Run Like Hell (14 page)

The park is a blur of shadowy trees as I race home. Relief floods through me when my feet land on the familiar pavement of my own street. The finish line appears ahead but his grunts and groans are close behind me. Is he aware my house is ahead? Does he have any idea where I’m running to?

“Rory!” I scream my voice too weak and hoarse to be heard from a distance. “Rory!”

Did she open the windows to allow the cool evening breeze in? Officer Whitman’s cop car is still parked outside in the shadows. If this menacing idiot chases me home then perhaps he can arrest him. My foot lands on the soft lawn of my front yard. Tiger is barking on the porch, scratching at the front door.

“Rory! Help!” My weak voice is carried away by a soft gust of wind. I fall forward and land with a thud on the grassy lawn. He has me pinned under his weight. His huge, sweaty mass suffocates me as he sits on my back and his hands encircle my throat.

Officer Whitman launches himself from my front porch onto my attacker. Rory runs out of the house and screams at the sight of me being strangled. Tiger’s snarling and growling but I can’t see him from my position. The attacker’s fingers bite into my neck. I crane my neck to the side and can see his dark eyes, full of hatred, staring down at me. A split second later I gulp a welcoming breath as his weight is pulled off of me. Officer Whitman wrestles him beside me and pins him onto his stomach, handcuffing his hands behind his back. I roll over, gasping for breath, too weak to move. Tiger quiets down and nudges me with his nose.

“Rory, call 911!” the officer yells.

His hands had dug into my windpipe so vehemently. I’d never even met him before. Why did he have so much fury and rage against me?

My throat burns from the strength of his hands. I remain on my back and lie motionless. Rory disappears inside the house and soon reappears talking into the cordless phone. She calls out to let us know the cops are on their way.

What would I have done if Rory and Officer Whitman hadn’t responded in time? The guy was too big for me to have thrown off. Would Tiger have been my saving grace? Tiger’s wet nose nudges me again, in need of constant reassurance I’m alive. Reaching my hand out to him, I ruffle his thick fur and he whines softly.

Within minutes, I hear the sirens before the blue and red lights flood my street. Immediately, I’m examined by several medical attendants. Rory remains by my side and silently cries when they tell her they’re taking to me to the emergency room for further examination. They’re concerned about the damage to my throat and a possible concussion.

Rory locks Tiger inside the house because he’s too excited and agitated from all the activity. I know the sight of me sitting on a gurney isn’t helping either. He only wants to protect me, I remind Rory before she tugs him into the house.

The guy who chased me is sitting in the back of a cop car, glaring at me. The whole situation feels like it unfolded an hour ago but in reality it’s only been minutes. Officer Whitman approaches. The time to tell the truth is upon me. He raises an eyebrow at me and in an emotional plea I tell him about Ricky, who’s in dire need of an ambulance, and Brian, who’s still out there – somewhere.

Chapter Ten

By morning, the news of what happened last night already circulated thanks to my neighbors, their cell phones, and social media. When I arrive at the bus stop everyone wants to know what happened, who got arrested, and if I’m okay. On the bus the interrogation continues and when I arrive at school its worse. I have to politely push people aside to access my locker. Everyone wants to know why I was attacked, by whom, and why I’m not in the hospital since my neck is horribly bruised. Many of the girls are afraid the same thing will happen to them. I don’t tell them it can’t.

After I sit down in first period, my teacher receives a call from the office and I’m instructed to go there at once. My classmates watch as I pack up my books and leave. The halls are empty and I duck into a bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I study the bruises on my neck. I’ve tried to conceal the purplish marks with my usual hoodie and a scarf but they’re still noticeable. I powder my nose and cheeks and leave, wondering why I’m requested at the office.

The assistant instructs me to take a seat and wait for Ms. Bridges, our high school principal. The office is empty so I sit on a wooden chair. My attention is drawn to the office door. The bells hanging from the door knob jingle as it’s opened. Jack arrives, on crutches, with his mom. I stand, shocked to see him on crutches.

