Run With Me (5 page)

Another
flash and rumble, even louder than before, causes the house to
tremble. The sound of rain on the roof grows stronger, pounding
harder and harder, louder and louder. I slide to the edge of the bed
and hang my legs over the side, taking a sip of water from the glass
on the bedside table.

My pulse is racing, my breathing
fast. I feel like I did in the movie theater, as if I'm having a
minor panic attack. I must have been dreaming, a terrible nightmare
creeping around in my head as I slept, but I can't remember.

When I stand my legs are
slightly weak and shaky, but quickly sure up. I see the faintest of
lights through the window on the street outside, but it quickly
disappears. It's so loud I can hardly think. The rain is relentless,
the storm unyielding, booming its angry song amid the strikes of
sharp lightning outside my window.

They come in their pairs, one
quickly followed by another. As soon as the night sky lights up with
a flash from Zeus, the thunder follows a split second later.
Lighting, thunder, lighting, thunder. And amid it all is a chorus of
rain, hitting hard on any surface it meets.

I walk to the window and open
the curtains, my eyes drifting down to the street below. There are no
lights now in any of the houses on the opposite side of the road, no
light at all barring the faintest celestial glimmer breaking through
the storm above.

A flash comes down again,
illuminating the street. I can see puddles, wide and deep, forming on
the tarmac of the road and in front yards, beautiful flower
formations being decimated by the force of the rain and wind.

Another flash, and my eyes drop
to the road just outside the house, a little way down the street.
There's a car there, one that wasn't there before. I eye it closely
before the light fades once more. The sky lights up again, and I get
a better look. I can see, through the heavy rain, a wisp of
condensation rising from the back of the car. The engine's hot. The
car's just arrived.

Once more it grows dark as the
sound of thunder cracks and fades. I keep my eyes on the car as it
disappears again into the blackness. There's no other house on this
side of the road for 100 feet or so. Why is someone parking right
there at this time?

When the lightning flashes again
and the thunder grumbles in the heavens, I hear something else.
Another thud, closer this time, short and abrupt. It sounds like it's
coming from downstairs, timed in with the thunder.

I sit in silence and listen, but
only the sound of rain fills my ears. Then, again, the lightning
comes, then the thunder, and I hear it. Another thud, just as the
thunder cracks.

My pulse begins to race. There's
someone downstairs, someone breaking in.

I creep to the door and press my
ear to it, focusing my hearing. The sound of rain is drowned out now
as I hear the lightest sound of movement, of footsteps creeping up
the stairs. They're old, they creak. With every step I hear the
bending of wood underfoot, of someone trying to move upstairs without
making a sound.

I step back, as quietly as
possible, keeping my eyes on the door. I feel my bag at my feet and
pick it up, grabbing my phone and dropping it into my pocket.
Carefully I pull on the zip, winding it across the top of the bag and
locking it up, and all the while my eyes keep staring at the door, my
ears keep searching for any sound beyond it.

But amid the incessant patter of
rain and the frequent crashes of thunder, I hear nothing. I move to
the window, walking backwards for fear of turning from the door. When
I reach it I open it up, and the world grows suddenly louder.
Splashes of rain jump into me off the window sill as I step straight
through and out onto the edge.

With
my bag slung over my shoulder I climb down onto the tiled roof
covering the front porch. The rain is cool on my warm skin, hitting
me hard and quickly soaking me to the bone. I look back through the
window to see that the door to my room is still closed and a
sickening feeling rushes through me. What about my aunt and uncle?

They're in another bedroom,
further down the hall. If he finds them....I don't know what will
happen. I should never have come here. I know that, and now I've put
them in danger. I need to leave, draw him away, whoever he is.

I begin to rush now, moving
quickly as I reach the edge of the low roof and drop down onto the
ground. I run through the rain round the side of the house, where my
car is parked in an open garage undercover. I unlock it and jump
inside, purposefully roaring the engine as loud as I can.

I screech out onto the street,
putting on my high beams and lighting up the road. I stop, just
outside the front of the house as my engine rumbles, and look up. A
crack of lightning flashes again, followed by another boom of
thunder.

I watch on, and my heart quickly
constricts. A flash lights again, but this time it's silent, this
time there's no thunder with it. My eyes swell as I watch on, seeing
the window of my aunt and uncle's bedroom light up several times in
succession before once more fading into darkness.

My breath is caught inside me,
locked down and refusing to leave. I can't move, can't look away from
the window as the curtains open and I see the silhouette of a man
standing there, a gun in his hand. He stands motionless for a moment,
looking on at me as I look at him. A shadow, bringing death.

Another flash lights up the sky
and he quickly turns away. My instinct kicks in and I gun the engine,
tearing down the road through puddles of murky water. I check my
mirror, searching for signs that he's following me. When I see two
pale lights in the distance I put my foot down harder.

I turn corners and pace through
the streets as I move into town. There are no cars on the road, no
signs of life as I fly through the pouring rain, my windshield wipers
rushing by from left to right and clearing my view.

Before long I can see no lights
tracing me, no sign of my pursuer, but I don't slow down, I don't
stop. I keep on driving, hard and fast, until I burst through on the
other side of the city and onto the open highway heading north. I
drive and drive, my eyes wet, my hands shaking, until the dim light
of dawn begins to break on the horizon and the storm starts to fade.

When I stop I do so off road,
parked down a dirt track away from prying eyes. I cry hard and bang
the wheel until my head hurts. My aunt, my uncle, shot dead in their
home. And it's all because of me.

