A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
...
I was running again—but this time I knew why, from what, from whom.
Thud—thud—thud—thud—my feet struck the ground with rhythmic urgency,—thud—thud—thud—thud—my heart struck my ribs with synchronous fear.
I was puffing noisily, unfit from weeks of confinement, weakened further by my recent spell of illness and injury.
The moment I had broken through the copse, a sudden disorientation had made me halt in my tracks. It had taken me some moments to work out what was wrong with the scene before me...and then I'd realised. There's no snow.
It was as if I had simply slipped from one world into another. Even the temperature was noticeably different, still cold but not really bitter.
In that moment it seemed as if the whole incredible episode might never have taken place at all, that if I turned back to look, the man and his manor might simply have vanished, along with the snow. In fact, nothing would have surprised me less. But I did not turn back. I simply ran.
The grassy plain stretched out before me, rippling in the moonlight like a silvery sea. In the distance I could make out the great dark cloud of forest from which I had run so long ago. Now I was running back into its shadowy embrace, seeking shelter where once I fled unknown danger.
It seemed to take forever to traverse that exposed plain: every second seemed laden with the probability—almost the inevitability—of being discovered, seen, pursued. I forced myself to go faster, faster, as fast as I could without tripping over the restrictive bulk of my woollen robe.
Finally reaching the perimeter where meadows melded to trees, my relief was somewhat diluted by a newly rising fear...it was just so dark; darkness saturated the forest, seemed to suck the very night into it and bleed it out in a deeper rendering of blackness. As its huge, forbidding shadow fell over me, I slowed right down then stopped, panting hard and stooping over, hands bracing my thighs, trying to catch my breath.
My gasps seemed to echo all around, amplified and circulated by the relentless darkness and the stillness of the trees.
Suddenly the idea of losing myself inside the forest seemed...not so wise. Who knew what kind of nocturnal predators lurked inside? Wolves? Bears? I didn't even know which country I was in. For all I knew there could be leopards or something, silently stalking through the shadows, looking for a midnight snack.
I turned to look back at the copse, now but a barely-perceptible black smudge in the far distance. ...What have I done? I thought wildly. I had abandoned shelter for exposure, safety for wilderness.
Captivity for freedom.
Freedom? Did darkness and danger really equate to freedom? Was I not simply exchanging one kind of peril for another, perhaps a worse one?
It wasn't too late to return. I could go back now, sneak back inside. If Lucius caught me, I could plead him for mercy and forgiveness. Beg.
Ugh—no. Never.
But neither could I just keep standing on the spot, letting indecision and fear knit my muscles into complete paralysis.
...Come on, legs.
I forced myself back into action. Sticking to the edge of the forest, I settled into a steady jogging pace. All I could do was pray that it would lead me on to some kind of civilisation, before the morning brought to Lucius's attention that his unwilling boarder had taken her unsanctioned leave of him.
I ran through the night, ran until every last part of me was shaking and sore.
My feet were burning, my calves aching, my lungs ragged. Worst of all was the horrible jelly sensation in my legs, every time I stopped to catch my breath.
I was running from him and yet he was with me every second of the way. My fear, my exhaustion, my pain, did nothing to dull the indelible image of him in my mind, the silken sibilance of his voice in my ears—he seemed so vividly before me that I had the strange idea I was running towards him, and not away.
The wilderness seemed to go on forever, the forest to one side of me, endless plains on the other. I remembered that Lucius had once said we were many hours drive from the nearest town, and I began to despair of ever finding my way to help.
Then, just when I was reaching the point of total collapse, I saw lights.
I think it was a little before dawn. The darkness seemed to have lost its inky intensity, the moon's lustre was fading, although the sun had not yet started to rise. The plains had begun to slope downwards and in the distance I could clearly see a cluster of twinkling lights moving in a swift, smooth line. It could only be a vehicle. A dull rumble confirmed it. I had found a road!
A burst of adrenaline sent me sprinting down the slope. The lights of the vehicle were already disappearing into the darkness, but it didn't matter—I was sure another one would come along eventually, if only I could make it to the road...
In another ten minutes I was there. I collapsed in a heap on the rough tarmac, overcome with sheer exhaustion. But I wasn't prostrate for very long: already I could see a second cluster of lights, tiny twinkling pinpoints growing steadily larger, accompanied by the deep rumble of an engine, as another vehicle approached. Within seconds the dark outline of a large freight-truck loomed into visibility.
I scrambled up off the road; I hadn't come all this way to be flattened by a juggernaut. But I didn't know how to alert the driver to my presence in the darkness. I doubted I'd be noticed waving from the side of the road, and I didn't dare take the risk of flagging it down by standing directly in its path.