“Morgan? What are you doing here?” he asks, looking as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

“Have you been on Twitter or Facebook?” I ask in soft voice.

Jack shakes his head no while his mom signs him into school. She’s dressed in a business suit and heels so I suspect she’s on her way to work. She waves pleasantly at me and gives Jack a quick peck on the cheek, then leaves.

“I was attacked last night,” I whisper. I don’t want to discuss the attack here. The assistant looks away from her computer monitor and is now staring at me.

“I’ll tell you about it at lunch,” I mumble. Jack must’ve noticed the bruises on my neck because he hobbles over to me on his crutches, his eyes big and round and filled with concern.

“What happened to you? Are you okay?”

He’s clumsy on his crutches but he’s close enough to reach out and trail his fingers lightly along my neck. His brown eyes are flooded with worry as he stares at me, waiting for an answer.

The phone rings and the assistant stops staring at me to answer it. She puts the phone back on the hook and looks back at me. “Ms. Butler, Ms. Bridges is ready to see you.”

I nod but Jack grabs my hand.

“Morgan, who did this to you?”

I glance toward the Principal’s door. “I have to go, Jack. I’m fine so please don’t worry. I promise to tell you everything at lunch.” I kiss his cheek quickly then hurry to the principal’s office as Jack watches me leave.

I didn’t call him last night. By the time I’d talked to my parents and assured them I was fine it was past midnight. Mom wanted to fly home first thing this morning but I told her I’d be at school all day so there wasn’t any reason for her to come home early. Rory also assured Mom and Dad she’d stay at the house until they came home. The police also spoke to Mom and Dad and explained they had many officers on the case.

The night had been endless. After the guy had been arrested, I learned his name is Tommy. The police went to AJ’s house and rescued Ricky, who was then taken to the emergency room. I was taken to the emergency room as well and was treated and examined for my various injuries. Luckily, I did not have a concussion from when I fell at Ricky’s house. My throat is bruised and sore but the doctor assured me there was no permanent damage. My leg was treated too, but again, it wasn’t anything serious. The doctors assured Rory I could go home and I’d need some rest and pain relievers. I have a follow-up appointment next week for the doctor to inspect my neck injury.

Officer Whitman informed me that Ricky had two broken ribs. Poor kid. AJ’s nose is broken too, thanks to me, and he too was taken to the ER to be treated and then was being held at the police station. The police called me a hero. I feel more like a fool for all my bad decisions. I’m certainly not a hero.

Brian wasn’t found. The police searched the woods and had dogs tracking his scent, but he’d followed the stream to escape and his scent had been lost. Because Brian is on the run, the police fear he’ll come after me again.

“Ms. Butler, the police informed me of last night’s incident. I want to assure you I’ve taken the appropriate precautions to ensure your safety at school.”

I’ve always liked Ms. Bridges. She’s a petite woman who always has a smile on her face and is tough but fair.

“I’d like you to speak with Ms. Trudell, the school counselor. What you went through must’ve been extremely traumatic.”

Her gaze levels on me and I’m at a loss for words. Guilt, fear, adrenaline, surprise, terror, disappointment, concern, and sympathy have been feelings I’ve experienced over the past few days. Sitting in her office now, I’m still too exhausted from last night to fully comprehend what she’s suggesting. Is she insinuating that I’m emotionally unstable?

Ms. Bridges escorts me to the counselor’s office and I wonder what I’ll be expected to discuss. I don’t want to be perceived as a head-case but it would be nice to talk to someone I’m not related to. I don’t have anyone, besides Traci and Jack, I’m comfortable confiding in. Dad’s always traveling, Rory isn’t usually around, and my relationship with Mom is too complicated. Having Rory around this week has been nice and I think we’ve grown closer. When Mom and Dad return I want her to visit often and possibly spend the night.