Colt

The backseat of my car is
comfortable. I've manufactured it that way, with extra modifications,
because sometimes I need to sleep there as part of the job. It's not
always as easy to find a free room in a hotel as the movies make out.
Sometimes, the backseat is the best I can do.

When
I wake up, however, I feel that familiar crick in the neck. Maybe if
I was short it wouldn't be a problem, but I'm not, I'm 6 feet 2, so
it's never the best sleep. Kinda cramped, really.

The loud storm didn't help
either. It raged all fucking night, clattering against my roof like
stones rattling inside a tin can. But that's something I've gotten
used to. I can go for several days without sleeping if I need to, so
it's not a problem.

I step out of the car and my
foot hits a puddle. It soaks quickly through my shoe and into my
sock, riding up to my ankle. I grimace with annoyance as I drag my
cold wet toes out of the murky brown liquid and step onto firmer
ground. I move to the trunk and flick it open. I've got a spare
everything in there: clean socks, clean shoes, clean clothes. I'm
always prepared to hit the highway for weeks if I need to.

The sun shines down on my aching
neck as I begin to undress, pulling off my pants and shirt and
unfolding a fresh outfit from a compartment in the trunk. I stand
there for a moment on the side of the road, dressed only in my
underwear, and let the sun's rays soak into me. They sink into my
skin, warming me to my bones as I stretch off my back and neck.

I hear a horn blare loudly and
the shrieks of women fill the air as a car drives past. It slows down
as it goes by and I see several flashes as its occupants take
pictures. When I raise my head I offer a smile and the girls laugh
and shriek louder. They're all wearing silly outfits and hats and, a
soon as the car passes, I can see why.

“
Sam's Bachelorette” reads a
banner on the back, colored in pink and purple and with funny
cartoons of male strippers in the corners. I guess I gave them an
early preview.

The car picks up speed and
whizzes off into the distance as I turn my eyes up and down the road.
It's still early, and there's no one else in sight.

I drop my underwear and step out
of them, feeling the light morning breeze rush over my naked body.
It's particularly fresh after a heavy storm. Then I dress in new
clothes: black pants and a white shirt. It's a simple look, one I've
gotten used to.

It's eerily calm as I walk round
the side of the car and step back into the driver's seat. There's not
a whiff of wind in the air, not a sound of a car, or of someone
talking, or a bird singing anywhere nearby.

The engine roars to life when I
turn the key, breaking the silence. It rumbles angrily as I begin to
cruise off down the road, my eyes set firm on my target: Kitty
Munroe. And now, I know just where she is. Rick has seen to that.

He's an old friend, Rick. We met
back in school and were friends for years before I left and joined
the army. Whenever I came back from any tour of duty, I'd always hang
out with him first out of all my friends. He was one of the only ones
who stood by me when it all went to shit, when my life got crushed
before my eyes. He knows what I do now. He knows what I am. But
still, he doesn't judge. He even helps me sometimes, even though it
could mean the end of his career.

But then, he has no choice. It's
his moral responsibility that keeps him from telling me 'no' when I
ask for a favor. He's a detective, and can help me get information
about any person I'm trying to track down. Why does he do it? Because
he owes me. Because he told me he'd keep them safe. He told me he'd
catch the guy who'd done it. But he never did. And now, now he's
racked with guilt. Now, whenever I need him to trace a cell phone
signal or run a check for a credit card, he does it, no questions
asked.

Sophie. Ellie.

The names rock around in my head
every day, without fail. They're there when I wake, they're there
when I'm drifting off to sleep. I don't think they'll ever leave me.
They'll haunt me for the rest of my life. And I want them to. It's
all I cling to: it's why I do what I do. And one day, one day I'll
find the man who did it. One day I'll do what Rick couldn't. And when
I do, he'll be begging for death before the end.

I drive for an hour before I
begin to slow, feeling my way through the town of Bakersfield. It's
quiet still on this early Sunday morning, the homes I pass yet to
wake and come to life. I round a corner and make my way up a long
street with large houses nicely spaced on either side. There's a
small-town leafiness to it, the bright morning sunshine making the
area look idyllic: somewhere anyone would love to live.

As I keep moving, the morning
calm is suddenly broken. Up ahead I see flashing lights and a hive of
activity. Cops cars are gathered outside a house, an ambulance parked
between them. Its back doors are open wide and two bodies are being
stretchered inside. I roll up slowly and a cop comes rushing forward
towards me, signaling me to roll down my window.

“
Sorry Sir, you're going to
have to take another route.”

I poke my head out of the window
and up the street, as if out of casual interest.

“
What's the problem officer?”

“
I can't tell you Sir. Please,
go back down the street and find another way around.” He speaks
politely, and I get the impression he's already done this a few times
this morning.

I nod and put the car in
reverse, my expression growing in fury as the police officer makes
his way back up to the incident site. I know right away that it's the
house I was intending to visit this morning. The source of Kitty's
call was inside. It's her aunt and uncle's house, and I know
immediately that the two bodies being carted out of it are theirs.

The thought makes me burn as my
hands grip tight at the steering wheel. Carmine sent someone else,
someone who'd kill two innocent people in their attempt to track down
this girl.
I don't kill innocent people
, I think to myself. My
wife. My baby daughter. They were innocent.

I can feel my hands shaking now
and I pull up on the side of the road. Suddenly I'm there again, in
Baghdad on tour when I get the call. The call that changed my life,
that ruined my life.

I'd been on patrol with my unit
when my Captain got some news on the radio. I remember vividly the
moment as he looked over at me, his eyes growing sullen. But he never
said anything, not right then. We were on active duty, and we needed
to finish the patrol before returning to base. Yet I could sense that
something was up, and that it involved me.