The Woman at the Window

The carriage stopped.

Seconds later, her hands moved by instinct, a desperate attempt to stop what was already beyond repair.

That man was not supposed to be there, let alone climb up in that manner.

Then came the pain: sharp, precise, spreading warm across her chest. While she stared fixedly into those pitch-black, murderous eyes, feeling life slip away, her mind could only cling to a greater anguish: the faces of her children and the cruel way they had been taken from her that very morning. The eldest had turned around before climbing in, as they led him by the hand, as they forced him into the carriage.

Searching for her the entire time, with his eyes.

Amanda woke up gasping, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The hotel room in Amsterdam was just beginning to turn gray with the early light. Elena, her best friend, was sitting up in the other bed, watching her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice raspy.

Amanda pressed her palms against her face and shook her head slowly.

"No. An old nightmare," she said, sitting up in bed.

Elena looked at her, picked up her phone, and checked the time.

"Try to sleep. This goes off in half an hour." Amanda headed to the shower.

A couple of hours later, they boarded their transport to Antwerp.

Elena watched her out of the corner of her eye as they set off. "You're still pale."

"That dream left me with a bad feeling, just like the first time I had it," Amanda replied. "An anguish that felt terrifyingly real."

"That's what nightmares do," Elena said, but her eyes stayed on Amanda a second longer than necessary, as if searching for something she couldn't name. Then she smiled and turned toward the window. "Come on. Let's try to distract ourselves."

Amanda turned, following Elena's smile, toward two guys a few seats away. She couldn't help but laugh too. "Those are the Italians from yesterday, right?" "Yes. One is Pietro and the other is Giu…"

Elena kept smiling at them.

Amanda shook her head, amused, and put on her headphones.

Antwerp welcomed them in all its glory under an unexpectedly sunny sky.

The day flew by in that whirlwind typical of scheduled tours: booked visits, itinerary lunches, and even a concert. They crossed paths with the guys the entire time, and amid smiles and glances, they ended up having dinner together. Without a doubt, Antwerp was a magnificent city. They laughed together until late. A full day; back at the hotel, they fell asleep exhausted.

But for Amanda, the truce was short-lived.

The anguish returned.

That stifling oppression of someone who knows her hands are tied against fate.

She hadn't been able to prevent it; she hadn't been able to do anything.

They hadn't even allowed her to get close to her children.

She could only watch them depart from a distance one last time, reduced to silhouettes trapped inside that carriage.

Tears of anguish burned her cheeks. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror where they were doing her hair, but she couldn't find herself.

There was no one there.

Amanda woke up with a start, real tears soaking her face and her breath catching.

Elena opened an eye. "What's wrong?"

Amanda was unable to articulate a single word, paralyzed by the image of that empty mirror and the despair.

Elena got up and walked over. "Amanda! Are you okay?"

"Yes… it was just the dream again."

Elena sighed. "I guess it's exhaustion. Or just too many emotions at once."

Amanda ended up nodding.

They got ready very early for the breakfast they had arranged with Pietro and Giu. The guys' charm quickly dissipated the tension of the early morning. Antwerp was left behind; the next destination was Bruges.

In Bruges, they had a free day.

They made plans for the four of them: canals, artisanal chocolate, and an outdoor terrace to watch people go by. Pietro and Giu were delightful, very warm and familiar. They stayed up talking until late. The guys were Tourism graduates; they were marketing graduates from New York, fulfilling a childhood pact: to travel to Europe together and practice their high school French.

A French that, as they confirmed that afternoon amid laughter, they did not master at all, except to order a croissant.

The guys defended them, claiming Italian was the true language of romance.

Back at the hotel, Elena walked in laughing.

"They are gorgeous. Did you see? Four languages."

"You couldn't have found better travel companions," Amanda admitted.

"I'd stay here a month."

"You have to work on Monday."

"True." Elena dropped onto the bed. "But next year, Italy. Promised."

Amanda watched her from the bathroom while taking out her toothbrush. Suddenly, she looked at herself in the mirror, and a freezing shiver ran down her spine.

The nightmare flashed back for an instant, vivid and violent.

She hadn't thought about it all day. Why now?

Elena peeked in when she didn't get an answer. "Are you okay?"

Amanda closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke.

For the first time, she told her the complete nightmare: everything - the carriage, the children, the empty mirror, the black eyes, the dagger in her chest.

Elena listened with absolute seriousness and genuine worry.

"Now I understand the terrible feeling it leaves you with." She swallowed hard, unsettled. "I remember you mentioned this dream to me five or six years ago, but you never told me this many details… Hadn't you dreamed it since?"

Amanda looked down at her cup.

"That's the strange thing. It hadn't come back in years."

"And when did it return?"

Amanda thought for a moment.

