The Runaway (15 page)

He sped by the countryside and through the woods to reach her cottage directly. He almost cried in joy when he noticed it was locked with no sign of anyone inside it. He fished out the gas canister and poured kerosene on the wooden cottage generously. He wasn’t afraid of setting the woods on fire, too much rain and frost dampened all the wood around. It
would take ages for them to be catch on the fire. He flicked his lighter at the house and stood, watching silently, as every memory of Brooke was demolished in front of his eyes. The essence, the laughter, her baking, her moods, all that burnt to ashes, and puffs of smoke, taking along with it the very existence of the woman he had come to love. He sneered to himself, even if Paul did find this place, he would find no clue to her whereabouts, or anything for him to preserve as a trophy. He ensured that no part of Brooke could be associated with him ever again. He glanced wistfully as the embers glistened and hissed as a light shower came pouring down on him. He was distracted by a strangled cry, as he turned to watch James kneel down in front of the now burnt down cottage. James looked up at him. He would never forget the hatred in his eyes. Well, he had erased the memories of the one place where he could come to remember her, the woman that he loved too. What could he say? Apologise? Nothing would make sense. Not without putting him in danger too. He briefly clasped his shoulders and started walking back to his car. The place had held happy memories. Of her sleeping, and reading and cooking. Of her breaking down in his arms, needing him and fighting with him. It was painful to walk away. It was hurting when he had to burn it down with his own hands. Nothing remained to physically remind him of the connection they shared. He sighed. He was almost surprised that he was able to make it to the town before Paul did. But then Paul enjoyed the chase. He was sure he just wanted to rattle him, and find about Brooke.

He couldn’t stop looking for her, no, Richard had to find her,
someday, certainly. He wouldn’t rest until he knew she was safe with him. No matter the dangers that threatened to strangle them both – she was right in reaching out to him. He could keep her safe. He would. He would have to measure and track Brooke carefully, ensuring throwing Paul off the scent at every corner. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered expect seeing her again. He could sense the predator somewhere around, taking in all. He could sense the exasperation at missing out on an easy opportunity, but he liked challenges. And Brooke’s departure just made the chase much more interesting to him. With a fleeting glance at the bent desolate figure of James, he knew he had lost a friend too. He hoped he could explain all the drama to him someday – he surely deserved to know. But today wasn’t the time or place for it. He drove away.

He didn’t like that Brooke got away. He was complacent
in thinking that the pretty boy author wouldn’t be in time to save her. But he wasn’t entirely disappointed. He scented a nice little chase. Run all you can Brooke, he thought to himself, knowing full well, it was only a matter of days now that she would be in his grasp. All he would do is keep tabs on the foolish love sick Richard, and he would lead him to her doorstep. He would’ve liked to visit her abode thought. He was seething at the audacity of the man, who could discern rightly his intentions and made his move before him in burning down the home. A souvenir would have been nice indeed. You started the game, Rick. I’m going to see it through. What’s mine would remain mine, even if she is grown into a woman now. The inevitable was just within grasp – with the greedy villain getting the girl, and the tragic death of the heroic knight on the horse. He laughed. He saw the story in red in his eyes – and he was thirsty. The urge gnawing his insides. But he would wait to taste the nectar of his first capture –Brooke. And he would revel in breaking her down until she becomes his.

Melbourne, February, 2005

1 year, 9 months and 25 days, he thought, drawing himself out of a very long chain of memories. Memories he cherished of being with Brooke – of sharing good times. He kept a count. He had to know how much time he would have to make up for once he found her. Applecross. Her next stop had been Dublin, for just a couple of weeks. He was good at stalking. He had tracked her till Venice. But he just couldn’t reach in time. He was frustrated, scared, and exhausted. His heart ached every time he recalled the last time he had seen her. He thought she was lost to him. He thought she would never know how much she meant. She meant the world. He tried taming his unruly hair before the bus arrived. He had long given up on proper grooming. Dark shadows under his eyes, and a gaunt look on his face – Brooke had consumed all of his faculties.

It was not like he didn’t realise that he was being shadowed. But he had never had any physical proof – no one suspicious around him, no black tinted windows of anonymous cars trailing him. His house seemed untouched. And he took all the measure possible to erase any signs of him tracking Brooke. Yet, he could never shake off the feeling that Paul was catching up. He couldn’t be the reason again that Brooke was discovered by him. He was already why Brooke had to uproot herself from the place that almost felt like home to her. So he waited and watched. He was patient in his endeavours. He was sure he would find her. He had to. But not at any terrible price that she might have to pay. He wouldn’t back down from claiming what was his. She was his to protect. To love. And to cherish. Even if she didn’t have the guts to own up to that.

