My life is a tunnel choked by the sweepings of dread. – Sophocles, Electra

I always loved the place before. Pretty sure I’ll avoid it in the future. – Briel’s reflection on the Abbaye

Immediately, Briel launched herself onto the bus's tire, latching her fingers into the rim of the window; she did not want Liam to know her location by checking under the buses. To her left she spied the sideview mirror, a perfect handhold, and skimming her left foot along the bus trim, Briel lurched and caught the mirror with her left hand, grimacing at the pain. The new hold provided her with a much more secure position, and she looked above her for her next move.

“Briel,” she heard from beyond several buses. “You might as well give up. I know you're hurt, so you know as well as I that I'm going to win anyway.”

Despite her vulnerable position, Briel smirked at Liam's assertion. He did not know her very well if he even considered it a possibility that she would give up. Above her, the casing for a headlamp jutted out from the side of the bus, and Briel pushed off hard with her right leg and flung her right hand to grasp the light. A split-second after she released the sideview mirror, her fingers grasped firmly onto the bulging hold of the lamp.

“You're going to be really sorry if you don't come to me, Briel.”

Briel scoffed internally. In what way could she possibly regret evading him? Liam had serious deliriant tendencies.

Thus positioned, Briel moved her left foot to the mirror she had grasped and raised her body until both her left and right hand held onto the lamp casing. She lifted both legs to the window frame and, using her arms to propel her up and the lamp casing for a hold, she scrambled over the top of the bus.

“I'll be a lot nicer if you don't fight me. Maybe I won't even bother to break you. Once I have my money, I don't care what you do to them.”

Though the idea did not entice Briel, she laughed silently at its questionable veracity anyway. If Liam intended to continue his lucrative relationship with Bill Henry, Liam would need to follow through on his agreement and condition Briel not to fight her captivity. Briel seethed as she realized how highly Liam must consider his own abilities if he thought he could somehow handle her. He truly is delusional, she informed herself.

She felt grateful that he had not seen her scale the side of the bus and therefore could not know her location. After several minutes lying still, Briel heard the crunch of the gritty asphalt under Liam's feet as he slid alongside her bus. She jumped slightly when Liam banged his fist on the side of the vehicle in frustration.

“Dammit, Briel. You're really starting to piss me off.”

On edge, Briel prayed that Liam would not see her footprint on the tire tread or the swath of white where her shirt had brushed the dirt from the side of the bus. She held her breath until she heard the crunch of grit once again, signaling that Liam moved his search to another quarter.

Cautiously, Briel inched toward the bus's emergency exit, working both to maintain her balance and to avoid making noise. She had no tools, but she knew that if she could slide something under the seal of the exit, she could pop the door open.

For one moment she pondered, then she reached to her waist and removed her belt. Using the buckle, Briel pushed under the lip at the edge of the exit and pressed firmly against it until it gave. Then she carefully eased her fingers under the edge and lifted the exit door, giving her access to the interior.

She glanced over each edge to ensure that Liam could not see her, then she dropped silently inside the bus. If he did not find her, she would wait out the morning when the bus driver would affect her escape with no more effort on her part.

As soon as she touched the floor, she scurried a few rows back and pressed herself under the last seat in order to conceal herself from any eyes that might breech the window. In the crypt-like silence of the bus, Briel's breathing amplified into a roar in her ears. Any movement of light or shadow beyond the glass walls of her tomb magnetically attracted her eyes, and for several minutes her senses strained to ascertain her surroundings.

The very intensity of this struggle, however, finally unraveled the thin thread of her concentration. Between the lack of sleep and the throbbing in her arm, her brain began to lose its grip on consciousness. The warmth of the bus combined with the sensory deprivation from her enclosed location lulled Briel into a light slumber.

In her stupor, her fatigued mind tried to process what her consciousness willfully rejected when she was master of her thoughts. Her eyes beheld an indistinct shimmering glow that gradually solidified into solid shapes. Before her, she realized, rose the arched palms of Belize, this time illuminated by the sun.

The crouched roof shrouded the alabaster walls of the Miller's home, and before Briel, the wiry figure of Nick rested semi-reclining on the ivory sand. Around him played the two eldest Miller children, all three rollicking raucously in the surf's ebb.

