Inferno: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

passed a window, outside of which the murky silhouettes of Florence rooftops had begun emerging in the predawn light. At the farend of the hall, she crouched down and retrieved a key from beneath a thirsty-looking houseplant and unlocked a door.
    The apartment was tiny, the air inside hinting at an ongoing battle between a vanilla-scented candle and old carpeting. The furniture and artwork were meager at best—as if she had furnished it at a yard sale. Dr. Brooks adjusted a thermostat, and the radiators banged to life.
    She stood a moment and closed her eyes, exhaling heavily, as if to collect herself. Then she turned and helped Langdon into a modest kitchenette whose Formica table had two flimsy chairs.
    Langdon made a move toward a chair in hopes of sitting down, but Dr. Brooks grabbed his arm with one hand and opened a cabinet with her other. The cabinet was nearly bare … crackers, a few bags of pasta, a can of Coke, and a bottle of NoDoz.
    She took out the bottle and dumped six caplets into Langdon’s palm. “Caffeine,” she said. “For when I work night shifts like tonight.”
    Langdon put the pills in his mouth and glanced around for some water.
    “Chew them,” she said. “They’ll hit your system faster and help counteract the sedative.”
    Langdon began chewing and instantly cringed. The pills were bitter, clearly meant to be swallowed whole. Dr. Brooks opened the refrigerator and handed Langdon a half-empty bottle of San Pellegrino. He gratefully took a long drink.
    The ponytailed doctor now took his right arm and removed the makeshift bandage that she’d fashioned out of his jacket, which she laid on the kitchen table. Then she carefully examined his wound. As she held his bare arm, Langdon could feel her slender hands trembling.
    “You’ll live,” she announced.
    Langdon hoped she was going to be okay. He could barely fathom what they’d both just endured. “Dr. Brooks,” he said, “we need to call somebody. The consulate … the police. Somebody.”
    She nodded in agreement. “Also, you can stop calling me Dr. Brooks—my name is Sienna.”
    Langdon nodded. “Thanks. I’m Robert.” It seemed the bond they’d just forged fleeing for their lives warranted a first-name basis. “You said you’re British?”
    “By birth, yes.”
    “I don’t hear an accent.”
    “Good,” she replied. “I worked hard to lose it.”
    Langdon was about to inquire why, but Sienna motioned for him to follow. She led him down a narrow corridor to a small, gloomy bathroom.In the mirror above the sink, Langdon glimpsed his reflection for the first time since seeing it in the window of his hospital room.
    Not good
. Langdon’s thick dark hair was matted, and his eyes looked bloodshot and weary. A shroud of stubble obscured his jaw.
    Sienna turned on the faucet and guided Langdon’s injured forearm under the ice-cold water. It stung sharply, but he held it there, wincing.
    Sienna retrieved a fresh washcloth and squirted it with antibacterial soap. “You may want to look away.”
    “It’s fine. I’m not bothered by—”
    Sienna began scrubbing violently, and white-hot pain shot up Langdon’s arm. He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from shouting out in protest.
    “You don’t want an infection,” she said, scrubbing harder now. “Besides, if you’re going to call the authorities, you’ll want to be more alert than you are now. Nothing activates adrenaline production like pain.”
    Langdon held on for what felt like a full ten seconds of scrubbing before he forcefully yanked his arm away.
Enough!
Admittedly, he felt stronger and more awake; the pain in his arm had now entirely overshadowed his headache.
    “Good,” she said, turning off the water and patting his arm dry with a clean towel. Sienna then applied a small bandage to his forearm, but as she did so, Langdon found himself distracted by something he had just noticed—something deeply upsetting to him.
    For nearly four decades, Langdon had