As far as I know, no one knows I’m the one who killed Marco yet. They won’t be looking for her here. But there’s always a chance that some fucker with more brains than is good for him has made connections that I’m not comfortable with. So I don’t let my guard down until we find our private train car and board. A railway porter offers to carry the luggage up the small set of metal steps, but I wave him off. I don’t want anyone else touching our shit but us.
There’s no one inside the train car, no staff to send away. There are, however, doors at each end of the car that I’m not particularly fond of. It’s likely just for porters to come through and bring snacks and drinks. But that’s two points of entry for me to keep my eye on. Plus Aurora makes three things to watch.
And I’ve only got two fucking eyes.
As I pull down the blinds on all the train car windows, Aurora unzips her jacket and looks around, seeming faintly pleased.
“This is nice,” she says. “I’ve never been on a train before.”
It’s not my preferred mode of transportation. I don’t typically like to be anywhere but the driver’s seat if I can help it. But this will get us to Toronto faster and more safely than driving will. So it’s worth it.
Once the windows are all blocked by the blinds, I give a quick security sweep of the train car. There’s a small table with burgundy leather benches around it and matching burgundy carpet. I don’t find anything unusual there. No explosives, no cameras. There is one camera in here. Nothing out of the ordinary – looks like a normal security camera. But I hold up my hand, silently gesturing for Aurora to keep her scarf and sunglasses on until I cover it, which I do immediately. If anyone notices, I doubt they’ll give me any shit over it. The booking is under my name.
And the name Curse Titone means something to people around here.
There’s a third small door that opens into part of the wall that sticks out, but it’s just a tiny bathroom. There’s nothing to worry about in here, either. And obviously there’s no camera to cover.
“Can I take this stuff off yet?” Aurora asks. She lifts her hands, fanning herself. The small bits of skin on her face that are exposed, anyway.
“You can lose the parka. But keep the sunglasses on the whole time,” I say. “And the scarf.”
There will be no way to know when some bumbling porter offering us wine or crackers or whatever other shit they’ve got on board will come uninvited through one of those doors.
I put our bags onto the luggage rack while Aurora sheds her parka.
“I wish I’d brought a book,” she says after we’ve settled ourselves onto the leather benches. We’re sitting across from each other at the table. “I didn’t think about that until now.”
I don’t need a book or anything else to distract me. I could spend every hour of the rest of my life just looking at her. I watch her as she fidgets and sighs. She frowns down at her nails, picking at them.
“I forgot the nail polish remover.”
“What?”
“On the list I gave you,” she explains. “I wanted to take off my wedding nail polish.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back. “You’ll probably want to take that off before your next wedding.”
She makes a face at that. I smirk, but she likely can’t see it behind the mask. Since I’m not worried about hiding my face, I pull it off and stuff it into my pocket.
We lapse into silence as the train rolls down its tracks. I watch her. She casts her gaze about the car, looking at anything but me. When one of the doors to the car opens, I tense, my hand going beneath my jacket. Aurora twists to see whose coming and enthusiastically says hello to the train porter wheeling a cart of food towards us. She hasn’t spoken to anyone but me in days. And I can’t be described as a chatterbox at the best of times.
I stare the porter down and watch his every move. But when he doesn’t pull a gun out from his little snack cart, I relax slightly. I still pay careful attention to his interaction with Aurora, but he seems to be just a cheerful, professional older man doing his job. He gives Aurora a bottle of sparkling water and a sandwich at her request. Then he turns to me.
The friendliness in his smile falters and distorts. Can’t say I blame him. Most kind, normal people don’t react well to me. They might seem alright with me at first. But the more time they spend looking at my face, my eyes, the more they sense that something is off. Some innate survival instinct innate to prey.
“Do you want anything, sir?” asks the porter. I shake my head.
He grabs the cart handle and hurries out of there. Like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
Smart man.
Aurora opens her sandwich and eats it over the next little bit. When she’s finished with her drink, she starts fiddling with the empty bottle. She puts it on its side and spins it. The green glass twinkles beneath the golden-hued lights of the train car.
“Have you ever played spin the bottle?” she asks, giving the bottle another push.
“No.”
“Me neither. But I know the rules. You’re supposed to kiss whoever it lands on.”