Ms. Bridges excuses herself and leaves after making the introductions. Ms. Trudell smiles as I enter. She definitely likes plants, I muse as I plop into a cushy chair facing her ornate, wood desk. Ferns, vines, and flowering potted plants are arranged all over the office and add a cozy feel to the small space. A vanilla scented candle burns on the window sill behind her.

She closes her laptop and gives me her full attention. I shift uncomfortably and notice a cute cat calendar hanging on the wall beside her desk. I curiously gaze around, noticing the pig figurines displayed on a bookshelf. I’ve never sat in her office before.

“So, how are you?” she asks pleasantly.

“Could be better, could be worse.” I focus on the window behind her. The windowpane is adorned with sun-catchers that reflect the morning sun beautifully. Ms. Trudell turns around, realizing I’m not paying attention to her.

“My son gave me those,” she replies fondly. “I once mentioned to him how much I enjoy having a window in my office, except the view isn’t grand, a brick wall. So, for my birthday he got me this one,” she points to the flower sun-catcher. “Every year for my birthday he gives me another one. I love looking at them because they remind me of him.”

“Is that him?” I indicate to the photos of a cute little boy and a handsome young man displayed on the bookshelf.

“Yes, he’s twenty-two. He’s graduating college in a few months. I miss him.”

She stares at the photos and I glimpse sadness in her eyes.

“Are you very close?” I wonder how different her relationship is with her son compared to my own with my mother.

“Not as close as I wish we were. I haven’t accepted that he’s grown up and ready to live his own life, even though he’s attended college out-of-state the last four years,” she laughs nervously.

Is that why Mom is distant with me? She’s worried that I’m leaving for college in a few years?

“Tell me about yourself.” She shifts the conversation. “Your file indicates your parents are still married. Do you have a good relationship with them?”

I shrug and cross my legs. “My dad, yes. My mom, no.”

“Oh?” she sounds surprised and leans forward in her chair. “What’s your relationship like with your dad?”

I pause to study her. “I thought I was here to talk about what happened last night.”

She nods in understanding. “We’re getting to know one another first.”

Again my gaze is drawn to the sun-catchers. If I worked in this office all day I’d turn my desk to the side so I had a better view of the window.

I relax, realizing that sitting here is better than sitting in class. The only thing missing is a hot mocha in my hand. But I’m happy to talk about my dad. She listens attentively and laughs several times as I relay stories of my father and me. When I finally pause, she asks about Mom. Her question is followed by an awkward silence. How am I supposed to tell her that my beautiful mother, whom I’ve always idolized, wants nothing to do with me? Just thinking about it hurts. I take a huge breath to clear the soreness in my throat caused by the impending tears.

“It’s hard to talk about?” she asks quietly.

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak without crying.

“I’ve felt the same way about people in my life,” she admits.

Leaning over, she rummages in a red cooler on the floor beside her desk. She pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to me. I kindly accept it.

“I’m here if you need someone to talk to, or someone who will listen.”

I exhale deeply and take a big gulp of water to soothe my throat. I appreciated her offer to listen. I trust her warm smile and kind eyes. The coziness of her office entices me to curl my legs up underneath me and talk. But not today. Knowing this quiet reprieve exists for me to retreat to is comfort enough.

“I’m worried about my friend, Ricky Smith,” I admit once I’m comfortable speaking without crying. “I think his brother has been beating him. Something tells me he needs someone who will listen to him.”

He’s annoying and someone I typically wouldn’t befriend. However, I’ve become very protective of him. When he’s released from the hospital I want to know that he’ll have supportive people in his life to reach out to, in addition to myself.

Ms. Trudell nods her head in understanding. “It’s kind of you to be concerned for him and he will get the same support available to you.”

She opens a notebook and jots something down but I can’t glimpse what she’s writing. She closes her notebook and asks if there’s anything else I’d like to discuss. I shake my head no. She books another session with me for next Monday but at a different time. She recommends we meet once a week over the next few weeks. As I stand to leave her office I thank her and she smiles at me and says, “You’re welcome.”