The Runaway (13 page)

It was all about the right time and day now, he thought, as he fondly recalled Brooke. She must be so beautiful now. A little older than he would have liked, but then he would treat his properties just as well, no matter it’s state. He looked around at the multiple armed guards, and locked doors. He would need a miracle yes. But then Brooke’s arrival was like a miracle too, that opened his eyes to the world outside. And then he also had to settle scores. He was indebted to that brat. He owed his second chance to him. He would make sure he understands the consequences of getting in his way. But he wouldn’t be side tracked this time. This time he could feel it in his bones that he would succeed. All those girls were never going to qualify as substituted for his apple.  He was disappointed that she had betrayed too, she shouldn’t have abandoned him. They were happy together in their little home. She needed reminding of what it meant to be family, and what it meant to be loved so unconditionally. He could move heaven and earth to find her. Love makes you do that, doesn’t it?

The morning was crisp and clear, fresh out of laundry, with the smell of previous night’s rain washed earth and trees still hanging in the air. It was one of those lazy mornings that is meant to be wasted in doing absolutely nothing. Before leaving the bed, he mentally made a note of where to hide today to avoid getting in Brooke’s way in anyway. He did need to check in on her though, before he left. She should be still asleep this early in the morning. He checked the table clock ticking away noisily beside his bed. 9:30 A.M. Shit! He had no clue he had slept in so late, and he was sure Brooke would be up and about by now.

He softly passed her room and to the kitchen. He noticed the cottage was empty –no Brooke anywhere. He immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and was almost halfway through dialling Cook, when he saw a little note by the coffee pot.

“Out all day. Will not kill myself.”

That girl! He was still not sure to whether declare the freaking note as funny or scary. It, however, did stall the danger sirens blaring in his head. Well, she resorted to the same tactics as he had. He wondered how long they could keep this avoiding business up. At one point or the other they would need to face each other. With the whole house to himself, he went back to his usual plan of doing nothing. He fidgeted with the TV and news for some time, eventually settling down with a book. He somehow managed cold sandwiches for lunch, and went back to reading. He was highly impressed by the diverse collection she had with her. He didn’t realise when the cool evening breeze and the soft chirping outside made him drowsy enough to drift off into a pleasant slumber.

It was the red from the sun spreading into the horizon, seeping into its crevices to make it a bloody mess. Or he was too dazed to notice what was around him. The forest was too dense for him to look for a way out. The bloody red haze seemed to continually spread across him, and he was losing sight of the faraway sun sinking in slowly in the depths of his soul. He didn’t know how he got there, and he couldn’t find anywhere around. He shouted for Brooke a few times, even James, Eve – but it was dead quiet everywhere. He walked through the murky woods, stumbling on rocks and dead shrubs till he reached a big heavy mass stretched right across his path. He nudged it with his foot. To his horror, he found James’ dead eyes staring back at him. He fell back. When he got back on his feet, he was horrified to find dead bodies surrounding him – Eve, Brooke, Cook and everyone he knew. This couldn’t be right. They were all alive and well. He knew that. Right? He shouted all their names again – as the echoes bounced off their lifeless bodies. A starless night rolled in, as he gradually lost sight of their corpses. He ran blindly, grabbing at the thick darkness to find his way back.

He didn’t realise where the dream ended and when he woke up – drenched in cold sweat, and trembling all over. It was real. Dead real. He had never been this close to a cardiac attack. He steadied his breath, and walked to the kitchen to refill his jug with water. He checked the time. 9:00 P.M… it was good that it was late and he didn’t have to face Brooke. He fetched some of the sandwiches he had for lunch and decided to turn in for the day. The heat from the fireplace was stifling him. He needed his bed to calm down his nerves. He listened intently to pick up any sound from the adjoining room. Brooke normally didn’t sleep off this early – so why was the room so quiet? His heart thumped loudly, and his ears were ringing. The goose bumps from the dream hadn’t subsided yet either. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if Brooke had come back. Bracing for the truth, he ambled up to her room, and peered in. Empty bed. Empty chair. Laptop closed. Light turned off. She wasn’t back. More than 12 hours had passed since she had left. What could keep her away for such a long duration? It was pretty late to traverse the breadth of the forest to reach the town – and she wouldn’t risk travelling alone either. He panicked. The dream wasn’t helping him to not over react either. He walked out in his pyjamas and kept shouting out her name, over and over again. The blood and the bodies kept replaying themselves in his head.  He was clueless about what to do – he could call in the sheriff, or Cook. He’d be murdered by both, but who cares? He went back in to check the phone – the line seemed dead. He recalled the tree falling on the telephone lines a few days back, and thus connections would be down for some time. His mobile didn’t have Hardy’s number, and he didn’t want to straightaway call Cook.

