She was practically shaking.

"What do you mean, he's dead?" she asked.

Dumont eyed her closely. "He was killed by an Auror while out on assignment near Paddington Station."

He was lying, of course. Adrienne knew Christian Deveraux well, and she knew that the man was un-killable. He was born to survive; he was one of few people who would grow old and possibly just die of age one night in their sleep.

"He wasn't," she said firmly.

Dumont put a hand on her shoulder, a calming gesture and something she'd never seen him do. Usually his business was to irritate her as much as possible.

"I'm sorry, Cassada," he said. And he looked it, too, eyes sympathetic and expression soft. "I know you two were very close friends."

Adrienne's memory fast-forwarded through all the times they'd come close to becoming more than that, but hadn't because they worked better with a platonic or almost sibling-like relationship.

"He's not dead," she said quietly.

"Go lie down, Adrienne," Dumont said gently, nudging her in direction of the door. "Take a rest."

She nodded weakly, and realized as she walked down the empty stone corridor leading away from his quarters, that this was quite possibly the first time she'd ever taken an order from Robert Dumont without argument.

*

It was a minor dispute that made Ayden realize better out than in. It had been an argument he'd had with Shane, just after Alena had left. He should've tried to stop her, Shane had said. After an hour, Ayden had snapped and walked away from the squabble. If he'd been an English major or artistic in any shape or form (which he wasn't), he might have described it as metaphoric. He could've said that they were the first steps in what soon became his walking away for good.

Only, of course, if he were remotely artistic he would've found a better, less cliché way to say it.

It was a week later, and he woke of his own accord, as though his biological clock had anticipated the alarm he'd set, the alarm that went off five seconds later. He felt the same way he did if he ever drank anything with caffeine in it past seven in the evening, jittery and terribly nervous. Though, to be fair, most people planning a fake suicide or general death scene would be.

Adrienne had helped him plan this down to the smallest details. Dark clothing to keep from being seen distinctly by anyone out on the streets or leaving the neighborhood, how to arrange his apartment.

"Signs of a struggle wouldn't be bad. Knock it around a bit," Adrienne had said. "Possibly break a window. Leave the door closed but unlocked, and take away any charm that guards it, most killers don't think about things like that. Might want to vanish a few things of value, make it seem like it was a Muggle robbery."

Ayden did his best to keep quite as he followed these instructions. It wasn't possibly to do it earlier, someone might walk in and see things if he didn't take care of it at the last minute.

He'd packed a bag with some clothing and the few items he'd been allowed. "Don't take so much that it'll be noticed gone," Adrienne had said. "More of ours have been caught over that than anything else. It's just a detail, you wouldn't think so, right?"

But Adrienne had thought so, and Ayden had listened to her. After all, she'd done this herself, hadn't she? She knew how it worked.

It wasn't as hard as it should have been, or as he'd thought it would be, and he considered this as he quietly closed the door of his flat behind him. Or maybe it just hadn't sunk in fully yet. He started down the walk. Maybe he didn't really care. He rounded the corner and started down the stairs. As light as his bag once, holding only a few changes of clothing and a book or two, he felt as though it were weighing him down terribly.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell and started down the concrete walk away from the complex. At the end of it, he stopped and turned, glanced back at it. The place was completely dark, every window. There was a dead-calm sort of feel to it.

Ayden stood there for a moment, feeling very much like a foolish child running away from home because one small thing hadn't gone his way.

Maybe, he thought as he turned around and continued on his way, it just didn't matter. Not to him or anyone else.