"The first night in Amsterdam."

Elena frowned slightly.

"As soon as we get back to New York, tell Doctor Levy." Elena rummaged through her toiletry bag. "And take these, they're herbal. My mom gave them to me just in case."

Amanda took them without a fight.

That night, she slept in a void, free of dreams.

The next day, the tour continued toward Ghent. The guide insisted they stay with the group, but the guys had other plans: a bike tour.

They pedaled along merrily, admiring the St. Michael's Bridge and the Belfry, the medieval tower that had guarded the city for centuries. Now and then, they crossed paths with their tour group, who watched them pass by with laughs.

It was a perfect day. In the afternoon, Brussels. The Grand Place, the Manneken Pis, and dozens of photos.

"It's much smaller than I imagined," Elena remarked. Everyone burst out laughing.

By the time they returned to the hotel, it was two in the morning.

They crashed onto their beds half-dressed.

"The best vacation of my life…" Elena murmured before drifting off.

Amanda didn't hear her. She was already somewhere else, dreaming.

From the window, even that gray carriage looked small.

She could see them: the girl was being carried; the boy was led by the hand. The boy's small feet moved mechanically, forced to advance, but his face kept turning back, searching for her.

She tried to scream so he would see her, but she held back: if he looked at her, his punishment would be worse.

Only tears accompanied her in that silence.

The slamming of the carriage door sealed the children's fate.

Alive, but gone from her side forever.

Suddenly, the scene vanished.

And those black eyes were staring into hers again with coldness while plunging the dagger into her chest over and over.

She felt she knew that gaze.

Those eyes were the only thing she could see as her own blood choked her.

Amanda woke up coughing violently, alarmingly short of breath.

Elena leaped out of bed and rushed to hand her a water bottle.

Amanda held it, trembling, until she was able to take a sip.

Once again, she recounted what happened.

Half an hour later, the herbal tea Elena had urgently ordered arrived, while Amanda exchanged frantic messages with her therapist at Elena's strict insistence.

Finally, she lowered her phone. "What did she say?"

Elena asked immediately. "That I'm overstimulated. That the brain processes stimuli this way. That I should have told her about this nightmare sooner because it speaks of deep fears. Maybe from my childhood."

"That makes sense. Relax." Elena handed her the cup.

"I don't get it. I feel relaxed."

Elena grabbed a juice from the minibar. "If you don't get it and your therapist doesn't get it, imagine me. I'm in marketing." She paused. "Look on the bright side: Paris tomorrow, and home the day after. We're almost there."

"I'm sorry I'm ruining the trip for you."

Elena shook her head and walked over with that sisterly affection that had always bound them. "You're not. These things happen." She met her eyes… and smiled at her. A wide, tender, comforting smile.

Amanda froze.

Her soul recognized that gaze in a fraction of a second.

It wasn't the gaze of her college friend.

It was the gaze of that boy walking toward the carriage - the expression of pure innocence searching for her before vanishing.

The impact was so brutal that she began to hyperventilate.

The world turned black and collapsed.

When she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital.

Elena was by her side, with Pietro and Giu standing behind.

"Amanda! Finally. What a scare you gave us. Are you okay?"

"Yes… I'm fine."

"You weren't responding. The hotel staff handled everything. You had us terrified."

"What time is it? What about the tour?"

"Noon. We'll catch up with them. I'll go find the doctor."

An hour later, they left the hospital with a diagnosis of extreme exhaustion and slight dehydration - nothing abnormal.

A taxi courtesy of the hotel took them to get their bags, and from there, they headed straight to the station.

"So, friend, we're not moving much," Elena instructed. "No walking around, even if the tour itinerary says so."

Giu looked at her with a guilty expression: "The bike thing was my idea… I'm sorry."

Amanda dismissed it with a smile. "The bikes were fun."

When checking the train schedules to Paris, they ran into an unexpected snag. "The next one doesn't leave until seven p.m.," Pietro announced. "We'll waste the whole day." The guys insisted on renting a car so they could reach Paris by four in the afternoon.

Amanda tried to stay distracted as they drove, but she found it impossible to remain calm. It made no sense, she knew it, but she couldn't help it. Finally, she took one of those miracle sleeping pills. Just one. She relaxed and fell deeply asleep.

The car stopped.

Amanda half-opened her eyes, groggy. The first thing she saw before she could even sit up was Pietro pulling Elena away, covering her mouth. Elena's eyes were wide with pure panic.

The door next to Amanda flew open: Giu lunged at her. Her hands moved by instinct to stop him.

They struggled, she managed to land a blow, he pulled out a switchblade… and in that exact moment, she saw them, as clear as the dying afternoon.

His eyes. Those pitch-black eyes.

She managed to break free without understanding how and bolted.

