Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (38 page)

Quinn’s captivated eyes, which are watching mine closely, are the only reason why I go on, as this memory is one better left buried.

“She was lying on her kitchen floor with a fucking needle hanging out of her arm, the tourniquet still wrapped around her bicep. She looked dead, but her chest was rising and falling. My brain was telling me to run, but I just couldn’t leave her there if she was alive. I don’t remember the smell, because the closer I got, all I could focus on was her chest, which was rising abnormally fast. When I was a few feet away, I toed her with my boot and asked if she was okay. But she didn’t answer, and I couldn’t see her face as she was turned away from me. I asked her again if she was okay, and I crouched low, attempting to turn her face. But suddenly, all I could hear was a whisper of…scurrying. I could hear millions of legs, scurrying all around me. I listened intently, as I couldn’t figure out what the sound was. And that’s when a fucking cockroach ran up my arm. As I looked down, the entire floor was swimming in bugs, all different shapes and sizes, and I realized the scurrying noise was coming from her. It was coming from
inside
of her.”

Quinn gasps, and I conclude my gory tale. “They were fucking eating her like she was a bug buffet. I stood up so quickly, I lost balance and I fell—on top of her. On top of them. It was like a bomb of every size bug went off, and that’s when the smell hit me. In my panic of getting the fuck up, I somehow moved her, and she was staring at me, with only one glassy eye, as the other was an empty socket, eaten out by the spider which was using her cranium as a nest. The louder I screamed, the more bugs seemed to emerge from her body. It was an endless sea of bugs, coming out of every orifice,” I whisper, almost gagging at the memory.

“And that’s why you hate bugs,” Quinn finishes for me.

I nod in response.

“So the reason why I got this tattoo is because, if a man can walk on the moon, then anything is possible,” I reply. “In my darkest hours, I would look at it and know that one day, I would be free. If a man could do a complex thing, such as walking on the moon, then I could do the simple thing of leaving my dad and living a normal life. Well, something like normal. And it’s better than getting a tattoo of a bug,” I add on a gasp as Quinn kisses up my arm, licking along the crease in my elbow.

“You’re right. Anything is possible,” he says. “And you’re proof of that.”

I raise my eyebrow, about to ask him what he means. But he presses his lips to mine, silencing me and my memories.

***

We drive through the night, stopping only to sleep for a few hours, as getting to Canada is more vital than it’s ever been. I try my best to keep awake, but sadly, my beaten body is still healing, and sleep overcomes me often.

The sound of tires crunching over the open road, and the low hum of talk radio is my background noise for the next day as Quinn allows me to sleep off my injuries. However, I think he too needs the silence.

It seems like a lifetime ago that we left South Boston. But after this is over, I know things will never be the same. I know something
big
is just around the corner. I just don’t know what.

“Red, are you awake?”

My sleep-induced brain recalls the significance of that phrase, as those exact words were spoken to me all those weeks ago. We may still be on the run, but so much has happened since then. And I know this is only the beginning.

“Where are we?” I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“Just outside Canada,” Quinn replies with a yawn. “I thought we could get some clothes and other stuff, seeing as we both need some supplies.”

I open my heavy eyes, and thankfully, it’s the cusp of dusk, as my irises can’t handle any sunshine.

“Good idea,” I say, looking up at Quinn, as I have been using his lap as a cushion. “Sorry,” I apologize and quickly jump up, as I can only imagine how hard it must have been to drive with my head in his crotch.

“It’s okay,” he replies with a wink as he jumps out of the truck. “I like having your head in my lap.”

I smile and stifle a yawn behind my hand as I get out of the truck. Lucky whines and looks at me hopefully. Poor baby… he’s probably been holding his bladder for miles. I snap on his retractable leash and let him out before I lock the door behind me. We tie Lucky up behind the store, and I crouch low, gently rubbing him between the ears. “Be a good boy, take care of your business, and stay, okay? We’ll be right back,” I coo, melting as he licks my nose.

“I can see why his name is Lucky,” Quinn cheekily smirks, while I playfully bump him with my shoulder.

