The Palace Crumbles

Freddie

I casually lean my head on your shoulder, trying to hide the way I'm whispering in your ear. "Keep your eyes closed," I say first, "but the woman across the aisle from us? Diagonal to us, one two up. She was just looking at us like she'd seen a ghost."

You inhale sharply, but you do as I say. In lieu of speaking, you trace a question mark into my thigh with the tip of your finger. The woman is no longer looking, but we both know that it's better to be safe.

"Hard to tell," I answer through clenched teeth. "Her hair is all under a big hat. Thin, wearing black. Just a small bag around her shoulder."

"Shit," you hiss. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"We don't know for sure-"

"Oh, I know." You've opened your eyes now, glaring at the seat ahead. "Trust me. I know exactly who that is."

------------------------

I've gotten a vague grasp of the situation by the time the train finally comes to the station in Quebec, but not nearly enough to do any of the talking. You push through the crowd of people leaving the train car, reminding me for the fifth time to keep my mouth shut.

"She can't know that your memory's gone," you've said many times now. "She'll take extreme advantage of that. She'll tell everyone."

We're some of the only people who haven't put larger bags in the train car, so we're able to get out sooner than the majority. You see the woman quickly darting away, clutching her shoulder bag tightly, and you break into a run.

When your hand clamps down on her shoulder, she yelps and whirls around. It's enough of a ruckus to attract a few stares, and I find myself wincing when she opens her mouth to scream louder. Something that you say or do stops her, though, and the two of you begin to walk away as I catch up. You steer us towards the smoking patio outside, which is thankfully empty, and you finally let go of her.

"Freddie Lounds." Your voice drips with poison. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Swear to God, I didn't mean to. Swear to God." She pulls off her hat, revealing her thick red curls. "I'm just the unluckiest bitch on this planet."

You didn't tell me much about Freddie. I know that she's a reporter, and I know that she has a talent of getting into other people's business. She's skilled at both slander and libel, and she's no stranger to writing hit pieces on the two of us- both before and after we ran away together.

I can't decipher how she found us, and you share the same thought. "How in the hell did you end up on the same train as us? Is Jack here?" You look around us, searching for a secret agent. "He did a really shitty job of hiding you."

"No, no, he's not here." She shakes her head. She doesn't seem that intimidated by us, and it makes me wonder how long she's known the truth. "I couldn't wait for witness protection. I wanted to get out of the country as quickly as I could."

"And you just chose Quebec?"

"I have family here. I didn't plan on staying for long, just to get my bearings."

"And you ended up on the same train as us?"

"Not that many trains to Quebec trying to get there at the same time." She has the bravery to roll her eyes. "For the record, I wasn't on your train the entire time. I had to switch cars after the border stop." For the first time, she really examines me. "You're quiet," she says.

For a moment, I stand frozen. "...I have a very distinct manner of speech," I finally reply, lowering my voice to appear nervous. "I'm trying to speak as little as possible."

"Okay, whatever." She waves a dismissive hand. "Just- please, Will. I'm not gonna say anything. I don't want anyone to know where I am either." Her eyes betray how terrified she really is. "I didn't see you; you didn't see me. I'll leave you alone for good."

"You're not gonna call Jack? The FBI? You've got a real juicy story on your hands, Freddie."

"I'd rather have my life."

You study her, hesitant to accept her offer. I, on the other hand, am busting at the seams at the chance to slip away. I take a step closer.

"Freddie," I say, low and intense, "I got out of jail. I can do it again. If we are captured, and I have even the slightest suspicion that you had something to do with it, my first move upon escaping will be to find you. Do you understand?"

She stands her ground quite nicely, nodding along with an unreadable expression. "I have no reason to draw that much attention to myself, anyway. Just...please, Hannibal. Will." She stares at both of us intently. "If you're going to kill me anyway, just tell me now. Don't give me false hope. Please."

"You understand my reservations," you say. I sense that you're getting some kind of pleasure from tormenting her. "You have literally every motivation to turn us in."

"I don't even know where you're going," she groans. "You two have been through more than I've ever seen anyone go through, and you're still together. You're still free."

"Indeed," I mutter to myself.

"At this point, this is destiny. Everyone that's ever come between you meets a terrible demise." I catch a haunted glint in her eye. I can tell she's seen many things and been through just as much, and I can't help but admire her. "I'm not going to toy with that."

You glower down at her. "...No more articles," you tell her.

"No more articles."

"It's not very smart to piss off a guy who kills for a living. I don't just think about it anymore, Lounds."

"Watch your thoughts, for they become words. Watch your words, for they become actions." The corner of her mouth turns up. "You'll never see me again."

"I hope that's the case." You finally get out of her space, and her shoulders relax slightly. "Now go. Bonne chance avec ta famille."

"Bonne chance avec votre mari meurtrier." She backs away towards the door, refusing to look away from us, and slips back into the train station. Soon enough, she's disappeared into the crowd. There's no catching her now.

"You really enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"She spent years slandering both of us. I deserve a little torment."

I chuckle. " 'Murder husband.' "

"Oh, don't you start with that, too." You spin, scowling playfully. "Glad to know your knowledge of French stayed with you, I guess."

"It's as natural as remembering how to walk."

"Okay, mister posh." You scoff. "Let's get out of here."

"Perfect time for you to tell me all about her."