Chapter 5
The air has cooled down significantly toward the evening, but the gray steps of the Notre Dame cathedral still kept some of their daytime warmth, and as such they made for a perfect resting spot for two teenagers who sat there, watching the setting sun as it was bidding goodbye to the old city, its soft rays drowning in the already murky waters of the Seine.
Leaning against Christian, snuggled comfortably in his embrace, Xandrie gazed absently at the smooth surface of the river, perfectly content in that place at that moment, relishing the feeling of warmth and security that came from being in his arms.
�Why do you steal?�
The question jarred Xandrie out of her reverie, and she twisted around to face her companion, ready to counter what she perceived as judgmental arrogance on his part with an indignant retort. But the blue eyes that met hers held none of the righteous condemnation she was so used to seeing in others. There was genuine curiosity in them, an honest desire to understand.
The ready retort died on her lips, and Xandrie turned back around, shifting her gaze to the opposite bank of the Seine, where the occasional couples were strolling peacefully along the river, enjoying their evening promenade.
She was silent for a long time, and Christian wondered if he hadn�t said something to hurt her. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that he had to strain his hearing to make out the words.
�My father changed a lot after my mother died, you know,� she began, as he wondered briefly what the connection was. �He became � distant, closed off. Stopped caring about � anything � his job, our apartment, himself, � me. He became dead on the inside � you know � as if he had died with her that day. � Might as well have�� She shrugged helplessly, accentuating the hopelessness that seeped through her words. Her voice grew tired, monotonous. �Pretty soon he lost the job, and he didn�t seem to care that it meant we�d be out on the street in a matter of days. We needed cash fast. � I had to do something. I was only about 10 years old. I didn�t know much � couldn�t do much. I saw someone picking pockets on the Grands Boulevards; I decided to try it. Turned out that was something I could do. �And after a while, that was all I could do.�
She paused hesitantly, part of her waiting with a slight apprehension for his reaction, surprised momentarily at how much his opinion seemed to matter. Christian remained silent, gently tightening his hold on her, and, of all the responses she could have expected, this was the one that told her most clearly and honestly what she needed to know at that moment. He loved her. He understood. He didn't judge.
***End flashback***
Xandrie shook her head, chasing away the memory, as her gaze traveled over to the sleeping figure in the corner of the train car. So much has happened since then � in both their lives. She could see the small creases, the worry lines on his face; could recognize the traces of pain buried in the depth of the blue eyes, the pain for which she herself was, at least partially, responsible.
She didn�t think she�d ever see him again after their last meeting. To this day she remembered the anguished look in his eyes, the pain that tore at her heart. She hurt him badly that day. She had to, there was no other choice, but that knowledge didn�t make her feel any better. It certainly didn�t make his pain any less real.
And now he was back in her life � at the worst possible moment, when her own world was tightening in a noose around her, when her own life was under a threat of imminent destruction. Yet having him near was suddenly more important that anything else; her longing for the closeness they had once shared overpowering every other emotion. And yet the dark realization that she may never have that kind of closeness with him again, that that bond was effectively broken by her own self and ground to dust by the recent events, made her almost drunk with despair.
Sighing deeply, she stood up and walked over to his corner. Bending slightly over his sleeping form, she touched his good shoulder, shaking him gently. �Wake up, Christian. We have to get off soon.�
***
A small silver-gray Renault sped down the winding country road, carrying three solemn-looking passengers. The charged silence inside the car was broken occasionally by the nervous, impatient tapping of fingers against the dashboard by the front-seat passenger.
"T'es s�r qu'ils sont all�s l�-bas?" [�Are you certain they went there?�]
The driver, at whom this question was directed, clenched his teeth in a sign of irritation, and nodded without tearing his eyes off the road.
"Debray ne sera pas content si nous ne les trouvons pas, tu sais," the passenger continued. [�Debray won�t be pleased if we don�t find them, you know.�]
"Je sais!" the driver snapped, turning briefly to his interlocutor. "Nous les trouverons," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Ne t'inqui�te pas." [�I know. We�ll find them. Don�t you worry.�]