Stranger at the Wedding

Chapter 8: Against the Current

The engine noise of the smuggling boat was like a giant beast with asthma, gasping in the darkness.

Ai Mili huddled in the cabin, her soaked clothes clinging to her body, shivering with cold. Anna sat opposite her, her face so pale it was almost transparent, but her eyes were bright—not the healthy kind of brightness, but the abnormal glow that comes when the body is burning its last reserves of fuel.

James was chatting with the captain in broken French at the bow. The captain, a Breton in his fifties with skin tanned by the sea breeze to the color of leather, usually transported seafood on his fishing boat and occasionally some people and goods that were "inconvenient to go through customs". He didn't ask the names of the three passengers, nor their destinations. He only asked two things: whether they had brought enough money, and whether that incredibly pale woman would die on his boat.

"She won't die on your ship." James said in French, his voice more certain than his actual confidence.

The captain shrugged, spat out a puff of smoke, and flicked the cigarette butt into the sea.

At night, the English Channel is a black silk ribbon, without wrinkles, without boundaries, and without direction. The smuggling boat, like a blunt knife, slowly cuts through the silk ribbon and sails towards the French coastline. Ai Mili watches the wake behind the boat, where the white foam briefly exists in the darkness before being swallowed by the blackness.

She thought of Veronica. She thought of the mother who raised her hands under the moonlight. She thought of those blue eyes that were exactly the same color as hers.

She thought of Samantha. She thought of that cryptic text message: "They're waiting for you in Geneva."

She thought of William Sterling.

She had never seen him—except for the blurry images in those old videos. But in her imagination, he had an expressionless face. A face that could watch his own child being pushed into the laboratory and then turn around to have afternoon tea. A face that could sign a baby exchange agreement and then stamp it with "Top Secret".

A face she sees in the mirror every morning.

This is the part that terrifies her the most. Her cheekbones, her jaw, the spacing between her eyes—these are all William Sterling's. His blood runs in her veins. His code is written in her genes. She is his work, his creation, his daughter.

She hates him.

But she doesn't know if hating the person who created you is the same as hating yourself.

"What are you thinking about?" Anna's voice came from the darkness, very softly, as if afraid of waking something up.

"Wondering what father should be like."

"What do you think it should be?"

Ai Mili thought for a long time.

"He shouldn't be someone you hate," she said finally. "He shouldn't be someone you're afraid of either. He should be the one you turn to when you're scared."

Anna fell silent for a moment. Inside the cabin, only the low rumble of the engine and the sound of waves slapping against the hull could be heard.

"I don't know," Anna said. "I've never been afraid."

"Never?"

"In the basement, fear is a constant. When you live in fear every day, fear ceases to be fear. It becomes your breath, your heartbeat, your background noise. You're no longer afraid because you've grown accustomed to being afraid."

Ai Mili took her hand. Anna's fingers were cold, as cold as a stone fished out of the sea.

"Do you hate him?" Ai Mili asked.

"I don't know." Anna's reply came slowly. "I hated. I hated for a long time. I hated so much that I thought if I had the chance, I would kill him with my own hands. But now, I don't know. I'm dying. It seems meaningless to still hate someone who is dying."

"You're not going to die."

Anna didn't answer. She just tightened her grip on Ai Mili's hand and then closed her eyes.

At dawn, the smuggling boat docked.

It's not a port, but a remote gravel beach. The captain anchored the boat twenty meters offshore and motioned for them to wade ashore. The water was cold, cold enough to pierce the bones like a knife. James waded into the water first, made his way to the shore, then came back to carry Anna on his back. Ai Mili followed behind him, carrying a waterproof bag in her hand, which contained the "travel essentials" they had prepared in the United Kingdom - cash, passports (fake), mobile phones (disposable), and a pistol (the same one as before).

At the end of the gravel beach is a dirt road, and at the end of the dirt road is a gas station. The sign at the gas station is written in French, and the light tube in the toilet is broken and keeps flickering.

James bought a used Renault from a drunken farmer who took cash and didn't even bother to handle the transfer formalities. The car was silver, missing one rearview mirror, and the engine warning light on the dashboard was constantly on, but it could run. That was enough.

They set off on their journey.

It takes about eight hours to drive from northern France to the Swiss border. James plans to take back roads to avoid the surveillance cameras on the highway. He said this was something he learned as a lawyer - if you don't want to be found, don't travel on paved roads.

Ai Mili held the steering wheel, Anna sat in the passenger seat, and James was looking up a map on his phone in the back seat. The roads in the French countryside were very narrow, with boundless wheat fields on both sides, the wheat ears undulating in the wind like a golden sea.

"I can drive for a while." James leaned forward from the back seat.

"No need."

"You've been driving for three hours."

"I said no need."

James shrank back.

Anna turned her face and looked at Ai Mili. She noticed a tight arc at the corner of her sister's mouth, which was the telltale sign when she was trying to control her emotions. Ai Mili was highly skilled at controlling her emotions—she could remain calm in the face of intruders at a wedding, calmly pursue leads after the DNA report came out, and accurately take notes after Henry's death in a car accident. But now, she couldn't hold it together.

