SIXTEEN
December, 1919
I couldn’t leave. I knew that I should, that it would have been the sensible thing to do. I should have had my revolver strapped to my thigh, and I should have been able to jerk my skirt up and get to it quickly and hold it on him while I got myself back to the exit and out of there. But my mind was moving much too fast, and the hundreds of simultaneous thoughts paralysed me.
I was alone, very alone, with a monster.
That had never happened, before. I was always able to prepare, to pack my kit. If I didn’t know exactly what I was up against, I always knew, at least, that I was up against something.
The only thing that grounded me, somewhat, was the fact that Gheorghe Apostol seemed to be in much the same state.
His eyes were huge, pigmented lips slightly parted,
