The Runaway (11 page)

“My dad was a screamer, you know!”- Rick laughed- that resonating boom of a laughter that
almost physically touched her – “Mom used to love horror flicks and watch them with me!!”

She giggled. Actually giggled. Rick cast a sideways glance at her. It felt right, with her, acting girly, her age.

“Yeah well! My dad was a sports freak – he’d take me out to football and stuff! The last of my happy childhood memories if you ask!”

Brooke stopped smiling and looked at him, unsure of whether he wanted to continue. Not that she usually listened to others’ sob stories – but Rick, somehow he intrigued him and she wanted to know more.

Rick turned sideways to find a rapt Brooke looking at him, expecting more. Well, what the heck. It wouldn’t upset either of them to divulge any further.

“Mum was always upbeat and I remember singing, a lot of singing. She used to make Eve, my sister, sing along too. I’d always shut her up though, I recall
, as I love to hear mum’s voice”

Rick stood up and fidgeted with the blinds of the window. “
When we were kids, Dad would be around a lot, to help us build sand castles and play football with me.  We would hide Eve’s stuff all around the garden, and she would throw huge tantrums” He laughed. Brooke had grown stone cold and motionless. This was so different than what she had seen – everyone must have had such days to fall back upon- except she drew a blank. She dragged herself back to the present to a now graver Rick relating about how his mother caught his father cheating behind her back for more than a year. After that, his father had grown distant, cold. Richard was around 12, when he left, taking Eve along with him.

“I’d always thought I was dad’s favourite. I was deeply shattered when he didn’t want to take me with him! Not that I didn’t love Mum, but it was just never the same with him gone.”

Brooke felt actual empathy – at the image of a desolate 12 year old with a football, playing on his own. Much alike a desolate girl with braces looking down on kids her age in barbecues and picnics, while dad mysteriously vanished for hours on end murdering girls, and mother just refused to talk to her. Isolation had so many faces, that it was a miracle humans got so attached to the sparse company that they got in their lives – only to be hurt miserably later. She was pushed back years in the past – where she pictured herself alone in her room, waiting in vain for her mom or dad to tuck her in.

“I don’t have memories of happy childhood to begin with…” Brooke froze. She never spoke of her life in Walhalla, to anyone. As they normally led to more questions and looks of pity. And there was nothing more she would like to evade.

Richard raised his glass and said, “Here’s to screwed up families”

Brooke murmured in agreement and went back to her refuge of silence. Richard patted himself on his first victory. Another day closed in on them. Brooke was still unsettled about how easily she could grumble about her melancholic childhood in front of Richard, something that she thought was impossible, and she was comfortable in not sharing anymore. She turned in and switched off the bedside lamp, wondering what Richard must be thinking – he could so easily shrug off any queries, rather
, he would understand what she said and didn’t say, without that abysmal air of sympathy. It was becoming easier, being around him. Did she dare have a friend? Or whatever they called those with who you share stuff?! She laughed. No, she wasn’t allowed to have such luxury.

Days seemed to go by in a rather ethereal pace. He seldom kept track of time. He made himself accustomed to her weird habits – the double sometimes triple rounds of security
checks at nights, skipping lunches, elaborate dinners, and the smell of baking that he was starting to associate with her. He was pleased with himself; he was making progress. She didn’t mind having him around all the time, she would ask him to help with the cooking and some chores. He didn’t get her fussy habit of washing and cleaning all the time though – but it made her happy, and that somehow made him feel content. James would drop by, a few times, and try as he may, he couldn’t hide his disapproval of the way she was letting Richard in. He had started to feel that maybe, only he had the courage to stand within a radius of a mile and not be browbeaten into pulp by her withering looks. But in an inexplicable way, she seemed more human with Rick around – even though she was complaining about him most of the times.

Brooke didn’t exactly want
to dwell on what was happening to her surroundings – she was letting in a total stranger into her innermost functions, she let him help her out occasionally, and she sometimes would even forget what she divulged in front of him. It wasn’t his fault entirely, but it was his meticulous and careless manner of interaction, that were breaking down her walls, even though she was far from realizing that.

Richard never let her see what he was after – he abhorred how he fished for information, but then he was drawn in unconsciously into her life. He wanted to know more of how she spent her days with Paul, how she never felt
anything had been out of place, till the day the news splashed with Paul’s face as the suspect of the crimes. But he couldn’t ask all that directly, not without spooking her. She looked so broken when she spoke of her mother, even though she never spared a single moment for her daughter.