“I so should not be tired,” I declare, and Quinn chuckles, reaching for my hand as we enter the department store.

The simple gesture of handholding shouldn’t give me such a rush, but it does. Quinn and I have come so far, and I just hope we keep moving forward.

“I’m just going to get some girly things,” I say. “Gimme five?”

Quinn nods, and we go our separate ways.

I head over to the cosmetics section and throw some foundation into my basket, as I bet I look like shit. As I pass a mirror, my fears have been confirmed. My face is covered in yellowish-blue bruising, and my hair is sitting in dreadlocked clumps. I won’t even touch on the topic of my attire.

As I am throwing in some other face products to make me appear a little more human, I pass an elderly shopper, who suddenly stops and stares, her face paling to an ashen white.

From her reaction alone, I decide to throw in some toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, and some extra toiletries, and decide some warmer clothes are definitely in order.

While I’m blindly tossing items into my basket, I notice a mother ushering her children away from me with a horrified look on her concerned face.

What the fuck is going on? Surely I don’t look that bad, do I?

Just as I’m about to go in search for Quinn, a hand clutches onto my arm, startling me, and I yelp in surprise.

“We have to leave. Now.”

I don’t understand what’s going on until I look around the store and notice that everyone is looking at us.

“Quinn?” I ask, my eyes taking in everything around me.

“Just walk,” he demands, ushering me toward the door.

I nod, lowering my basket onto the floor and latch onto Quinn’s hand as he leads the way toward the exit. A few shoppers turn away frightened, while others hide, the fear apparent in their wide eyes.

I don’t understand what’s going on, and as a mother turns her child’s face away from me like I’m a monster, I trip over my feet, stunned. Quinn all but drags me toward the door, but halts when we see the shop front, lit up by red and blue flashing lights.

In this moment, my heart drops to the floor.

“Fuck!” Quinn snarls softly as he stops in his tracks when five police cars surround the front of the store.

I see a dozen policemen armed and ready, some suited up with bulletproof vests, ready to take us down.

“We called the police!” a pimpled clerk yells, hiding behind the register. “She’s worth $250, 000,” he says, pointing at me.

His words resonate in my brain, reminding me of Justin. Is that all I am to people? A fucking reward?

Quinn curses before whispering in my ear, “Forgive me.”

Before I have time to react, he roughly seizes my bicep and spins me around, holding me prisoner as he wraps his arm around my neck, crushing my windpipe.

“What the fuck? Quinn!” I choke out, but freeze when I feel the unmistakable metal of a gun barrel, pointed at my temple.

The whole store gasps, and I watch them all duck for cover, or others raise their hands in surrender.

“She’s not worth anything if she’s dead. Where’s the backdoor?” Quinn shouts to the not so confident clerk as he steers us out of sight of the police.

“It’s-it’s—that way,” he stutters, pointing behind us before dropping to the ground.

Quinn’s smart, as he’s ensured the police can’t see us, but he wants everyone inside this store to witness him holding a gun to my head. And he’s done this with intent. He wants the onlookers to believe that I’m
his
hostage, and
he’s
the guilty one. He’s just taken the blame—just like I was going to do for him.

My hands clutch at my throat, desperately attempting to pry him off me, but as I struggle, Quinn’s hold only gets tighter and I know he won’t let me go.

“Quinn!” I yell, but he hushes me by pressing harder on my windpipe.

Tears roll down my cheeks, as Quinn is sacrificing himself for me. When the police question everyone in the store, they will recount seeing Quinn pull the gun on me, making it appear that I’m the innocent one, confusing the police.

He’s going to be in so much trouble for this, as I know if we get caught, he’s going to confess that he forced me to do all the illegal things we’re accused of, including killing Hank.

If anyone is going down, it’ll be him. His words take on a whole different meaning when I asked him, ‘how did he know I was going to the police?’ And he replied, ‘Because he would do the same for me.’

He’s taking the blame—all of it. But I can’t let him.

I try and reach down for the knife in my boot, which is near impossible, as the strong hold around my neck allows no movement.

“Don’t even try it,” he sneers, walking me backward toward the backdoor slowly, no doubt taking in everything around him.

