Kiki sat quietly, sipping the water and watching as John James wiped his face clean of the remaining lather. He stared into the dirty mirror that hung on the wall. Kiki, still shaken by the news of the murder and that the man with her in this very room was now accused of that murder.

She hesitated, then parted her lips to speak. At that moment, John's voice, low and contemplative, broke the silence.

"It's been just over two years now since they died. The people in the village of Belleau Wood and the men in my unit."

Kiki listened as he continued to talk, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. The name of Belleau Wood was familiar to her, beyond the knowledge of the battle that was waged there. It brought back memories of her father, behind the heavy, closed doors of his study, angrily shouting. She could barely distinguish words of her father for his voice had become heavily tinged with an Irish brogue, a sure sign he was upset. She clearly remembered, though, the names Belleau Wood and Robespierre, though not their connection. She was brought abruptly back to the present when she heard John say

"...Robespierre as liaison officer between the French forces and us. My captain detailed me to be Robespierre's escort, to show him around, and to get him settled. All was fine for a day or two. Then, I couldn't sleep one night. I got up and went for a walk. That's when I saw him. Robespierre. He was sneaking around the camp, obviously trying to avoid attention. He didn't see me and I followed him. He left the camp and moved off towards the German lines. I saw him cross those lines, to be met by a German officer. They disappeared somewhere and I returned to camp. I reported the incident to my captain, naturally."

Kiki listened attentively, fascinated by the tale she was hearing.

"By now it was close to four in the morning. And that's when it started. German artillery shells began falling all around us with uncanny accuracy. In no time our camp was a shambles, our men disoriented and disorganized. Then the German soldiers attacked. Despite this, our captain rallied us and we fought back. He was wounded severely, as were many of our men. We beat them off, though. The Germans had stopped shelling us while their men were attacking. It wasn't long, though, after we had driven them back into the woods, that their artillery shells again began to fall on us. Only this time they were moving toward the village."

John's voice turned harsh, almost growling. Kiki felt herself begin to tremble. She knew almost with a certainty what was going to be said next. And she felt fear, fear of what she knew was coming.

"They shelled the village until it was in ruins. We could hear the cries of the wounded and the dying. We tried to help. We pulled many from the ruined wreckage of their homes. We pulled more who were dead than those who were living. Children, babies, men and women. It was enough to make a grown man cry, and we did cry.

"Soldiers expect to die in battle. We know this and accept this. Civilians, too, die in wars, casualties of man's inhumanity to man. But this, this was nothing short of butchery! It was uncalled for, for we knew the Germans had men watching us. They knew we weren't in the village."

Kiki sat in shocked silence, trembling from the suppressed hatred and anger she could hear echoing in his voice.

Now John's voice turned cold, colder than a December wind, and edged with an unbearable pain.

"It was then I found Lynette. She was clinging to life, but just barely. She was half buried under her father's house, or part of it. There was nothing I could do for her. Her eyes glistened from the pain. She begged me to release her from her living hell. 'As you love me, ' she said, 'as you love me, release me.'"

A heavy silence blanketed the room as John stopped. Kiki shivered, a chill spreading through her slight body as though dipped in ice water.

John looked at Kiki, but he didn't see her. He was again beside his beloved Lynette in the village of Belleau Wood.

Several minutes passed, the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room echoing in the silence.