He closed the cabinet door and locked it again.

“We need to move you,” he said.

“Now?” I asked. “In this storm?”

“The storm is the best cover we have,” he said.

He picked up his coat from the chair.

“Get your shoes on.”

I went to the small closet near the entrance.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely tie the laces of my boots.

Every shadow in the hallway seemed to stretch toward me.

I kept expecting the door to burst open.

Vincent stood by the door, his hand resting inside his coat pocket.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He opened the door a crack and looked out into the hallway.

It was empty, illuminated by a single flickering bulb.

We walked down the stairs in silence.

The air in the stairwell smelled of old dust and damp plaster.

At the bottom, Vincent pushed the heavy glass door open.

The cold wind hit me immediately, stinging my face with rain.

A black sedan was idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

The driver got out and opened the rear door for us.