Ricky was clever all right. He hid all his tracks. But he didn’t have his cunning. He didn’t have his patience. He was too emotionally invested. He would fuck up. And that’s where Paul would plunge in. He just needed him to falter once. There were only so many places that she could hide.
Only so many corners that Rick could resort to hide his precious girlfriend. Rage boiled inside him with a ferocity that he wasn’t wont to, every time he thought of Brooke in his arms. He would chop his arms off. And make him watch as he broke down that insolent girl. Make him watch her wrench out Rick’s memories from her heart. And then make her kill him. Slowly. He chuckled at his daydreams. All in good time. He knew. He was more interested in the current phone call that Rick was attending to. His ears pricked up at the mention of his homeland. Ahh! Brookey! He needn’t hear any further. She was after all his blood, and would never deny the call of her blood. It would always call them back home. He smiled. Rick wouldn’t understand the significance of the information he had got just now. He did. The call of the blood he repeated to himself. He was coming home to her.

The slow breathing misted on the windowpanes against the stark dark city roads that flashed by. She drew smileys on them, recalling long forgotten threads of memories from a forlorn childhood. She would draw faces of happy families on the misted school bus windows, and then stare outside the whole time. Others would jump about, throw things, sing, flirt, try and hook up with the opposite sex. Some would snicker and point at her, and the others would whisper and look away. She wondered now what their reaction would have been then if they had already discovered who the rampant killer was. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing in that bus, as it was headed to where her nightmares take her every night. But she was tired. And if at all fate had decided her finality, it had to be where it all started. She wasn’t scared of dying. She wasn’t scared of Paul either. Not anymore. It would all end. The guilt, the shame, the dreams – all that would just end. She didn’t want to run anymore. She would worry that she wouldn’t be found. All the places that she halted after Applecross, she was afraid that Rick wouldn’t find her if she left. Or he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to her. It was almost two years now, and he hadn’t showed up. He didn’t find her. She didn’t dare hope beyond that, even if her gut screamed that he would. He always had. She would just need to be patient. No matter which corner she chose. But she knew she was running out of time. She didn’t want her father to find her before Rick could. So, Walhalla was her way of making it easy for him. And somewhere deep down, it was her way of making peace with the spectres of her turbulent past. So that she could confront those haunting memories and exorcise her mind of it. Did she know that Paul would surely visit his home? She guessed she did. A defiant part of her wanted to confront him too. She wasn’t planning to act valiant. She wanted a piece of what she had tasted in Applecross to be back in her life. That moment when your world stands still, and you are just alive. That dratted hope made her think of a tall, broad man with her, with steel arms around her, trapping her in a way that made her feel that he’d never let her go. Day dreams of a stupid girl. Except she knew how
that
felt in reality. She had lived a part of it.

The bus screeched to halt on the highway bus stand. She got down. Years of suppressed memories flooded in her being, suffocating her. She couldn’t stand. Couldn’t breathe. This was a bad idea, she thought. Steeling herself
, she walked slowly to the little place she had rented for herself. It wasn’t exactly in Cooper’s Creek. She couldn’t stand living there, and reliving all the horrors. The cottage needed work. Especially the garden. She liked the solitude, much similar to what she had in Applecross. The woods, the smell of grass and bark, and a lingering fragrance of the seasonal blossoms. The house was a small three room affair, with space enough for a garden. It was overgrown, wild even. But all she had was time on her hands. And anything that kept her mind off nightmares and hurting hopes, she’s take gladly. It was quite late in the night when she finished unpacking all her stuff. But sleep eluded her. It had pretty much eluded her since she had left Scotland. She sat on her porch and hummed a long forgotten tune that she had picked up on the way. She was certain she had heard it before. Images of dark, deep eyes and a sensuous mouth filled her mind, as she rested her head on an adjacent pillar. She could relive his touch even if time ended.

