Edward sat stiffly against the cloth seat; the noise and bustle of the city shut out. The cab was silent and—oddly—cool. Edward leaned to peer at the traffic going by and didn’t see a single cab that did not have its windows rolled down in an attempt to circulate the hot, heavy air, but this cab was sealed shut against the night, almost as if it existed in a different realm. There was no rearview mirror mounted on the windshield, so Edward couldn’t make out the face, or even the eyes, of the cab driver. He could only stare at the almost silhouetted shape of the back of a head, broad shoulders. “Where are we going?” He had an urge to grab Terence’s hand, an urge born of fear, born of a desire to possess. Terence hadn’t said a word as the cab pulled away from the curb, yet the driver seemed to know exactly where to take them. They cruised through Manhattan, toward Brooklyn. Terence was silent, and if Edward hadn’t turned to look at him, he wouldn’t have even known he was there.
