Chapter Sixteen

Juliette

Orléans, France

Saturday, 7:05 p.m.

J uliette drank a cup of coffee and popped a pain pill. She'd already paid the check. Looking out the window, she felt relief that the sun was fading. Nightfall would soon give her another layer of safety. Her next moves weren't apparent. Juliette had much preferred it when she had a list of items to accomplish, she was empowered with each checkmark on her mental list. But now she only had two things left – change her clothes and get to Paris. Well three, stay out of the clutches of the Russian men. Okay, four, try to figure out what was happening to her.

The waiter swung by her table, depositing a white paper bag with her to-go order of dinner then spun to the four-top of women who began placing their orders.

Juliette picked up the bag and moved to the ladies' room.

There, she braided her hair, and tucked the bottom underneath to hide its length. She topped this with a wide black headband, hoping to camouflage the color of her hair a bit. Digging into her backpack, Juliette tugged out the newly-purchased pair of ripped jeans and T-shirt, some socks, and a pair of Converses. She was trying to match the look of the girl in the electronics store. A teen from a middle-class household. She'd even bought a used textbook from the secondhand book store next to the pharmacy.

She used the acetone to remove her nail polish then cut her nails short. Her sapphire and diamond earrings went into her wallet along with her rings. After scrubbing her face free of makeup, Juliette searched the mirror. She didn't know if it would be enough. It depended on the training of the men following her, and if they had support.

Her last addition was a large zippered black hoody. Juliette figured it could help her disappear once it grew darker.

Rolling her dirty clothes up tightly, she stashed them back in the back pack with her boots. In went the text book. In went the dinner bag and water bottle. She put a couple hundred euro in her back pocket. The rest of her money stack, her wallet, old cell phone, and passport she stowed in a small purse that she clipped around her waist and hid with the baggy clothing. If she lost these items... Well, she'd be lost.

Zipped into the hoody, Juliette hung the school-sized backpack off one shoulder and exited into the narrow hallway, where a line of females stood looking perturbed at her lengthy hoarding of the bathroom. Juliette avoided their eyes.

Shadowing the kitchen boy as he carried the trash out the back door to the alley, Juliette yanked the hoody up over her head before he could turn around and focus on her. As she sauntered away, on what she hoped looked like a teenager's lope, she could feel his gaze on her back. Would he remember her?

Out on the street.

Now for Paris.

The train, according to the website, left at 22h – 10:00 p.m. She thought it would be stupid to wait that long. Since it was the next train out, the men would assume she'd be on it. And if they caught her on the train itself, she'd be trapped with no chance of escape.

There were no buses available. She didn't have a license to rent a car. She was at a loss for how to move forward.

Even walking down the street was a problem for Juliette. She was swaying and staggering like a drunk as she caught her balance. Though, things had improved a bit since she'd changed her high-heeled boots for the tennis shoes.

Juliette had brought the boots, purchased on a whim, as a kind of symbol of her wish to be okay. To be the kind of person who could wear heels and look fashionable. And this morning, she'd pulled them and pranced around her hotel room to see how she'd do.

Surprisingly, she seemed to do okay despite the fever that warmed her face and the headache that pounded steadily at her temple. She'd decided she'd keep them on to look chic, thinking her style would help her make a good impression, should good impressions be required.

But as the odd experiences mounted, as her anxiety climbed, so did her symptoms.

The headache and vertigo were making her head swim.

Juliette headed back to the pharmacy to buy a pair of crutches. There were pros and cons to every single decision she was making. Each choice felt like it could have life or death implications. When she'd gone in to the store earlier to buy her toiletries, she'd considered getting a walker like the one she'd used prior to getting Toby. But talk about a blazing sign, "Ding! Ding! Ding! Here she is." So she'd rejected it. Juliette had thought about getting a cane, maybe two. But walkers and canes were the things that older people used. If a teenager had them ? and Juliette dearly hoped she looked that part ? then that teen would be memorable.

