Black Rose
By Wendel Schwab
The car seemed to rock infinitesimally in the driving rain and winds. It seemed that the only thing keeping it upright was the iron ties it was bound to, and the huge steam engine slaving away to pull all 35 cars in the train. The particular car that Cellyne was sitting in was the dining car. The tuxedoed waiter had just poured her a glass of wine and went away to serve the other passengers who were waiting for their evening repast.
A flash of lightening briefly lit the passing fields and trees that Cellyne was trying to look at through the distortions of the rain pouring down the window. Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by a strong, slightly worn voice: "may I sit here?"
Cellyne looked up to find a tall thin man in a stylish brown suit standing opposite to where she was sitting. His hand was resting comfortably on the back of the chair he wish to appropriate. He had a handsome face, smooth with youth, but with about a days growth of stubble interrupting the smoothness. His stubble and hair were both dark brown; almost black. And they seemed to mildly contrast with his blazing hazel eyes. While his face said youth, his eyes definitely said age.
Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the white rose in his lapel. It was identical to the rose pinned to her own breast, except for one thing: the colour. While his was white, hers was black.
"Yes, you may sit here," she said at last. She had expected him to arrive a little later, maybe when she had finished her dinner and was onto coffee and dessert.
"I'm surprised you managed to find a black rose," he said idly as he sat down. "I understand they're quite rare."
"I have my ways," she winked briefly at him. She noticed his eyes briefly travel to her ample cleavage and the mixed thoughts of "I'm so glad he thinks I'm attractive" and "men: they're all pigs" wandered through her mind. Cellyne was wearing a white silk dress with a slit down the left side. The slit went no higher than her lower thigh. There was a difference between being sexy, and being a trollop and tramp of the worst kind. The black rose was her only ornamentation, it wouldn't do to lose jewelry. But her long red tresses were done up in an elegant and fashionable hairstyle. For a woman of the 1890s, she certainly was a knockout.
The waiter returned, noticing he had one more guest to attend to and asked the man what he wanted. The man asked for the same thing she was drinking; a glass of nice French wine. They then ordered dinner; she had a salad with a little dressing, and he had a steak with a mushroom sauce. While waiting for her food, Cellyne briefly looked out the window again. Another flash of lightening reflected he new dining partner's face in the window. She noticed his magnificent eyes were filled with worry and care. She turned back to him again but the look was absent from his eyes. As if it had never been there, or as if it lasted only the instant of the flash of lightening.
"So, what should I call you?" she asked him, not expecting an answer, but wanting one anyway.
"Just call me 'White Rose,'" he replied. "And what do you want me to call you?" he asked, echoing her question.
"Call me 'Black Rose,'" she replied with a momentary flash of anger in her bright grey eyes. She would have felt safer with his name. She would have also felt safer with his passport, identity card, names of his parents and all living relatives, and a copy of his life story. But none of that would ever be revealed to her.
"I hope you haven't been waiting long," he said as he took a sip of his newly arrived wine. "I know you must be quite worried and quite possibly scared," he took another sip and swirled the wine around in his mouth.
"Not really," she said. "I'm a big girl, I can handle myself." She took a huge gulp of her wine.
"You do need my protection, do you not?" he asked, his right eyebrow arching over his raised wine glass.
"Well... Yes," admitting that seemed to cause Cellyne a lot of pain. "But I don't need to be treated like a baby. You undoubtably know of my past profession. I would never have entered into it if I wasn't a strong woman."
They both fell silent for a moment. Cellyne seemed to be imbibing more wine than was probably safe to do so under her circumstances, the White Rose just idly sipped his own. The silence was interrupted by a sudden jolt to his elbow. A woman in a black skirt to her calves, a white blouse with ruffles at the throat and a black lady's suit coat was sprawled in the car's very small walkway between tables. Her face was red with embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet and began to apologize profusely to the White Rose. Anger darkened his eyes and his face seemed older than before with his lips locked in a sneer of anger. Wine dripped down his hand and the sleeve of his jacket.
"Why don't you watch where you're walking you stupid woman!" he shouted.
"I'm so sorry!" she wailed, her face was a battlefield of horror, embarrassment and fear. "The train rocked around a little bit because of the storm! I lost my footing! I am so sorry!" She took a handkerchief from her pocket and began dabbing his dripping arm.
