Run With Me (11 page)

“
My name's Colt,” he says
quietly. “We're still in Central California just off the West Side
Freeway. We can stay here this evening, and tomorrow I'll take you
north. I have a friend who can help you start fresh. Somewhere you
won't be found.”

I nod as he speaks, unable to
disagree or think of any alternative. What can I really do? Go to the
police? Carmine will get to me. Go talk to Carmine himself? Plead
with him to let me carry on with my life, that I won't say a word
about what I saw? No, that won't work. He's already killed 3 people
and now there's a huge investigation around me. If anything, I've
become even more dangerous, even more of a liability if the police do
catch me. He'll want to find me before they do, make sure that I'm
wiped out before I can even open my mouth. Run and hide. There really
is no other option.

The room begins to fade into
darkness now as the sun treks towards its sleeping place beneath the
horizon. Colt stands and walks over to the window, opening the
curtain slightly and peering out. His eyes scan the parking lot
outside before letting the curtain drop back into place. Then he
flicks on the light for the first time and the room is bathed in a
pallid yellow, bringing the sickly colors of the room to life. It
reminds me distinctly of a hospital ward.

His eyes linger on me a moment
as he turns back towards the center of the room. There's a double bed
with bedside tables on each side, but little more besides the
refrigerator and television on the wall opposite. He walks towards a
wardrobe and opens it up, pulling out several blankets. Then he moves
to the bed and takes a couple of pillows before fashioning a
makeshift bed on the floor. It looks uncomfortable, but I don't say
anything.

“
Are you hungry?” he asks me
once he's finished.

I hadn't realized until now, but
I'm starving. The beautiful meal that Marge prepared has long since
been digested, and that was nearly 24 hours ago by my count. Marge
and Derrick. What they must think of me, running off like that after
they'd been so kind. But I couldn't stay, I couldn't drag them in
with me like that. The less they know about me, the better.

“
I could eat,” I say to
Colt, who nods and immediately starts moving towards the door.

“
Stay here,” he says, “and
don't go outside.” His words are an order, and somehow grate on me
a little bit.

He peers through the curtain
once more before opening the door and stepping from the room. I sit
for a while in silence, not quite knowing what to do with myself. By
the movement of the sun it's just turning past 8 PM, but I've only
just woken up. I know there's no chance I'll sleep tonight. In fact,
what with sleeping all day at the farm and now this, my sleeping
pattern is entirely screwed.

I stand and stretch, feeling
slightly groggy with the lingering traces of whatever Colt gave me
still in my system. Then I move towards the window and open up the
curtain to look out. There's little to see. A few cars parked outside
trailers. A large neon sign that says
cheap motel
. The dark
tarmac of the highway a little further in the distance. Lights flash
by as cars scream in both directions, although it's strangely quiet
in here. I guess the one thing these trailers have is thick glass.

They don't have any air
conditioning though, and I suddenly realize how hot and clammy I am.
I can hear Colt's voice in my head saying '
don't go outside
',
but feel that's a slight over-reaction. I peer as he did, scanning
the space outside the trailer, and decide to step out. As I open the
door a cool breeze pours over me, giving me immediate relief from the
humidity that's built throughout the day inside the trailer. The loud
sounds of the rushing cars quickly fill the air. It's pretty
relentless, car after car whizzing past from south to north and north
to south. I wonder if this is a good spot to stay at. Surely a motel
like this is somewhere that the police are likely to check if they're
searching for me? But then, as far as the motel knows, as far as
anyone knows, it's Colt who is staying in this room, not me.

Another thought crosses my mind.
How did he get me inside? Did he drag me from his car in front of any
prying eye that might be looking? And which car is his anyway? I scan
the parking lot and consider which fits him best. Not the banged up
old 4x4. Not the rusty station wagon. In fact, all the cars here are
fairly run down, except one. A black saloon sits close to my right.
It looks to have blacked out windows, but it's hard to see in the
darkness.

