Broken Identity (28 page)

“What?”

“Is there a tree or something sturdy nearby?” he said, a little louder now. With all the guys watching television in another room and raving loudly from too much beer, Drake was certain he wouldn’t be heard.

“Uh…yeah, a big one right here.”

“Good. Take your end of the rope and tie it around the trunk. Make sure to make at least three or four good knots in it.”

“Gotcha!” Ronnie said, scurrying off.

I just hope the kid knows how to tie knots better than I do,
Drake thought. Moments later, two more tugs came at the rope, along with the words, “I got it, Drake!”

Drake wasted no time and began scaling the wall—if he could even call it that. His feet kept slipping on the smooth concrete walls, and his hands burned as the course strands of rope grazed against his flesh. Nevertheless, he continued to strenuously use his arms to pull himself up higher with each faltering step he took, regardless of the pain. He was so worried that at any second, Ronnie’s knots would come undone and he would smack the floor with a loud thud, bringing a crowd of half-drunken gang members in the room all at once. He was shocked that Ivan hadn’t killed him already for betraying him.
Quit thinking about it. You’re alive, aren’t you? Make it count.

When Drake came close enough, he threw one leg up and pushed it through the open window. Now he had a secure hold. The rest from there was easy, and he simply used both leg and arm muscles to lift him up to the window.
Now for the hard part,
he thought, examining the window doubtfully.

It seemed a little bigger when he was sitting next to it, but he still had his doubts about being able to fit through. Sitting in the small hollow of the wall with his skin shaded by the bluish-orange tint from the blending of the moonlight and a flickering street lamp, he realized he had no choice but to go through. If it broke every bone in his body, he was going through that window.

Drake peered outside and was relieved to find that the ground wasn’t as far down as he had imagined it to be.
I guess I’ll be going feet first, then.
Outside the window was a rectangular-shaped brick flower box, only without the flowers. As small as it was, at least it would give his body some support so he wouldn’t instantly plunge to the ground.

Drake slid his other leg through the opening and slowly leaned back, wriggling inch by inch through the small window. It was like doing the limbo, only this time he couldn’t risk losing the game. He could only envision what Ivan and the rest of the gang would do to him if they happened to burst into the room and find him like this. Not exactly the best way to die. No, he was determined to get out this window with his entire body intact.

Drake sensed the window getting increasingly smaller once it framed his stomach. He held his breath and sucked his stomach in, forcefully pushing himself a little further through the window. He could feel the support of the flower box leaving him.
Just…a little…more.
He slipped his hands through the space beside his chest and gripped the outside of the building with both hands. As his fingers dug into the cracked brick wall, he sensed a thick, warm liquid oozing from his fingers and creeping down his hands like external veins.
Relief,
he thought, gasping.
It hurts. Too much…pressure.

Draining what was left of his energy and closing his eyes in an attempt to ignore the pain, he dug his fingers deeper into the bricks and pulled aggressively.

Like a vacuum, air raced into his lungs as soon as his chest made it through to the outside. He ducked his head and brought it through the window, welcoming the crisp night air as it cooled his warm cheeks. Pushing himself up to a sitting position on top of the narrow flower box, he was finally able to look down and see Ronnie.

Ronnie was waving him down with both hands. “Hurry up, Drake!”

Drake felt the flower box begin to give way underneath his weight.

“C’mon, Drake!” Ronnie urged, waving his hands faster now. “We gotta go!”

Drake pushed his legs off the side and jumped to the ground. He landed in the thick grass below and rolled on his back, grateful that the weeds had broken his fall and muffled the sound of his crash. He hurriedly untied the knot around his waist and stood, searching the area for a place to run.

That’s when he saw them. He hadn’t been able to see them from the window earlier, but now there was no mistaking their presence.

Fences. Nothing but nine-foot chain link fences everywhere he looked. The only place there wasn’t one was behind him, and that was blocked by the building itself. To his left was a window where he saw the light blue hue of the television casting itself onto the sidewalk not six feet away from where he stood. To his right, on the other side of the fence, was someone’s backyard where an ugly pit bull lay sleeping with a twitching leg. That left only one place.