Time. The way it trickled away in tiny sand particles in an hour glass. As days passed by in crumbling hope and
sunlit dawns. With the sun baked tall trees swaying to the itchy cold evening breeze. With the wilting leaves coming back to life again. And with a tiny tiny part of her dying each day. She knew she shouldn’t wait for him. She knew Rick would only be in danger here. Yet she couldn’t stop hoping for the front gate to click open, and see him marching inside and stubbornly sitting at her kitchen table demanding coffee. The thought of his embrace still made her legs melt. She smiled. At least she would die knowing what weak in the knees meant. It was morbid. As she counted the hours to the inevitable moment when she knew her life would stop. Her blood scorched her veins, screaming that she should hide and be anywhere but here. But she had always been too stubborn. She needed this cat and mouse game to stop once and for all. Too many losses, too much time had passed to still carry around this burden. For both Richard and her. She knew Richard would hunt him down after she was gone. She was even pleased by it. But she didn’t want him to. He was an untainted spirit of life that needed to be out there, gifting people with what he did the best. Live.

However, that wasn’t her forte. She was best at making silence suffer with her burden. She was best at hiding and running away, and pushing past the horde of nameless faces to find that one secluded alcove and guard her heart.
It’s tiring. She realised. It took a tremendous toll on you. The constant struggle. She looked outside. Her lawns were overgrown. But she could see new blossoms appearing everywhere. Spring was almost gone. She wished Richard would have seen the spring time here with her. It’s lovely. And maybe the summer Christmas. But time was running out. Those sand particles flowed away steadily, diminishing the image of the faraway finish line in her eyes. She was amazed at how she wasn’t vexed with him anymore. She wasn’t usually the forgiving types. He had deliberately played with her trust – coaxed it out of her only to trample it and use it to suit his needs. But she couldn’t deny that he helped her. He witnessed her uglier versions and did not cringe away from her, didn’t pity her either. She didn’t miss him. Neither was she hoping to walk into the sunset with him. Those handful of moments that he made her feel alive were enough for her lifetime. She knew happy forevers were not her cup of tea. She was too ruined to be a happy wife to someone like him. Too scarred. It was almost like a physical thorn in her throat– her past. And she couldn’t risk it hurting others. The clear afternoon sun dazzled her, bathing the greenery in a peaceful amber glow. The rains from last night had left a lingering freshness to the surroundings. She tried her best to concentrate on the beauty around her, cursing the small voice inside her which refused to stop wishing that Richard finds her sooner than later. As soon as he could.

Somewhere on the same continent, Richard jerked awake from his deep sleep. He
had needed that rest. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Nor feeding himself properly, till he could locate Brooke’s whereabouts. He didn’t want to let her down again. It didn’t matter if she refused to see him at all, wouldn’t matter if she took days, months to forgive him. But he’d be around. To save her, for real, this time. No more hiding, running. She would be with him. The surprise call from Australia had unnerved him. He didn’t think Brooke would ever want to go back there. To the place that now haunted him equally as it did her. Would she walk into a trap? He couldn’t recall checking if he was followed that night. He normally made sure no one was around, and double checked for phone taps and eavesdroppers before taking any calls. But it made sense to him. Why she wanted to go back to square one. She wouldn’t be doing it alone. He would help her exorcise her demons. He would be with her, when she is finally free of the shadows. He would guide her to the path of sunlight. If only the dratted train moved a little faster. It was slow enough to let him take in the passing countryside, sparkling under a brighter sunlight. He could never imagine Christmas in summer. Even when she tried her best to explain, she would eventually give in and accept there was something about snow and Christmas. As the train chugged away gradually to a stop, Richard narrowed his eyes to take a better look at the dilapidated station he was in. With a few wooden benches and a small office, this was the nearest he could get to Cooper’s Creek. He wasn’t sure any mode of transport would take him up to Cooper’s Creek at this time. He walked a couple of miles before reaching a rundown manor of sorts. He was hungry, agitated and anxious. He didn’t bother to negotiate. Paying what he thought was too exorbitant a price for a toy car like they had, he poured over his map and bought some food. It would take just over a couple of hours to reach Walhalla. He hoped the toy car wouldn’t just die on the rocky highway leading to Walhalla. The roads were eerily familiar, jumping out at him, seemingly from a crime novel that he’d read, and not from his own memories. He wouldn’t bother to check in. He didn’t care if he had to drive through the entire town to find her, but he had to do that first. He wondered what she did all this time. How she felt coming back here. If she reached out to people she had known. Most of them would shun her. Crazy killer’s daughter. She was the reason their children were slaughtered. She was evil of course. He couldn’t imagine facing his fears in this manner. He couldn’t imagine facing them alone. He reached out for his bottle and drained away the last drops of water that it contained. He would need replenishment. And fast. Judging by the time he had already spent driving, he knew he wouldn’t be far away from his destination. He decided to pull over. The roads were flanked by dense woods on both the sides, wet grass crunched under his feet as he stretched himself. He wasn’t deterred by the forest, what could be more dangerous than Paul in any case. He locked his car and walked a few steps into the forest cover to exercise his numb legs.

