Run With Me (18 page)

I start to wonder about who
these people are, what their lives were before, why they're running.
I start flicking through pages and reading people's final words. Some
are short, and often sweet, but others go into more depth. I come to
one that man who describes his full story.

Wrongly accused of murder, he
was arrested and put on trial. He managed to get bail, and from there
there's only once choice. To disappear. He speaks quite eloquently
about his emotions at losing his wife and being accused of killing
her, about his time being interrogated and locked away from his loved
ones. He tells of his anguish at having to leave his children, at
walking away from a life he held dear. He goes on for page after
page, and by the end I realize that I'm crying, that the page is
being wet by my tears.

I keep reading, hearing these
stories of pain and loss and guilt and regret. They all mirror my
thoughts, my emotions at losing my friend, losing my family. Through
the ink on the pages I feel connected to these lost souls, and begin
to wonder what they are doing now. Did they manage to fully escape
their pasts? Have they been able to build new lives, and live happy?

I pray for that to be the case,
for these tragedies to end well. I pray for my own sake. It gives me
hope that perhaps I can come out of all this OK. I have little in my
life anyway that I'm leaving behind. I'm not leaving a husband or
boyfriend or family. I'm not leaving a great job or a beautiful home.
In fact, I doubt too many people would even notice if I disappeared.
That final thought hits me in the gut it's so depressing.

Then I think again of Colt. Do I
have so little faith in him that I've already consigned myself to
starting anew? It was partly the way Dale spoke, the intonation in
his voice as he told me that Colt could do the job. There was doubt
there, and this man knows Colt better than I do. Is Carmine so
untouchable that he can't be got at? Or is it the act of killing
itself that might hold Colt back. There's one thing defending
yourself against attack, but killing someone in cold blood is a whole
different matter. That's murder, pure and simple, and I can't imagine
how difficult that must be, whatever the situation.

But then, this is a man who
hunts people for money. This is a man who has clearly killed before,
both in the army, and outside of it. Or am I just assuming that? I
realize I don't really know Colt at all, and the way he's treated me
would suggest he's not a cold, hardened killer. This situation,
however, is unique. If Carmine lives, we both die. So however you
look at it, it's him or us.

I turn back to the book and keep
reading. Somehow I find it cathartic, reading these stories. Knowing
that so many others have transitioned over the years has got to be a
positive. I try, now, to avoid those that are overly emotional or
revealing. Instead, I try to focus on those that are positive and
uplifting. Those who talk of their relief, of their God-given luck to
get this second chance.

But there's one that catches my
eye more than any other. It's the type I'm trying to avoid, but I
can't help but run my eyes over it. It starts:

The Final Confession of
Robert Pullman

3/8/2010

My name is Robert Pullman,
and I'm about to start a new life. I cannot tell you how relieved I
am that this is the case. As with other letters in this book, I am
truly blessed to get a second chance. But, unlike others, I don't
deserve any of it.

I have lived my life in a
selfish way, not caring about the fortunes of others. I have no
qualifications, no job. I have lived from meal to meal, doing
whatever I can to make money, often by breaking the law. I'm not
proud of any of it, and I've lived an unhappy life for as long as I
can remember.

I feel this is the only place
where I can tell the truth. I want to start again, try to be a good
person. If I stay as Robert Pullman, I'm dead. I'm dead because I
made a mistake, and now I know my life is in danger.

I am responsible for the
deaths of two people. There is no other way to put it. I realize,
now, that sooner or later something like this would have happened. I
didn't intend it, but I didn't ask questions either. I just did what
I was paid for.

I burned down a house. I've
done this before a couple of times to help people get insurance
payouts. But this time was different. This time it was only meant to
teach someone a lesson. I didn't know that there were people inside.
I wasn't told.

It eats me up every single
day. The guilt I feel makes me want to take my own life. It's not the
woman I think of most, but the little girl. I killed a little girl,
and I'm going to have to live with that forever.

I'm scared. Always scared. I
know I made a mistake and deserve to pay for it. But I'm too much of
a coward to face it. People want to kill me now. The police want to
catch me. So I'm running and hiding. This is my final hiding place.
Tomorrow, Richard Pullman will no longer exist. Tomorrow, I can start
doing something good with my life....to make amends, if I can.

My heart begins to beat a little
faster, and it takes me a moment to put two and two together. A fire.
A woman and a little girl. I check back at the date – 2010 – and
remember the news story of the woman and her daughter dying in a
house fire. Colt's family. His wife and daughter. I've just read the
confession of the man who killed them.

It's deathly silent now, as if
the wilderness around me has suddenly hushed. I return to the top of
the page and read over the confession again, then again, as if I'll
find more information. This man – Richard Pullman – was the man
who killed Colt's family. It was an accident, not intended. He was
paid to do it, so who was his employer?

I tear the page out of the book
and shut it tight. I can feel myself shaking, my mind tumbling from
side to side with the revelation that's just hit me. Colt. He has to
know. Then another thought occurs to me. Does he have to know? Will
this information merely reopen old wounds? The man might well be
dead, and if not, he'll have a new identity now. How will Colt ever
find him?

Dale! Dale might know. He's the
one who gives you the identity. Surely he'll know who this guy has
become, what his new name is? I make a plan to ask him when he next
comes to the cabin. Then I begin to wonder if he knew in the first
place. Does he know all of his clients' stories? Surely he'll have
told Colt if that was the case. Does he even know my story? Does he
really know why I'm running?

I decide that he probably
doesn't. In fact, I doubt he wants to. It would be too much baggage
to know too much, to have these clients pouring their hearts out to
him and using his shoulder to cry on. I can start to see why Dale is
as he is now. Why he's so cold and disinterested. It's a defense
mechanism. A means of distancing himself from the people he helps.
I'd imagine it's just easier that way.