"Stop!" he roared, his face red and contorted in rage. "Just get away from me you stupid broad! If I ever see you again you'll feel the back of my hand in your teeth!" The woman looked at him with shock and horror and then quickly darted away and out of the dining car.
The White Rose sat down again, calmly removed his own handkerchief and began dabbing away the spilled wine. The waiter quickly came over and brought him a new wine glass which he then refilled from the bottle. Noticing her glass was empty, he quickly refilled Cellyne's as well. The White Rose then looked up and saw shock and a little bit of fear on Cellyne's face. She took another big gulp of her wine.
"I'm very sorry about that, Black Rose my dear," he said with enough humility and shame on his face to make Cellyne visibly relax. "It's just... I'm supposed to be protecting you. Your 'past profession,' as you put it, has put you at great risk," he smoothed his sleeve and was satisfied to find that it had mostly dried. "I guess I just got a little jumpy. There could be an assassin on this train, there could be a dozen assassins." He noted that her face, slightly flushed from the wine, turned pale at the mention of a dozen assassins.
"We must not let our enemy find you, and we must retrieve the information you have," he smiled a gentle smile at her and reached across the table to take her hand in his own. "And most importantly my dear, we must ensure you get back to England safe and very much alive," his eyes were now filled with concern, they glittered in the gas lighting. "After all, I would hate to let such a beautiful and intelligent lady such as yourself fall to any harm," he then let go of her hand and gently stroked her cheek once. He let his hand fall and stared into her eyes. It might have been the wine, or maybe it was how charming the White Rose was, but Cellyne began to feel trust for the man. She saw his compassion and concern and felt she could stare into those pretty hazel eyes all evening.
She felt her face grow hotter, but it wasn't the wine this time. Her reverie was interrupted by the waiter bringing them her food. He returned a few moments later and refilled Cellyne's once again empty wine glass. It was then that she noticed she was starving. She hadn't had time to eat all day, so she began to eat her salad quite quickly.
"My dear, you must be famished!" the White Rose observed. He was leisurely cutting into his steak and taking his time to enjoy it.
"I'm sorry!" she said, a little embarrassed. "I hadn't the time to eat all day, I was so busy! I was told what to do, I had to pack my luggage, and I had to catch the train. It's been quite a day!"
"It's OK my dear," he said chuckling. "I understand. Just eat your meal and enjoy it!" he reached across the table and patted her hand.
When their meal was finished, the dishes had been cleared away and Cellyne's wine glass refilled the White Rose pulled a cigarette case from his pocket. He opened the slim silver case and offered Cellyne a cigarette. She took one and held it between her fingers as he took one for himself and removed a small silver lighter from his other pocket. She put the cigarette to her lips and he lit it for her before lighting his own. They puffed their cigarettes and finished their wine; he on his second glass, she on her fifth.
"You know," he said offhand, as if discussing the weather. "Our information quite clearly says you're in grave danger." Her face paled again and she began to shiver a little bit. "Oh no my dear!" he said, surprise on his face. He took her hands into his own and held them until she settled down a little. "You should know that I will protect you with my life! I'll never let even a single hair on your pretty head to be harmed!"
"Thank you," she smiled at him. She had the type of smile that indicated that she must have broken at least a dozen hearts, and the White Rose couldn't say that it didn't have an affect on him. "I'm so glad you're here with me. Despite what I may have done for my job, I'm still very, very glad you're here with me." She seemed to calm down a great deal.
"What accommodations do you have for the night?" the White Rose asked as he leaned over and gently brushed aside a strand of her hair that had fallen over her face. She looked at him momentarily shocked.
"I-I hadn't thought of that yet! I still don't have a sleeping compartment," she looked down, a little ashamed. "I must seem so unprofessional to you..."
He gently lifted her chin so she was looking into his eyes. Eyes full of sincerity and warmth. "Not at all my dear!" he insisted. "I think I'd be unprofessional too if I was in your situation." He looked away thoughtfully before seeming to come to a conclusion. "I know! Why don't you stay with me in my compartment? I can better protect you if you stay with me all night." She lowered her head and blushed a little. Partly in embarrassment, and partly in pleasure.
