roared in the distance. She turned and listened. Graham rocked gently back and forth, praying for the car to go away, praying for the night to end and for everything to return to normal.
The car was coming closer.
Annalise ducked her head back in the box, "I'd better close this up. Can't be too careful."
Darkness descended once more. The car, the night, the endless chase, the fear. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He couldn't handle this, he couldn't handle this at all. He rocked, he shook, he pulled his arms tighter around his knees. Make it go away, make it all go away.
The car raced by closely followed by another. Time dragged, Graham counted, the sound of the two cars taking forever to die. The flaps opened on eleven.
"All clear," she said, smiling. "Wasn't him."
Graham tried to return the smile but couldn't.
"You know, you're a difficult person to meet. You don't go out, your house is watched, people like follow you everywhere. I bet they even open your mail. And I've been like trying to get your attention for days without anyone noticing. You know, the walk and the eye contact thing? And now here you are. How'd you know I was gonna be here?"
Graham shrugged, his shoulders still hunched from gripping his knees. He felt cold and his throat was dry.
"Just lucky I guess," the girl continued. "I'm only here so that I could catch you on your way to work. I was going to slip this note into your pocket. Here." She dug into her jeans and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. "You might as well have it now. You're lucky I'm a light sleeper. Not that you were exactly quiet. You are no stealthy fugitive."
He took the note, glancing at it briefly as it shook in his hand. What would it say? Even more people want you dead? He found his jacket pocket with difficulty and stuffed it inside.
"Anyway," said the girl. "It's all in the note. What I've managed to figure out anyway. It's all linked to ParaDim. Don't know where you fit in but they are way interested in you. And me. Though no one wants to kill me. Which is a big plus. And they give me money—I'm a kinda consultant. Yeah, I know the kind that lives in a box but, hey, a box is bigger than a suitcase, right? Anyway, it saved your ass."
Her words flowed right over him. It was like she was talking to him down a long dark tunnel. Her words echoed and ran into each other. He felt light-headed and tired and cold and wanted everything to stop. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
He rocked back and forth, wringing his hands, repeating the same phrase over and over to himself. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.
Arms enfolded him. Warmth pressed into his cold, dark world.
"Everything'll be okay," whispered someone very close.
And for a while he believed her.
* * *
He awoke with a start. The ground vibrating, the roar of an engine—a truck—passing within feet of his head.
He panicked, thrashing in the dark, his feet hitting cardboard. He was . . .
In a box?
Fragments of the previous night drifted back into memory. The chase, the girl, the cardboard box.
Where was she? He reached out, hesitantly, his hand ready to draw back the instant it encountered anything soft.
It didn't.
He was alone.
He turned and pushed at the end flaps of the box. It was light outside, traffic was building up, a few pedestrians walked by on the other side of the road.
He crawled out, feeling conspicuous, confused and dishevelled. He brushed himself off and stepped out onto the pavement.
Where was she?
He looked up and down the street. There were about a dozen people but no Annalise. Where had she gone? Had she stepped out for breakfast or a call of nature?
He didn't know what to do. Was he still in danger? Should he look for her, hide, go home?
His little voice told him to go home. Go home, keep out of other peoples' way and they'll keep out of yours.
But he couldn't. She might be in trouble. She might need money for food. He couldn't abandon her.
The car was coming closer.
Annalise ducked her head back in the box, "I'd better close this up. Can't be too careful."
Darkness descended once more. The car, the night, the endless chase, the fear. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He couldn't handle this, he couldn't handle this at all. He rocked, he shook, he pulled his arms tighter around his knees. Make it go away, make it all go away.
The car raced by closely followed by another. Time dragged, Graham counted, the sound of the two cars taking forever to die. The flaps opened on eleven.
"All clear," she said, smiling. "Wasn't him."
Graham tried to return the smile but couldn't.
"You know, you're a difficult person to meet. You don't go out, your house is watched, people like follow you everywhere. I bet they even open your mail. And I've been like trying to get your attention for days without anyone noticing. You know, the walk and the eye contact thing? And now here you are. How'd you know I was gonna be here?"
Graham shrugged, his shoulders still hunched from gripping his knees. He felt cold and his throat was dry.
"Just lucky I guess," the girl continued. "I'm only here so that I could catch you on your way to work. I was going to slip this note into your pocket. Here." She dug into her jeans and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. "You might as well have it now. You're lucky I'm a light sleeper. Not that you were exactly quiet. You are no stealthy fugitive."
He took the note, glancing at it briefly as it shook in his hand. What would it say? Even more people want you dead? He found his jacket pocket with difficulty and stuffed it inside.
"Anyway," said the girl. "It's all in the note. What I've managed to figure out anyway. It's all linked to ParaDim. Don't know where you fit in but they are way interested in you. And me. Though no one wants to kill me. Which is a big plus. And they give me money—I'm a kinda consultant. Yeah, I know the kind that lives in a box but, hey, a box is bigger than a suitcase, right? Anyway, it saved your ass."
Her words flowed right over him. It was like she was talking to him down a long dark tunnel. Her words echoed and ran into each other. He felt light-headed and tired and cold and wanted everything to stop. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
He rocked back and forth, wringing his hands, repeating the same phrase over and over to himself. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.
Arms enfolded him. Warmth pressed into his cold, dark world.
"Everything'll be okay," whispered someone very close.
And for a while he believed her.
* * *
He awoke with a start. The ground vibrating, the roar of an engine—a truck—passing within feet of his head.
He panicked, thrashing in the dark, his feet hitting cardboard. He was . . .
In a box?
Fragments of the previous night drifted back into memory. The chase, the girl, the cardboard box.
Where was she? He reached out, hesitantly, his hand ready to draw back the instant it encountered anything soft.
It didn't.
He was alone.
He turned and pushed at the end flaps of the box. It was light outside, traffic was building up, a few pedestrians walked by on the other side of the road.
He crawled out, feeling conspicuous, confused and dishevelled. He brushed himself off and stepped out onto the pavement.
Where was she?
He looked up and down the street. There were about a dozen people but no Annalise. Where had she gone? Had she stepped out for breakfast or a call of nature?
He didn't know what to do. Was he still in danger? Should he look for her, hide, go home?
His little voice told him to go home. Go home, keep out of other peoples' way and they'll keep out of yours.
But he couldn't. She might be in trouble. She might need money for food. He couldn't abandon her.
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