Chapter 32 Chapter Thirty-One

I sat motionless in my seat and stared at the newspaper reader across the way. He was so quiet that I thought I didn't even hear his breathing, and my breathing was also difficult.After a while, what I dreaded most happened: He spoke to me, but didn't put down the newspaper.He sounded so much like his shoes and perfectly cut pants that I listened and started to get goosebumps because I couldn't believe I was listening. His voice was calm and gentle, and he asked only one question: "Where is your father, my dear?" I jumped up from my seat, opened the door, and without looking back, I slipped out and ran to the dining car that Barry had gone to earlier.The person inside turned and looked at me curiously.I dared not even stop to hear the footsteps behind me.It occurred to me that I had left our small suitcase on the luggage rack.Will it be taken away or searched by him?The handbag is in my hand, I hang it on my wrist when I sleep, and I always have it with me when I'm out and about.

Barry sat at the end of the dining car, "What's the matter?" I pressed my face to his neck, trying not to cry: "When I woke up, there was a man in our car reading a newspaper, and I couldn't see his face." Barry ruffled my hair. "A newspaper reader? Why are you so frightened?" "He won't let me see his face at all," I murmured. "He's talking to me behind a newspaper." "Really?" Barry seemed to like my curly hair. "He asked me where my father was." "What?" Barry sat up straight, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, it's English." I also sat up straight. "I ran, I don't think he followed me, but he was on the train. I just left our bags there." Barry bit his lip. "Our next stop is Blue," he said. "Sixteen minutes." "What about our bags?" "You've got your handbag and I've got my purse." Barry stopped abruptly, staring at me. "The letters—"in my handbag," I said quickly. "Thank God. We'll just have to drop the rest of the luggage, but that's okay." Barry took my hand and headed towards the back of the dining car—and to my surprise, we walked into the kitchen.The waiter hurried after us and ushered us into the little alcove next to the refrigerator.We stood there for sixteen minutes, and I clutched my handbag tightly.The two of us squeezed into this small space like fugitives, naturally hugging each other tightly.Suddenly, I remembered the gift my father gave me, so I raised my hand to touch it: it was a cross that was close to my throat, and I could see it at a glance.No wonder the newspaper was never put down.

Finally, the car started to slow down. "Get out of the car, but stay close to the car," Barry warned me in a low voice. "Did you see him?" I followed the car and looked down, and finally, I saw a person in the distance among the passengers who got off the car—a tall man in black with broad shoulders, and there was something wrong with his whole body. Heart pounding. "That's him," I tried not to point at him, and Barry quickly pulled me back up the ladder. "Don't let him see you. I'll see where he's going. He's looking around. Hell, he's getting in the car again. I think he just figured out we didn't really get out."

Suddenly, Barry dragged me off the train and jumped onto the platform. A few cars past, I saw a black head turned in our direction, a man with hunched shoulders—full of shuddering rage, I thought.The train picked up speed and turned a corner. I turned to Barry and we looked at each other.We are in an unknown place in central France, all alone, with only a few villagers sitting in a small rural station.