Origins of a Child Thief (Frankie's History)

[Francesca Fontaine (DELETED 2942)]

The television clicked on, a blue screen showing for a moment before a white slide with words upon it appeared.

Rebecca C. Fontaine Homicide
Interview with Francesca Fontaine

As the screen faded, an image of the average police station interview room appeared. A little girl, no more than eight, sat at the table, a soda can between her limp hands. The two agents in the room with her faced away from the camera. The female could be heard gently urging Francesca to give her witness's statement.

The tiny, chubby girl took a shivering breath and looked up. She'd been crying.

The house was quieter than normal. I remember that much. I heard the door close, and steps on the stairs.

I knew Mommy liked to sneak up on me. I hid behind the curtain, waiting for her. But instead of just Mommy, a pretty lady with blonde hair was with her. She was small and...and she had a big, funny-looking, sword thing in one hand.

I could see Mommy didn't know she was there. I wanted to yell something, warn her, but...I was afraid.

The female agent touched the girl's wrist.

I know it's a hard thing, losing a mother. Just tell us what the pretty lady did to your mommy.

The little girl nodded, wiped her cheeks a little, and continued to give her statement.

She raised the sword thing and started chopping away at Mommy. First she - she took her arms, then...then hacked across her tummy...before she cut off her head. I stayed behind the curtain. She never saw me.

The pretty lady left then. I peeked at Mommy...she was covered in red and...and her head was by the wall.

Then I screamed, and Mr. Connely called you.

The screen changed to a slideshow of crime scene photos, displaying the bathroom in which Rebecca Christine Fontaine had been murdered. Photos of the body, of the blood spray on the curtains, the bathtub, still full of water, the diluted footprints made by Francesca as she left the room wrapped in a towel.

The television clicked off, and a soft sound of annoyance came from the armchair in front of it. The male agent from the interview stood up and went to the phone, dialing his partner's number.

[Francesca Fontaine (DELETED 2942)]

Frankie pulled her trusty bobby pin from her pocket, looking this way and that before she slid it into the locked door. She wiggled it around a little and grinned as she heard the faint sound that told her of success. Her goal today wasn't for things to sell, but for a small thing she could leave with her mommy.

The house was owned by some old lady that Frankie had never met face-to-face, but she had been watching her for some time. She knew the rough layout of the house, as it was very much like her own home, and was sure she knew every possible hiding place.

She also knew that this old lady had a large collection of expensive and real jewelry. That was her goal; the woman's jewelry.

The small girl searched carefully through the old woman's home, checking every nook and cranny of every room on the first floor before ascending the stairs. Frankie knew there were only a few places on the second floor to hide the most valuable jewelry in a collection, unless the woman had a lot of furniture. With any luck, she'd have a cabinet just for her jewels.

Luck was with her. As she entered the woman's bedroom, her eyes were drawn to a glass-doored cabinet on her vanity table.

"Perfect," Frankie muttered, opening it up and studying the pieces contained within. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, diamonds...the old woman had it all. There was so much that it would probably be, all together, worth about twenty thousand dollars. But Frankie's goal was not to inflate her bank account; she was getting her mommy a present.

A particular bracelet near the back of the cabinet caught her eyes. Reaching, she extracted the silver and emerald bracelet and looked at it very carefully. It was positively right. It was what she wanted to give her mommy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The funeral home was silent, peaceful, as Frankie entered. The pretty woman at the reception desk nodded to the child, smiling. She was blond, but Frankie knew it wasn't the same woman who had hacked her mommy to pieces.

"Visiting your mommy again?" the woman said. Frankie nodded, and the woman nodded and turned; it only went well if she pretended not to see the girl.

Frankie descended the steps into the cold room where they were keeping her mommy, not anxious at all. She'd been down there before and knew that it was kind of creepy, but she didn't really care. She was visiting her mommy.

The walnut coffin sat on a table just low enough for Frankie to see that Mr. Milo had reattached her mommy's arms and head. She was dressed in a pretty, dark dress with a gold-tone criss-crosss over her chest. Her hands were perfectly folded on her stomach, and she was smiling peacefully.

"Hi, Mommy," Frankie said, clasping the bracelet on the corpse's left wrist. "I miss you. Those meanies wouldn't let me come see you. So I left. I brought you this pretty bracelet because I know you like green." Thin tears slid from her eyes. "I'll find that lady and make her pay. The cops can't find her, but I will. I will never, ever, ever forget her face, as long as I live."

She kissed her mommy's cheek and walked away, breathing shakily, tears pouring from her brown eyes.

[Francesca Fontaine (DELETED 2942)]

Frankie had spent several hours digging through the clothes her mother had left behind for her, trying to find the right kind of thing to wear. "What would Mommy dress me in?" she said as she dug. Finally, she came to the dress she knew would fit the setting perfectly.

With the faintest of smiles, she swept her hair to one side, pinning it there with bobby pins, and slid the dress on, sliding a white rose over her right ear before she left the room she'd been sleeping in since the police had removed the crime scene tape from the front door of the house. She could not help but fuss over the lace trim and the thin ribbons.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside of the house, a plain black car idled, waiting for Frankie. An official-looking man leaned against the side of the car, watching the front door.

"Mommy never liked police-men," she said, letting the curtain fall across the window as she tapped the wood of her desk with her knuckles. A hidden shelf fell open underneath the desk at the tapping. "Huh?"

She knelt in front of the desk and extracted the small envelope from inside of it, ripping it open and sitting down with the contents.

Darling Frankie,

If you've found this letter and are reading it, I am gone. You will see me again, but not so soon as usual. I hope it is a very long time before you see me again this time, because the sooner it is, the worse I will feel about it.

I am sorry for involving you in my world. That is and will always be my only regret. You are the perfect daughter, and I thank you, but you should not have had to learn what you know. I fear that your future will be distorted by the things I've taught you.

That is the first thing to remember; the way of a petty thief is not the only path that lays before your feet.

With my passing, you stand at a crossroads. The government will try to make you attend a school. You can either take this option, or you can seek out your father. His influence may protect you from their insistence upon a "normal" education.

A third option stands before you as well. In terms of the crossroads metaphor, Emanuel would lead you to the west, into the sunset and a strange sort of life, sheltered in night. The government's school option will take you to the east, into a glaring sunrise and a bright, promising future in the daylight. Or you can continue upon the path of a petty thief, the path I have led you upon for three years now, but without my guidance and knowledge.

Whichever path you take, know that I am always with you.

Your mommy,

Rebecca

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After a short drive in the plain government car, Frankie stood alone at the foot of an open, empty grave. The polished black granite heart of the two-segment headstone had already been carved with words.

Rebecca Christine Fontaine
12/24/1981 - 6/13/2012
Even hundredfold, grief is divisible by love.

The walnut casket rested just beside the opening, and beside that stood a priest whose name Frankie did not know. His words were pretty, but there were too many big ones for Frankie to fully understand. She knew he was saying good things, but she didn't really care. She just knew that her mommy had gone and left her with just a letter to guide her.

A white rose rested in her hand as she stood, gazing into the hole where her mommy would sleep for eternity. It was the worst thought she had.

Finally, someone laid a pair of ribbons over the hole. Four men eased it over onto the ribbons, two others helping to hold the ribbons flatt as they did. Two of them stepped back as the other four began lowering the casket into the grave.

"Goodbye, Mommy," Frankie said, her head tilted down as she tossed the rose onto the walnut casket. When she looked up, her eyes were hardened and dry. She would find her daddy and make herself known to him, show him the letter and her mommy's picture. He would take care of her.