Chapter Six

Miford retold his story for the fifth time to the third teller at the train station. He was losing his temper quickly, for no one seemed to grasp the urgency of his situation.

This teller was obviously the most inexperienced of the lot, as if the staff had given up on trying to appease him and sent this man out, not even caring anymore.

"It is imperative, my good monsieur," he repeated for the thousandth time, "simply imperative that I get a train to Stockholm tonight."

The teller visibly winced at his strained emphasis, and his eyes darted down to the impatient inspector's clenched fist upon the counter. The teller swallowed hard as he envisioned that fist crushing into his nose with one more false word.

"I'm sorry, monsieur," he said, carefully concealing his desperation, "there are no trains heading east scheduled to arrive until Thursday at noon. There is nothing we can do for you tonight. My deepest apologies."

Miford turned away in exasperation, his patience evaporating at that very instant.

"Book me a ticket for Thursday, then," he barked as he stalked away.

Imbecile.

"Yes, Monsieur Inspector. Consider it done," the clerk called feebly after him.

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Christine lay peacefully in her bed at the bed and breakfast as the grandfather clock in the hall way chimed eleven o'clock. Such luxury she'd been living in since they'd arrived in Sweden, though she knew it only distracted her from the dire matters at hand.

They'd been booked separate rooms this time, so Christine rarely saw Erik, save occasionally looking to the sea as the sunset. Once or twice he had dined with her, though he'd eaten much less and said little. It was strange though, for those days when he did keep her company were the ons when she'd been feeling the most lonely.

As far as she could tell, the news of Raoul's death and her disappearance had not reached as far as Sweden. Perhaps it never would. Perhaps no one would care in her corner of the world. She simply did not know. It all depended upon how determined the Paris police were to track them down.

So as Christine lazed about and ignored the emotions which constantly threatened to bubble forth and overtake her, the world continued to turn, even despite of her lack of acknowledgment. And of the pair, Erik was the only one to take notice.

And he came to thank Fate that he had. Since arriving in Sweden, he'd felt it wise to keep up with the local newspaper, at least as well as he could with what little Swedish he knew. Thusly, each day in the morning and evening, he'd take a jaunt to the general store down the street, check the papers, and assuming all was in order, return to the bed and breakfast. So far, everything had been in order. Until the the third day.

He was always careful to scan the entire newspaper, as he doubted French runaways would make the front page of a Swedish paper. But this morning, he did not have to look far to realize he and Christine were in danger.

Not quite the headline story, but just below it, read in bold letters: "French delinquents thought to have fled to Stockholm." Erik's first instinct was to drop the paper, flee to the bed and breakfast to warn Christine, and escape before one of the townspeople noticed the article. However, that would not quite be practical, nor inconspicuous, so Erik forced himself to read the rest of the story in a calm, casual manner.

By the end of it, he'd learned Inspector Miford of the Parisian Police would be en route to Stockholm as of Thursday. Erik quickly did the math: that would give them precisely four days, one before Miford left Paris, then three for him to reach Stockholm. Surely by then suitable arrangements could be made to secure himself and Christine. Surely.

Without further thought, he disposed of the paper and set off for the bed and breakfast. Thankfully, they had very little to pack. He'd allowed Christine to purchase a few new frocks to travel with, as well as a few essential toiletries and a fresh chemise. Other than that and his papers, they had nothing else. He himself had had his outfit laundered rather than purchasing new clothing just yet.

Erik frantically went over all this in his mind as he knocked upon her room's door.

After being granted a sleepy verbal affirmation, Erik burst into the bedroom. "Christine," he began, uncomfortably reminded of the last time he'd pulled her from familiar surroundings. "We must go..."

He could not meet her eyes.