Run With Me (34 page)

The metal door swings open ahead
of me and I quickly relax my arm. In the doorway stands the imposing
figure of Rugger, his frame filling the space. His eyes drop to my
wrist, now covered in blood. “Oooo, that looks painful,” he says
with his usual sympathy.

He shuts the door behind him,
and paces purposefully towards me. “It's OK though, soon you'll
feel nothing. Mr Carmine said to make it quick....but not too quick.”
He's carrying something in his hand, something wrapped in a sheet. He
moves to a small table by the wall to my right and lays it down,
unraveling the fabric to reveal a series of tools and implements.

“
The good news is,” he says,
still arranging his instruments of torture, “I don't have to worry
about keeping you alive this time. I get to see you draw your last
breath. And soon I'll get to do the same with your little
girlfriend.”

I keep my heartbeat steady, my
breathing stable. My eyes stay locked on Rugger as he stands fiddling
with knives and devices I've never seen before by the table. I clench
my jaw to stop from howling in pain as I continue to work at my
wrist, sliding it up and down the rope, continuing to loosen it.

Rugger turns, suddenly, and I'm
quickly motionless again. He holds a knife in his hand, short and
sharp and with a curved blade. “Looks like you've lost some blood
already,” he says, referencing the various points of bleeding on my
body. “Let's lose you some more.”

It's now or never. He stands
ahead of me, seemingly discussing with himself where he wants to cut
me first. The pleasure in his eyes is palpable as they glide over me,
wondering where will give me the most pain while keeping me
conscious. Because he'll want me conscious for as long as possible.
He'll want to drag this out.

His eyes fall to my shoulder,
and the newly formed scar from the gunshot wound he inflicted several
weeks ago. His fingers run over it and then, without warning, he
sends the knife straight inside, about an inch. I can't hold the howl
of pain from my lips as he laughs his throaty laugh, before slowly
sinking the knife slightly deeper.

I thrash my body, but not
through pain or fear. It's a distraction.

It's fortunate the scar was on
my right shoulder, because it's my left arm that is now free. With
his focus on the knife digging into my body, I pull at my left arm
once final time, releasing it from its bounds. I have a chance to
glance up into Rugger's face, eyes full of pleasure as a fresh
coating of blood glides down my shoulder, before I strike. Before he
can react, before he even knows what's happening, I send my balled up
fist straight into his temple. It connects hard with the soft side of
his head, and the result is instantaneous.

He drops to the floor, as if the
life has suddenly gone out of him, leaving the knife lodged in my
flesh. I grip it tight and pull hard, feeling the metal slide out of
me. I'm thankful that it's so sharp – it means the rope is easier
to cut. With Rugger groaning on the floor, I work my right arm free,
my eyes constantly darting to the door, before moving to my ankles.

Moments later I'm on my feet,
which are unsteady and stiff. My head still aches, my right arm is
shot to hell, but the adrenaline is surging through me now, keeping
the pain at bay. Rugger is pawing at my feet, completely at my mercy.
I kick him off me and walk to the table. I'm not like him though. I
don't want to torture anyone. Even someone as cruel and sadistic as
he is.

So I make it quick. I pick up
the sharpest knife I can find, bend down to the ground, pull back
Rugger's neck with his thinning gray hair, and slit his throat. The
knife slices right along the scar under his neck, right where he'd
been cut before. But this time they'll be no going back for him.
Blood quickly pours from his throat as he splutters feebly, before
his body goes limp.

I let go of his hair and his
head drops back to the concrete floor, his forehead splashing into
the pool of his own blood. “That was for Dale,” I say, as the
life fades from his eyes. I check his body for weapons, and find a
pistol clipped to his belt. He could so easily have just shot me
dead, but he wanted to stretch out my pain, my suffering. And now
look at him, emptied of blood and life. That was his final, fatal,
mistake.

I stand now and use part of my
torn shirt to clear the knife of blood, before clipping it into my
own belt. Then, with the gun locked in my grasp, I walk towards the
door and open it slowly, peering out beyond my cell for the first
time. A see a corridor, empty and decrepit, its walls peeling of
their paint. Lights hang from the ceiling, rusty and broken, but
still working. At the end of the corridor one flickers, making a
buzzing sound, and I see in flashes a staircase leading up.

I pace forward quickly, but
carefully, keen to make no sound. When I reach the stairs I peer up.
There are about a couple dozen steps up to a solid looking metal
door. When I reach it I twist the handle as gently as I can. It
scrapes loudly in the silence and then finally clicks open.

The whistle of the wind is
immediate, and the light outside blinding. Sharp shards of light
flash straight in through the crack and I smell fresh air for the
first time in days. I open the door slightly wider as my eyes take
their time to deal with the sudden burst of light. When they clear, I
see grass at my feet, stretching about 20 feet up towards a tangled
fence, surrounded by bushes and trees. I arch my neck outside and
look up and down the side of the large building. Its blank walls
stand tall against the blue sky, colored a horrible sickly gray. It
looks like an old industrial building or warehouse, one long fallen
into disuse.

By the looks of things I'm at
the back, with the fence beyond signaling the end of the complex. I
step out into the sunlight, exposing myself fully, but can see no
sign of anyone either side of me. Then I see them. The tracks.
Footsteps, written into the patted down grass and dirt. They lead to
the left at the back of the building, curving off around beyond my
eye line. I trace them, moving along the wall until I reach the
corner. I can see the fence continuing on beyond the building in the
same direction behind it. To my left are several other large
warehouses and plants, all seemingly out of business.

I turn my head around the corner
of the wall at my back and quickly retract it. Cars. Two of them.
Parked just 50 feet around the corner facing out towards the entrance
to the complex. Outside one of them stand two men, the two men who've
been keeping me company over the past week. They suck on cigarettes
and talk between themselves. In the other car I see the figure of a
man, sitting in the back seat. There's only one man that can be.