Briel proceeded hesitantly toward the trio, longing by observing to participate in the joy. Timidly, she peeked from behind the nearest palm, her bare feet not betraying her presence as she drifted ever closer. She longed to approach them, to partake of their pleasure, but she restrained herself, afraid of the illusory quality of their contentment.

Don't be fooled, she warned herself. Nothing this good can last. It will all wash away with the tide, her dream voice insisted.

Another voice, however, a voice from somewhere deeper inside her mind, upbraided her. How long will you punish yourself? it told her. How long will you live without love for fear of the pain?

As if the voice had emitted from Nick, he turned unexpectedly to Briel and offered her his hand.

Immediately, Briel jumped to her feet. An unanticipated noise had grasped her and lifted her from the floor of the bus, preparing her for battle. To her dismay, she had no idea how long she had slept, and the pain in her arm nagged at her confidence in whatever battle she now faced.

All at once, a strange humming sent Briel scurrying back behind the seats. Not only did she hear the purr of an engine, some human voice hummed as well, a tune that rang familiar, a melody from some era past; she remembered the song from the mouths of her friends in the schoolyard. Liam could not know the song. Briel peeked over the seat and through the rail at a diminutive Frenchman, complete with the cap and compressed features.

Though she concealed herself again, her breathing steadied as she finally felt a measure of relief at her situation. Unless Liam planned to murder an innocent Frenchman, Briel was almost free.

The elfin bus driver seated himself behind the contrastingly large wheel and shifted the vehicle into drive. As he pulled forward, Briel noted that several of the other buses had already moved. She could not believe that she had slept so long and not encountered Liam. Maybe the arrival of the buses' drivers had forced him to hide from view, thus limiting his ability to search.

Briel had expected the bus to head toward the large hotel, but it instead aimed almost immediately at the exit, sweeping in a wide turn to face the street. In an attempt to ascertain her position, she crept stealthily to a window and peeked over the edge into the parking lot below.

As the bus inched slowly across the lot, Briel could find no indication of Liam's presence. Had he given up? Briel knew him better than to believe that. Her eyes scanned the tires of every vehicle, the rooftops of the cars, every tree that edged the asphalt lot.

She peered to her right at the charcoal treads of a large truck which kissed the pavement beneath. Sweeping her eyes to her left, she paused at a cluster of brush that cloaked the window of a neighboring house. As the bus passed over the threshold onto the street, Briel felt a pull on her eyes, drawing them to her left and to a bus stop that faced the street.

Gazing through the glass enclosure, Liam grinned menacingly at Briel, as if he held some secret that she could not distinguish. In her attempt to uncover her enemy, she had disclosed her own position. Still, Briel breathed deeply in relief as she watched the face of her adversary diminish into inscrutability.

The empty bus meandered lackadaisically up the streets of what turned out to be Pontorson, a coastal community that Briel remembered clearly. Her heart clutched in a mild panic. As a child, Briel had visited every major attraction in the French countryside: the châteaux, the ruins, the caves.

Of them all, one had impressed her most, imprinting itself in an ancient sort of awe and majesty. The memory warmed her under normal circumstances. In her current situation, however, the possibility petrified her.

Turning again toward the window, Briel bit her lip in consternation as the silhouette rose before her. Its massive stone base defied the battering waves which had given up in their attempt to surmount the stones and now limped penitently toward their sandy fetters. Atop the stone, the steeple of the Abbaye du Mont-Saint-Michel challenged the sky, and Briel recognized in its insolent isolation the greatest peril she could imagine. If she could describe Paris as a hole, she would call Mont-St. Michel a grave.

Because of a rising mist, by the time she made out the outline of the ancient edifice distinctly, the bus had traveled halfway down the mile-long causeway that parsed the waters to access the treasured city. Briel could not discern the logic behind driving an empty bus to a tourist destination until her driver pulled alongside a mass of homogeneously-dressed figures, garbed in fake berets and sporting waist packs and cameras.