It's not because of fear.

It's because I'm tired.

It's not because of physical tiredness, but mental exhaustion. It's the kind of tiredness that comes from knowing too many secrets, carrying too much truth, and never being able to return to a state of ignorance.

"Sister," Anna said.

"Yes."

"Stop the car for a moment."

"Why?"

"Because you're shaking."

Ai Mili looked down at her own hands. On the steering wheel, her knuckles were white, and the muscles in her arms were as stiff as stone. She was indeed trembling, but she didn't feel it herself.

She parked the car by the roadside and turned off the engine.

The wheat fields outside the window stretch to the horizon. The sky is a shade of blue unique to the French countryside, lighter than that of London and warmer than that of Cornwall.

"How much longer until we reach Switzerland?" Ai Mili asked.

"If we drive non-stop, it'll take five hours." James checked his phone. "But we might need to find a place to stay overnight. Anna needs to rest."

"I don't need it." Anna said.

"You need to." Ai Mili and James said in unison.

The three people were silent for a few seconds, then laughed simultaneously.

This was the first laugh in two days. It was short and soft, like a pebble dropped into a deep pool. After the ripples spread out, the water surface was calmer than before.

James found a B&B in a small town that has a high rating on Booking, and the reviews all say that the landlady's crepes are delicious. The B&B is located in an old stone house with wisteria climbing on its outer walls, an apple tree in the yard, and a bench under the tree.

The landlady, named Simone, in her sixties, with graying hair, has wrinkles on her face that are sun-induced rather than worry-induced. She didn't ask about the origins of Ai Mili and the others, but simply said, "You look tired," and then gave them two rooms.

Anna has never stayed in a hotel.

She stood at the door of the room, looking at the white sheets, the pale yellow curtains, and a bunch of lavender on the bedside table, with a nearly pious light in her eyes.

"Is this for me?" she asked.

"This is for you," Ai Mili said. "Tonight, you can sleep in a real bed."

Anna walked into the room, reached out her hand, and felt the bedsheet. It was cotton, washed many times, and as soft as a baby's skin. She slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, and the mattress made a faint spring sound. Her body sank in a bit, and her eyes closed.

"Soft," she said. "Softer than the bed in the basement."

"What's the bed in the basement like?"

"Iron. Cot. The mattress is the type used in hospitals, waterproof and very thin. The pillow is made of synthetic fiber and will flatten into a brick after long use."

Ai Mili sat down next to her, and the mattress sank a little more.

"You'll sleep here tonight," Ai Mili said. "I'll sleep next door. James will sleep in the living room."

"You can stay."

Ai Mili looked at her. Anna's eyes were gray, but at this moment in the evening light, a hint of green showed through the gray, like a stone slab after rain.

"Okay." Ai Mili said, "I'll stay."

They lie side by side on the bed, just as they should have done but didn't when they were kids. The chandelier on the ceiling is made of hand-blown glass, gently spinning in the wind and casting moving shadows.

"Sister, say something you've never told anyone else." Anna said.

Ai Mili thought for a moment.

"I'm afraid of the dark." She said.

"Afraid of the dark?"

"I've been afraid of the dark since childhood. I have to keep a night light on every night. James once laughed at me, saying that a twenty-six-year-old woman was still afraid of the dark."

Anna rolled over and looked at her.

"Do you know why you're afraid of the dark?"

"Why?"

"When you were in your mother's womb, I was on your left. My heart beat beside you for nine months. Later, we were separated, and there's an empty space on your left. You think you're afraid of the dark, but actually you're afraid of the emptiness. You're afraid of the spot where there should be someone but isn't."

Ai Mili's tears silently slid down.

"What about you?" she asked. "Do you have anything you've never told anyone?"

Anna was silent for a long time.

The wind squeezed in through the c***k of the window, carrying the scent of lavender.

"I don't want to die." Anna said.

That's not a complaint, that's not an expression of fear, that's just a statement. A statement that is as simple, as true, and as cruel as it can be.

"I'm not afraid of death itself," Anna continued. "I'm afraid because... I've just started living. I've just seen the sea, smelled the lavender, slept in a soft bed. I've just met you. I don't want to die when I've just begun to know what it means to be alive."

Ai Mili pulled her into his arms.

Anna's body was so light, as light as a non-existent weight. Her heartbeat vibrated against Ai Mili's chest, gradually falling into rhythm with Ai Mili's heartbeat.

Same beat.

The same soul.

"You're not going to die," Ai Mili said. This time, there was no doubt in her voice, only a near-overbearing certainty. "I haven't lived enough with you in the same world. So you're not going to die. Because I won't allow it."

Anna laughed in her arms.

That was the first time Ai Mili heard Anna laugh out loud - not a soft chuckle, not a bitter smile, not a self - deprecating laugh, but a real, bright laugh like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

"You're so bossy." Anna said.

"I'm the older sister. The older sister has the right to be bossy."

Outside the window, the sky had completely darkened.

Stars are lighting up one by one.

One of Anna's.

One of Emily's.

Two lights.