He paced the hallway, sweating and wringing his hands. He just couldn’t keep those visions away from his head. He checked the time again. 11 o’clock. He ran his hands through his hair and fell into the couch.

“God! I don’t even know how to panic!!!”

“Do you have some food leftover?”

“Yeah! In the fridge…”

Richard stopped short. It took him a few minutes to realise it was Brooke standing by the door, and shaking off the rain from her hair. She looked stunning, and nothing had sounded so much sweeter to him in his entire existence. He ran to her and lifted her off the ground in a huge bear hug.

Brooke didn’t have time to realise before she was crushed in his arms, and her breath was cut short. She was flush against his hard muscled chest, and she had never felt safer, and at home. She locked her arms around his neck and wished there was no world outside of this moment. She could breathe in his cologne, and sweat, and just be there forever, to not worry about Paul, those girls, the death and her curse.

Richard
hadn’t known what relief meant till the moment he saw Brooke by the door – he had never known to have lost and found something close to his heart all on the same day. He didn’t even care if Brooke would be repulsed by his physical reaction and proximity. He was just so happy to know she was safe and alive and wet from the light rains outside or whatever, but alive. She smelled like the forest, fresh and of pine trees. It was when she stepped back from him, he realised he was about to kiss her. Changing his stance, he shifted, and offered her a cup of coffee. She shrugged off.

“Go to bed. We can talk later.”

Silence.

She didn’t like the silence between them, like thick custard, impenetrable and immobile. She knew she would give in. To anything that would happen after the kiss. But she didn’t want to go. Not to bed. She wanted to bask in the safe haven. But then he’d know how much she needed him. And then he’d just not be there one day. She didn’t want to cry. Not show him any more weaknesses in her. He knew all the chinks in her armour. But they wouldn’t stop. The tears wouldn’t stop.

It was so mercilessly cruel – on her and himself – to see her cry and restrain himself from doing anything about it. She had come to lean on him, and he didn’t want that. But he didn’t want to desert her… Not when she has been alone all this while. It was tearing him apart. How do you handle all this, he had no idea. He just wanted to be done with it. He reached out and wiped one of those tear drops away. All the nerves in his end screamed at him to stop. As there was no looking back from there. She didn’t look up. Richard could see the same thoughts crossing her mind, the qualm. The warmth from his hands stung her cold skin, and radiated throughout from where he had touched. She put her hands on his’ and let out a small sigh. The whirlwind stopped in her mind, and it reached a calm, the sort she looked around for crazily. Would it matter that he would leave in a few days? No. But she would never feel this way. So sane. Richard took a small step forward and tilted her head towards him. He glanced at her long lashes, and full lips. He knew this was wrong. But at that moment, there was nothing that could soothe him more, make him more alive.

A distant ring broke their reverie. He jerked off his hand away from her face, cursing at his mobile phone. Without so much as a glance at the voice message he received, he pressed the button.

It was from Natasha.

“Richard, where are you? Did you get Paul’s daughter? I’m worried sick, and you don’t return calls. The house is driving me nuts, get the facts from her and give the damned manuscript now! You know a lot already, you just need the finer details. Don’t play with her too much”

Richard tried to delete the message before it was played fully. Brooke slapped his hand away, and looked at his mobile intently. Richard glanced at her. Something was wrong about the way she looked – it was as if the temperature had dropped to sub-zero, and there was a tinge of blue in her skin. There was no emotions in the blue cores of her eyes, which had turned into the ice cold hue like those he could recall from the first time he had met, as she simply watched his phone in silence. After the message had played, she picked the phone and replayed it. And then again. Until, Richard had snatched it away from her hands and threw it on the floor.

Brooke stepped back instinctively. It felt as if the past moments and all those times of sanity with Richard had never happened. Of course she was a project. Wasn’t she one to the Yard too? Or the police? Why would anyone healthy have any other sort of
normal interest in her? Didn’t she know that this day would’ve dawned eventually? What she didn’t understand was that she was actually hurting, she actually wanted to cry and bawl once she was alone, and that she had actually wanted to trust Rick… Richard was it?