I scroll around the parking lot
for a couple of minutes, making sure to stay close to the trailer. It
feels good to get out into the open air and stretch my legs. I seem
to have been confined inside for days now, so the night air is
refreshing. It's not muggy this evening either, now that the storm of
a couple of nights ago has truly broken. The sky is clear and dotted
with a million stars. It's not a sight I'm used to seeing in LA.
There the level of smog and pollution pretty much obscures any hint
of starlight no matter what the weather is like.

Movement inside the trailer a
couple down from my own catches my eye. A curtain shifts and I see
the silhouette of a face looking out towards me. I instinctively turn
my head away and start walking back towards my room. I guess I'm
going to have to get used to this level of paranoia. I arrive at the
door and reach for the handle, and jump.

A hand comes town on my
shoulder, then a voice, a whisper, growling into my ear. “I thought
I told you to stay inside.”

Colt pushes me inside the
trailer and shuts the door behind me. I get the feeling he wants to
slam it but won't for fear of drawing any unwanted attention. He's
got a scowl on his face that forces me to apologize and explain what
I was doing.

“
I just needed some fresh air.
It's so hot in here,” I exclaim, although that's only half the
truth. I also don't like being told what to do, never have. So
something inside me just forced me to rebel.

“
So open a window,” he
growls. “When I tell you to do something, you need to do it, OK.
It's for your own good.”

I feel slightly stupid now. It's
not only myself I'm putting at risk, but him as well. “Sorry,” I
say in this pathetic subservient voice, “I won't do it again.”

His expression softens at my
words and he pulls one of the bedside tables over to the end of the
bed. Then he lifts a bag up and starts pulling out little containers
of food.

“
Hope you like Chinese,” he
says, positioning two paper plates and plastic forks onto the table.
Then he ushers me to sit on the end of the bed and eat, to which he
does the same.

“
Where did you get this,” I
ask. “I kinda expected you to come back with a load of vending
machine candy and chips.”

He smiles for the first time,
and I can't help but notice his bright white teeth. “There's a
restaurant next door,” he says, chomping on a fork full of chow
mein. “Four dishes for 10 bucks.”

“
Bargain,” I say, half
thinking of reaching for the wad of money he gave me earlier to pay
him for my half. I don't though. I doubt he'd accept.

In any case, I'm starving, and
hardly have time to make small talk right now. I forget myself for a
moment and start eating like a pig from a trough, shoveling rice and
noodles into my mouth as if it's my last meal. It's only when I've
filled my stomach that I catch Colt staring at me. I stop, slightly
embarrassed, and dip my head.

“
Hungry?” he asks, a wry
smile creasing his lips. I say nothing in reply, instead choosing to
grab a bottle of water and sink half of it in one as a distraction.
When I look back he's returned to his food and is still eating, in a
far more refined way, of course, and I just sit there in silence
until he's finished.

I'm amazed at how sleepy I'm
feeling. I know that you tend to get drowsy after a big meal, but
after being knocked out and sleeping for nearly 24 hours, I wouldn't
have imagined I'd need any sleep for a while. Colt seems to notice.
“You should get some rest,” he says. We'll be leaving early in
the morning.”

He stands up and begins packing
up our dinner, placing all the rubbish into the plastic bag and
neatly tying a knot in the top of it. Then he starts moving the
furniture around the room and returning things to their rightful
places. He seems to have a perfectionist quality. Or is it just a
mild case of OCD. I can't really tell.

Now he's undressing, and it's as
if he doesn't even know I'm in the room. There's not a suggestion of
embarrassment as he undoes his shirt buttons and removes his pants.
He folds them neatly and hangs them over the top of a chair, before
walking towards the door and making sure it's locked. He looks out
through the window once more, ever on edge it seems, and scans the
environment outside.

My eyes are glued to him as he
goes. His body is lean and strong, each muscle honed like a
professional athlete. He walks in a sort of rigid, upright way, like
he's trying to move as efficiently as possible. Then he turns from
the window once more and looks at me. “We're leaving at dawn,” he
says. “Do you need anything?”

