Chapter 4 - The Station of Shadows
The Greyhound terminal on 8th Street was a cavernous, poorly lit structure filled with the smell of diesel fumes, cheap coffee, and wet wool. Hundreds of travelers moved through the central concourse under the hum of flickering fluorescent lights, carrying battered suitcases and duffel bags.
We had thirty minutes before the 9:45 AM express bus to Chicago was scheduled to depart from Gate 12.
I purchased two tickets at the counter using cash, keeping my eyes constantly moving, scanning every face that entered through the glass sliding doors of the main entrance. My legs felt like heavy bags of wet sand, every joint screaming in agony, but I refused to sit down.
Lucy sat on a cold plastic bench in a dark corner of the waiting area, cradling Emiliano, who had finally fallen asleep after drinking a small bottle of warm milk I bought at the kiosk.
"Here," I said, slipping the blue envelope containing the tickets, cash, and her sister's Chicago address into her hand. "Platform 12. Boarding starts in ten minutes. When you reach Chicago, her husband will meet you at the terminal. You change your phone, you file the protective order, and you never look back."
Lucy looked up at me, her cheeks stained with tears, her split lip swollen to twice its normal size.
"Come with me, Mrs. Carmen," she begged, grabbing my frail, wrinkled hands with both of hers. "Please. If you stay here, he'll kill you! You saved us... he knows you helped me!"
"I am seventy-two years old, my dear," I said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "I have lived my life in that apartment. My Thomas lived there. My memories are there. A weak, pathetic bully like Adrian is not going to drive me out of my home."
"He's insane, Mrs. Carmen! You saw his eyes on the highway!"
"I saw a boy throwing a violent temper tantrum because his toy was taken away," I answered sharply. "I have buried a husband, survived two economic crashes, and raised three children alone. I am not afraid of Adrian."
PA Announcement: "Now boarding at Gate 12, Service 404 to Detroit and Chicago. Have your tickets ready."
"That's you," I said, standing up and leaning heavily on my cane. "Go."
Lucy stood up, pulling me into a fierce, desperate embrace. Emiliano made a faint cooing noise between us.
"Thank you," she sobbed into my shoulder. "Thank you for the sugar, Mrs. Carmen."
"It was cheap sugar anyway," I whispered with a tiny, tired smile. "Now go."
I watched her walk toward the glass doors of Gate 12, joining the line of passengers boarding the high-decked silver bus waiting on the tarmac outside.
I waited until I saw her climb the steps of the bus. I watched through the tinted windows as she sat down in Row 6, pulling the window shade down slightly.
Relief swept through my body like a warm wave, washing away the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright for the past two hours. My knees wobbled, and I sat down heavily on the wooden bench, leaning my chin against the brass handle of my cane.
It was over. She was safe.
Then, the main sliding doors of the terminal opened.
A cold draft swept into the waiting room.
A man walked in. He wore a dark jacket pulled tight over his chest, his left arm hanging limp at his side, his forehead wrapped in a blood-soaked paper towel he had pulled from a gas station restroom.
Adrian.
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He didn't look at the ticket counters. He didn't look at the food stalls. His eyes swept across the vast hall with methodical, deadly focus—until they locked directly onto me, sitting alone on the bench fifty feet away.
A cold, horrifying smile spread across his blood-stained face.