Richard was torn inside, raw at what he saw on her face. He would have welcomed hurt, anger, disgust – something that would convey that this hurt her. He wanted to know this hurt her, because he wanted to know that he mattered. He didn’t expect her to just turn around and walk away. He was flabbergasted. He wanted her to slap
him right across his face for the betrayal, and the fact that he hid all along his knowledge of her history and about Paul. He almost prayed that she would. Scream. Break things. Break his bones. His jaws. Something. Didn’t he deserve an ounce of her hate, if not love? Was he one of those nameless people that she encountered and hated anyway? He watched her walk away from him, trudge along and close the door shut. Even that was so normal – no banging the door shut, no sounds her anger or hurt from the inside. It was as if nothing happened at all. The slate was wiped clean in that one instant.

Ahh! At last the window is open. He could see the sliver of hope that was just within his grasp. He just needed to calculate and wait a little more and he knew he’d taste freedom. As the machines beside him beeped to keep his pulse steady, he wasn’t sure what had happened in the prison. He knew the cocaine overdose would do him no good, but he had to get out. He had achieved better amenities with his so called good behaviour. He had to. How could he let Richard rest in peace, as he had to rot away in a corner? He couldn’t be outsmarted by that fumbling piece of shit. How dare he enter his Brooke’s room? He had to pay. He would find out where he lived and would make him remember every day of the year. He recalled researching Richard on the net, and imagine his surprise, when he learned he was none other than the famous author himself. He was only too flattered by his interest. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to write a book on him perhaps.

It was time. He thought. To claim what was his. Pay back. His patience would soon be rewarded.

Richard couldn’t sleep much. He kept seeing Brooke’s phlegmatic face in his mind – he couldn’t wrap around the idea of her desolation. How could she just leave? He knew she was hurting, he knew she was affected by what she heard. But he was mad, mad like hell that she bottled it up in her. He couldn’t stand that she chose to resort to her stoic silence over trusting the bond they shared. It shut off all means to reach her, to apologise, to get things back on track. He got off his bed, and hovered in front of the closed doors in her room. He could her hear rhythmic breathing. What the hell? She was even sleeping peacefully after what happened. The nerve of her! Half his mind told him to smash open the door and shake her hard till she got her senses back. Of course she isn’t this nonchalant, or this reticent. She
felt
emotions like every other human. But if she went back to her shell again, he wasn’t sure if he or anyone else could bring her back. Ever. Hours went by, and the door remain closed, even though Richard hadn’t slept a wink. He was losing hope – of not just making peace with her, he was losing hope that she would ever return from the invisible shell again. He rested his head on his knees. He knew his blunder – he understood the consequences. All her life, she couldn’t trust anyone – people who should have protected her from the world, hurt her and made her a fugitive for the rest of her life. And then he pried open that forbidden door and all he did after that was break her trust.

It was easy, he laughed, as he donned the borrowed jacket from the janitor. They wouldn’t even realise that the bed was empty besides crumpled sheets and pillows. He almost felt the exhilaration coursing through him as he smashed the nurse’s head on the door, and stole the janitor’s clothes. Age old trick. Use the time when the shift changes. He had waited and studied how the guards changed their shifts and who functioned how. It didn’t take long to realise who the weak link was. He had to sail off to London today. Knowing how obsessive Richard was, almost as much as he
himself, he thought furtively, he would surely try and locate Brooke. All he had to do was track Richard to know about her. As he stepped onto the familiar streets bustling with people, he recalled his last time here – stuck in the traffic in the back of a police wagon. He looked around casually at the worthless people around him – who are still in search of the purpose in their lives. He knew they were stupid. He had defined his purpose. And he wouldn’t give up until he had attained it, no matter the obstacles. He revved up the engine of the stolen care, when he heard the uproar in the hospital. Stupid slow humans. It took them almost half an hour to realise the top security prisoner had escaped. He chuckled, and set off towards the port.

Brooke sat across Richard who was obliviously dozing in front of her door. She couldn’t think of what had drawn her to him. He would obviously be the same
like other selfish people. Some book, he was writing, the woman said? Yes! Some book she would be. And she wondered if the woman was something more to him. She didn’t understand the flames that licked her soul at that thought, but she repressed it. What mattered now, was to help him get his job done and make him leave. Like she should have done weeks ago.  She prodded him to wake him up. He wouldn’t respond even after rigorously prodding him for ten minutes. Brooke sighed and quietly touched his forehead with hers. Richard stirred and woke up and she jerked back. He sat wide awake and blinked at her blankly. She avoided his eyes and walked towards the kitchen. He followed her and sat behind the counter, closely following her with his eyes. Her cool was unnerving him, and he had to all he could to rein in his anger at the treatment that she meted out to him. At long last, she sat with a cup of tea, just across him and yawned. She placed a notebook and a pen in front of him.