I had no time to lose; the truck was nearly upon me. Quickly I stooped over and grasped a patch of grass with both hands, yanking it forcefully upward, pulling out a large clump of roots and mud.
The roar of the approaching vehicle was frightening, but I steeled myself and moved as closely to the road as I dared, and took aim. Three—two—one...I threw the clod with all my might, hitting the darkly-glinting glass of the truck's cab windscreen.
Seconds later I jumped into the road, waving my arms wildly in the truck's fume-filled wake, hoping the driver would check his rear-view mirror for what had caused the impact.
It worked. The brake-lights flared; the vehicle slowed then rumbled to a stop.
I ran towards the front cab, reaching it just as the figure of a man sprang down from the elevated compartment, silhouetted by a bright light which had automatically triggered with the opening of his door. For a moment the light blinded my night-accustomed eyes and I brought my arms up to shield them—but my wrists were roughly grabbed by a pair of strong hands and I was slammed into the side of the truck.
A very angry, very foreign-sounding torrent of words was being directed at me, then suddenly I was spun around and pulled into a tight head-lock. The man was shouting towards the fields now, and I realised that he thought me to be part of a gang of troublemakers or thieves.
"No, please—I'm alone—I'm lost!" I gasped out, pummelling ineffectually at the thickly-muscled arm around my neck. But this only served to enrage him further; he grabbed my left ear and wrenched it hard, making me cry out in pain. "Ow! Let me go!" I yelped furiously, trying to writhe out of his grip, but he was much too strong and restrained me easily. He continued to twist my ear cruelly—it felt like he really meant to tear it off my head—until, in utter desperation I simply screamed out one word: "ENGLISH!"
Almost immediately he let go of my ear, though his arm remained around my neck. He was silent for a moment, breathing heavily down my neck, then in a deep growling voice he said, "En-glay-za? ...Engleesh?"
"YES, English! I AM ENGLISH! I need HELP! Police! Take me to the police!"
He released me from the headlock and pulled me around to face him, his fingers digging painfully into my upper arms. He held me tightly, peering suspiciously down into my face. Then he uttered a rapid sentence, ending with one word: "Poleet-zee-a."
"Yes—police!" I nodded frantically. "Police! Take me to the police, please!"
His grasp loosened and his whole demeanour relaxed. He spoke again, and though I couldn't understand what he was saying, his actions were a sufficient translation—he was propelling me towards the open door of the truck's cab and helping me clamber up into it.
I scooted over to the far side as the man climbed in beside me. My heart was hammering with a mix of relief, gratitude, wariness and fear. I knew all too well the kind of strife a solitary female could find herself in, when accepting "help" from a strange man...but I had little choice. I had to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.
The door slammed shut, plunging the cab into darkness and the man muttered something unintelligible. I drew back in fear as he reached over towards me, but he was only pulling a seat-belt out from behind me and handing it to me to fasten.
I did so, although I noticed that he didn't bother with his own seat-belt. He leaned down to turn the ignition and the engine roared into life.
The driver didn't seem inclined to talk and after I had attempted a few tentative questions as to our whereabouts and destination—which he clearly did not understand, nor appeared interested in trying to—I fell silent.
I stared out the window in a daze, the oh-so-familiar feeling of blurry unreality descending over me. Where am I? I wondered for the millionth time. And more to the point, where am I going?
The cab of the truck was musty and stifling and very warm. I felt almost nauseous with tiredness, and sore to my very bones. My eyelids seemed lined with lead. But going to sleep in the company of a strange man seemed downright dangerous. No, I mustn't sleep, I thought. And just as soon as my brain had made that sensible resolution, it was overruled by my exhausted body—and I was out like a light.
I don't know for how long I slept, but it was fully daylight when I was shaken awake.
My eyes flickered stickily open and l jumped in fright when I encountered a pair of black irises staring down at me, instead of the gleaming silver ones I had been dreaming about.
The man drew back, holding up his hands palms-outwards, as if to show me he meant no harm. I sat up and peered out the window. I saw we had come to a halt at some sort of a truck-stop: a shabby, squat little building surrounded by a wide parking area. We were in a new kind of terrain now, mountainous and craggy, rows of pines rising steeply upwards on either side of the road, woven through with wisps of mist. The sky was an unvarying steel-grey and there were a few spots of rain spattering the window-screen.
The door on my side was fastened shut and the locking switch missing, so I scrambled out on the driver's side, accepting the man's assistance down from the cab—although I didn't much care for the lingering touch of his steadying hand around my waist.