They're waiting. Waiting for
Rugger to finish me off and return so they can be on their way. But
he's not going to be coming back. I dart my head around the side once
again and see that Carmine's door has opened. He steps out and says
something to the two men, something I can't make out. I don't need
to. They immediately drop their cigarettes and begin moving towards
me. He's ordered them to check on Rugger, tell him to finish the job
quickly.

I slide my head back around the
wall and push my body as far as I can up against it. I can hear the
two men approaching as one hand grips tight at my pistol and the
other slips towards my belt and grasps the knife. I'll want to make
this quick, keep things quiet.

Within seconds I see them, out
of the corner of my eye, casually pacing around the side. It will
only take them a split second to see me, but that's all I need. With
the precision of a sniper I step towards them and slash at one with
my knife, the blade slicing across his neck and spraying blood over
my face. His eyes go wild with shock as his hands rush to his throat,
squeezing tight to stem the flow of blood. I felt the knife cut deep
though. They'll be no going back for him.

It only takes a moment for his
partner to realize what's happened. He steps back and his hands fall
to his rear, fumbling for a weapon. A gun, a knife, I don't know,
because I don't give him time to retrieve it. I'm springing forward
like a cat, rushing at him with my re-bloodied blade. It plunges
straight into his chest as I push him to the ground, forcing my
weight down onto the knife to drive it deeper into his heart. His
mouth opens to release a scream but I'm too quick. My gun bearing
hand is suddenly empty as I drop the weapon to the reddening grass
and plant it over his mouth. I feel the spit of warm blood hit my
palm as he gurgles and coughs, his eyes deep with horror.

I twist the knife hard and feel
a fresh convulsion flow through his body. He shakes for a few more
moments before I see his eyes bulge and then roll back into his
skull. My hand drips with blood when I unclasp it from his mouth and
stand, pulling the knife from his heart. My other torturer lies in a
thick puddle of red, his own fingers still squeezed around his neck.
He's still alive, just, as I step towards him and pull his arms away.
The fresh flow of warm fluid from his jugular joins the rest.

I move quickly back to the wall
and flash my gaze around the corner. I can see Carmine, inside the
car, his hand held to his ear. It looks like he's making a phone
call. I must look like something out of a horror film when I finally
step around and begin pacing towards the car, my face dripping in
blood, my hand clasped to a red knife, glinting in the sunlight.

As I move forward, I get no
reaction from Carmine. He continues to talk on the phone, seemingly
oblivious to my presence. It's not until I reach the car, open the
back door, and point my gun in his face, that he finally notices me.
We lock eyes for a brief moment before he drops his phone and shoves
his hand into his jacket. Before he can point the gun at me and get a
shot off I squeeze the trigger. The bullet rips straight into his
arm, flinging it back as his gun drops to the floor. He roars in pain
and scrambles on the floor with his other arm. I squeeze again, this
time sending a burning bullet through the back of his good arm. Blood
splatters across the leather upholstery as the force of the round
sends him crumbling in his seat.

Now I reach in and grab at his
leg, dragging him from the vehicle. Without the use of his arms he's
unable to pull back or offer much challenge, so he's quickly in the
dirt beside the car. I drag him to his knees and point the gun down
into his chest as he whimpers on the floor.

“
Please...Colt...please don't
do this. I...I'll do whatever you want. I'll pay you anything you
want.” He lifts his eyes to look at me. They're pleading,
desperate, but there's no hope inside them. He knows there's nothing
I want from him except his life.

“
You can do one thing for me,”
I say, coldly.

“
Anything, I'll do anything.”

“
Tell me the truth. I deserve
that much.”

Our eyes stick to each other for
a few moments as he ponders my request. He knows that it won't stop
me killing him. It's just an opportunity for him to do something good
as his last act. To be honest for once in his life. The look in his
eyes tell me he knows I deserve that.

Then he speaks, telling me the
full story. It's what I've suspected, and I know now that this is the
final telling, the truthful telling. There's nothing left for him to
lie for, no chance to manipulate me or gain my trust.

He speaks of how Sophie came to
him looking for money. How she'd tried other lenders and had been
rejected, and how she never wanted me to know. He tells me of how he
began to pursue her, how he fell in love with her, but how she never
gave in to his requests, never betrayed me. Her tells me he lost
control and snapped, that he made a mistake by ordering the arson
attack, that he feels the sting of regret every day for what he did.
He tells me he never knew I had a daughter, and that cuts him up the
most. Above all, however, he tells me that for everything that he's
done, for everything he is, he deserves death more than anyone. That
after killing Pullman himself, having me finish him is the perfect
poetic justice.

When he's done, I raise my gun
to his chest. I thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to
do, to kill the man I'd hunted for so long. We both know the truth
won't be enough to save him, but something stays my hand for a
moment. Then Carmine's voice comes at me. “Do it,” he whispers,
nodding with a conviction in his eyes. “I deserve this. You deserve
this. Kill me Colt.”

My hand shakes lightly in the
breeze as it points at him, but I don't pull the trigger. He speaks
again, his voice growing louder. “Shoot me. Come on. I deserve to
die Colt. SHOOT ME!”

Then he stands, grimacing as he
pushes himself up to his feet with his wounded arms, and rushes
towards me. My instinct kicks in, and I feel the pistol explode once
again in my hand. The gunshot echoes loudly in the sky as Carmine
drops back to his knees, blood oozing from his chest. Then he looks
at me, his lips dripping red, and smiles.

And that's how I leave him.
Kneeling in the crimson earth, the sun shining down on his body, a
smile etched on his face. The man who killed my family. The man who
ruined my life. The man who, finally, has given me closure.

Kitty