“Write this down. There are chunks of information that you might not recall later!”

“What ..?”

Brooke raised her hand to stop him. And plunged on mechanically.

“Paul Jefferson, parents, I didn’t know very well. Though he did miss his mother. She was very weak. Apparently couldn’t save him from being abused by the stepfather. Not clear there…”

“Brooke!”

“So, he loved pancakes by the way. I’m sure you know the hard facts – you are probably fishing for the man beneath the mass murderer.”

Richard tried to stand up, but Brooke jumped back a step, which made it very clear to him that she wanted him to be at a distance. He didn’t blame her. But her flat tone was freaking him out. He didn’t want to know about Paul. He wanted to know that she was angry, was mad at him, but
if she would just hold him and cry, he would do everything to gain her trust back. But the empty shell, and the hollow eyes scared him. It was almost as if she didn’t even register his presence as she relayed her story.

“He would make pancakes on my birthday, and would tell me it was his mother’s recipe. Mom was hidden from everyone – no one knew she was alive until after the police were after him. I don’t think he did not love her. I think she stopped satisfying him. He would feed her, and occasionally even sit by her. But nothing more. I was everything, but all my world was confided within the house.
He thought he could lock me forever.”

Brooke paused. She had never forayed into this part of her life. She felt marginally better. It would be good to shed off memories of Paul and Richard both. She took in a long breath. She didn’t want to look at Rick, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to continue if she did.

“As I turned 18, he lavishly spent all his attention on me – but then there were days that I wouldn’t even see him. That’s when I met Selena. She was like everything that I wanted to be, prom queen and all. And yet she was my friend. It was one of her secret parties that I’d sneaked off to. There was a guy, Nate, I think, who had come to drop me off. I was so excited that I’d be kissed for the first time. But I cannot forget dad’s anger that day. He was close to almost murdering Nate, and all I thought was damn, he is so protective of me. He realised that I might just get away from him. It was just 2 days after that Selena died. Killed.”

Yes. He knew the trigger. The killings started a few months after her eighteenth birthday. He didn’t know the real reason, and though she was pouring her heart out which was exactly why he had come to Applecross, that wasn’t the thought in his mind then.

“Brooke… Please listen to me!”

But she didn’t. She didn’t even turn toward him

“School was banned. I was grounded for life. And I didn’t know why. I would sit alone in my room and stare outside, hoping in my warped world, that the prince would come for his Rapunzel. I laugh at myself now. I was so stupid and blind. I was worried that girls were dying all around, and dad locked me up to protect me. Little did I know that the monster was sleeping right next door.”

She was quiet. Lost somewhere. It was intriguing. Richard did want to know more. Even though her demeanour made him uncomfortable.

“Brooke... Did he ever hurt you?”

Because, he knew he would kill the man if he ever had laid a finger on her. He would never rest until he hunted him down and make him pay for what he had done to damage her.

“I’m not damaged. Worried are you? I am ruined. There’s no fixing!”

Was that a spark of anger that flickered in her ocean blue eyes, malice in her voice? The deep disdain was hard to miss. But if it was, it was only momentary – as she resumed her stone cold stance.

“He didn’t physically hurt me no. Come to think of it, I think he considered me sacred. What Wattson told me distorted all the memories of his touch into something putrid and vulgar. I was robbed of the genuine fatherly memories I had too. Wattson told me he imagined cutting and slicing me every time he hurt those girls. Is it true?” Brooke paused. Richard didn’t know what to offer except the truth. He nodded. He knew the weight of the knowledge – he knew her, she wouldn’t mind dying each time they were tortured in her name. He could almost touch her tired shoulders as they sagged under the weight of his answer. It took a lot of restrain on his behalf to not simply envelope her in his arms and force her to take refuge in him. She wouldn’t have appreciated that. She was too proud, hurt and stubborn. Her lashes came down, and after a few pregnant moments they went back up as if nothing had happened.

“There was just this one night that sealed my doubts
on him. Just before he vanished to avoid being caught. I was forbidden to watch the TV, so, I didn’t know that he was being hunted.