Right in front of him. The moonlight glistened off the towering chain link fence, enhancing all nine feet of its seemingly inescapable features. Drake glanced at Ronnie and discerned that his thoughts were the same as his.

“What are we gonna do, Drake?” Ronnie said, his voice sounding lonelier than ever.

“We’re goin’ over the fence, that’s what. It’s the only way.”

“But I’m scared.”

Drake wanted to shout at him and tell him to quit acting like such a baby. However, he exhaled slowly, knelt down on one knee, and looked up into Ronnie’s teary eyes. “I’m scared too, Ronnie. But we can’t let that stop us. Look how far we’ve come.”

Ronnie’s lower lip stuck out as he struggled to keep from crying.

Drake sighed and said, “Look, just pretend there’s a hurt animal over this fence and you have to save it.” It was a cheesy line, but he hoped it would be convincing.

Ronnie thought about it. “Or I could just pretend my life’s in danger and I’m running away from the bad guys.”

Drake stood up slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that would probably work, too,” he said awkwardly. “Come on. I’ll help you.” He put Ronnie on his shoulders and told him to grab the fence and hang on tight.

Ronnie clung to the fence like a cat does a carpet when it’s bath time. Drake wanted to laugh, but now was definitely not the time for joking around. Now was the time for action. Neither of them would ever be laughing again if they didn’t get a move on.

Drake could have climbed the fence ten times faster if he hadn’t been so concerned about not making a sound. Because the chain link fence was along a strip of asphalt, it made an unpleasant scraping sound every time the fence rattled. That meant Drake had to be extra quiet and even slower in his movements. With a little more slow motion and the right sound effects, he’d be the spitting image of the six-million dollar man in action.

“All right, Ronnie,” he said once he was at eye level with him. “I’ll be right here when you climb, OK?”

“OK,” Ronnie said, almost doubtfully.

“You go first, and I’ll be right behind you. Just don’t look down.” Drake waited until Ronnie was a few feet above him before climbing again. “When you reach the top, you’ll climb over the fence to the other side and—”

“Climb
over
the fence?”

Drake stared at Ronnie.
And at what age is common sense supposed to kick in?
“Yeah, what else? You expect a slide or somethin’ to get you down?”

Ronnie bit his lip.

“Just do what I say, OK? There’s a bunch of weeds on the other side, so it’s not like you’d break any bones if your foot slips and you accidentally fall.”

Ronnie’s eyes grew large. “You mean I might actually
fall?”

“Oh, just forget I said anything! Keep climbing!”

It wasn’t long before Ronnie reached the top. Drake met up with him quickly to help him over the fence. “You can make this as easy or as hard as you want it!” he said, prying Ronnie’s pallid fingers away from the fence. “C’mon, if they find us, they’ll kill us!”

“But what if I fall?”

“At least you’ll get to the ground sooner!” Drake said. “Get over it, Ronnie. You’re stronger than you think. On the inside, I mean. Don’t be afraid. Don’t you see you’ve already made it this far? The rest is a breeze from here.”

That seemed to calm Ronnie’s nerves, or perhaps it was just Drake’s wishful imagination. Ronnie glanced at Drake sheepishly and said, “Thanks. Sorry for acting like such a baby.”

Drake allowed himself to smile. “You can thank me when we’re both on the ground. Now go.”

With a new sense of courage, Ronnie puffed up his chest, stiffly brushed the tears from his eyes, and went down the fence so fast that even Drake was amazed.

“Good. Now go over to that bush over there and wait for me.” Drake swung one leg over the fence and got his footing.

Then he heard a door open inside the building.

Ivan swore.

Drake turned his head in the direction of the window and heard a gun click. Before he had a chance to react, a sharp pain entered his left leg.

Then next thing he knew was that his body smacked the ground hard as another shot took a chip out of the pavement only inches away from his head.

Ivan was trying to kill him.
Kill.
Drake tried to scramble to his feet, but his body wasn’t working right. It was his leg. That’s right. He had been shot.

Try crawling.
He dropped to the ground and elbow-crawled toward a tree. He was losing blood; he could feel it sting as it left his body. He just hoped he didn’t lose consciousness from the pain before the next bullet turned his world black.

