The Runaway (17 page)

Richard was lost in a maze of memories and regret – too lost in fact to have noticed the slight coughing down the hall, and the dull thud of the door closing. He would have been too lost to have noticed one of those shadows elongating and encroaching him in the room. He didn’t notice the man skulking in the shadows, grinning out of his even white teeth, at the sleeping man’s stupidity.

It was more the prickling sensation that made his hair stand on end and caused his eyes to fly open.
Paul
. In his groggy state, he wasn’t sure if Paul was actually there, or if he was a figment of his imagination, materialised to vent his ire. It took a hard punch to his abdomen for Richard to realise that he wasn’t conjuring visions. Pain shot through him, as darkness enveloped his eyes. He had no sensation of falling until his knees scraped the ground, and he tasted blood. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but he had to get up. For her.

It took him every ounce of energy left in his body to haul his body up. It was pitch black, and he had no clue as to where Paul was. He strained his ears, and tried his best to reduce the sound of his breathing. He heard a scuffling somewhere near his right.

“Rick... Rick… It has been like forever that I’ve wanted to make your acquaintance. You’ve flattered me so much, and by what I judge, you have taken care of my precious little gem for me too! I need to thank you… Stop playing, and turn the lights back on!”

Richard didn’t quite get him, neither did he know why the lights had gone out. But they gave him a slim chance of surviving and turning the tables on him. His chest was paining, so was his right temple. He could dimly make out the silhouette of Paul, fumbling about in search of him. He could also make out the door to which he was close to – but he had to be dead quiet to be able to make it out of the room without Paul striking back again. He held his breath, and tiptoed towards the door. He heard the swishing axe just in time to save his head. Paul’s face came looming towards him from the dark, glowing in an eerie halo from the dim moonlight streaming in from the open window. He didn’t waste any minute to reflect that his head would have split into two, and swung his free arm at him and punch him right on his face. He felt Paul’s nose break. Taking advantage of the fraction of a second of his disability, he dashed towards the hall. Paul was staggering behind him, laughing madly.

He wouldn’t escape, that was for sure- but he’d take him down with him tonight.

“How was it with her, my Brooke?
” Paul breathed, as he closed in on Richard. He had somehow become stronger, and more agile with time.

“Do not even talk of her!”

“Such reverence... love was it? Can she love at all? Aren’t you a li’l too older? She has my blood, she can feel for me...”

“She was alive, breathing and everything that you could never give her…”

Paul’s army knife slashed through his arm, blood spurted out profusely, but Richard felt nothing. He was numb with the cold, and the desolation, and all he could think of was taking Paul down. As blood soaked through the fabric of his shirt, he mustered all the strength he could in his uninjured arm and struck back at him. He hit him squarely on the chest with the nearby table knife. Paul screamed in agony and jumped over him. He felt the naked hatred in the way his eyes imprisoned Richard in its gaze. And it had come down to this – two heaving, bleeding men in that small dark hallway of Brooke’s home, staring down at each other. Richard welcomed the pain in his arm, the sting of the wound coursing through his veins. He wanted it to hurt, he wanted to feel something other than the unsettling thought of never seeing Brooke again. He didn’t care anymore, if there was no tomorrow. It didn’t help her, Brooke, when all she hoped for was a better sunrise, a better day. It got her killed. It got her swallowed by her darkest nightmare. And so he lunged forward with all his might, with his last breath to take him out. Paul didn’t have a chance to contemplate his next move, neither could he imagine that the wounded rabbit had any life left in him. He didn’t expect the knife piercing through his abdomen, and twisting his guts with all the anger that Richard could gather. He laughed. No he didn’t expect he’d die. But he’d got to dear Rick’s head, he’d gotten his sweet revenge, his sweeter Brooke, even if it wasn’t the way he has intended. Richard didn’t know that. Everything was his. Pity he wouldn’t be around to enjoy any of it. The shock of the slow inevitable death hadn’t left his eyes, as Richard felt his hands go slack, and his breathing stop. And then it was over, the pulsating throbbing thing weighing his heart, slowly faded away, and he was left in silence again. Did he revel in the afterglow? No, nothing whatsoever would revive her. He had avenged her. But that was all he could do in any case. And now he would go back into the void space.

There were pressing matter that had to be done. He climbed into his car, and sped past the woods to reach the precinct. There were a dozen constables guarding the station, and he just showed up in a blood drenched shirt, and literally red handed. Marco crossed himself, and ran over to Rick, fearing that he had succumbed to his stupidity after all.

“He’s over at Brooke’s home… I ...”

Present Day, Walhalla,

His book tour had gone well. He had always wanted it to end in Victoria. Or maybe, all these years Richard had been searching for a good enough excuse to come back here to the sleepy town. Where it all started for him, the first glimpse to life and what it does to you. He stretched wide under the sunny skies of Walhalla. It smelled clean and fresh, like it always did. He swallowed in all the greenery around. The woods and its mystery never failed to entice him. It had been almost 9 years, and nothing seemed to have changed. People still on with their daily business. He noticed the absence of the run down gas station, at one time a famous spot in the town, he chuckled to himself.

