Generation 4, Chapter 3: History repeating itself

The city of Paris, the largest city and also the capital of France. Bridgeport could never compete with the likes of this city, with an estimated population of over 2 million. It was a city I had once called home for a short period of time. Many would assume I would be glad to return, but I wasn't. I was terrified.

Looking at the Eiffel Tower reminded me of the times Sarah and I would dine at the Jules Verne restaurant tucked away inside, or the times we would look at the Seine river and how beautiful it shimmered at night.

Those weren't the only painful reminders of the city. There was two places I had yet to visit.

The first would be easy to eliminate. It was the apartment Sarah and I had shared for a few months, before I headed back to the US. I had been quick to sell it after her death, severing all ties I had in France.

The taxi dropped me off at the apartment with its 11 floors. After a quick jaunt up the elevator, before me stood the hideous orange door of my old home.

It had truly been a great place, with a spacious living area, and even a balcony. Of course, the balcony was through a door on my right, not even connected to the apartment.

"We should have gotten that door repainted...," I muttered under my breath.

"I'm sorry?" someone asked beside me. Only now I noticed that the door to the balcony had been slightly open, and outside was a pale woman, looking as if she were caught in an awkward situation. "You weren't talking to me, were you?"

"Uh, no, I wasn't. I was just...deep in thought. Sorry for the confusion."

"No, it's fine," she chuckled nervously. "Are you interested in the apartment?"

I shook my head. "Definitely not. I lived here once, actually. Not interested in living here again."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I was worried I might have competition. I'm a student here, and I've been interested in getting a place of my own. My current roommate is quite...wonko. But why would you abandon this lovely place? Two bedrooms, a massive living room. It seems like the ideal place. Are there any secrets I should know of?" As she spoke, it was clear she wasn't French. Her accent was definitely English.

The best psychology sessions sometimes took place when you spoke to strangers. They, at least, didn't judge you, or say things that you wanted to hear because you were paying them. It wouldn't have hurt to tell the girl why I moved out. "My girlfriend died... I, uh, couldn't cope with it, and moved back home."

"I'm so sorry...," she bit her lip, frowning. I had put her in yet another awkward situation. How I had ever landed a girlfriend in the first place was beyond me. "How did it happen?"

"There was an attempted robbery at the art gallery four years ago, but when the robber found out there was nothing of value, he shot her and ran. The guy was caught eventually, and got the death penalty, but it...it doesn't make things any easier. And now I just unloaded my entire sob story on you, while you probably didn't even want to hear any of it. I'm such an idiot, sorry."

"That's fine," she laughed. "You seem like a decent guy. I really hope things work out for you in the end."

"I do too," I almost said, but the sound of her phone ringing stopped me. She waved goodbye, headed towards the elevator, and answered her phone.

It only dawned on me a minute later that I never learned her name. 

Then came the hardest part of the trip. Returning to the place where everything had happened. I absently wondered if there would be any clue left alive that a murder had taken place. Probably not. The head of the art gallery wouldn't want bad publicity for his business.

With the elevator out of order, I was forced to take the stairs. Sure, I had no issue with the extra bit of exercise, but it made everything that much harder. I had helped her with some of the lower floors' decorations, and some of the artifacts on display were things I had excavated.

"Hey, are you crying, man?" someone stopped beside me, taking a great interest in observing me. "Can I help in any way?"

"No, I'm not crying, it's just allergies." I wasn't lying. I had a bad case of hay fever, and the plants around the gallery weren't helping.

"Whatever you say... Hey, are you by any chance Daniel Jackson?"

"That's me...," I eyed him suspiciously. "Do I know you?"

"Nah, I've never even met you, but I know your sister, Darcy. My name's Mitchell. I was in art school with her, and she talked about you once. I thought I recognized you from her descriptions, though... I pictured you to look a lot more nerdy."

"That's Darcy for you. Just because I wear glasses, she thinks she can go and tell the world I'm a nerd."

He smirked. "Don't worry, I haven't gotten to know you that well, so I won't agree with that statement just yet."

"Oh, I don't know," someone said from the shadows, and that someone was brandishing a gun.

History was repeating itself. 

Yet again, I found myself in a the art gallery with someone with me, and someone waving a gun around, most likely aiming to rob the place.

But this time, I didn't freak out. 

Unfortunately, Mitchell did.

"Daniel... We're gonna be killed," he said in hushed tones, his eyes the size of golf balls.

"We're not gonna be killed... I've been in a situation like this before, and although it ended badly, I won't have it end badly this time." It was strange how I saw myself as taking command of the situation. Last time, I did nothing, and it had horrible consequences. Perhaps if I did the talking this time, I would be the one to get hurt, and I would be able to save Mitchell from the Sarah's fate, or I would be able to talk our way out of it.

"Would you two shut up? I'm standing here, a gun in my hand, about to rob this place, and all you two do is talk? What are you, idiotic?" the helmet muffled the voice, making it impossible to distinguish whether it was a male or a female. It didn't help that the person hid away in the shadows.

"Sorry," Mitchell actually apologized, "I start talking when I get nervous."

"That's more like it," from the person's tone, I knew he or she had to be smiling. The attitude and the outfit was the exact same of the man who killed Sarah. He must have been a part of a some kind of organized crime party, and now they sent someone else to finish the job.

"Listen, whatever you need from this building, we can get it for you, but not if you hurt us. Do we have a deal?" I held my hands up, showing that I wasn't about to pull off some crazy stunt that could get us all killed. I was going to negotiate my way out of all of this.

"There's no we," the gun held in his hand was quivering slightly. Had I just blew it? Was one of us going to die? It sure sounded like it. "Only one of you is going to help me."

There it was. The statement that I was afraid of. Things would turn out just like they had before...

Or not.

"You there," the black clothed person pointed the gun at Mitchell. "Skedaddle out of here."

"W-what?" he stuttered, quickly looking at me and then at the robber.

"Seriously, get the hell out of here before I regret my decision and shoot you."

Mitchel didn't need to be told twice, and made for the staircase.

The doors to the staircase closed with a loud thud, leaving the room completely silent. I wasn't sure if I had to start talking, too afraid that if I did open my mouth, I would get a bullet between the eyes.

"Guess it's just the two of us for the time being. Just the way I like it."

"I'm sorry, but, why are you keeping me a prisoner when you want to rob this place? I know nothing of this place. Perhaps once, but not anymore," I couldn't help but ask the question that was troubling me.

"But you are very attractive...," the robber took a step closer.

That caught me off guard. Completely.

"Look, I'm flattered, truly, albeit a little bit disturbed...," I let loose a slight chuckle. "Um, though it might end up in my death, I think I should point it out... I'm not gay."

The person was slowly moving closer, and bent forward, his hands around his helmet, poised to pull it off.

But instead of an ugly male face that I had been expecting, that wasn't what was under the helmet.

"You... You're the girl from earlier, that I met at the apartment."

"Don't worry," she smiled. "I'm not gonna hurt you-"

"Thank God," I sighed.

"-much, I hope," she completed her sentence.

~♥~

Hi there, and thanks for leading the latest chapter!

I don't have much to say... I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.

*sneaks off to go play Pokémon Black on the Nintendo DS*

Have a lovely day, everyone!