by Lilly Wilder
“So, that’s why I think we should head over there now,” Fynn wraps up telling me exactly what happened, and suggesting to go and hide somewhere else, somewhere where not even the police would know where we are.
“Is it still safe?” I wonder. “We haven’t been there in about…”
“Five years,” he reminds me. “Luckily, we didn’t need to use it. The police safe houses, any of the ones we used, did the job. But, this time, we’re screwed.”
“You think the hiker had something to do with the call?”
“Everything points to the contrary, but it can’t be a coincidence. It just can’t.”
“You know I trust you when it comes to smells and gut feelings,” I remind him.
“I know,” he tries a smile. “Thanks. Really.”
“So, we wake her up and get going?”
“I think so,” he nods, drumming his fingers silently against the kitchen table, as if following an inside rhythm which is trying to soothe him, only not very successfully. “Just get what we need the most. Some food. Water. Leave the rest. We need to go now.”
“OK.”
“Actually, you go get the girl,” he tells me. “I’ll grab stuff from the kitchen. Just shove her stuff in her bag and don’t spend too much time on it. I’ll be waiting outside by the car.”
“Sure thing,” I nod again, and rush over to Maddie’s room.
I wasn’t in on the conversation, but judging from what Fynn told me, Sven either knows where we are or he’ll know very soon. And then, there’ll be Hell to pay. We need to get the heck out of here and now.
With those thoughts in mind, I knock on Maddie’s door, and immediately enter without even waiting for the OK. She’s lying on the bed, her entire body covered with a blanket. She’s breathing slowly, evenly. She’s fully asleep and I almost feel bad for waking her up. But, there’s no time to spare.
“Maddie,” I call out to her, shaking her gently on the shoulder.
She stirs a little underneath the blanket, but doesn’t acknowledge me.
“Maddie, you need to wake up,” I tell her again, a little more loudly. “We need to go.”
She stirs some more, her eyes barely open, a faint flicker of recognition. Then, she props herself up on her elbows, as her chestnut hair falls in thick tresses behind her on the pillow.
“Go where?” she asks, fully awakened now by the newfound knowledge.
“Can’t tell you,” I shake my head, as I pull the blanket off of her. “It’s Fynn’s place. Well, not technically. He doesn’t live there. But, he’s used it for years. It’s abandoned, and perfect for what we need.” I realize I’m babbling, but that’s me on edge. Fynn’s fidgety. I yack like a bored old grandma with her nose in everybody’s business.
“Oh…” she nods, rubbing her eyes. “Well, lemme just get ready and - “
“No time,” I shake my head, already up from the bed and grabbing the few items of clothes she’s brought with her from the shelves. “Where’s your bag?”
She points at a little backpack in the corner, and I shove all her stuff in there. I grab her toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom and two towels.
“You ready to go?” I ask her.
Her eyes are sparkling in the darkness. I can’t tell if she’s trying to suppress the tears. I squeeze her shoulder.
“Hey…” I tell her. “I know it looks bad, but you have no proof that your dad took that shot.”
She lifts her diamond eyes to me, and I see hope in them, hope unlike any other I’ve seen in all my years on the force.
“But, Fynn said - “
“I thought I told you to take into account that Fynn’s an asshole sometimes,” I remind her, and the joke works. She bursts into laughter, and two large glistening tears roll down her cheeks. “He thinks he’s got the Universe by the balls or something, and I love that guy to death, but sometimes, he’s got his head so deep up his ass that he has no idea what he’s saying.”
She chuckles again.
“So, let’s focus on us first, and getting out of this house safe and sound. Then, once all this is over, I promise you that we’ll find out what happened to Hugo. Let’s not jump to conclusions before we got all the facts straight. Alright?”
She takes us both by surprise when she jumps at me and wraps her arms around my neck. For a moment, I don’t know what to do, and just stand there stupidly, with her hanging from my neck, all elongated and swan-like. But then, instinct takes over, and I envelop her into a warm hug. She fits into my arms so perfectly, like she was made to be there.
She looks up at me, her cheeks still red and her eyes a little swollen, but she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on. No matter how many times I repeat to myself that this is a case we’re working on, a very delicate one at that, I can’t pretend like there isn’t chemistry between us.
It’s hard not to lower my head just a few inches towards her and press my lips against hers. I can’t. I want to, with all my heart, but I know I can’t. I keep staring at her, so sweet, so vulnerable, so willing. Her lips part slightly, and her warm breath spills onto me. I dig my fingers deeper into her flesh. I press her closer to me. I can feel her heart beat against mine, beating in unison.
Finally, I let go of her. I know I can’t do this. I’m not allowed. I’m the older one here, and should know better.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I resort to the usual phrase that is said under these circumstances, and it provides some distance from the overly intimate moment we just shared.