“So, are you going to tell me any time soon why we are here?”

Rick smiled down, “Patience
, Brooke!”

The 6 year old never did comprehend the concept of patience. Well, she did throw tantrums on wanting to accompany her dad, but then he was acting funny and mysterious – though she did like the nice green forest, and especially the new animal that she saw that inhabited nowhere else. She ran about the rough paths along the woods, smelling in the rain washed earth, with her hands open wide, breathing in noisily. Richard smiled at his angel.

“When are we going back home?”

“Soon! We’ll see mummy tomorrow.”

Brooke nodded earnestly.

“Do you miss Lo
...? Lonlon, Daddy?”

Richard burst out laughing, “London?”

“Yes! Mom told me you used to live there”

“Hmm.
.. I do... But I like it here... It’s more like my home than London has ever been. And you and mummy are here”

“Ethan said Lond...don is cold!”

“Yeah! In ways more than one!”

The house he owned in London was put up for sale, within months of his return. He wanted no part of the place that held memories of Paul’s sinister letters and his essence. He had written a letter to James, finally telling him what should have been told all those years back. He had always been there for them, no questions asked. And he deserved to know the truth. There hadn’t been a reply. He didn’t expect one either. He knew there was just one other soul who’d mourn Brooke’s death just as much as he did.

And now years in this country, he had lived his life, moved on by preserving Brooke in an alcove inside him that none could touch. Visiting Walhalla threatened to scratch open that recess again. Bring back how he couldn’t save her. Brooke kept him sane, almost at ease with himself at coming back to the place which hid his most painful secrets that still haunted his dreams at nights. He crossed the iron gates and into the overgrown gardens of the small cottage off the highway. He walked up to the grave and knelt beside it.

Brooke Jefferson Halden

1979-2005

The Phoenix and the Sun

He had no idea what stormed through his rattled mind all those years ago to prompt him to add his surname too. He hoped, she would almost swoop down at him, and roll her eyes in exasperation. She didn’t really believe in marriage, though she was a sucker for prince charming. He bitterly regretted that he could never be what she wanted. Maybe, if he had never turned up in Applecross, she would live on happily with James or someone like him. The thought still unsettled him that she could ever be someone else’s. No. From her, words were never what mattered more, never required. She could tell volumes through her eyes, and he had never felt so loved, so needed, so trusted upon by anyone else, than what she made him feel when she reached out to him. The crinkly laughter that was saved only for him, the rhubarb pie that she baked only for him, and the tear that she shed only for him – their story would never need any other memento to be preserved in his mind. He loved enough for the both of them.

It had taken a good long
and rather argumentative session of coaxing Marco, for him to claim her dead body. With no kin left, he had shuddered to think what would become of what was left of her. Somehow, he guessed Marco understood, and after the headstone, he was probably sure about what transpired from their conversation. He laid her close to what she called home for at least the last few days of her oblivious life, where she had waited for him. Where she battled her demons and had won, in her own way. He had wished for a life devoid of the fear that Paul poisoned her mind with, of always to looking over the shoulders wherever she went. He wished she would be alive to see Paul dead, she’d be alive to enjoy breathing in the free air, and live a life of happiness and peace, with a content night’s slumber. Somewhere inside him, he felt accomplished, relieved that she was happy wherever she was now. The world was free of her monster dad. And he was, well, close to being happy with little Brooke sauntering about in the gardens. He had unchained her bound spirit away from the shackles of a monstrous past, and the shadows of a sinister bond that would have eventually drowned her in misery and pain. He vividly recalled shovelling up the garden grounds for her grave himself. Marco had been a silent spectator.

“Orchids don’t grow here Richard, not on this soil”

He was adamant. “She loves those! Someday…!”

And he had planted numerous ones in the garden, and uprooted all the rose bushes adjacent to her grave. He hoped an unperturbed sleep would do her some good, and it was necessary that roses weren’t around for that.
They were a reminder of horrid memories, and she needed a fresh start. She had always loved the varied hues of orchids. At that point, he could think of nothing else to make her journey a little happier, or more peaceful. He didn’t care, as long as he could give her an iota of the bliss she deserved and didn’t survive to relish in.

“What are those flowers, Daddy?”

Brooke’s voice floated in from behind him broke his reverie. He turned around and stared at the gardens for a fleeting moment, before sighing deeply. He smiled, “Orchids!”

Blue and purple orchids bloomed in scant numbers, scattered around her gravestone in that overgrown unkempt garden, like coloured diamonds shining brilliantly under the sun. He smiled and looked up to the sun streaming in through the dense forest cover and kissed the air. He hoped Brooke would be happy with the flowers, and that he was finally at peace.