Smooth flat disks, rectangular and printed with a name...
Dog tags.
I lifted them to the light and tried to make out the tiny letters.
Lucciano, Massimo.
Lucciano?
Blackwood swore. He steered the car through snowy streets. Torino was beautiful under its thick, white layer of snow. Arcades bracketed the road, with their elegant marble colonnades marching down the street, protecting the sidewalks from snow. We passed the twin baroque churches of Piazza San Carlo, and I glimpsed the spire of Mole Antonelliana piercing the skyline inthe distance. I knew this city. I used to live here. It was clear, while everything else was murky.
We halted at a red traffic light. On the right was a train station lit up brightly in the darkness. Inside, people milled around.
It all seemed normal. A world that I had nearly left behind forever.
The dog tags felt heavy between my fingers.
Get out of here now, while you can. Go!
The voice inside my head was insistent. Maybe it made me crazy, but I listened. The man beside me was tense and fidgeting. Did I know him? Suddenly I couldn’t even remember getting into the car. Then I saw the back of his hand. A fine spray of red decorated his knuckles. There was no cut to explain it. I knew at that moment that the blood wasn’t his.
I yanked the door handle and unclipped my seat belt at the same time. Instinct drove me onward. I couldn’t explain it, and I couldn’t ignore it, either. I just needed to get away.
Blackwood shouted after me, but I left the car door hanging open and ran for the pavement. The light changed, and car drivers honked at Blackwood.
I didn’t dare look back. Something inside urged me to run away from that car and that man, and I didn’t have time to question it.
I hit the sidewalk and slid on the ice and snow, going down on one knee hard. But I didn’t have time to stop. I scraped my palms on the ground pushing myself up and staggering the last few steps into the train station.
Heat and humidity hit me as soon as I got inside. Some people gawped at me and then looked away. I must have seemed strange in my all-white sweatsuit and sneakers, bloody knee and hands, a frantic glimmer in my eyes. My face felt chalked with ash and soot from the fire.
I put my head down and moved to the wall, walking quickly along it. Should I hide out in the ladies’ room? Wouldn’t that be the first place Blackwood would look for me?
What if I was overreacting and the man was just trying to take me to my mother’s house? Despite how much I tried to believe that, I just couldn’t.
There was a small kiosk at the end of the waiting hall with stands of magazines and newspapers outside. I dove between the rails and paused. I had to get a grip. I didn’t even know if Blackwood was following me.
I lingered there, pretending to choose a magazine, peering over the top of the rail whenever I dared. My heart sank as Blackwood entered the station.
I scuttled farther back, my breath rasping painfully. I couldn’t seem to catch it.
He glanced this way and that, and then started in my direction.
He was going to find me here.
Suddenly, someone touched my arm and I nearly screamed. I spun around to find a young woman, maybe my age, maybe younger, standing beside me. She had draped a heavy, fashionable puffer coat around my shoulders. The thing nearly hid my entire institute uniform.
“Here,” she said quickly, and pulled a woolen beanie hat with a pom-pom onto my head. Then she stepped between me and the rest of the station and tugged me over to a display of gardening magazines.
“What are you doing?” I murmured, confused and mistrustful.
“Just looking at magazines with my friend,” she said back quietly.
“I-I don’t know you?” I asked, more of a question than a statement.
“Not yet.” The girl gave me a half smile and then glanced forward. “Keep your head down, he’s coming.”
I stared at the magazines, my eyes swimming. This sudden act of kindness from a stranger was all it took to make me tear up, apparently.