“She was sick – so sick all the time! And dad was never there for her, he would make me pancakes, but only go in her room once a day! And I would quietly snuggle up
to her when she was sleeping!” She looked away. Brooke hated crying in front of people. Richard had the sense to declare that he wanted to fetch some cupcakes then.

“I wondered why my father didn’t
love her the way I’d seen others’ parents..!” Richard stopped short in his way. How long had she known of what her father harboured in him for her? She burst out in a cynical laughter and went into the kitchen. That was her refuge whenever she fell short of words. Laughter. The cruelty in her mirth made his heart ache. And so, he was satisfied to know how she felt and still feels towards Paul. He couldn’t believe it when she said that she still cared somehow – but then who would deny that to a father.

“He is in prison, you know!” Brooke managed with some difficulty, but she couldn’t stop herself. She dreaded the next question, which Rick conveniently didn’t ask. Not like he needed to know why, but just th
e fact that she could accept it, and say it out loud to him, was enough. For now. He just nodded and looked out at the porch with the receding sunlight and strange shadows hovering on it.  He wondered if she could ever rid herself of the past demons, but then, it was a herculean task, and he certainly wouldn’t know about it. Brooke was simply too relieved to not answer any further. It was a scary proposition – going back to her past, she had avoided it for so long, with barriers, moats and nightmares to block her way back. But it was getting less complicated now, with his help. Brooke thought if Rick knew about his therapeutic intervention, but it was probably for the best that she didn’t have to explain. He’d just be there, unknowingly, and she could revisit some of her dark days without being asphyxiated and come back whenever she couldn’t deal anymore. She was using him as the last straw, latching herself onto his sudden questions to resurface when she was drowning in the past.

The early morning sun in the woods had a muted beauty to it, which Richard had come to like. He would lie down for hours gazing out through his window at the forest waking up fresh and newly baked to the warm fuzzy sunlight. It was somehow rejuvenating. He walked out to the porch to find Brooke feeding the squirrels. Who would’ve thought, she liked chipmunks as in fairy tales?

“They are squirrels – don’t call them chipmunks like I’m Rapunzel or something!!”

Richard laughed, and carried the newspaper in. It was so easy to rile her, and tease her. He dug into the toast kept for him on the counter. It was rather easy to detach yourself from the outer world here. He glanced over at Brooke – the picture looked so complete and serene. The porch, the armchair, Brooke bent over the stairs with the squirrels around her. She really did look like Rapunzel, and he shuddered to think of how he’d be assaulted if he were to tell her that. She looked so at peace, so different from the person paranoid about locks and weapons. He couldn’t stop himself from wishing he could freeze her forever in this frame, protected from Paul and his evil, save her from the nightmares that still kept her awake half the nights. He could hear her thrashing about in her bed, or her quiet footsteps to the hallway where she’d sit wide awake for the rest of the night. He didn’t know if his presence was any help at all, but he wished he could, and he wished he wouldn’t be so drawn at wanting to be her hero, as that he was definitely not. He failed, he hurt and he didn’t care enough. And he couldn’t afford to hurt her any more than she already was. It would be unfair to her. He was older, and she would never see him in any other light, not even if she knew he had unknowingly saved her all those years back, if that could be called saving at all. She didn’t need the baggage that he came with, much of it caused by the same person that tormented her soul. And he resented the fact. She deserved the white horse dream. Dreams that came along with guys like James. He couldn’t believe he was actually feeling jealous of him, and of the fact that he could help out Brooke in proportions that Richard never could. He sighed and went back to the news.

He hated lo
sing to Manchester. He was already grumbling when he reached the third page, and his phone buzzed. He didn’t like the name that the caller ID showed him. He shuffled towards his room and closed the door. He cleared his throat and his head before answering Ronan Cook.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Hey Ronan, it’s nice to hear from you too!”

“Do not, at this point mess with me Rick! Where are you?”

“Vacationing!”

“Your
whole bloody life is a vacation… You don’t need one! Location, Rick, and I don’t want to repeat myself”

“Don’t want to be disturbed Ronan! Researching for my new book.”

Something underlying in Ronan’s tone made him uncomfortable. He was milder or dryer, but never agitated. He couldn’t ask whether raising more doubts. He was pretty sure his lame excuse didn’t work in any case. He just hoped he wouldn’t come down with the entire force to Applecross. He went back to the newspaper, still deep in thought. Ronan had been abrupt before, but never cryptic. That’s when he noticed an article in the global section.

“Infamous serial killer shifted to medical ward after a major cardiac arrest.”