Now all I can do is wait, and I
can tell it's going to be excruciating. But there's nowhere I can go,
nothing I can do. I have to play my part in all this, and my part is
backstage. Sit, wait, and hope for the best. That's my role.

Colt

It takes me the best part of two
days to return to LA after leaving Kitty in the shack. That's a lot
of time to think, to plan how I'm going to get to Michael Carmine.
The closer I get, the more my nerves begin to stand on end. It occurs
to me that Carmine isn't going to expect me to run and hide, so he's
probably on high alert. Suddenly, the hunter has become the hunted,
and I'm back to what I do best.

I get back to the city without
incident. I have no concerns that the police will be looking for me
and, now that I don't have Kitty in tow, I'm a lot more free with my
movements. That said, I know how deep Michael Carmine's influence
goes, and expect him to have people watching out for my car.

As soon as I get back, I decide
to change cars. I own a garage in the city where I have a replacement
just in case my current vehicle becomes compromised. This car is
similar – another basic looking sedan - although I've modified it
significantly on the inside. It's most obvious external difference is
the color, which is a navy blue, rather than black, and the windows
are not blacked out. They are, however, bulletproof, which is
something that has come in handy before.

On the inside I've altered the
backseat to fold down to create a sort of bed, just like in the other
car. In fact, all internal modifications are a carbon copy of my
black sedan. In much the same way, the car's performance has been
supercharged for potential high speed getaways and chases. This gives
it a power that belies its fairly mundane external appearance, which
is just the way I like it. I also have a selection of number plates
that can't be traced to me. So, all in all, there's no way Carmine's
men will know what to look for.

By the time I've reached the
city and changed cars I'm exhausted. My right shoulder is also
particularly sore, and after so many hours behind the wheel, I think
I might have made matters slightly worse. It's stiffer and tighter
than it was before, and the mobility I have in my right arm is
starting to worsen.

I have an apartment in LA under
another name which I doubt even Michael Carmine will be able to trace
me to. However, owing to my extremely suspicious nature, I choose to
play it safe and go to a hotel to recuperate. I find somewhere simple
in Central LA and pay for my room in cash up front. I spend the first
hour tending to my shoulder. Since I left Kitty the bandaging hasn't
been changed, so I set about the task myself, with some difficulty.
It takes a while but I get it done. Then I take some painkillers
before going straight to bed.

I don't expect to sleep well,
but surprise myself when I wake at 8 AM feeling fully refreshed.
Somehow I feel less burdened now, like I have a single focus and my
body and mind are working in tandem to get it done. So, no troubled
nightmares, no waking up in the dead of night in a cold sweat. Even
my shoulder feels better in the morning and, after a few stretches to
improve mobility, I feel ready to go.

I consider calling Rick to get
some intel, but would prefer to keep him out of this. Regardless of
our relationship, I don't think it would be smart to involve him.
He's helped me for years, running credit checks and tracing cars, but
this is more than that. Here he'd be an accessory to murder, and I
don't want to burden him with that.

I step out of the hotel and into
my car down the street. I know that Michael Carmine owns the bar that
Kitty worked at, and it appears to be somewhere he conducts a lot of
his more shady dealings. I also know of a nightclub, a couple of
restaurants, and various other projects he's involved in. He has all
these businesses to give him a public face and to launder the money
he generates from his criminal activities. As far as I know, these
include racketeering, extortion, loansharking, bribery, kidnapping,
and murder. The criminal depths of this man knows no limits.

The obvious place to start is
the bar. I've been there before, more than once, and know the layout.
I also know, however, that infiltrating the place will be nigh on
impossible. Scoping it out, on the other hand, should be simple
enough.

It doesn't take me long to drive
there. I park down the street, hidden inside my blue sedan wearing a
cap and sunglasses to help conceal my appearance. From the outside
the place is nothing to look it. It's a simple brick building,
covered in graffiti, with a single, metal, door leading to a
staircase inside. Down the stairs is the main bar, with Carmine's
office in the back. I know that there is another staircase at the
back that leads up the alley. I can see the entrance to the alley
now, about 20 feet down from the door.

As I look at it I imagine Kitty
running out on the street, eyes wide, head spinning after seeing what
she saw. I think of the girl I've come to know, and wonder what even
lead her to work at a place like this. All I ever do is read the
file, find the 'runner', and either return them to the client or tell
them where they are, depending on what they prefer. I get details
from those files, but never let them sink in. If I'd never spoken to
Kitty, if I'd just done what I've been doing for years, I'd have a
different opinion of her. In some way, I tend to think the worst of
people just to make the job easier. The worse I make them in my head,
the easier it is to do the job. Eventually, everyone becomes a bad
guy, and I get to sleep more peacefully at night.

But Kitty's changed things.
Whatever happens with Carmine, I don't think I can go back to what
I've been doing. Something has broken inside of me. Or maybe
something's gotten fixed? It's as though my moral compass has
suddenly been adjusted and I'm seeing clearly again. I've lived for
so long in anger, dreaming of revenge, that I've lost my own way.
Perhaps, finally, it's time to let go of the past and move on? It's
been years and I'm no closer to knowing about Sophie and Ellie. Maybe
I never will. So what's the point in torturing myself like this. My
life has hit a wall that I'm unable to break down. It could be time
to turn around.

But not yet. I won't have a life
– Kitty won't have a life – unless Michael Carmine pays for what
he's done. And Rugger – if he's still drawing breath, he needs to
be put down too. Maybe, just maybe, if I set us free, I can finally
start living again, start looking to the future, rather than turning
back to the past. I've spent years with my neck twisted backward,
never quite knowing where my next step will land. Should I look ahead
and move on? Is it time to let Sophie and Ellie go?