A Snuffed-Out Firefly

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story takes place 7years after the tragic, and unsolved death of Jackie Mousier. With a deadly goal, Kaye Andrei is determined to bring justice to her friend’s killer. Armed with a bag of goodies, Kaye will go to any means to find Somersby, even if that means a… plane ** NOTE ** As I’m not much of a describer, I’ll be making a separate page for some pictures (mainly the hotel suite which definietly is worth the €7500 euro price-tag!)

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Day 1 of 7

Submitted: September 21, 2010

Reads: 160

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 21, 2010



Main Character: Kaye Andrei -- Support Characters: Samson Beery

And Jayne Somersby

“Fireflies have to land sometime… and when you do… I will find you…”
Those words came so easily to me. I would find Somersby and I would kill Somersby. It sounded simple enough to me. And then came the realisation of just what that entailed… planes.

“Miss, are you alright?” She asked me again, for the thousandth time “I want off!” I screamed, who the hell invented this flying death trap? “We’re over the Indian Ocean…” she answered sarcastically, or was that me trying to find something to pick at…? “Swimming sounds good…” I gasped, clinging to my seat like a life raft “It’ll be just a little longer and we’ll arrive in Paris. And may I suggest for your return home you take the boat?” She spoke, obviously getting quite annoyed with me “just let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” I yelled again, seriously it’s just not physically possible for planes to fly!

17 long hours later, the flight attendant all but threw me off the plane. So sue me! You can’t honestly tell me those ‘turbulences’ were normal! I sware the pilot did it on purpose! I all but knelt once off the plane and felt pathetic, hearing whispers of other passengers as they past me in the corridor. I managed to walk and take a seat on the seats outside the terminal gate and I must’ve dozed slightly because next thing I hear is “Madame Andrei?” He asked expectantly, I quickly hid the fact that I almost jumped right out of my skin and I rose from my half hunch position to look into the greenest of eyes in the whole world, a shame a certain dark haired man made me grow a hatred for them “are you Madame Andrei?” He asked again, holding out his hand “it depends on who’s asking…” I answered coldly, his fault for talking to me straight after an 18 hour flight, not mine. “My name is Samson Beery; I am an employee within French Link. I was under the impression I have been requested for a private tour of Paris” he answered, still holding out his hand “hello Mr. Beery, my name is Ms. Andrei. I was under the impression you would be meeting me at the arranged place shortly after noon” I answered, checking my watch to realise it was… still on Australian Time, I knew I should’ve paid for one of those top of the line watches that changes time-zones automatically “your flight had arrived several hours late. I believe the announcement stated there were some difficulties regarding the safety of a passenger and they were required to adjust their flight patterns…” he stated, noting all the staring passengers exiting the plane

“Yeah, thanks to you I’m going to be late for my appointment!”
“Thanks for ruining a perfectly good flight!”
“I didn’t pay large amounts of money to be stuck sitting next to you!”
“Okay, Mr Beery…” I started to say “please call me Samson, Madame Andrei” he stated politely, I guess I wouldn’t want to be referred to by that surname either… oh, I really should’ve taken that chill pill the doctor offered to me “alright ahh… Monsieur Samson, may I ask what time is it?” I asked trying to keep my usual habit of speaking in an accent, I just really suck at it “Samson is fine Madame Andrei it is…” he started to say “Kaye… please just call me Kaye” I interrupted I didn’t come to Paris for pleasantries and I certainly didn’t come here to be referred to like my stuck-up grandparents “of course, Kaye. The time is 3:25 in the afternoon” he answered looking at his rather fancy watch… what tour guide can afford an Omega? “Is that the latest Constellation brand?” I asked without thinking “are you familiar with watches? Most cannot tell this brand of watch from a Rolex” he stated curiously “oh its gold so it must be Rolex” I joked oddly finding myself touching his arm to admire the craftsmanship of the Romanian numerals “you seem well educated; and if you pardon my rudeness but you must also be very affluent to hire from such a renounced private tour company” he stated, practically seeing the dollar signs in his eyes. That might explain why he owns a $15,000 watch. “I find no offence in your observation. If I did not want others to know of my fortune I would not spend excessively on first-class flights, private tours and the demeanour to attract the only kind of man capable of providing satisfaction” I stated, all but enjoying the bludging of his eyes. I’ll admit, my grandparents are mean, rich snobs but when they heard of my plans they literally came running with their cheque book, not even battling an eye when I asked for the large amount of money needed to get me where I am now. Oh, but how I luv to bait…