So this is what freaked Cook out. But he’d be heavily guarded in the hospital too. Yet he couldn’t help but think that this could be staged by Paul too. Brooke was in immediate danger. He hoped with every fibre in him that Paul is guarded in a way that makes it impossible to escape even for a leak. He had to make sure this article doesn’t reach Brooke. She’d go into panic mode, or god knows how badly she would cope with this. He hid the newspaper in his room and went back to help her with lunch.

They had entered a routine where he fetched most of the groceries to save her the atrocity of visiting the town. He let her visit James though, he wanted her to have some social life, other than a nutcase writer who might leave in a few days and Martha.
Let her? Who was he kidding? Even today at the stores, all he could think of was Paul and the fact that he was shifted to the top medical ward near the prison. He read and re read the article, called up his contact at AFP, who after a string of abuses relented and assured him that the highest priority task force was assigned to Paul’s custody and nothing could escape from there. Richard just couldn’t shake off the prickling sensation that something wasn’t right. He was itching to go back to make sure Brooke was okay. He didn’t mind that he’d got lettuce instead of beans and forgotten milk altogether.

Richard had just set the paper bags down on the counter, and fetched a glass of water, when he noticed Brooke was in his room. He threw away the glass and rushed to his room; only to find Brooke clutching the newspaper, and frozen like a statue.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Richard muttered under his breath as he slowly approached Brooke. She didn’t seem to notice him, she seemed to be in a different dimension, immobile and solid. He pried the paper away from her hands, all the while looking at her anxiously for any sign of life. At long last, her dazed eyes focused on him, and Brooke awoke to the sound of Richard’s husky voice calling out to her.

He threw away the newspaper, and filled in a glass with water for her. He was uncertain, so unsure what her reaction would be. No sooner had he filled the glass, than he noticed Brooke taking in deep breaths. He ran to her with a paper bag.

“Breath in it, slowly!”

Brooke was too numb to register anything – her legs felt like jelly. She graciously accepted the bag and did as she was told. The only thing helping her up was Rick’s arms around her, and his solid form supporting her from the back. And then suddenly, it was all too much, and she couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She could vaguely make out Rick’s voice trying to reach her mind, her soul, but she was scared, scared beyond words, beyond redemption. She was scared as she could sense those dark clouds rolling back in on her, those iron chambers gradually forcing her inside the dark room again. She started convulsing as Richard tried his best to maintain his hold on her. He gently nudged her down on the bed and forced her to lie down. But she just wouldn’t stop shaking. She had clutched fistful of his shirt in her hands and wouldn’t let go, and it was becoming rather uncomfortable in that awkward pose for him to help her at all. He was at his wit’s end as to what he could do to shake her out of her nightmare. He tried talking to her, but he was sure none of it was reaching her. He fished for Valium in her bedside table, all the while trying to reach her unfocused mind somehow. It was physically painful to see her thrash about in panic and fear and not do anything about it. God knew how badly he wanted to dive into her past and bring her back – he could stand a disgruntled Brooke, annoyed, angered, sad and nonchalant Brooke, but not version of the Brooke shattered and torn with fear that lay shaking incessantly.

“Look at me, damn it… Brooke, look at me, snap out of it!”

But she was miles away and he was losing her rapidly to those shadows that he himself was scared of. He bent closer to her and whispered – years of fervent attachment that he owed to her, and the lurking nightmare of losing her to Paul. He didn’t know for how long he kept talking, but he was so close, that he could make out the rivulets of her tears on her cheeks, the residual drops on her lashes, and every tremor in her lips. He wasn’t the hero, and she didn’t need him, in any way. He knew that
he
needed her – for his redemption, his purpose, and his escape from the clutches of
his
bad dreams. He held her face and gently brushed his lips against hers. He was taken aback by the ferocity of her response. She grabbed onto his shirt and pulled in closer to her to deepen the kiss.

Brooke was drowning.
It was as if the air supply had been cut off from all directions, and she could slowly feel the darkness take over. She was trying so hard to fight against those restrains, screamed to no avail. But she was so alone, and from far off, she could sense the stalking monster. She had to find the door, she had to escape, except she just couldn’t move. Until, she felt a sliver of light fall on her, as gradual wisps of a warm breeze beckoned her. She didn’t think twice, after what felt like ages of fumbling about in the dark, she ran headfirst towards the light. When she finally woke up, she felt Rick’s lips on her, his fervent motions slow and steady on hers, and his strong arms around her. He must have kissed her to make her snap out of the seizure or whatever she was in. But she didn’t want to stop. It felt like heaven, safe and secure and comfortable to have him kiss away her fears and revive her from the darkest pits.