She nods. I feel sorry that the magic is broken, but it’s better that way.
“Come on, I got your stuff here,” I pat the backpack in my arms. “We need to get going now.”
“Let’s go,” she says, still weak, but willing to obey.
We walk out of the house, and I grab a few other things on the way. Outside, Fynn is standing by the car, cigarette in his mouth. When he sees us, he inhales deeply, then drops the rest of it to the ground and stomps on it angrily. I don’t have to be near him to know that all the hairs on his body are pricked up. He is trying to pick up a sense of a possible intruder, but he isn’t agitated. He is focused, calm.
“You ready?” he asks quickly. I can barely hear him.
A few leaves ruffle in the bushes close to us. All three pairs of eyes focus on it.
“Just a hedgehog,” Fynn assures us.
Maddie is scared stiff. I help her to the car. She gets in the back. I throw the backpack into the trunk, then sit shotgun. I’ll let Fynn drive this time, and maybe even catch some shuteye. Seems like nothing’s going according to plan. These scenarios are already nerve-wracking enough, even when it all does go according to plan. But, this… I dare not think what awaits us by the end.
Chapter 15
We drive for what seems to be a small eternity, and I keep dozing on and off in the car. My anxiety and fear are keeping me awake, but the softly fluctuant ride on the occasional bumpy road lulls me to sleep. I think of my mother’s loving smile. I remember my father’s strong arms and how they always made me feel so safe. Now, I wonder if there is any place in the world which I could call that. I doubt it.
And yet, one glance forward is enough for me to calm down, at least a little. I see Fynn’s eyes in the rear view mirror. I see the determination in them. I see a promise. I can’t see Anderson. All I get are the random pops of his curls that appear from behind his seat. I don’t see it, but I know he turns around from time to time, to check up on me. My eyes are closed, but it’s one of those looks you can feel, even when enshrouded in darkness.
We arrive in the early hours of the morning. Fynn gets out of the car first, then Anderson. He opens the door for me, and when I exit, I realize we’re in the middle of nowhere again.
“This is an even bigger middle of nowhere than last time,” I say, feeling an unexpected surge of optimism. I attribute it to the rising sun in the distance and th
e sweet chirping of the birds from a nearby tree. The bushes are thick, hiding the view from us.
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for,” Anderson nods. “Fynn, lead the way. It’s been ages since you brought me here, I doubt I’d find the way in myself.”
“Just follow the road,” Fynn tells us.
“What road?” Anderson wonders.
Instead of reply, Fynn points his index finger. It takes a while to find a small clearing in the bushes, and once we push some of the branches aside, we see a slightly trodden path.
“You can only find it if you know what you’re looking for,” Fynn explains, leading the way.
“Good old Fynn,” Anderson smiles, going last, urging me to go before him.
The road is narrow, there are branches scratching us from all sides, but we keep going. Finally, we see a door, behind a padlocked gate. My first thought is that someone had closed up Fynn’s place, and we wouldn’t be able to get in. But, then, Fynn’s hand dives into his pocket and extracts the key which opens up the lock in seconds. The door screeches as it moves, slowly and unforgivingly, but finally, the door itself opens as well. A damp smell of mildew hits my nostrils. I cough a little.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t smell like the Ritz,” Anderson chuckles. “Even I can smell that.”
I turn to him, not getting the joke.
“Oh, you don’t know,” Anderson slaps his forehead jokingly. “Of course you don’t. I had this treehouse when I was a kid. My dad built it for me. My mom added the little touches, you know, like the curtains. I mean, I hated those things. I thought the guys would all make fun of me for that. I got this awesome treehouse and the windows have curtains. Like, what the fuck, right?” He pauses as he tells me the story, and I can actually feel the warmth of his memory. “But, eventually, I grew to love those horrid flowery things. It just made the place more of a home away from home. Even though the home was right there. I could see the house from the treehouse, but I was still far enough away to consider it my own little castle.”
“Boy, when you tell a story, you really take it from the top, don’t you?” Fynn snorts.
“You’re just complaining because you heard it before,” Anderson replies, then continues. “So, as I was saying, my friends and I were at the treehouse one day, being boys. You know, smoking, maybe looking at porn magazines I stole from my dad, maybe not, I’m not saying this one for sure.” I laugh, as Fynn disappears through the door.
I hesitate to follow. I turn to Anderson.
