Nobody seemed to be following, but he might still catch up—or, worse still, anticipate where she was going and be waiting there.
Ahead of her, a beacon of hope and safety, she saw the “Pensione” sign she’d spotted earlier. She couldn’t see Vadim anywhere.
Cassie sprinted toward it, praying that she could get inside, and out of danger, in time.
The blare of music from the guesthouse was audible from street level, where a flimsy, white-painted security gate stood ajar.
Pushing it open, Cassie thudded up the narrow wooden staircase. Voices, laughter, and the aroma of cigarette smoke wafted down to meet her.
She glanced behind her but the stairway was empty.
Perhaps he’d given up on the chase. Now that she’d gotten away, she wondered if she had exaggerated the threat. That parked van might have been a coincidence. Vadim could just have wanted her to come back to his place with him.
Either way, he hadn’t done what he’d promised, and he had tried to grab her as soon as she’d hesitated. Fresh terror surged inside her as she remembered how she’d only just managed to pull away.
She’d been such an idiot to blurt out to him that she was alone, that nobody knew where she was, that she was on a wild goose chase for a person who might never be found. Breathing hard, Cassie chastised herself for her appalling stupidity. It had felt like such a relief to share Jacqui’s story with a stranger who would not judge her. She hadn’t realized what else she might be sharing, too.
The security gate at the top of the stairs was closed. It led into a tiny foyer, which was unoccupied, but a button on the wall had a printed sign taped below it.
The words were in several different languages with English at the top.
“Ring for Service.”
Cassie rang, hoping somebody would hear the bell, because the music was deafening up here.
Please answer, she prayed.
Then the door at the other side of the foyer opened, and a strawberry-blonde woman of about Cassie’s age walked in. She looked surprised to see Cassie standing outside.
“Buona sera,” she greeted her.
“Do you speak English?” Cassie asked, praying that the woman was bilingual and would understand she needed to be let in quickly.
To Cassie’s relief she switched to German-accented English.
“How can I help you?”
“I need lodging urgently. Are there any rooms available here?”
The strawberry-blonde woman thought for a moment.
“No rooms,” she said, shaking her head, and Cassie felt gutted with disappointment. She looked over her shoulder, worried she’d heard feet on the stairs, but it must have been the thudding of music from somewhere inside the lodge.
“Please, can I at least come inside?” she asked.
“Of course. Are you OK?”
The woman buzzed the door open. Cassie felt the cold metal vibrate in her hands as the lock released and she closed it so that it clanged firmly shut behind her.
Finally, she was safe.
“I had a bad experience outside. A man said he’d walk me here but we ended up going a different way. He grabbed my arm when I realized there was something wrong, but I managed to get free.”
The woman raised her eyebrows, looking shocked.
“I am glad you escaped. This part of Milan can be dangerous at night. Please, come through to the office. I think I misunderstood your question. We do not have a room open; all the single rooms are booked. But we do have a bed available in a shared dormitory, if you would like to take it.”
“Thank you so much. I would.”
Weak with relief that she didn’t have to go out into the dark streets again, Cassie followed the woman through the small foyer and into a tiny office with a notice on the door: “Hostel Manager.”
There, Cassie paid for the room. Again, she realized the price was uncomfortably high. Milan was a costly place and there seemed no way of living cheaply.
“Do you have luggage?” she asked.
Cassie shook her head. “It’s in the car, miles away.”
To her surprise the other woman nodded as if this was a common occurrence.
“In a shared room, you will want a toiletry pack then.”
The toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, and cotton sleep shirt looked to be a life saver and Cassie handed over yet more Euros in exchange.
“Your room is down the corridor. Yours is the bed closest to the door and it comes with a locker.”
“Thanks.”
“And the bar is that way. We provide our guests with the cheapest beer in Milan.” She smiled as she placed the locker key on the counter.
“My name is Gretchen,” she added.
“I’m Cassie.”
Remembering why she was here, Cassie then asked, “What about a phone? Internet?”
She held her breath as Gretchen considered the question.
“Guests may only use the office phone in emergencies,” she said. “There are several places nearby where you can make a call and use a computer. They are listed on the notice board next to the bookshelf, and you will also find a map there.”
“Thank you.”
Cassie glanced behind her. She’d seen the notice board on her way in, propped on the top of the shelf. It was a large board, covered in cut-out scraps of paper.
“We also list jobs on the board,” Gretchen explained. “We search all the sites daily and print out the ads. Some places even contact us direct if they need part-time help, such as waiting tables, shelf packing, cleaning. Those jobs are usually paid by the day, in cash.”
She smiled at Cassie sympathetically, as if she understood what it was like to be short of money in a foreign country.
“Most of our guests are able to find work if they want it, so if you are in need of a job, let me know,” she said.
“Thank you again,” Cassie said.
She headed straight for the notice board.
There was a list of five nearby places where phones and internet could be used, and Cassie held her breath as she saw Cartoleria’s name was there, but had been recently crossed out with a note, “Closed.”
That was a hopeful sign, so Cassie decided to ask Gretchen if she could check the guest list. She headed to the lounge, to find that the manager had just opened a beer and was sitting on a sofa among a laughing group of people.
“Here’s another customer.”
A tall, lean man with an English accent, who looked even younger than Cassie, jumped up and opened the fridge.
“I’m Tim. What can I get you?” he asked.
Seeing her hesitate, he said, “There’s a special on the Heineken.”
“Thanks,” Cassie said.
She paid, and he passed her an ice-cold bottle. Two dark-haired girls who looked as if they were twins moved up on one of the other couches to make room for her.
“Actually, I came here because I was hoping to find my sister,” she said, feeling a pang of nervousness as she spoke.
“I wonder if any of you might have known her, or if she stayed here. She has blonde hair—or it was blonde when I last knew her. And her name is Jacqui