The Runaway (7 page)

Richard walked back to greet Martha at her door. He helped her with the innumerable paper bags that she was carrying and settled those on her kitchen table.

“I hope you are hungry.”

Richard couldn’t help but smile. “You read my mind.”

Martha heated up the soup and cut out sandwiches, while Richard helped with the cutlery.

“So Rick. Anything interesting so far!”

Martha’s eyes glimmered with amusement. Richard got the hint. Not very subtle. He laughed.

“Jim needs to know the bro code.”

“Well... It’s all right. I just wanted to have some fun poking you.”

He thought of seizing the opportunity. She would easily believe if he made it sound like he was enamoured by the girl from last night, and wanted to see it through, and know her more.

“Martha
... So. This girl...”

“Brooke Scott. I heard.”

Her expression changed for a fraction of a second. He might’ve been mistaken, but he could swear there was disapproval written all over her face. He hoped she would help him out despite her personal agendas.

“Yes. Brooke. Funny girl.”

No replies. He waited a while before plunging in again. She sighed.

“She is strange yes.”

Both of them remained quiet, finishing the last course of their meal. After he was done with his share, she quietly cleared his plates. He offered to help in doing the dishes, but she impatiently shooed him away with dessert.

“Rick! Go for a walk sometime – take the path by the park. Follow it up straight till you reach the lake. It’s a pretty place with scattered houses here and there. You’ll like the place.”

“No… I think I’ll stay in tonight...”

“Rick”, she cut in, “I’m sure you will like the place.”

He stared at her for a while. And then it dawned on him. He smiled, thanked for the lovely lunch and ran to his room. He showered, changed, shaved and tried to look presentable. She didn’t exactly look like the flowers type, but he decided to get them anyway. They had started off on a wrong note, and he just had to salvage it. He wondered if reminding her of his role in her past would do any good. However, he thought against it. “Hi! I helped getting your father arrested.” How would that sound? She wouldn’t start the conversation on that note. He wasn’t sure as to how he could start it either – surely he couldn’t try and flirt, or pretend to want to be friends – they’d fall apart in front of her. He guessed it was years of isolation and a friendless life that made her so noticeably …. No... He couldn’t get the right word to describe her. She wasn’t the cat loving type, nor the pink doting type – yet she was feminine, the way she moved in a lithe graceful manner that was captivating.

“She is younger... Much younger than me!” he chanted to himself on his way to the park. Not that he had any intention of starting anything with her, it was difficult to not notice how starkly she stood out from the people in his life. He didn’t want to goof up this opportunity by any
of his well-nigh stupidity – even though he was close to doing so the other night. He had no clue what he would say or do if she just slammed the door on his face. In his conflicted interests he didn’t realise he was crumpling the roses in his hand. He let out a deep breath, and smoothened the petals. What was he? Twelve? Sweaty palms before meeting a girl! That had never happened before.

The sun was se
tting on the horizon, the sky lit with lovely purple red streaks of the last moments of sunlight. He had just reached the lake. It was a transparent steel sheet, with not a ripple to disturb its smooth surface. He could vaguely make out the fishes swimming beneath. It wasn’t very deep – yet it seemed to stretch on forever.  There were a few stone cottages scattered by the banks of the lake, and he could make out one of them which was surely his target destination. Safely hidden in an alcove of thickets, and dense covers of bushes and shrubs, a small iron gate overlooked a rather dry broken road leading onto the front door. He paused outside the gate, almost expecting a large hound leaping on him. After moments of silently watching the house, he decided it was time to face his fears.

The gate creaked slightly. Dried leaves crunched under his feet – which made thundering noises in the deafening silence of the woods. This part of the forest was unnaturally quiet. The massive oak tree rising from behind Brooke’s cottage cast eerie shadows on the porch and on the walls of her fence. He took a couple of deep breaths and knocked. It was dead silent inside the house – he wondered if she had gone to bed already. There was no movement at all. He contemplated trying again the next day. On his third knock, he heard the click of the locks and the grunt of the heavy wooden door as it was dragged open by Brooke.

