Run With Me (15 page)

By the time the sun has risen
Colt's body has cooled and calmed. He's no longer groaning. No longer
twisting and turning. Instead he lies silently on his back, his face
a picture of tranquility. I watch him breath, watch his nostrils
flare slightly and his chest rise and fall.

Now I whisper to him, although I
know he can't hear me. “I don't know how to thank you,” I say.
“I'll never be able to repay this.”

Then I lean in and kiss him,
gently, on the lips. They're soft and full, and warm as freshly baked
bread. I linger for a second before pulling back, dreading the
thought that he might wake. But he doesn't. His head makes the
tiniest of movements, but his breathing remains steady, his
expression the same.

It's another hour before he
wakes, by which time I've retreated to my own bed. I must have fallen
asleep, because I feel particularly groggy when he shakes me on the
shoulder. I lie and tell him I slept well when he asks, my head still
clearing.

“
How about you?” I ask him.
“How is your shoulder?”

“
It's OK,” he says. “I
think, maybe, I can drive today. Are you ready to go?”

I nod and climb out of bed,
still fully clothed. I'm starting to smell and am in desperate need
of a wash and change of clothes, but such things are low on our
priority list right now. When I look in the mirror I have to double
take. It will take me a while to get used to this new look. Then we
move back to the car, Colt returns the room keys, and we set back on
our way.

“
We'll get there today,”
Colt tells me as he pulls out.

I still don't know exactly where
we're going, but don't have the energy to ask right now. In fact, I
don't even feel nervous either. Just tired, physically and mentally.
I guess I've accepted it now. I guess, maybe, it's for the best.

Then Colt guns the engine and
we're off. Away to start my new life.

Colt

My shoulder aches horribly as I
grip the wheel, but I need to be driving today. Sitting for hours in
the passenger seat isn't my idea of fun. I guess you could call me a
control freak if you wanted to, and I probably wouldn't disagree. So,
regardless of the discomfort, it feels good to be back behind the
wheel and back in control.

In any case, I get the feeling
that Kitty could do with a rest. She told me she slept OK but her
eyes tell a different story. Heavy, black, bags hang under them and
they're badly bloodshot. She seems down, as well, almost numb. I can
see her in the mirror, just staring forward down the road, her face
glum. I feel truly sorry for her, for everything that's happened to
her. But hopefully, I'll help to put that all right. I'll free us
both.

Within 20 minutes she's asleep
and snoring lightly. Once she's dozed off I put on my police signal
scanner and begin listening for anything relating to us. I hear no
chatter about Kitty which helps to put my mind at ease. Clearly, over
the last day or two, no one has sighted her. Now, with her new look,
she'll become even more inconspicuous.

It suits her, I think. Maybe I'm
just one for blondes. My wife – Sophie – was a blonde, and my
gorgeous baby girl too. She looked just like her mother. They had the
same eyes, the same nose. If I was suspicious back then like I am now
maybe I'd have assumed she cheated on me when I was on a tour of
duty. That's how little she resembled me.

Kitty looks a bit like Sophie.
She's pretty, too, with a small button nose and a soft, rounded chin.
With her eyes closed they could be sisters. It's only when Kitty
opens hers that the more obvious difference is revealed - Kitty's
eyes are dark brown, Sophie's were a sparkling sky blue. I can't help
but look at her now, this image of my dead wife. In a way it's hard,
but comforting also.

Kitty keeps sleeping through
until lunchtime when I decide to stop at a gas station by off the
freeway. There are a couple of fast food restaurants next door, so I
go in and grab some slightly more substantial food than we enjoyed
the previous day. When I return to the car I wake Kitty, who's eyes
flutter as she takes in her bearings. There's a slight fear in them
until she recognizes me, which brings a warm smile to her face. I
can't help but smile back.

“
Where are we?” she asks,
taking a wrapped burger from my hands and curiously inspecting the
contents. As I prepare to answer she takes a huge bite and moans in
pleasure. “I'm starving,” she says as she chews. I could already
tell from her rumbling stomach before she woke, but I don't tell her
about that.

“
We've just passed into
Washington State, north of Portland,” I tell her, unpacking my own
burger and taking a bite. It's delicious, and I can see why she
moaned with pleasure.

She looks at me. “That far
north already? How long was I asleep?”

“
Over 4 hours,” I tell her.
Her face turns slightly pained at my words, like she's just been
kicked in the stomach.

“
Oh,” she says. “So....where
exactly are we going?”

I realize that's the first time
she's asked directly where we're headed. Previously I've just told
her 'north', and nothing more. She must trust me implicitly to be
lead so far without knowing the destination.

“
North of Seattle near the
Canada border,” I say. “I know someone who can help us – you –
get settled. He'll put you up somewhere where you'll be safe.”

She nods and her eyes turn down.
I know this isn't what she wants. I know how hard it must be.

“
How long will it take to get
there?” she asks, slightly sheepishly.

I consider for a moment before
answering. “Maybe 4 or 5 hours, depending on the roads. You can
keep sleeping if you want, it's OK.” Part of me wants her to shut
her eyes and lie there peacefully again...

“
No,” she answers quickly.
“I'll stay awake from now on.”

I nod as we both move onto our
fries.

“
So, this person. How do you
know them?”

“
From my time in the army.
He'll keep you safe for now,” I say. I don't tell her that he was
dishonorably discharged for smuggling. Ever since then he, like me,
has been living on the other side of the law.

“
And....do you trust him?”
she asks as a questioning frown forms on her forehead.

“
Of course,” I say quickly.
“There's a band of brotherhood in the army. Anyone you serve with –
you're bound for life as family.”

She looks slightly embarrassed
to have asked and turns back to look down at her fries. I guess my
response was a little forceful.