The air was crisp, stirred by a bracing wind. For a moment I stood still and let it buffet the drowsiness out of me, wishing it could likewise banish the pain from my aching joints and cramping muscles.
The driver had already disappeared into the building, which appeared to be a basic kind of cafeteria and I limped stiffly over towards the door. A little bell tinkled as I pushed it open. I saw the man was speaking to a frowsy but attractive waitress behind the counter and the pair of them turned to watch me as I entered. I was met with a frown by the woman, who obviously did not like the look of me—though I could hardly blame her. I knew I must be a sight indeed, with my long muddied robe and bandaged, shoeless feet.
I stared curiously around me.
The place was empty and had a run-down, tired atmosphere, although it seemed clean enough. The tables were made from formica, chipping at the edges, each bearing a plastic tray of condiments with a dog-eared menu card propped up in the centre. Wood panelling on the walls made the whole place dingy and several cheaply-framed prints of hunting scenes hardly improved the gloominess.
A couple of faded signs hung beneath the counter, of which I could make no sense whatsoever. It didn't seem to be a language I was the remotest part familiar with: there were strange little squiggles, dashes and curving lines above and below many of the letters.
A doorway in the far side had a hand-written sign above it: 'Toaletă'.
That's got to mean "toilet", I thought.
The truck driver was still occupied with the waitress, so I headed over to the door and slipped inside, drawing the thin bolt across to lock it. It was a small, concrete-walled cubicle with a toilet to one side and a sink and mirror to the other. I used the toilet first, then went to the sink to wash my hands and splash my face with water.
I peered into the black-splotched mirror and confirmed what I already suspected...I was a complete mess.
My face was white as a sheet, my lips bloodless and dry, the discolouration of my bruised cheek contrasted exaggeratedly against the surrounding paleness. There were huge dark smudges underneath my eyes and my hair was matted into thick snarls and tangles. I didn't bother trying to comb it with my fingers. There really wasn't any point, I would only be fighting a losing battle.
I looked more like a wild animal than a person—and yet, there was something new in my eyes which I had never seen before, glancing through the layers of my perpetual confusion and fear...something infinitely bright and irrepressible—something wonderful. I knew what it was. It was hope. Hope that I was finally on my way to discovering my identity, my memory, my whole lost life...
Hope that I was finally going to find me.
When I emerged, the driver was sitting at one of the tables, his legs stretched carelessly out. He was pouring a stream of sugar into a cup of coffee with one hand and stirring it in with the other, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips.
He looked up as I made a hesitant approach and gestured for me to join him. I saw that there was also a coffee for me and I sank gratefully into the seat opposite him, smiling my thanks at him. He shrugged and nodded briefly, his dark eyes flicking over me before they dropped back down to his task in hand.
I did my own furtive inspection of the man.
Whatever the country we were in, he was the embodiment of a typical truck-driver, very brawny and thickset, with a rough-hewn face and a rather surly expression. Beneath the loose wrists of his leather jackets I could see that his arms were heavily tattooed and the end of some unidentifiable word stretched up one side of his neck. ...I was struck by the difference between him and the man I had just fled from. I'd become so used to Lucius's refined, sharp features and elegant bearing, that this man seemed almost repulsively coarse, though he wasn't actually ugly—in fact, he was good-looking in a swarthy, brutish kind of way. The waitress certainly seemed to think so: her eyes were fixed admiringly on his profile as she ferried over a large tray to the table.
She chatted coquettishly to the man as she unloaded two plates of food and a wicker basket of bread rolls. Then she looked me over with a disapproving expression and muttered something in a very different tone—presumably about my feral appearance—before stomping unceremoniously off. Whatever she said had clearly amused the driver, for he grinned to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette in a cracked glass ash-tray.
My companion was already making short work of his food and I decided to follow his taciturn lead. Despite its unprepossessing look, the dish was surprisingly tasty, although the seasoning seemed quite unusual—foreign—and once again I wondered where we actually were. The coffee was very strong and there was no milk on offer, but it tasted like heaven to me, parched and fatigued as I was; I gulped it down as if it were nectar.
When he had finished eating, the driver reached into his jacket for another cigarette. Knocking one out of the packet, he casually proffered it to me and just as casually lit it for himself when I declined. He leaned back and watched me finish my food and I was uncomfortably reminded of countless meals under the inscrutable gaze of another man...a man who had surely discovered my truancy by now. ...Is he looking for me? I wondered.