There was no exchange of words between them for quite some time – Brooke never had visitors, except Ian, but that was hardly any social call. And Richard could never get over her piercing questioning stare.

“What? Where do you want to go?”

Richard was brought back to his senses by Brooke’s words.

“I am sure I wouldn’t come here to meet someone else.” He tried his best smile, but it faltered when he registered the confused look on her face. Good god! Did she never have any visitors? Her reaction was unexpected – he was predicting being thrown out, but not pure surprise at a person who’s come over to say hi. Noticing that she still looked utterly lost at his presence at her door, he cleared his throat, and produced the roses.

“Hi..! We didn’t get to …”

He stopped midway and looked around. He couldn’t fathom what could possible terrify Brooke so much that she was frozen in fear. Her eyes had widened, pupils dilated and she was hardly breathing.

“Brooke... Are you ok?”

She wouldn’t answer. She was wildly staring at his hands, and walking backwards into her kitchen. Richard simply stepped in and tried helping her, but she started trembling violently, and before he could reach her, she had collapsed.

“Jesus!!”

He was no expert in medical attention – and he was at his wits’ ends as to what he had to do to revive her. She lay unconscious, crumpled at her door. He was sure he had never had this effect on girls – fainted.
.. Hell no! He tossed the roses aside, and bent down over her to check her pulse. He wasn’t sure how she would react if she found out that he helped her – whack him with that very long umbrella maybe. What the heck!! He softly picked her up and carried her over to the couch. He was unsure about what to do next. Unconscious. Water. Yes. Water should work. He rushed into the kitchen and got a bottle out from the refrigerator. He tried making her drink but he failed miserably. Almost reaching the end of his patience, he caused a handful of water to spill over her face. She sat up choking. He stepped back to give her room to breathe. After coughing out the water, and taking in deep breaths, she seemed settled. But Richard was baffled by the look of anger on her face- she should be recovering, relieved, but not angry.

“Could you please throw those things out?”

Richard stared around – what was she referring to? Nothing abhorrent or smelly was lying anywhere in the room. She kept staring over at the kitchen counter. He followed her gaze and located the bunch of roses that he’d got for her. Fine. She didn’t like roses. Point communicated. All she cared after having a seizure was to get rid of the roses? Strange girl.

He walked across the hall and threw them out the window.

“Happy?”

She had her eyes closed and was breathing steadily. He sat in front her, still holding the chilled bottle just in case she needed it.

“Don’t look at me- not the way you were
going to
anyway!”

He was taken aback by the sharpness in her tone. He
had helped her – which, well, warranted a thank you at least in his world. Not that he cared. Well he did. A bit. It isn’t everyday he got to be the saving knight. His head screamed at the last two words in his mind.

“… which is why I hate being helped by men… hello! New
Guy. Are you listening to me?”

“Err.
.. What?” He was too lost in his “heroic” deeds.

“I’m not made of glass. You needn’t have helped me. I take care of myself. Don’t expect me to thank you. Carrying women can help you get into their beds in London maybe, not here.”

“OK”

He watched her silently. What
was it about him that made her so vehemently rude? Or is that how she generally interacted? He decided on the latter. Who makes the guest throw away roses he brought for her? This was going to be difficult – he could come up with no strategy to get through to her.

“You can leave now – rather than pretending to give a shit. You could’ve left earlier too.”

“I know.”

He looked up to see her clamp her mouth shut. That must be a first – to run out of snarky retorts. He laughed to himself. She was fuming and muttering to herself.

“Do you want something?”

“No. NO.”

She tried to get up. The scene seemed to him like Tom was hit by a bat on the head by Jerry – the way her head wobbled from side to side. She glared at his amused expression. She lost her balance and fell on her couch again. Richard rushed forward to hold her. But she almost slapped his hands away. It made him feel so damn irritated. He was only trying to help after all. Genuinely.

