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My heart’s a bloody lump as I stride through cobbled alleyways, stepping over dropped clothes tags every few feet. Every time there’s a puddle, she’s stepped in it, leaving wet shoe prints for me to follow.
See, it’s shit like this that gives me hope; that makes me think Miawantsto be found. Why else would she be so sloppy?
Mia.
Ah, fuck. Mia. I rub my sore chest with my fist, the dangling heels bouncing against my stomach, and pick up the pace. This is no time for doubts.
I didn’t even get to see her in the white dress. And Ineverwill, if I don’t find her in the next hour or so. God damn it.
* * *
The tightness in my chest eases when I finally lay eyes on her again. I stand in the city train station, half hidden behind a stand of tourist leaflets, and feel the jagged shards of myself slot back into place.Aah.Sweet relief.
The hubbub of the crowd echoes off the station tiles. Pigeons coo from between the cafe tables, pecking at stale sandwich crumbs, and Mia’s buying a ticket from one of those big self service machines, cursing and slapping the side of it when it eats her money but doesn’t spit out her ticket.
I grin, stepping fully behind the leaflets as she peers around, chalky with panic, then calls for an attendant to help her out.
She should have lined up to buy from a real person. Rookie error, Mia.
Those machines are the devil’s playground.
Maybe I didn’t see Mia Serpico in her dress, but she’s still got her wedding hair in. Her brown waves are pinned up in a fancy, fiddly updo, dotted with white pearls, and a tiny tiara is perched on her head.
Bet she’s forgotten about that tiara. It would have been the best surprise when she reached her destination: a line of sparkling diamonds for her to sell, so long as a pickpocket didn’t get to her first on the train. Worth enough to set her up for months, probably.
It’s too bad. I’d have liked to see the shocked joy on her pretty face.
Instead, I watch between the glossy corners of leaflets as a middle aged woman in a stiff uniform helps Mia out, prodding at buttons with her mouth in a flat line. And when Mia snatches the ticket from the machine, running off without another word, the woman throws her hands up in the air. Shakes her head, then turns around to help the next desperate traveler.
I wait for Mia to whip through the ticket barriers, then step out from behind my rack of leaflets and stroll to her abandoned machine.
The last purchase is on the screen: a one way sleeper train down the coast. There’s even a ‘Buy Again’ button, and I jab it with a smile on my face.
One minute later, I’m brushing past the ticket stiles, Mia’s satin heels still clutched in one hand.
It’s nearly over. I’ve nearly got my bride back.
Mia
Growing up in the family, I didn’t ride a whole ton of public transport. There was no need. Us Serpico girls, we were driven everywhere in private cars, air conditioning humming and windows tinted, and even when we set out on foot, there were bodyguards.
Gotta protect the family assets and all. Can’t trade away damaged goods, can you?
So I don’t remember the last time I was alone like this in public,trulyalone, without a man hovering nearby and muttering into an earpiece.
It’s heady. So freeing. Makes me want to pick my nose or something.
As the train engines rumble to life, vibrations humming through my feet, I hunt down my budget sleeper compartment, the brassy number tarnished where it hangs on the door, and slip inside. I’ve got no bags, obviously. No nothing. Only my sorry ass, my leg muscles twitching from my run across the city, and a whole bundle of tangled up nerves to keep me company.
I shut the door. Pat the much smaller stack of cash in my hoodie pocket. And as I collapse onto the hard black leather seat, watching the station platform slip past, I wince at the chunk of money I just blew.
Maybe I should’ve headed somewhere cheaper, somewhere closer for now, but all I could think at that ticket machine was that I needed to getaway.Far, far away, where Leo Palladino and my family will never find me.
This is a thirteen hour train ride. Our first stop isn’t until 8pm.
That should do it. Right?
My stomach rumbles, noisy and insistent as it demands my missed meals, and I watch the station grounds fly past faster and faster, my pulse settling to a steady beat.
