We sit on the blue patterned seats looking out past the rain spattered window panes at the open fields made green by the days weather. She reads her magazine; I smoked our last cigarette for the day hours ago. I swore I’d quit before the baby came. That seems so far in the future; seven months from now there will be another life shared between us. The train hums along, pushing us ever so slightly together; she rests her head upon my shoulder and sighs before drifting off to sleep. We’ve run from Prague to Paris. She and I just had too many problems with Them, forced underground along with most of our friends. They got some of us, too one night. The very same night I met her; hiding in a dark cramped anonymous cellar with my brother, I spotted her. The most beautiful girl in the world. We married eight months later, three months after our weeding in the same house where we first met; we are starting a life of our own.

A knock on the door startles me back into reality, away from our glorious wedding, our first dance, kiss, everything. Someone is standing outside the frosted glass door, a shadow in the darkness. Time has passed since I last looked out the window. All is dark and forgotten, what was once green has turned to black and blue shapes in a misty fog. She is still asleep, now stretched out across the seat dreaming what I can only hope to be the same things I do late at night. A smile plays across her lips as the knocking continues. I think only to write her a note upon a paper napkin with the fountain pen she gave me for my birthday. I stand up and walk to the door. I turn around and lay the pen beside the note, upon her suitcase, open the door and walk out to meet the intruder. I hope to God she lives through this night.

I awaken to the sound of the door being closed. I know something is amiss. He would never leave me alone, not now, not ever. How much time has passed since I fell asleep? Not too long ago I was scared for him, scared for me, but now I am scared for all three of us. I lay a hand upon my stomach, subconsciously rubbing the life growing inside of me. I cough (this train is too dusty for me) and pull my hair up into a knot at the top of my head. As I do this I look down and see a folded paper napkin with his pen resting on top. Then I realize. I don’t need to look at the note, I don’t even need to open it to know, but I do anyway.

They’ll never catch you now.