INFINITY ✞ J. DEVORAK

III: THE PREPARATION.

III: THE PREPARATION.

It was around two in the morning when Julian and Irina finally passed out. Julian's long, slender form was draped over two chairs, as he had slumped sideways at some point. Irina had her face mashed into the wooden surface of the table, with her fingers still wrapped around her empty wine glass. Sunlight filtered through the dark red curtains that hung over the windows, warming the rough grain beneath her skin.

With a groan, she lifted her head, tired, hungover eyes surveying the room. A huff of amusement escaped her lips as her gaze swept over Julian, his head lolled to the side and his auburn hair was a tangled mess. Deep, dark circles could be seen under his eyes, even from a distance. The man looked as if he hadn't slept in ages.

Careful not to wake him, she stood from her chair, but was caught off-guard by a splitting headache that stunned her momentarily into submission as she clutched her head, hissing sharply in pain. A low chuckle from the other side of the table barely registered in her mind over the pain.

"First time hungover, Irina?"

Regaining her composure (though still shaken), Irina straightened up and sent Julian a withering glare. "Some of us are not so fortunate as to be able to afford alcohol...and this is clearly a habit that you invest much in."

As she spoke, she gestured to the various empty wine bottles on the table and floor. Julian smiled a little, but it was a bitter one that did not reach his eyes. "A fugitive fares little better than a thief. Those bottles outdate you."

"Even a fugitive doctor?"

Julian nodded grimly. "Even a fugitive doctor, Irina dear. Life is not kind to people like us."

A moment of silence settled between them. It was pleasant, though, for the sake of her splitting headache. When Julian spoke again, she let out a low growl and pressed her hands harder into her forehead to quell the swelling pain. "I suppose now we should discuss how you'll go about getting the Countess to meet with you."

"Can you just shut up for ten hours while I sleep this off? Your breathing makes it so much worse."

"My breathing? What's wrong with it?"

"Everything...is so loud. Please, just tell me where the bed is. A few hours of sleep and I'll do whatever you want."

Julian, taken aback, wordlessly stepped back and moved a curtain aside, revealing a small alcove with a sparsely blanketed bed. He let the curtain fall back into place after Irina disappeared inside; the sound of a body hitting the bed alerted him that she'd crashed. Sighing, he went back to the table and paused in front of the kitchen, pondering if he perhaps thirsted for another glass of his special dry wine. Shaking his head, he threw out the empty wine bottles and cleared the table before sitting down.

"Gods...what am I doing?" He mused to himself, letting out a low, humorless laugh, "you're to be hanged in twelve days and your best plan is asking a thief to convince the Countess you're innocent. Your fate is almost guaranteed...you have to tell her there's a time constraint, something."

He figured he'd tell her so when she woke up. For the time in between, he pored over what little information had been released through the news outlet to the public about the Count's death. But each article that he read seemed to contradict the one before it. If one claimed the Count had been burned alive, another said that he'd been mutilated and then burned. None of it made any sense, and it seemed as though the information provided was from the rumor mill and not a credible source. Though what could he say about it? He couldn't remember any of the details regarding what he'd been doing or where he was before and at the time of the murder. At this point, the Countess was relying on assumptions and eyewitness accounts. How was his defense any better than the 'evidence' against him?