I woke up, as I was cold. And a window was open. I got off the bed and closed the window. When I turned around, I saw him standing and staring at me. There was something eerie and perverted about the way he was looking at me. Didn’t realise then, of course. But it was scary. And he wouldn’t move from his spot.”

Richard knew that it was the same night that Paul had run away from his home, as the silent night was pierced with the sirens of the police cars that surrounded the house, and Brooke was taken into protective custody. He wished he could reach out and comfort her. But she would reject it. Clean slate. Start from scratch. Brooke turned to face him, steely eyes, hiding the storm behind those ocean veils. No one would know how the world ended for her that night. No one could even begin to fathom what it felt to have everything you believed to come crashing down in one instant – everything that made your life as you saw it. Parent’s love? Till that moment, no matter how it was, she felt resplendent in her father’s adoration. But it turned out to be something so polluted, that every time she is reminded of it bile rises to her throat. She blamed herself for the death of all those girls, when she was just 18, she had to curse the way she looked – it not only reminded her why those girls died, it reminded her of each of those girls and how they would have looked had they lived. She blamed herself for her mother’s death, slow and gradual decay that she was subjected to. She cursed the very day she was born. All in that moment in a cold cabin of the local police station. She couldn’t even piece those jigsaws to put her life back together. And it had been so for the past 6 years – look at those broken pieces and run away. Again and again. Till there was no corner left to hide.

She didn’t realise Richard was standing just behind her, until she felt his cool breath on her neck.
She was shocked, immediately flinched away from his touch. She wasn’t soothed, she wasn’t thrilled, and she was simply electrocuted by that seemingly alien sensation. Richard let his hand hang in the air for few seconds before finally withdrawing it. He would never forget her adverse reaction to his touch. He knew he was lost- from her world. He walked back to his seat and sat motionlessly. He didn’t want to look at her either. He didn’t want her continuing her story. He didn’t want to. He could never write about her anymore, without sustaining grievous pain from somewhere deep within. Would she even notice him walking away?

Brooke was lost in her thoughts, in her memory lane, if it can be termed so. There were no memories after that. Just a multitude of lanes, empty roads, faceless people passing by, nameless homes flashing by, and all she did was search for something
elusive among those momentary flashes of life. Or just look at the mirage called life dance around her, touching others in ways she could never imagine would happen to her. She couldn’t stay in Australia anymore – every corner she ran to reminded her of the horrors that people had to go through because of her. She left behind a trail of burnt memories and broken mirrors everywhere. Auckland. Caribbean. Vienna. Ireland. Applecross. In just 6 years. She moved a dozen houses in each of the places, looked at a thousand people not noticing her slinking away, fading away with time. In just 24 years of being alive. Until Rick. Richard. But then that illusion melted away too. And now she was again in the nights, alone in those haunted woods of her memoirs. She didn’t want to be found. Who would want her back anyways? No home to go back either.

The sun had risen, and set on the beautiful horizon
of varying hues. It was like in one of those movies, where you fast forward the day in a few moments, while you are all but standing by the window, watching you entire life flash by in your mind’s eyes. The unusual silence in that small cottage stifled Richard. He hated the squeaking floorboards, which seemed to somehow interfere with the serene Brooke by the window. He knew she was far from calm, but she was so peaceful, so quiet. And he was too bound to be of any use. It was choking him from the inside. He had to leave. Go as far as he could from her. All he did was remind her of her horrid past, and open all her wounds of mistrust and betrayal. Would she think differently if she knew that he had saved her all those years ago? Hardly. He didn’t want to abuse that memory either. It wasn’t a very happy night for either of them. Was it just a few hours ago that all he was deliberating being with her. He felt so small. With a last fleeting glance at her, he quietly packed his stuff into his oversized back pack. He didn’t have much stuff with him. He found out about the travel schedule from his agent. He had left his car at Martha’s. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d say goodbye to all the people here. Martha and James definitely deserved it. But he just couldn’t face them. He couldn’t tell them he was running away from his responsibility, abandoning her after his work was done. Just when she might need him the most. They wouldn’t let him leave. He wrote a short letter to Martha, that he would drop in her mail box. James would just punch him, he was sure. A letter was too dramatic. He wanted to leave as the good guy, if not as the good man. He hauled the bag on his back, and waited for Brooke to face him. Just once. He didn’t mind forever with her, if the case maybe. But it wouldn’t. Not with them. But the cold she radiated seeped into his skin and left him soggy, wet from the despair. She wouldn’t budge. He wanted to look into her deep, churning ocean blue eyes again. For that last time.