After getting my few bags from the baggage terminal, I was guided to my limo, which my grandparents insisted I add to the expenses, and was headed to my hotel, another added expense. They we’re paying, even if I truly believed I was capable of paying them back someday, so it was only natural I’d let them have their say on the trivial details. “Welcome to Hotel Meurice, may I take your bag?” The finely turtle suited man said as he opened my door, holding out his hand for some unknown reason, he was so not getting this bag “no, thank-you” getting out of the car ignoring his hand. I’d started walking away until I remembered those movies on TV and turned around to give him a single note from the pile my grandmother had kindly called pocket-change, I had no idea how much each note was worth but they all looked the same so no point wondering how much I just gave the now overly happy valet. “I’ll have your bags sent to your room immediately, and if you require anything further please do not hesitate to ask” he rambled, all but chasing me to the reception desk. My few bags were brought to my hotel room; I worried slightly when the nicely dressed woman told me my rooms name was Belle Etoile. Is it normal for a room to have a name? Anyway… I flashed my grandmothers black card while I eyed my tour guide who still hung behind my back regardless of where I went. I’d never in all my life been so tempted to walk into a girls’ bathroom or even… “Samson, I’d like to go shopping…” I stated, all but enjoying the look on his face which was somewhere between professionalism and outright disgust. “It has been a long flight, it is understandable to suffer from jet-lag and I would suggest you rest for the remainder of the evening and then you can start fresh tomorrow” he all but blurted out. Oh, I am so going to enjoy this.

After I dragged him into a few questionable stores, such as Victoria’s Secret, I felt I’d done enough for one day and decided I would return to the hotel now. After all, I was paying for this tour guide so I was going to use him. “I do apologise for those stores, I’d realised, after I got onto the plane that I’d forgotten a few necessities…” was all I said as he carried my bags into my suite. I ain’t paying for another turtle to carry my bags when I already had a paid sla… servant. It was a lovely suite, decorated in the nineteenth century style, the 275 square metres of magnificence and light was well worth the euro my grandparents were paying… and they would’ve been paying a bundle for this place because any room with a name and privateelevator would have a 4-digit price-tag. So, they gave me a quick brag about being situated on the seventh floor putting me well above the rooftops so I had a unique 360° view of Paris and how the rooms are all uniquely crafted to perfection, but at that moment all I cared for was the master bedroom… but being 7 rooms I might leave the master bedroom for last… “I believe the master bedroom is this way, what time would you like me to be here for your tour tomorrow?” He asked politely. What gave him the thought he’d be going home? “Pick a room” was all I said, as I grabbed my Victoria’s Secrets bag and went into the bathroom. Briefly noting the large walk-in closet as I made my way through, the bathroom, I must admit, definitely needed an introduction. The exquisite cream coloured walls all but complimented the Italian marble flooring, which were a lovely off-white and black stone-pattern inviting into the circular whirlpool bathtub of the same off-white stone feature. With the 4 panel windows around the walls of the tub the bathroom all but invites a late night shower beneath the multi-jets and stars of the night. After admiring the Montmarte and Golden dome while trying to find which of the lacy secrets would appear first for my 7 year fantasy in the making.