"I guess I can do that," she looked up and smiled at him. "It would be far easier for you to protect me then. I must really try to gain back my former confidence." He stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it and they left for his sleeping compartment. The waiter then came to collect the filled crystal ashtray and their wine glasses. Hers was empty while his was still full.
As they walked through the train, Cellyne held on tightly to the White Rose's hand. They were finally nearing his compartment when they noticed a small girl, about five or six years old, sobbing in the passageway. Cellyne bent and put her hands on the girls quacking shoulders. "Are you OK honey?" she asked with gentle concern in her voice.
"N-n-n-nooo..." the girl got out between sobs. "I l-lost m-my mommy!" The girl began to cry again.
Cellyne looked at her with worry and compassion in her eyes. "Don't worry darling, I'll bring you to her, OK?"
The girl looked up and sniffed. "OK... Please?" she rubbed her eyes then put her tear stained hand into Cellyne's own and stood up.
Cellyne turned to the White Rose. "Is it OK if I take this sweet girl back to her mommy?" she asked.
The White Rose had a grin on his face and said "sure. My compartment is right here. So you know how to find it." Cellyne nodded and turned to escort the sniffling girl back to her mother. Only a short ways down the passageway, Cellyne stopped to talk to the woman in the black skirt, white blouse with ruffles at the throat and black lady's suit jacket. Only then did the White Rose notice that the woman had her black hair in a tight bun and gold rimmed glasses.
The White Rose entered his compartment, pleasure and a little excitement evident on his face. He began to relax as he unbuttoned his jacket. He remover the side arm he had concealed there and removed the bullets. "I won't be needing this tonight," he thought joyfully. He had only intended the gun to be a last resort anyway. "I do believe this mission will be far easier than I thought," he continued to muse as he put his pistol and bullets under the mattress. He then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and tossed his jacket to the bed.
There was a slight knock on the door. He opened it to find Cellyne standing there, she had a bright smile on her face and the left strap of her dress had slid off her shoulder a little bit. His breath briefly caught in his throat as he noticed how beautiful she was. Her piercing grey eyes were shimmering. Maybe it was the wine.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the compartment. He lightly pushed her against the window and pressed himself to her. The rain was still thudding against the window pane which felt cold against her skin. She was grateful though because it helped cool her skin as it burned with too much wine and the desire she felt. The White Rose slowly and gently kissed Cellyne's soft lips. Her breathing grew faster and she kissed him back. She could feel her excitement rising as he took her head in his hands and pulled her lips to his kissing her more urgently and passionately. His hands slid down to her creamy white neck and he began to caress her and kiss the hollow of her throat. She lifted her head and began to moan softly.
His hands encircled her pretty throat and he kissed her one last time before he began to squeeze. Cellyne let out a small gasp that was stifled by his lips pressed hard and unyielding to her mouth. She tried to breathe, but found the pressure of his hands pressing against her windpipe prevented any air from entering her lungs. She began to struggle, but he was too strong and the wine had left her feeling sluggish and dull. His hands began to squeeze tighter, to press more savagely against her throat. Purple welts began to form under his rough ministrations and her face began to turn an unnatural shade of red. Her eyes bugged from her head, opened wide in surprise, betrayal and fright. She fought for breath, but nothing filled her exploding lungs. The last thing she saw was the White Rose's face in a rictus of enjoyment and cruelty. Here was a man who enjoyed his brutal job. The last thing she smelled was wine, and the fabric of a freshly laundered suit.
The White Rose let Cellyne's body fall limply to the floor. Her eyes, still open in surprise and horror began to grow glassy with death. He looked annoyed at her purple neck and bright red face.
"She was pretty," he said to himself. "It's a shame I couldn't have her before killing her." He then shrugged, wiped his hands on her spotless white gown and reached into a compartment to retrieve a bulky transmitter. After fiddling with the dials and making sure he was connected he spoke into the mouthpiece: "White Rose to Rabid Wolf, White Rose to Rabid Wolf. Cellyne Dupiere has received her great reward. I repeat, the Black Rose has been clipped from the stem. Over and out." With that he replaced the transmitter. "Not bad for a day's work!" he said to himself as he lit another cigarette.
Outside the White Rose's cabin door the woman in black, who had earlier that night spilled the White Rose's drink all over his sleeve, unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it open to reveal a pistol and a black rose that looked to be an almost exact duplicate to the man's white one.
