"What we had is over, Dawn. You don't have to do this anymore. You're free to go."
I traced the glass separating us with my fingers, looking into his green eyes and whispered to the phone, "So you want to know why I'm still here?"
He just stare...
They didn't follow us when we took off from the place.
I was driving, just like Silas had promised.
My hands on the steering wheel seemed to shake once in a while and I could notice the bloodstains on them. The blood belonged to Silas but in my subconscious mind, the blood that would stay forever on my hands belonged to Taylor.
It was a strange color, a dark rich red.
"Take the left," Silas said, his hand pressing a piece of cloth over his wound, a jacket draped over his body to hide the blood. He had stopped bleeding twenty minutes ago when we got out of that town. I stole a glance at him, seeing his now-crimson shirt. It stabbed my insides like the way cold water would stab a hand in the middle of a freezing winter.
Not seeing what we were passing, I only heard Silas's directions. It was a wonder how he still talked as if nothing was wrong with him as if he didn't have a bullet in the side of his abdomen.
"Are you okay?" I asked for the thousands of times.
"It hurts if I move." He looked up at me, his green eyes more alive than ever. "Don't worry. It's a flesh wound. I'll be fine as long as there isn't any air getting sucked into it "
I couldn't let him fool me. A single gunshot in the arm or leg was more than enough to kill if one was unlucky. Basically, the movie myth of non-fatal "flesh wounds" was more than far-fetched.
Yes, tell me not to worry, Silas.
I smiled bitterly, telling myself that my husband was strong enough to survive this. But it wasn't the only thing crossing my mind. I could still hear the sound of the gun cluttering the ground. The image of Taylor's movements coming to an abrupt halt was vivid and I wanted to scream. Instinctively, I bit the insides of my cheek.
If I said one word now, I'd break down.
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We reached Tuscany half an hour later with sun heading downwards to our left. We chose Ponte alle Grazie to cross the river, my eyes straining at the number of tourists bathed in the sunlight. Their lives must have been easy.
Struggles didn't rise when we looked for the building. It was in Via Calimaruzza just across the H&M store. There was a Chanel store beside it. Climbing the stairs, I pressed the bell- twice and exasperated, I aimed to press a few times more. Nevertheless, the door opened first. Behind the steel door, a woman few inches shorter than me stood, her brown skin glowing gorgeously, her heart-shaped face framed pretty with her box braids.
"Dale?" She rose both thin eyebrows at me, chewing something in her mouth.
"Yes."
She opened the ornamental steel door separating us, her brown eyes narrowing as she looked around. "Martin told me you wouldn't be alone." She turned to me, her voice void of any sort of accent. It was just plain English.