“
Look,” I say, bringing her
eyes back to mine. “I wouldn't take you to anyone I didn't trust.”
My tone is softer now. “You do trust
me
, right?”

She nods, shakily. “I trust
you.”

We set again on our way. This
time, Kitty keeps her eyes open the entire time, almost unblinking.
She gazes out at the landscape around us, almost in wonder. I begin
to think that she must have spent more or less her entire life in LA,
away from the natural beauty the world has to offer. She seems
genuinely entranced by the wildness, by the steep, snow capped,
mountains, thick, green woods, and rushing rivers.

It's nothing new to me. I've
traced every corner, ever crack and crevice of this country several
times over. Tell me to get from A to B without a map and I'll do it.
I can often tell, just by the smell of a place, where I am. It's all
been embedded inside me as part of my work. I'm always traveling.
Always on the move. I've tracked people to the farthest reaches of
the nation. Found them in the most unlikely of hiding places. So now,
when I look at the undoubted beauty around me, I feel nothing. Just
the faint memory of an old job looking for my quarry, and always
searching for answers. Answers about my wife, about my child. Why
they were killed. Who killed them. They're the two questions that
linger in my mind every single day. I fall asleep with them, I wake
with them. Not until they're answered will I be able to rest.
Properly rest.

It's odd that at that exact
moment I hear her name. Both their names. I turn my head from the
road and see Kitty looking at me, an inquisitive look on her face. I
just stare for a moment, and she asks again. “Who are Sophie and
Ellie?”

Hearing the names out loud
catches me off-guard. It's been a long time since that's happened.
Their names exist only in my thoughts now, and never on anyone's
tongue. In fact, even hearing someone call 'Sophie' or 'Ellie' in a
supermarket or in the park makes me wince.

I shuffle my thoughts for a
moment and cough, before turning back to the road after far too long
with my eyes off it. I just about avoid ramming into the back of a
truck as Kitty shouts 'whoa' and I veer around it.

When I've managed to straighten
the car out I glance at her again. “How do you know those names?”
I ask.

“
You were calling them in your
sleep,” she says. “Last night, you must have said them a dozen
times each.” She exhales slightly and suddenly goes awkward. “I
shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry. It's none of my business.”

She turns away and looks out the
window to her right, and a short silence settles once more in the
car.

“
They were my family,” I
say, breaking the quiet. “They were taken from me.”

Now her face turns back to me,
and her eyes grow soft. She doesn't say anything, but just looks at
me for a moment, letting me continue or not. I guess she doesn't want
to push it if it's a sensitive subject.

“
Sophie – she was my wife.
Ellie was my daughter,” I say. It's the first time I've spoken
their names for years. Consciously that is.

Now Kitty speaks, her words
tentative. “What happened?”

“
They....were taken from me,”
I repeat. I stop, feeling the weight of my loss barring down on me
once more. When I speak the next words I feel a very real pain in my
chest. “They were killed in a fire. Someone killed them.” The
grimace of pain on my face morphs, as it often does when I think of
their deaths, into a deep scowl.

“
Killed?” whispers Kitty.
“Someone killed them?”

I nod, staring at the road
ahead. It's not something I want to talk about. It's something I've
bottled up, refuse to let out. Kitty must realize this because she
doesn't ask again as I fall silent. She just turns back and stares
out at the looming mountains in the distance, this strange look on
her face.

Now Sophie and Ellie are
dominating my thoughts. That fire. It was a set-up. Made to look like
an accident. I never learned why, why they were killed. That's the
most frustrating thing of all. A botched robbery? A case of mistaken
identity, like with Kitty and her friend? I've thought through every
possibility I can imagine, but I always come down on one lingering
thought. That it was a professional job. That it was intended,
planned. This was retribution. This was revenge.

I wonder whether it was me. Was
she killed because of me? I'd had my enemies back home before I
joined the service. Would any of them have taken such measures? I
collaborated with the police over it, but they couldn't help me.
That's when I left the army and began a new life. One in the shadows.

I visited anyone I thought might
have done it. I questioned them in my own unique way until I was
satisfied they weren't to blame. I was unhinged and dangerous, a wild
animal hell-bent on finding the truth at any cost. I broke bones,
damaged lives, in my hunt for the truth. But it never came, and soon
I began to grow numb. Numb to any pleasure in life. Numb to the
prospect of a future. All I did was live in the past, yearning to
find that final piece so I could lay the ghosts of my family to rest.
But still, that hunt goes on.

I look over at Kitty again, and
she's retreated into her shell. I know what she's going through.
She's losing everyone she cares about too. I wonder if that's why I
decided to help her? In her I see a kindred spirit, someone undone by
events outside of their control. Her life has been turned upside
down, ruined, by something she had no part in. I understand all too
well how that feels. How it eats you up inside, weighs you down.

We continue in silence for a
long time as the afternoon draws by. Soon we're approaching Seattle
and I see that same gaze of wonder on Kitty's face. I see her eyes
trace the skyline of the city, settling on Mt. Ranier in the
distance. Before we know it we're through the city and continuing
north. Kitty's now got her eyes fixed to the wing mirror, watching as
the city's reflection begins to fade into the distance.

“
Can't I just stay there?”
she asks, still staring in the mirror. Her voice has a downcast tone
as if she already know what I'm going to say.

“
You could,” I say, “but I
can't guarantee your safety there. Too many cameras and eyes. Have
you been before?” I don't know why I ask, because it's so obvious
to tell that she hasn't. I guess I'm trying to make conversation.
Keep her mind – and mine – busy.

She shakes her head forlornly.
“Never really been out of California,” she says. “We never had
much money growing up.”