While she ate, Juliette had decided the crutches were her best option. They'd help with stability, and they might be helpful in other ways, too. In America, if someone seemed enfeebled by an injury, kind strangers reached out to help. Juliette wasn't sure that would be the case here in France. She couldn't remember the character of the French people from when she lived here as a little girl – or anything else about France for that matter.

Crutches could also be used as a weapon. That was a dilemma. They might help her. But they might also be used against her.

She was going to chance it. She didn't really have a choice.

In the pharmacy, a woman rang up the purchase without looking at her, accepted Juliette's cash with an air of boredom, and handed the crutches over with a receipt.

Juliette took a moment to adjust the crutch height, put her backpack over both shoulders, and hopped her way out of the store, hood up, and wondering where she should go next.

She took out her phone. The girl in the tech store had made sure all of her purchases were user-ready. It was nice of her. Juliette was dexterous when it came to technology, but her mind was on other things, obviously.

She thought any hotel or hostel would be found quickly and easily by any bad guy, since she'd have to present not only a credit card but her passport as she registered.

Juliette typed " films " into the search bar on the browser. Movie theaters were cool and dark. Juliette could hide in there. She could buy tickets for movies that would take her all the way until they closed. Then maybe find a boite de nuit close by. After all, it was a Saturday, and the club scene should be in full swing. It would be easy to hide there in the darkness until morning. But the idea of trying to sleep in the corner of a nightclub with its dance floor strobing and the music vibrating low sound waves through the room almost made Juliette vomit.

She tapped the walk icon to bring up a path and turned up the volume before sticking her phone back in her hoody pocket to free up her hands for the crutches. Following the instructions, Juliette made her way toward the movie theater, hoping she could find a film that was low-testosterone and would be as quiet as possible.

She catchunked the crutches forward and then walked up to align herself with them before she catchunked them out again. The crutches gave her a reason to move slowly. And they did help quite a bit with stability.

Three blocks then a left turn brought her into a busy square populated with small clusters of friends.

Juliette stood in line to buy a ticket to the next film but still had a while to wait before it started. She moved over to a bench where a group of teens were hanging out. Maybe they wouldn't mind. Maybe she'd look like she belonged with them.

They were a pretty dull group.

There wasn't a lot of conversation as they pecked away on their phones.

She latched on to the part where one of the guys said he had his mother's car and that she was working nightshift. Juliette stored that piece of information away.

Juliette had her phone out and pulled up a YouTube of someone playing a computer game. She thought that was what a teen might do while waiting. It might make her less conspicuous. She couldn't look at the screen though, it made her vertigo worse, instead she peeked from under her hood to watch the comings and goings in the square ? to see if two burly Russians would barrel in to find her.

Juliette waited until the group gathered up to move to the theater. She pulled the hoody from her head and snagged the guy's arm ? the one who had mentioned having a car and no parent waiting for him at home.

He turned his head toward her, and she smiled. " Ciao ."

" Bonsoir ," he replied, pulling his hands from his pockets and smoothing down the front of his T-shirt.

His pals had stopped and turned back to see what he was doing. Juliette hadn't let go of the guy's arm, hadn't dropped her smile. She worked to get the pain out of her eyes and to look kind.

"I'll catch up with you in a second," he said, waving them on. And once they were out of ear shot, he asked, "Do I know you?"

Her crutch slipped from under her arm, and he stooped to pick it up for her.

" Merci. I was wondering if you might like to make some money," she said.

"I don't want anything to do with drugs." He put up two hands as if to ward her off.

"Really?" Juliette found that oddly disconcerting. "I look like I'm a dealer?"

"We're in the square, and you're offering me a way to make money."

"I need a ride, that's all." Juliette countered. "I'd pay you for your time and gas." She pulled two hundred euro from her pocket. "I need to get to Paris. My family is facing an emergency. The next train isn't for hours yet."

"That's a lot of money to get to Paris." He searched around for some cues as to why she would approach him and offer this money.

Juliette decided to play the tourist card. "Is this a lot of money?" She stared down at the bills in her hand. "I just arrived yesterday. I'm not used to the currency. Last time I was here, I used francs. But I need to get to Paris immediately. I need to find a flight home. I'm glad to pay you this, if you could take me to the airport."