“If I had other motives, I assure you, I wouldn’t be
looking for that
here
.”

That quieted her down. Ok. It sounded ruder that it was meant to be. He scratched his head in frustration. It was all going wrong. Why couldn’t she just let him help her? She stumbled towards the bathroom cabinet to get Advil.

“You could’ve asked me.”

She quietly moved to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. He was unsure whether to tag along any longer after the rude dismissal. Maybe a fresh start could help. He refilled her bottle, and fetched his coat.

“Do you want coffee?”

What?!
This girl would drive him mad with the mood swings. When did it reach coffee – the non-alcoholic friendly beverage stage? It was very clear that she wanted him to get out.

“Yes. That would be great.”

He stared at her. She looked as if she wished he had refused. Well, her problem, he smirked. He comfortably threw his coat over the couch and made himself at home with a magazine on the table. She hesitated for a moment and went into the kitchen. She came back with two mugs of coffee and placed it on the table. She settled in the chair opposite to him and gawked blatantly at him. Her eyes made him uncomfortable – as if they peeled the flesh away and touched his raw nerves. Dug out the dirty secrets. There was no bias in her eyes – as if to say what she saw appealed to her or if she was displeased by it. She just stared and sipped, utterly comfortable in the silence. He averted her eyes as much as he could, till it was impossible to escape the tingling sensation in his skin, as if singed through by her stare.

“Like what you see?”

“Hardly. You would have
known
if I had.”

Richard blushed. He actually blushed by the undiluted rawness of her comment. There was no pretence, no shame – it was so unabashedly honest. If his
previous comment had been rude, he had no words to describe what she just did to unsettle his male ego. He shifted in his seat and sipped in some more, nursing his ego. He wasn’t exactly liking the person she’d grown into. He didn’t like the scrutinizing eyes scanning him. And frankly, he didn’t like the coffee either. Too bitter.

“Would you care to tell me why you happened to be here to cause a near death incident?”

“Social call.” He was losing patience by her constant caustic tone. He would need some other tactic to get her to talk, and some other person to do the job. James maybe. He had this crush on her in any case. And he was already feeling not OK in getting flowers for his girl. This simplified matters. She hated him. And James liked her. Why not ask him to do the job, and he could have a quiet vacation in the unnamed corner of the world.

Brooke was equally baffled. Whichever way she looked, she couldn’t fathom why he would cross the lake
, crossing the town limits almost, and come looking for her. Unless he wanted to get laid. Or apologise for the way he behaved the last time they had met. That seemed more the case. She hated to be the damsel in distress. And it just so happened that she bloody fainted in front of this complete stranger. He must have touched her to have carried her to the couch. She was revolted by the idea. The idea of his big masculine hands over her arms. The only human touch that she could tolerate was during sex. She offered him the leeway to escape and not tend to the wobbly, unbalanced side of her. His response unsettled her. She had spent all her life to escape the better sides of men – the uglier, merciless and selfish side was easier to handle and discard from your life. She could tell her rudeness was getting to him – and he was resorting to silence more than he intended to. But he did help her. So she hoped that the coffee returned the favour. And he could leave her alone.

After a silence that seemed unending, Richard got up. He nodded at Brooke, and made his way out. His abrupt departure surprised Brooke – but she wouldn’t complain of getting what she wanted. Good riddance.

He wasn’t sure if it was wise to travel through the woods in the dark alone on foot. But he wanted to have a long interval of time to himself to rethink of a plan-B. It would be highly unlikely for them to cross paths again, he wasn’t too inclined on it either. The more he thought about it, the more James seemed to be the way out for him.