As she processed the crowd, Briel realized that the tour bus had deposited tourists into the city for an overnight stay. Now the driver returned to retrieve his load. Briel hunkered down, praying that the initial passengers would opt for a seat in front.

If they placed themselves in seats before they saw Briel, she could ease surreptitiously into one of the seats in the back. Outside the window, several other tour groups swarmed as miniature and disparate hives awaiting their turns to embark on their next adventure.

Her plan proceeded as she had hoped, and after a few passengers had secured their positions, Briel eased into a seat in the rear. When the tour left the Abbaye, so would Briel.

A very tall, massive man squeezed down the aisle, his frame square enough that his sides brushed the seats on either side, and for some reason, he pinned his sour gaze on Briel. As if she offended him, he squished his face into consternation. He halted between the two penultimate seats, basically entrapping Briel with his girth.

“Do you mind if I sit there?” he asked, irritation clear in his tone. “The other seats are all so narrow the arm rails pinch my sides.”

Now that the other tourists pressed into the cabin, Briel felt no need for concealing herself. Peering almost straight up into the man's face, she stood and backed into the space by the lavatory.

“Thanks,” he offered, now smiling graciously, and Briel turned to find another seat among the few remaining empty.

“Hello, Briel,” a voice purred from too close beside her. Liam had purposely hidden himself behind the large man, revealing himself only as he stood close enough to interfere with Briel's escape route. He seated himself before her, expanding to his most intimidating posture.

Still, Briel did not fear exposure; only Liam would fear that eventuality. Rising to her feet, she began to march toward the front, brushing confidently past him and finally seating herself just one row from the door. Everyone chattered to his neighbor and sat expectantly anticipating their next destination, and Briel watched for the driver's move to shift into drive. She knew that Liam would move forward several rows to diminish the gap between him and herself.

Finally, the bus eased into a line of buses that awaited a position to leave the mountain.

“Pardon, Monsieur!” Briel jumped to her feet. “J'ai le mauvais bus. Désolée.”

The driver immediately slowed, opening the door to allow Briel's exit, and Briel jumped out with the vehicle still moving. “Merci,” she cried behind her, and began a sprint to the back of the line of buses. If she were to mingle with a new group, she would need to do so outside of the confines of a bus.

She heard behind her the violent clanging of the door mechanism as Liam, she could only assume, crashed out of the door to pursue her. Though she could hide, Briel desired most to meld with the crowd. Unfortunately, the crowds had now shifted.

No longer did the masses press into buses, but the sparser crowd left outside the vehicles swarmed toward the massive stone castle. Apparently, all of the buses had finished loading. Briel felt no confidence that she could, in a timely fashion, convince another bus driver to let her board.

Behind her stood a mile-long causeway which she must traverse in order to escape, before her, a constricting cage from which she would have to break free, and on either side of her lay a sandy minefield of natural dangers. No possibility appeared viable, but in her exhaustion, she shunned the exposure and the strain of running down an open road or across the marshy beach laden with quicksand. Within the walls, she might conceal herself for a few moments and renew her waning energy.

Sliding into a crowd of tourists, Briel waited her turn to offer her hand for the entrance stamp, suppressing the guilt over the inconvenience her trick would cause the last tourist in line.

The narrowness of the streets made the claustrophobic roads of Revelles seem more like the wide avenue of the Champs-Elysees. With the effusion of awnings and signs, the street sometimes pressed into a path of less than a car-width. When Briel had visited before, the streets had teemed with pilgrims and shoppers, overflowing the stores and restaurants and spilling into the cobblestone streets.

Right now, however, the scant shoppers rendered the street hollow and melancholy. Though a few of the shops had opened to these early arrivers, many proprietors still set their shops in order, placing various items carefully to maximize their appeal.

Briel pushed herself up the hill, drawing from passersby several loud exclamations at her pace. Though instinct told her to stay among the tourists, another voice made her question her original assessment of Liam's commitment to violence.

Despite her earlier conviction of the opposite, her reason chastised her. If it meant he could catch me, she wondered silently, would he refrain from injuring another in the process? She had to get away from everyone; Briel sprinted up the cobbled path until she reached a side gate which led into a non-public section of the Abbaye.