Chapter 12
(Pt 3)
Christian moved in her arms and moaned slightly in his sleep, tearing Xandrie away from her reveries. She looked down at him, tenderly brushing her fingertips against the already thick stubble that covered his cheeks. His wound was healing rather well, despite all the additional strain he put his body through in trying to rescue her. It was healing. But she knew that it still hurt him � a lot, even though he would never admit to it. She knew perfectly well that the best thing for him would have been to be checked into a hospital, where he could get the proper care he required.
But a gunshot wound would raise too many questions in a hospital, questions she wouldn�t be able to answer. And she was afraid that a visit to a hospital might alert the police, or, worse yet, any of Debray�s men who might still be looking for her. That�s why a hospital was too big a risk. She knew it. And he knew it. That�s why he pushed himself on, never complaining about a single thing.
He didn�t complain when she dragged him semi-conscious out onto the road. He didn�t complain when they sat huddled in the back of an old Citro�n, as it bounced up and down on the dirt country road, while its driver kept looking back suspiciously at the two of them, obviously disbelieving her lame cover story about bringing a drunken wayward husband home to the banlieue of Paris.
They drove through the night. The suspicious driver dropped them off on the very outskirts of the city (Xandrie didn�t want him to get too close to her apartment, just in case he decided to act on his suspicions and call the police). They hitched another ride from there. By the time they got to her place, the day was already breaking.
Christian didn�t say a word, as she dragged him up the stairs to her apartment. Only once inside, he plopped heavily down onto the sofa and, throwing a quick look at the overturned chairs and bookshelves, and clothes and papers strewn all over the floor, he noted tiredly, �Looks like your former friends have been here.�
Indeed, they have. That was one of the reasons she brought him back there. She was hoping that Debray wouldn�t send somebody back to her place, since it�s already been checked upon. Not yet, anyway.
She remembered standing in the middle of all that mess that used to be her room, surveying with a sense of sheer despair the ravaged remains of her life, when she noticed the broken figurine of a ballerina lying amidst them. This was the last present her mother gave her before she died. It was her mother�s dream for her � to become a ballerina. She loved to dance when she was little, and her mother thought that one day she, Xandrie, could rival the best of them on stage. She kept that figurine with her through all these years, even though that dream was shattered long before the glass statuette. She had almost forgotten about it.
But then, seeing that figurine on the floor, broken in half by a thoughtless thug, she was almost ready to fall down on her knees and bawl her eyes out. Only a worried look from Christian stopped her from doing just that. She collected herself then � he needed help, he needed her to be strong for him. Her own medicine cabinet was empty, so she had to get some from elsewhere. She told him as much and left. She came back a few hours later, after having broken into a pharmacy; her pockets filled with stolen merchandise. She didn�t tell him where she got it, but she figured he knew � just from the way he looked at her, as she re-bandaged his wound. But he said nothing.
That night they spent in her apartment, and in the morning, while Xandrie was thinking about their next move, Christian suddenly offered her a solution.
�Why don�t you come with me to the States? Debray would never look for you there. Neither would the police. � We could get plane tickets tonight.�
She must have looked completely stunned, for his face broke into a slightly tense but amused smile, as he continued to watch her, waiting for a response.
Shaking off her stunned confusion, she mumbled something about still having to get past the airport security.
But he seemed to have a ready response to that too. �Well, the police � and your boss, for that matter, are looking for Alexandra Aubain. I doubt anybody would be paying attention to Mr. and Mrs. Christian Troy � a happily married couple, returning home from their brief vacation in France.�
It�s strange, but Xandrie couldn�t quite remember what she told him after that. Her mind has been in a daze, and that part was hazier than the rest. She must have agreed, though, for they did show up at the airport with her forged passport, and they were here now on a plane on their way to America.
Mrs. Christian Troy. God, she loved the sound of that! If only it were for real. If only�
She sighed, looking down at the sleeping man in her arms. The trip statistics running across the TV monitor above their heads informed them that their altitude was 68,000 feet, and promised another 6 hours of flight. Six hours. Long time. Much too long to spend mulling over the could-have-beens.
Shifting slightly under his weight to make herself a bit more comfortable, Xandrie closed her eyes and, still holding him tightly against her, drifted off into a troubled sleep.