Page 36 of Theta

I just…I still have a wriggling worm of unease in my gut. Something about all this with Enzo is too easy, his story too easily making him sympathetic to us.

I notice Killian's eyes aren't always closed all the way either; they crack to slits now and again, watching Enzo through his eyelashes. Good to know I'm not the only one staying suspicious.

If I had to guess, I'd say we travel for a little over an hour through a wide, open-sky landscape with the occasional serrated shadow of a mountain ridge in the background. Every time I open my eyes to check my surroundings, things have become slightly more urban, and then there are apartment blocks mixed in with the warehouses, and then trees line the streets, and there are sidewalks and curbs, and then small shops and signs for public parking.

"Mmmm, where're we?" I mumble, sitting up, feigning more sleepiness than I feel.

"Olbia. On the nord-est…ahhh…north-east of Sardinia. Is a ferry to Rome from here. Maybe…six or seven hour, no more than seven and-a-half." He smushes the last three words into a single syllable. "I have a friend who live here, he is on holiday. We stay his place for some hours."

Less than twenty minutes later, we're entering an upper flat near the docks; it's newer, smells of fresh paint, and is sparsely furnished in typical single adult male fashion—a single couch, a TV and gaming console, and an old door laid over some milk cartons for a coffee table, on which is more of what you'd expect, that being alcohol, cigarettes, ashtrays, and plates of molding food scraps.

"Nice table," Killian says, his tone amused. "Very bachelor of him."

Enzo casts a critical eye on the structure. "Ah, sì, Tomas, he would rather spend his money on other enjoyments. He only comes here for sleeping, so why he waste money to make it pretty for nobody?"

"Makes sense to me, honestly," Killian says.

I just roll my eyes. "Men."

"What?" Enzo says, laughter in his tone. "You think to go buy some throw pillow for him? Maybe a…cazzo, what is the word? Dooly? Little lace things all over the tables.”

"Doily?" I suggest.

"Si! A stupid thing, and a stupid word."

Killian's shoulders shake. "Enzo, what the fuck are you talking about, man? Doilies? What the hell is a doily?"

"Never mind. Is just a silly joke. The ferry to Rome leaves at noon and eleven at the nighttime."

Killian frowns. "Y'know, I don't have a clue what day it is, or what time it is."

Enzo casts a glance at the green digital numerals on the range: 4:08. "It is four o'clock in the morning, and it is…ahhh…Thursday? Friday? I do not remember."

"So we have time to kill," I say.

"Looks like it," Killy adds.

Enzo points to the couch. "I am very tired. I am going to sleep." He points toward the rear of the unit. "The bedroom is there. You take it."

Killian and I trade glances, and then I answer for us. "You know, we woke up not that long ago, and you've been driving. Why don't you take the bed and let us have the TV?"

"Is all in Italian." He gestures at the console. "But maybe you like to play the Call of Duty game."

"Works for me," Killian says, grinning as he beelines for the device.

I snort. "Figures."

Enzo yawns. "Okay. We must go to the ferry offices to buy the…cazzo, I am too tired for the English—i biglietti. To get onto the ferry. It departs at twelve of the clock. Si? We cannot miss it or we have to wait until eleven at the nighttime."

"We won't miss it," Killian assures him. "Go sleep, man, you look done in."

"Sì, I am like a dead man."

He shuffles, visibly dragging himself down the hallway. A door closes with a quiet click, and then Killian and I are alone, sort of.

We both wait in silence, although it isn't immediately apparent what we're waiting for.

"You still trust him?" I ask Killy.