I know this story is kinda going slow, but I promise it will get better. Thank you again for the reviews!

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Chapter 8

"Here." I handed the sack of food to Christian. "Thank you," he said wearily. I sat down beside him and watched as he started eating.

"I arrived here yesterday afternoon," he told me. "I saw you walking down the street this morning and followed you until you sat here," he told me. "Thank God I found you."

"Where did you sleep last night?" I asked softly.

"I spent the last of my money in a hotel," he answered.

"Oh." I stayed quiet for awhile and let Christian eat. But after a few minutes I couldn't take it anymore. I had to ask him the question that was burning in the back of my mind.

"Christian," I began cautiously. "Why...why didn't you write to me? Like you promised?"

He stared at me for a moment, not knowing what to say. "I...I was busy. Y-you wouldn't understand," he finally said. He paused. "Unless..."

"Unless what?" I asked anxiously.

He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget it."

I kept my anger inside, not saying anything more. I didn't understand why he couldn't just tell me.

A few minutes passed as Christian ate his food and I sat there in silence. I watched the people passing by, and then it hit me.

"Oh, no."

"What? What is it?" Christian asked anxiously.

I quickly pointed to a man that was heading our way. "It's Mr. Parkinson. If he sees you, he'll tell Father you're here!"

"W-What should I do?"

"Hide!" I told him. He jumped up and sprinted behind a big tree just before Mr. Parkinson spotted me.

"Why hello, Miss James. How are you today?" Mr. Parkinson greeted politely.

"Oh, hello Mr. Parkinson! I'm fine, thank you." I answered nervously.

"How is your father doing?"

"Oh, he's fine. Y-Yes, he's wonderful." I prayed that he didn't notice how nervous I was.

He smiled. "So, have you heard anything from your brother yet?"

"Uh, no. Not yet," I replied, briefly glancing toward Christian's direction just to make sure he couldn't be seen.

"Hmm, I do hope the lad is alright. Well, I must be going. Tell your Father I said hello."

"I will, sir."

After I was sure that he had gone, I approached Christian behind the tree. He stood up and looked around to make sure no one could see us.

"I had better go," I said softly. "Before anyone else sees me with you and guesses who you are. You should try to disguise yourself," I advised, even though I doubted anyone could recognize him from a distance.

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground. Before I could stand up, he grabbed my hand. "Please, come visit me tonight," he pleaded, his eyes glazed over with tears. "Please."

"I...I don't know," I said. "Father..."

"Just...make something up. Please," he begged. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

How could I refuse him? He reminded me of a scared little boy who had just woken up from a horrible nightmare. "Alright," I answered. "Where?"

"The alley outside that one hotel down by the train station. At 7:00," he said. "No one you know will even go near that alley."

I agreed, and walked home. I tried my best to act natural when Father came home from work. He couldn't find out about Christian, not yet.

Later that afternoon, I tried to read a book in my room. But all I could think about was Christian. He had changed so much, and not just in his appearance. There was no longer the passion and innocence he had a year ago. Again I wondered what could have happened to him in Paris. Had someone betrayed him? Had they hurt him so badly that he was scarred for life? If anyone did such a thing, they deserve to feel as much pain as Christian obviously does now, I thought angrily. But I had no idea of how much pain my brother was really feeling.

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