He nodded as he said, "A foreigner, I can tell from your accent." The young man looked around again, weighed the situation. "You've been sitting next to us for a while…"

"I was trying to figure out what to do next. I was upset to learn there are so few trains to Paris. I don't have anyone here to ask for help, and to be honest, I wanted some time to figure out if you were a nice person. It's frightening for a woman to climb into a strange man's car."

That last piece of information seemed to make sense to the guy. He stuck out his hand. "Jean-Luc," he said. "I can get you to Paris. My car is just over here." He pulled out his phone and sent a group text. Looks like I'm gonna get lucky . He showed it to her. "I need a reason to leave my friends."

"As long as you know, I just need an emergency ride to the airport."

" Compris ," understood, he said. "This way."

Jean-Luc walked slowly beside her as she made her way to the car. Every once in a while, his hand would shoot out, and he'd grab her shoulder to right her.

"I had an accident," she said. "It's not been a very fun trip to your beautiful country." Juliette was having trouble with her eyesight. Things were swimming.

After helping her into the front seat, Jean-Luc rounded the front of his car, climbed in, and started the engine. " Charles De Gaulle Airport, oui ?"

"Please."

He started the engine and twisted a knob. Soothing notes filled the car. "My mother." He pointed toward the radio. "This helps after a night at work at the hospital. ?a va ? This is good for you?"

" Oui. ?a va. Merci bien ." Juliette handed him the money. Now, she'd have to hope for the best. She wasn't sure she could stay awake through the drive. She'd have to trust this stranger.

Juliette put her hand to her head and felt the heat. The fever was worse. There was a thermometer in her bag, but she was afraid to check the number. It had started up just as her plane had taken off from D.C. She wasn't sick, per se, it was just another side effect in a long list of side effects. But if this pain took on its normal trajectory, she'd be in bad shape soon.

Being on the run, hiding from boogeymen, Juliette decided, was not an easy thing for anyone without proper training. And here she was, probably one of the least able people to keep herself at a distance.

Here she was scrambling for survival when she couldn't even take care of herself in her normal day-to-day life.

In America, her father had arranged for Roxanne to be her home companion. On days when the world was a dizzy mess, Roxanne would help Juliette get herself to the bathroom, helped her dress, made sure she ate, made sure Juliette had a bucket for when a meal didn't stay down, made sure she was safe.

On good days, when Juliette could get around on her own, Roxanne would spend the day writing. She was a novelist who wrote sweet romances. Roxanne wrote the stories where she could live vicariously through her characters and be beautiful and beloved, swept off her feet and have great sacrifices made in her name. It was Roxanne's reading her manuscripts out loud and talking about her characters that had inspired Juliette to try on the mantle of thriller-hero – someone who knew what to do to get out of a mess.

As a veterinarian's assistant, Juliette wouldn't have any of the necessary skills in her muscle memory. Juliette had decided to make believe, gathering her strength from characters who were vital and strong. Characters who survived. Those who ran successfully to the finish at the end of their plot lines.

Juliette thought about Roxanne and Toby back at the house her dad had bought for her on the Virginia-side of Washington D.C. They were probably curled up right now in front of a fire, Roxanne drinking a cup of tea and snuggling up with Toby curled at her feet as she read over her project.

Her dad was probably nursing a glass of scotch as he flipped through the newest medical journals. He lived a few miles away in the city proper. She saw him at least once a week when he picked her up to take her into work with him at his laboratory at Montrim where he had a DARPA lab.

There, he'd check on her progress.

Since he was the foremost scientist in stress disorders and brain injuries, Juliette knew that if anything could be done to make her better, it would happen. She was the fortunate survivor who got the cutting-edge care not yet available in mainstream medicine.

And that gave her hope.

It helped her in her darkest moments when she simply couldn't stand her brain any more. The times when she thought that she'd had enough suffering for one life time, and she just wanted some peace.

The dark moments when nothing at all mattered.

When all she wanted was for the pain to stop.