Some onlookers appear utterly confused, while others are staring at me with nothing but sadness in their eyes.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” the old grandma says, who eyed me earlier.

I want to scream that Quinn is no monster! I am! But I only sob, not able to speak, which only makes me look all the more the victim.

“You won’t shoot me,” I cry when I make another fruitless attempt for my blade.

“No, but I have no qualms shooting any of these fuckers,” he says with a sneer as he tightens his hold around me.

I hope he’s not serious, but I don’t test him.

We arrive at the back of the store, and I watch in horror as shoppers stare at me, hands raised in surrender. My tears continue to stream down my cheeks when someone records a video on their cell, which will no doubt be up on YouTube before we leave the store.

“Let me go!” I weep in vain.

“No. You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine,” he whispers, inches from my ear.

As Quinn fumbles blindly for the door handle, I make a quick attempt to set myself free by throwing my head backward and connecting with his nose, knocking him off balance. I frantically reach for my knife, but am stopped, dead in my tracks, as I hear a gun being cocked.

“You take another step, and I will blow your fucking head off,” Quinn spits.

I look up, mid-crouch, to see a middle-aged man stepping forward, in an attempt to help me. The guy freezes, hands in air.

“Let her go, son,” he says softly, taking a step toward me.

“No!” I shout, but Quinn slaps his hand over my mouth.

“Move, Red,” he snarls, picking me up around the waist as he shoulders the emergency door open, an alarm blaring as soon as it’s triggered.

The moment the night breeze slaps my cheeks, I desperately try to break free, but Quinn holds on tighter as he tears Lucky’s collar off and he breaks into a dead run, away from his undoing.

After a few blocks, Quinn sprints down a deserted alley, as he can no longer contain my frantic flailing. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I slap him across the face with an ear-splitting whack. And then I do the same with the other cheek.

“Why?” I scream, incensed, as I push with all my might into his chest. “Why would you do that? Why?” I shove against his chest again and again, but my laughable strikes are not even making a dent.

Quinn allows me to hit him, my tears blurring my vision until I’m bundled up, sobbing into his chest. I hold on tight as I can’t let go because I’m afraid he’ll leave me.

His lips caress my temple as he coos, “Because now you’re free.”

“No! I won’t allow you to take the blame for this!” I sob, slapping my hands against his cheeks and resting our foreheads together. “The plan was to go to Canada!”

“And then what?” he whispers, regret clear in his emerald eyes. “We wait it out till your dad kills you. No fucking way! You’re not running anymore. This way, you turn yourself over to the police, and say it was my fault. I’ll head to Canada and wait until Abi’s dad can clear my name. I’ll probably do some jail time, but if it means you’re free, then I would happily serve a life sentence.”

“No!” I pull out of our embrace. “The only people doing time are those motherfuckers!”

“And what if they catch us before we can clear our names?”

Staring him straight in the eye, my voice never wavers as I reply, “Then I will fucking kill them myself.”

Quinn shakes his head, his long bangs covering his brow, but he’s done enough talking.

“I
will
fight for your survival, Quinn. Whatever I have to do, I
will
do.” And I mean every word of it. “We’re doing this together,” I say with finality, as this is no longer up for discussion.

“I’ve just given you a, ‘get out of jail for free’ card, and you’re going to throw it away?” he says, gnawing on his lip ring.

“I’m done cheating,” I reply, wiping away my tears.

“Then what do you suggest?” Quinn asks.

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out.
Together
,” I press, emphasizing the word ‘together.’

“We’re a stone’s throw away from Canada. When we get there, we cross the international border and the police can’t touch us,” I push, latching onto Quinn’s hand, begging him to listen.

“Abi will come through for us. I know she will. When we get to Canada, we won’t be running. We can stay put and lay low until we figure out what to do next. But I can’t let you turn yourself in for me. Please, Quinn, don’t fight me on this. I would rather die than have you take the blame.”

I hold his hand over my beating heart, squeezing his fingers, hoping he has seen reason.

“Okay?” I ask, waiting for his response.