At long last, Richard released her, and gazed steadily into her never ending blue irises. She was steadying herself, trying hard to level her breathing, either from the kiss or from the episode earlier. He was shaken too. And his heart beat had risen to a crescendo. She still had that scared wild look, and wouldn’t let him go. He reached out and stroked her hair.

“Shh! It’s ok…”

“Rick! Its’... I… “

“I know… It’s ok. No one will hurt you. I promise, no one will hurt you anymore!”

She rested her head on his chest, and he felt her breathing in slowly. Brooke was confused, how would he know, how could he promise, but more than that, she was washed with relief to have someone hold her and soothe out the painful memories. Richard forced down a tablet in her and put her to sleep. This was by far the worst breakdown that he’d seen, and he’d seen quite a few. He paced about in the hall. He needed to have regular updates if he wanted to
protect her. Ronan would simply shoot him, and come down here with his own force. AFP will certainly decline to be of any further assistance, they were already pretty annoyed with him. He thought of making some dinner as a distraction, but failed miserably as he kept dropping stuff or chopping the wrong vegetables. He knew he had to contact Ronan back for any further development, he’d brace himself and take in any shit he gives, as long as Brooke was safe. He thought of checking in on Brooke when a muffled scream caught his attention. He ran in to find Brooke was up and screaming. He crossed the room in leaps and simply caged her in his arms. She was trembling all over, and was wet with sweat.

“I hear them screaming, all of them… and they stare at me with dead eyes and their hair twist around my ankles and arms!” She sobbed furiously. “And then he just burns them all up in front me, but their eyes never leave me…”

He didn’t know what to do. What could he do to calm her down? He rocked her gently and held her close and let her talk into his arms. She talked on incessantly about Paul and that he was reaching out to her, he would find her. All the while, he snaked his fingers through her hair and whispered promises he knew he couldn’t keep. He pulled off the covers and tucked her inside. Brooke held on to his collars as if she knew letting it go would mean forgoing the iota of sanity in her life at that moment. She could feel his t shirt drenched in her tears, but he didn’t bother to disengage her from his arms. As if all this while, he just appeared and knew exactly what she wanted. It took all the strength to overcome her pride, her years of restraint, self-dependence to try and reach out to him – she would never ask for help, leave alone accepting that she was in dire need of anything that Rick would give.

“Don’t go…” she couldn’t meet his eyes, he had seen her hit rock bottom, and was still standing beside her with not one ounce of pity in his demeanour.

“Brooke... Just sleep. We will see this through tomorrow!”

“
Be with me!” and with a heavy sigh and a very long pause, she looked up, “I don’t want to be alone tonight!”

Richard knew at what cost she drove herself to ask for help, to reconcile with the fact that she couldn’t confront this alone. There was nothing sexual, nothing arousing in her request. It was simple and it destroyed all the peace in his heart. At that moment, he would have laid down his life to lessen her pain. Was it love? Was it mere attraction? Was it that lurking sense of duty that made him feel this way? It was too late in any case. He wouldn’t give a second’s thought to wipe away that fear from her soul. He just quietly slid inside the covers beside her, and let her hold on. It was no good to his senses, not to his memory that brought back the feel of her skin on his hands, and the caress of her hair, it wasn’t healthy for his confused and distraught feelings – but all of it faded into a dim noise at the back of his head as he let her sleep on his arms through the turbulent night.

The burning heat woke Brooke up, scared that she was in flames. It took her a while to adjust her eyes to the bright light pouring in through the open windows. A flirting breeze helped her steady her breath, as last night’s memories came crashing back. She was mortified to face Rick, unsure of what he would be thinking of the needy version he witnessed. She was still unsettled by the news of Paul’s heart attack. She tiptoed to the kitchen to the smell of fresh coffee, and Rick sitting on the porch.

“They seem to like eating from
just your hands!” Richard turned around and gave her that easy smile, one which reassured her that she needn’t explain anything at all. She smiled and sat beside him. She scattered the bread crumbs and basked in the silence of the woods. She could sense Rick’s concern like heat waves colliding against her. She didn’t want to answer. Not just yet. She was bothered and relieved at the same time that he asked nothing about her breakdown. Any normal man would want to know. Did she have to thank for what he did last night? Amidst all the fleeting sensation of panic, she eventually could drift off to a quiet sleep. And she had to thank him for that. It was refreshing, to not worry, to stall the crazy fear somewhere in a dark corner and fret on different issues. Richard drank in her, every inch, as she sat beside her in complete silence, obviously deciding on how to break the ice between them. He didn’t want to help this time, she had to. He wanted her to break apart and let him in. He’d earned that much, right? So he let her fish around in her abyss quietly. He stood and brushed his trousers.