Finally, the man finished his cigarette. He took out his wallet and slid two notes under his plate, then stood up, beckoning me to follow. I longed to inspect the currency but I didn't want him to think I was trying to steal it, so I decided regretfully to leave it be. Having already sampled a rather-painful dose of his anger, I didn't want to foolishly cause any misunderstandings between us. He didn't exactly look like the kind of man who would be easily placated once provoked.
Following him out to the truck, I watched him stoop to pick up a stone from the ground and hurl it rather spitefully at a crow that had settled on top of the cab of his truck. The bird fluttered up with a loud 'Caw!' of alarm, darting to the safety of the nearby trees.
A shiver of insecurity stole over me at this casual display of viciousness. I wondered if I should simply refuse to go any further with him—if I should just wait here for someone else to come along who was a little less...masculine. I'd had quite enough of oversized, intimidating men.
...But there was no guarantee that such a person would come along. And if they did, there was no guarantee they would agree to take me with them, given the state of me. Could I really afford to be choosy? I had no money, no words, no idea where I was. And I needed to get to a town or city as soon as I possibly could.
Quashing my anxieties, I climbed up into the cab and fastened my seat-belt, comforting myself with the fact that, so far, the man had treated me with kindness.
I just hoped he didn't expect anything in return for it.
...
...The figure of a tall, pale-haired man darkened the threshold of a sumptuous chamber...his eyes were fixed upon a high-arched window, around which two heavy curtains stiffly billowed, stirred by a sharp breeze swirling in through the paneless frame...the man's form was motionless but for the tense rise and fall of his shoulders, bespeaking his deep, agitated breathing...his expression was as stony and cold as the flagstones beneath his feet, but his silver eyes glistered with white-hot fury...
A bump in the road shook me out of my reverie, and I blinked the real world back into focus.
We were making our way over a winding mountain pass. The driver steered his vehicle confidently, but more aggressively than was warranted, I thought. I hoped he might put on his radio, not just to relieve the silence, but to give me another chance to glean whereabouts we actually were.
But he seemed to be content to listen to the noisy rumble of his truck. Occasionally he would glance over at me and I would smile encouragingly—for I really wanted to engage some kind of conversation, even if I could barely make out one word in fifty—but he would simply fix his eyes back on the road again, leaving me biting my lip in frustration.
In the end, I resigned myself to staring out the window.
The scenery was really quite breath-taking, despite the overcast weather...or maybe because of it. There was something compelling about the towering trees and jagged, pale rock-faces, although there was nothing gentle about its precipitous, brooding beauty. I thought we could well be in some Nordic country, although I couldn't guess which one.
The zig-zags of road gradually lengthened and at last unspoolled from the mountain, until we were once more on flat terrain, though still hemmed in on both sides by trees. The looming periphery created the impression of perpetual twilight. A silver orb of cloud-veiled sun hung high in the meridian and occasionally a stream of light would pierce through the murky stratus.
I half-shut my eyes and drifted back into hazy-edged daydream...
...The pale-haired man's arms braced the window, the muscles spanning his shoulders were tautly bunched, and his balled fists rested on each side of the frame, as if he had recently thudded them against it in sudden rage... a piece of paper was crumpled in one clenched hand. ...Through barely-moving lips, he gritted out two hoarse syllables..."MUDBLOOD!"...
This time a change in the light brought me out of my doze. The trees were thinning out, and the road soon melded with another much-busier one. We followed it all afternoon, passing through several towns which straddled the highway.
These towns seemed quite peculiar to my eyes, telling two discrepant stories. The more traditional buildings mostly comprised double-storied houses: old, picturesque, if somewhat dilapidated, like they belonged in some ramshackle fairy-tale village. The architecture was not exactly quaint or pretty, but, like the landscape, distinctive, characterful and slightly melancholy. Then jarringly, these houses would be suddenly interspersed with ugly multi-storied apartment blocks, bulky and relentlessly generic, from beneath which rows of gloomy shops peered out at street level.
There was also a greater mix of new and old cars on the road and we even passed a couple of horse-drawn carts being driven slowly up the highway, piled high with produce. It's like history hasn't quite let go here yet, I thought.
It was difficult to remain alert, as one hour stretched into the next, especially as I was determined not to think about—him. For what else did I have to think about? Everything that I knew, everything that I could remember was inextricably entwined with him. Jailer, keeper, saviour, tormentor—whatever his true role, he had filled my entire existence. Telling myself to forget about him was like telling myself to forget about breathing...
I gazed out the window, watching the shadows lengthen and the setting sun burnish the landscape. He hated you, Alice, and he hurt you. Let him go...