“
Um, no I'm OK,” I say, my
voice quiet. “Are you sure you don't want the bed. I can sleep on
the floor.” I ask mainly because he looks weary, like he hasn't had
a good night's sleep in a while.

A warm smile rolls over his face
and he lightly shakes his head. “That's sweet, but this is fine,”
he says, gesturing to his little nest on the floor. “I've slept in
a lot worse than this.”

He holds his hand to the light
switch and looks at me for a moment. I break his stare and shift back
into the bed, pulling the covers up over me. It's hot – especially
in my clothes – but I'm not undressing in front of him like he did.
When he flicks the switch the room falls into darkness and I begin
shuffling out of my jeans and pull off my top. I drop them to the
floor as I hear him move across the room and slip down onto the
floor. This bed is uncomfortable, but I can only imagine what it's
like down there. Frankly, though, being comfortable is the least of
either of our problems right now. It still amazes me that my problems
have become his. Why is he doing this?

The question lingers in my mind
as I lie there in the pitch darkness. I suddenly feel totally awake
again and assume that this is the position I'll hold until dawn when
he awakes. I'll lie here, just thinking, all night. Just like I did
when my dad was sent to jail.

I remember that night clearly.
We were like a team, my dad and me. I relied on him and he relied on
me. Then, when he was sent down, suddenly it was just me. No mother,
no brothers, no sisters. No one but myself. I remember that night,
lying there in bed, knowing that my dad wasn't in the house. I'd
never felt so alone, never felt so afraid. Until now.

Now my thoughts are lingering on
my father. My dad who I loved, who I still love, but who left me. I
know it wasn't his fault. That he was trying to provide for me and
give me the sort of life he never got. But I didn't care about any of
that. I just wanted him there with me, protecting me, looking after
me. I didn't care about going to college and getting a good job. He'd
always say his little girl would become a lawyer or a doctor. He'd
boast about it with his friends, as if it were sure to happen. And
now look at me. For all intents and purposes, I'm soon going to cease
to exist. Soon Kitty Munroe will drop off the map.
Some future,
hey dad.

I wonder if I'll ever see him
again. I wonder how long I'll have to stay away from LA, how long
I'll have to live a lie. Surely Michael Carmine has bigger fish to
fry than me. Surely after a few years, months even, he'll have
forgotten all about me and moved on. Really, I don't even know who he
shot. It was probably just a nameless goon. Maybe someone who owed
him and couldn't pay. And I'm certain he'll have taken care of the
body so that no one ever finds it, leaving no trace of his
involvement. So why the hell am I so important. Is he really so
paranoid, so intent on tying up any loose end, that he's willing to
kill other innocent people just to get to me?

My mind rumbles along like this
for what seems like hours, but soon I begin to drift into a troubled
sleep. I toss and I turn in the heat, kicking the blanket cover off
me and leaving me lying there in my underwear. I wake several times,
my eyes open wide and staring into the darkness. Just like always, it
takes a few moments to realize where I am. I pant and breathe
heavily, searching for some light, but there is none. My eyes adjust
slowly to the pitch darkness and I see the outline of the door, of
the bed frame at my feet and the television ahead of me. I know that
Colt is down there, sleeping quietly, but I can't see him below the
bed.

I drift out of consciousness
again. This time I tumble deeper down the rabbit's hole, my mind
twisting with weird images and visions. I'm alone, standing on an
island, as the shores around me rapidly close in. I can hear a voice
calling on the wind, “Kitty, Kitty,” but I don't recognize it.
The sand keeps growing closer, creeping towards my feet until I'm
standing on a small clump of earth, surrounded by water. The sea
begins to rage and the sky turns dark, and then the block of earth
gives way beneath me and I fall into the tumult. I thrash wildly but
the water is too strong, holding me down, shaking me from side to
side. I'm about to drown, to gulp down water, when I wake.