The pain in his thigh made him want to throw up. It was all he could do to keep from passing out. Another bullet fired, barely missing him again as he crawled behind a thick-trunked white oak. He thought he heard Ronnie crying and screaming for him to get up, but all he could concentrate on was the pain. The throbbing, blinding, sickening pain. He tore his fingers into a mass of dirt and roots and heaved the rest of his body behind the enormous tree. There, behind two and a half feet of impenetrable wood, he crumpled to the ground without any strength to go further.

Still, he felt anything but safe. He sensed that in a matter of minutes he was going to die. He wanted to die. He couldn’t imagine a pain worse than this. Lying face down with uncontrollable shaking hands covering his head, he tried to look down at his leg, but couldn’t force himself to do it. He could feel the warm, sticky fluid seeping and intermittently spurting from his leg and was almost glad he couldn’t see.

“Ronnie,” he said hoarsely. Unknown to him, Ronnie had already been there beside him the whole time. “Ronnie…” He sucked in a deep breath of frigid air and found it difficult to continue speaking. “Go, Ronnie. Go hide. Don’t…don’t let them find you.” Ronnie tried to argue, but Drake just shook his head weakly. “Go.”

Tears streaming down his red cheeks, Ronnie turned and fled.

Drake was too tired to watch him run off, so he let his head fall to the damp earth, content to die there. He didn’t want to live anymore. He hated his life, and this kind of death was exactly what he deserved.
I just hope I die before Ivan comes out here and finishes me off.

He stared impassively across the street and watched as the streetlights began to swirl and form a huge, orange blur. Then other colors were added—bright blues, purples, greens, and pinks. The sickeningly intense brightness of the colors made him close his eyes. But they were there too, tormenting him, playing cynical games with his mind as the reality of death settled in.
Then let me die. I want peace.

Drake opened one eyelid and drew in another labored breath. He thought he saw the flashing lights of a police car in the distance just before he lost consciousness.

Chapter

16

H
EALING
P
ROCESS

The first thing Drake Pearson saw when he opened his eyes was a large bouquet of mixed, colorful flowers.
Am I dead?
he wondered, struggling to keep his eyelids from falling closed again. The room was an off-white color, and he had a migraine. That was about all he grasped before his world went dark again.

For the next twenty minutes, his eyes kept fluttering open on and off. If he could only lift his head to look around, he would, but even moving an inch seemed impossible. So he was content to simply gaze around with complete oblivion. The light in the room—added to the intense glow from the broad window to his right—was too bright, and he couldn’t hold his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time
. Oh, man, it hurts. I wish someone would close the blinds.

He wanted to reach down and touch his leg, but he felt so drugged that he wasn’t sure he had arms anymore. What time was it anyhow? What day was it? And what was going on in his body that was making him feel this way? Motionless and utterly worn out from who knew what, he decided not to fight his fatigue any longer. He let his eyes stay shut and merely listened to the sounds around him.

People walking. A recurring beeping. Moaning in another room. Someone crying. Everything was so loud that the conflicting noises hurt his ears.
What is this place?

He opened his eyes again—bad idea. A wave of nausea punched him in the gut. He sealed his eyes shut, wondering where this pain was coming from and why he was experiencing it in absolute confusion. He tried not to think about it; thinking only seemed to intensify the nausea.

Slowly, the sour taste of vomit filled his mouth. He swallowed a thick gob of saliva and pushed the bitter flavor back down to his stomach. His bottom lip quivered. His entire body began to shake. He tried moving his arm again. His brain told him he was wiggling his fingers, but his other senses gave no evidence of it. Either his whole body was numb, or he had no body at all.
If I am dead…No, this is stupid. I have to wake up. This has to be a dream.

If only he had feeling, he would pinch himself.
Wake up, wake up! C’mon, you stupid body, work!
How frustrating not to have any control over his own body. It was as if he were paralyzed from his head to his toes. The only part of his body that seemed to have retained any of its normal qualities was his brain. He still felt the same, thought the same, but everything else was completely wrong. His irritation soon progressed into rage, but realizing he could do nothing but lie in this position, he stopped fighting.