With the oversized duplex suite, it took some walking to find him in the first bedroom staring into the generous sized mirror on the antique gold-plated mirror on the far wall. It wasn’t long before his gaze shifted to notice me standing in the door-way. I’d sported a more innocent pose for the first night, the slightly lowered head, the fiddling of the fabric of my white scalloped hem transparent flower-pattern gown. The look he gave as he turned was exactly the reaction I’d been aiming for as he gasped while taking in my white silk v-string thong beneath my loosely tied semi-transparent wrap. I’d spent some time practicing in the mirror how to look up to allow just a piece of my caramel-brown fringe to fall as I slowly raised my eyelids and stare, parting my lips enough to noticeably run my tongue along my bottom lip before the slight smirk as I lower my gaze again to the floor. Sporting a blush, I slowly tip-toed along the caramel carpet towards him, still fiddling with the hem I approached him with a nervous smile which only added the façade as I stood before him to take in his bare feet, slightly wrinkled creamy-brown slacks and unbuttoned white shirt before slowly raising my eyes to his finely chiselled cheeks. But, his biggest feature, I admit, were his emerald-green eyes, the light all but complimenting its golden specks as it reflected upon his golden-brown hair. He leaned down, his body brushing ever so slightly to my own as his breath, like steaming hot bathwater, breezed up my neck, sending shivers down my spine as my milk streamed. With his hand gently exploring the groove on my neck as he whispered into my ear all but boiled my blood, masking with the softest of moans from my lips, he slowly glided his hand down the centre of my chest, using the tips of his fingers to pull the satin ribbon undone as he brushed the capped sleeves from my shoulders, gliding over my goose-bumped skin as it fell to the floor. Feathering my fingers up the rifts of his abs, I resisted the urge to kneel before him as I gazed down the length of his golden-brown body all but admiring him as his hand came beneath my chin to raise my lips to his lush lips that held that cute little smirk at the corners as they claimed mine which was all but bruising as he forced his tongue into my mouth, dancing with my own as his hands slid down my body before gripping my hems and lifting them ever so slightly, his knuckles brushing my ass as the loud ringing of a phone brought everything to a halt. Wriggling out of his unyielding grip I slid myself onto the bed, picking up the receiver. “Bonjour dear, how is your first night in Parie?” She asked poshly “Bonjour Grandma, it has been most… entertaining” I answered smiling ever so slightly as I stared at the half naked man standing before me “how have you been?” I continued trying to keep from giggling as he knelt beside the bed running his hands up my legs as they rested upon the golden-crowned quilt “unfortunately I am in a bit of a pickle dear…” she pouted and I could all but picture her fingertips resting upon her cheek “that is most unfortunate, may I ask what’s the matter?” I murmured unable to keep my voice completely neutral as he gently slid his hands beneath my gown to run a playful finger along my sex, the thin silky fabric the only barrier “are you alright dear?” She asked curiously “I am slightly jetlagged at the moment Grandma so I am receiving some anti-jetlagged therapies to make me feel better. Are you alright?” I asked barely muffling a moan as I felt his hot breath before the slightest of flicks of his tongue had me breathing in a shakily hiss which I knew brought the smuggest of smiles onto his lips “I do apologise for interrupting you on your vacation but would you be able to tend to some business while you’re there?” She asked innocently, like I actually had a choice “of course Grandma, what do you need?” I somewhat whispered, unable to muster anything else “I need you to construct a tender and deliver it to Mrs. Estalie by tomorrow, now I best leave you to your therapies… au revoir dear” she said before hanging up. I missed the hook a few times but managed to hang the phone up before raising my back where I’d found I’d laid down which brought his single crooked eyebrow as he watched me as I flicked my leg over where his head rested between them and stood ever so slowly. I kept my back to him, knowing he eyed my every movement, as I bent over to pick up my wrap by my fingertips before gracefully exiting the room without a second glance.

Every night for 7 years I dream the same dream. I dream of Jayne. I dream of torturing him the way he tortured Jackie. I fantasize all the ways I would take from him the way he took from Jackie. But tonight, with my dreams so close to reality, I dreamt of Jackie. I dreamt of how the sun shone on her hair as she laid in the bloodied stream. How she gazed up into my eyesas though she…

Continue to Day 2...

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