She felt strangely weightless.

She could still hear the curses.

Giu was shouting in a language she didn't know.

She turned her head and saw that Pietro had stopped; he was yelling and dragging Elena back to the car. Why weren't they following her?

Amanda walked back toward the car.

She didn't understand why her legs made no sound on the gravel, why the cold air passed through her without touching her, why Giu looked straight through her as if she weren't there.

She looked through the window. His blood-stained hands were pressed against his head. The blade was still there, buried deep. And the woman bleeding out in absolute silence in the backseat was wearing her coat, her shoes, her ring. It took her longer than it should have to understand what she was looking at.

Giu was screaming that it was an accident, blaming the struggle, while Pietro cursed at him in their own language: "I told you to watch them until Paris, you idiot! Three days we've been following them from the Amsterdam hotel for this… you've ruined everything!"

They grabbed her body and stuffed it clumsily into the trunk.

Giu grabbed Elena and shoved her next to him in the backseat; they were hyperventilating, talking about abandoning the car nearby with… both bodies.

Hearing that, Elena knew she was doomed.

She was going to die tonight.

Pietro started the engine, cursing.

He hadn't even driven a hundred meters when he glanced at the rearview mirror - and froze. Amanda was looking back at him. Not from the road. From inside the car. Pietro felt something ancient and cold flood through every cell of his body. He slammed on the brakes, threw the door open, and ran screaming into the dark, not even forming words anymore. Just sound.

Giu watched Pietro flee, completely bewildered. He looked at Elena, who was sobbing, rigid with fear. He got out of the car, calling after Pietro, but the man had already vanished into the distance. Giu turned and kicked the car. He pulled out the blade and threatened Elena.

He climbed into the driver's seat and began to drive, steering the car down hiking trails deep into the Forest of Compiègne. He knew that if he drove deep enough, it would take days for anyone to find them. Elena wept until she had no tears left.

The car stopped in pitch darkness.

Giu got out, gripped the blade, and opened the door. He leaned in, ready to finish the girl quickly. He could hear her whimpering. The darkness inside the car was absolute. Then something moved without warning. Just a mouth - wide open, impossibly close, hitting him full in the face with a single piercing shriek. A cold shriek that had no business existing in a living world. Giu couldn't scream. He could only run.

Elena had closed her eyes, bracing for the final blow.

When she heard the scream she opened them… then only the sound of desperate running. Elena didn't move. Couldn't. Her whole body had forgotten how. Then, slowly, instinct took over while her heart hammered at full speed.

She locked the doors first. Climbed into the front seat. She was trembling but gripped the wheel with both hands and drove into the dark, down paths she couldn't recognize, her heart still pounding so loud she could barely think.

Then she saw it, a sign: Pierrefonds.

She remembered the hours that followed as a blur.

She stopped a car, they called the police, ambulances arrived, and so did John Stuart, a member of the US Consulate.

The tragedy became breaking worldwide news.

Thanks to the backpacks abandoned in the car, they found both suspects within a few hours; the only bizarre detail was that both men now had entirely white hair and were babbling incoherently.

They weren't Italian, their names weren't Giu or Pietro, and they didn't belong to the tour group.

Elena was discharged from the hospital two days later. John was driving her to the airport in Paris.

As they left the town, Elena saw the silhouette of a castle.

"That's the Castle of Pierrefonds," John responded helpfully.

Elena felt an overbearing urge, an invisible thread pulling at her. "Can we stop for a moment?"

John checked the time, surprised, but agreed.

Elena got out slowly and looked up at the fortress.

She bought two tickets and waited for the guided tour that started in ten minutes, her eyes scanning the facade.

The halls felt massive, until the guide's voice began to sound more and more distant.

Without knowing how or why, she drifted away from the group and began to climb a flight of stone stairs, driven by an urgency that didn't feel like her own.

She emerged in the middle of a long corridor.

She pulled out her phone to cast some light; the place was completely abandoned, clearly blocked off from the public tour.

She looked left and right, turned to her right, walked all the way to the end with a determination that wasn't hers, and pushed a door open.

The room was empty.

She put her phone away and approached the window.

From the heights, she saw the embassy car and John waiting below.

She lifted her gaze and, in the distance, spotted a second structure in ruins. It reminded her so vividly of the dream Amanda used to tell her about… She felt a cold, gentle breeze brush against the back of her neck.

Elena closed her eyes and felt a sudden jolt in her chest, like waking from a sleep that had lasted centuries.

She could only whisper into the wind: "Thank you."

For the first time in two lifetimes, the boy was not looking back in terror from below while being torn away from his mother.

In this life, his name was Elena, and he was looking down from the top of the castle, managing to do what he couldn't do centuries ago: say goodbye.