He could smell the blossoms, a heady fragrance along with an earthy smell that filled his nostrils and almost choked him.
He pressed his temples, not sure if the heady smell was making him feel funny. He stopped and glanced at the curling dark smoke from just ahead of him. Surely no one would live in this wilderness. He walked ahead and found a cottage. Something familiar tugged at his heart, drew him closer to the stone cottage that reminded him of happier times. Then it struck him. The oasis that he had been looking for over stretches of desert, the moment that defines your life’s purpose. Amidst the epiphany he stared hungrily at the chocolate mane of hair that she tied in a ponytail and rubbed her eyes. The sunlight bounced off her exposed shoulders beneath a white tank top and almost made her look surreal. The distance between them seemed to materialise into a thick curtain of fear and hope. He couldn’t make himself traverse it. Just that half a mile. He just stared at her, as she hummed and cooked. Yes, the woods did seem like her. Even the house that she had managed to find for herself. He took a few steps backward and sprinted back to his car. No, not today. Maybe tomorrow. Yes tomorrow. He would face her, and tell all that was pent up inside him. Not today. It was too overwhelming to see her. Just give me one more day, he chanted to himself and in a secret whisper he hoped would reach her.

Brooke looked up from her
boiling soup. She could swear she heard rustling leaves and the sound of footsteps. I don’t want to hope, she kept ranting, each time, yearning all the more. She concentrated on the weather, and how hot it was for a December morning. Some of her flowers had started withering in the heat already. She would tend to them after the sun set, and the weather was bearable to be outdoors. She thanked mankind for the invention of refrigerators, or she was pretty sure it would be the heat that claimed her before Paul. She thought she could revisit the memorial built for those girls again later today. The last time she did, she could only stay for 10 minutes before running away. She was ashamed and scared that their ghosts would come down on her with vengeance. She would deserve it. Their wrath. So she had to go back today. Make them understand that if she had known she would have never let this happen, that she would happily swap places, eleven times. She shook her head and went back to cooking.

She heard the front door click. She was instantly on the alert – no one came this way, not if they didn’t know about her. It could only mean two options. She steeled herself – forcing the woman inside her to stop wishing it was Richard’s handsome face that walked through her door. She couldn’t beat that hope into a corner, couldn’t stop her heart from spiking its beating.
A couple of pregnant moments of anxiety trickled away, and she made out a bobbing head with white blond hair though the shrubs. And she knew.

She was sorry she couldn’t go to the memorial again. She really did want to make peace with them. Their spirits
at least. If she had more time, she would have visited their homes too, but then she would be kicked out surely. She walked in measured steps to her closet and found what she was looking for. She saw images of her childhood flash by as her hands mechanically did what they were supposed to. She could smell the soup burning though. She rested her head on the closet door and wishing to death, the irony of it given, that she could have seen Richard one last time. Just a flashing image in that racing car wasn’t enough to have sated her. And that was, what two years ago? It seemed like ages had passed by. She was scared he wouldn’t even know where she died. She was so hurt that she wouldn’t get to say goodbye. To the only person who made her feel human. Beads of perspiration ran down the length of her torso. Was she scared of never knowing tomorrow? No. it was the heat, she told herself. She waited for the fast-forwarding images of life to flash by before the end dawned. It didn’t. Maybe she didn’t have memories enough to form that film. She recalled people in her life – the smell of woods and baking. She had so hoped to see her garden blossom here too. But then you don’t get everything. What did she get in the end? What was the prize of being handed such a horrendous past? Nothing. Well, except Rick maybe. She wasn’t sure how the balancing is done. She heard the front door open. He wasn’t exactly being subtle about it. And that haunting nasal voice floating in the air, as he smelled his prey and closed in on her. His raspy vile breathing. The pistol’s metal body stung her warm hands. Her hands shook. She wouldn’t let him take her. Not in the way he took away those girls. She would go in the way she wanted, and make sure he never got what he wanted the most. Paul could mutilate her lifeless self as much as he wanted, but alive, she would never surrender. She owed this to Richard. His was the only touch she wanted to retain and remember. She didn’t want to pollute the remnants of his touch on her. She turned around to face the monster that lurked in every corner of her world. She knew it was time.