Funny, he thought, with their shared history, he had expected her to have become a different person entirely.
Softer, quieter and reserved. He was still shocked by her sudden anger fit – how could roses affect you so drastically – unless… He did the math, and kicked himself. How could he have forgotten the past? He wasn’t any random guy who was trying to impress her – he had known of the ten roses in her garden and what each symbolised. He should’ve known better than to turn up with the exact reminder of the lost lives she must be blaming herself for each day. No wonder, she reacted that badly. As he put more thoughts into what transpired in his visit, he understood her a bit more clearly. The girl grew up with dolls made by his dad – dolls that had hair cut from each of the dead girls. What else, if not bitter, withdrawn and suspicious would she grow up to be? He shuddered to think what Brooke must have gone through– when it came to light that the collection of dolls that she fell asleep to was created out of dead girls, brutalised by her father. Richard shook his head. To be true, he was amazed by her strength, awed by her ability to move past most of that and still live. He wouldn’t be able to cope. One card from the Dollmaker and he had sprinted to the remotest corner of Scotland in search of answers, whereas Brooke not only had to call him father, and live with the horror, but she had to emerge out of apparently causing the death of 11 girls who resembled her.

He decided to give it another shot – maybe reminding her of him
would
help, but he didn’t want her to feel grateful for what he had done. Judging by what he just witnessed, she hated being in a man’s debt. It was past dinner time, when he reached Martha’s house. He could just grab a bread or something. He wasn’t exactly hungry and he had a lot of thinking to do.

Brooke cursed herself over and over. Who faints in front of a man? After seeing roses? Who’d understand her aversion to the universal flower of dating? It
’s not like she harboured an intense dislike for the man – well not more than she felt for most of his species. It was unusual for people to come over to her house – just explained all the more that he’s new in town. But a panic attack in front of him?! She could drown in the shame – never in her life, after she could escape the protective clutches of Wattson, had she stooped to accept help from anyone, never from a stranger. Normal wimpy girls did that, to get their attention. And that’s one thing she can never crave for. What did this Rick want? Whatever it was, she was rude enough to not make him come poking his nose again. She retired to her bedroom. She’d have to keep the lights on tonight. Just because of those stupid roses. A blast from the past and the nightmares returned, and they could ensure a week’s worth of sleeplessness. Even sedatives proved to be failures once the nightmares came back. She could picture Paul with his shovel and his beloved rose bushes, and how he would make her watch while he planted and watered them. Hell… he even made her plant the last couple of them. Brooke started shivering; she turned the heater on. She was afraid of closing her eyes –all she could think of was millions of strands of hair, a massive net ensnaring her, and cutting off her breath, as her dolls watched and laughed at her. She tossed and turned for almost an hour before she gave up on sleep. She cursed Rick and turned on the TV to pass her time. It was windy outside – one of her windowpanes must have had a loose catch, and was incessantly hitting against the frame. She couldn’t muster enough will to go look for it – rather the sound broke the eerie silence within her, and within those walls of the house that she was wandering about somewhere in her mind.

“Don’t you have a bed in your house?”

Brooke groaned and turned over in her couch – she mumbled and fell back into a shallow slumber. She was dreaming of strange voices in her home. And something cold that brushed against her face. She dared not open her eyes, but waited till the cold fingers reached within her grasp. She caught hold of his wrist and in a smooth movement, she pulled him
down on the floor and mounted him. Yes. This was something she was good at. Self-defence. She didn’t expect the face that was staring up at her with an amused expression. She almost screamed, “What the fuck are you doing here? Did I not make it clear you are not welcome?”

Brooke was flabbergasted at this man’s stupid audacity.

“Whoa! I’m not into this shit – but well,
that
was hot”

What Rick wanted was to get back at her for her callous innuendo the previous day that somehow he couldn’t get out of his mind. What he never could imagine was getting boxed right on his jaws for his cheek. It was a while before he registered the pain that was caused by Brooke’s solid punch right across his face. He was totally stunned – but then this girl was doing that to him almost every time he met her. It was funny – seeing her in a defensive posture, with clenched fists.