“Let’s finish the story outside, and then we’ll go in, how’s that?” he seems to sense my apprehension, and I feel a wave of gratitude. “So, we’re smoking and suddenly, one of my friends drops his cigarette, and the whole place catches fire like that. We’re all sliding down the ladder, waiting for one another. I, as the proud and now infamous owner of the treehouse am left last. I wanted to make sure everyone got out safely before I rush down myself. But, by the time everyone was out, the fire was raging, and it caught my pants. I managed to put it out, and finally rushed down the ladder, following the others, but I inhaled too much smoke. I spent two weeks at the hospital after that, I could barely talk during those two weeks. That’s when they told me that I’m left with about 15% of my sense of smell. But, I should consider myself lucky, I guess. We could have burned to death, all of us. It’s weird how it all happens so quickly, like flicking a light switch. On. Off. And poof. You’re no more.”
“But, you should be really proud of yourself, too,” I remind him. “You made sure everyone got out before you did. That’s something.”
“Now that I consider it, I guess so. But, back then, I wasn’t thinking about it. It was just the right thing to do and I just did it. As simple as that.”
He shrugs as he speaks, and I see a glimmer of the boy he once was. Short shorts, skinned knees, dirt underneath his fingernails. That’s how I imagine him. Fynn - not so much. He sounds like the kid who’d shoosh you in the library for whispering too loudly.
“You guys coming, or what?” Fynn appears at the door, as if called upon.
Anderson and I smile at each other, and I enter first. Still in a good mood from the story I just heard, I don’t mind the smell of mildew so much any longer. I realize it’s an entrance to a mine, and they made it into a big, elongated hallway. It probably gets pretty cold in here in the winter months, so hopefully we won’t stay here long enough to find out exactly how cold it gets.
“These things over here are mine,” Fynn points at several black bags filled to the brim and closed up in the corner, so it’s impossible to guess what’s inside, based on the shape of the bag alone.
“In other words, we won’t be getting near those,” Anderson adds.
I appreciate his light jokes. They allow me to escape the grim reality of my current existence, if only for a short while.
“There are two beds over there,” Fynn points. “You can choose which one you’d like,” he tells me. “Anderson and I will use the other one. We’ll never be asleep at the same time anyway, so not like everyone needs their own bed.”
“Good point,” I nod.
I can see that Fynn is still on edge, much more than Anderson and I are. Or, maybe, we’re just better at hiding it.
“So, we’re safe here?” I wonder aloud, and both guys turn to look at me.
“I doubt there’s anywhere we’re a hundred percent safe, but this is the next best thing,” Fynn assures us both, and I get the feeling, he’s trying to convince himself equally of this. “We’ll stay here for as long as we need to.”
“Are we letting the boss know?” Anderson asked.
“We’ll tell him we moved,” Fynn explains. “And, we’ll tell him we’re safe. But, we won’t tell him where we are.”
“Won’t he be pissed?” Anderson watches him, head askew.
“Pissed or not, that’s how things are going down,” Fynn sounds like that is the end of the conversation for him. “I think I need some shuteye, so you’ll take the first shift.”
“Sure thing,” I see Anderson nod, without a single word or gesture of disobedience.
“You mind if we take this one?” Fynn asks me, pointing at one of the beds, which in no way differed from the other one, apart from its slightly different location.
“No, I’m fine with whichever,” I assure him, secretly glad that, at least, he was nice enough to ask.
“Alright then,” he concludes, walking over to the bed, quickly kicking off his shoes, and then just slumping down with the entire weight of his body onto it.
Anderson shrugs his shoulders with a helpless look on his face, but I know now that there’s so much more underneath it. Their relationship is one that seems to transcend mere partnership in the traditional sense of the word, and I believe it has much to do with where they came from. Their roots are the same, so much different from mine. I want to understand them more, despite the fact that everything is telling me I can’t get close to them.
I watch as Anderson leaves outside, for his watch. I count his footsteps. I listen to Fynn’s soft breathing. Somehow, against all odds, I feel safe.
Chapter 16
“There’s no reception here of any sort, is there?” I sigh looking at the thick, high walls around us.
“Not like you’d need it, anyway,” Anderson tells me.
It’s been a few days of our stay here, without a big choice of books or any other entertainment, apart from talking. Fynn has offered me one of those mystery bags he has in the corner, the one that contains books, a chessboard and some cards. I suppose, only books serve my purpose. The other two would require the active presence of another person, or maybe even two of them. Fynn has made it perfectly clear that getting too close would be wrong. It’d be too dangerous for us all. And, I know what he means. I know exactly what he means. But, despite that, I can’t order my heart what to feel.
“Yeah, not like I have my phone on me,” I snort.
“Are you bored with us already?” he chuckles.
I lift my head, and I just can’t remain serious. I wonder what he’s like when there isn’t death in the air around him. Is he equally fun and amusing, or maybe even more so? What is he like when he’s in love?
I bite my lip at the thought, as he turns his back to me, and rummages through one of Fynn’s bags.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I tell him, glancing at the door.
Fynn is still out, keeping an eye out on the area.
“Oh, trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t done to him, that he hasn’t forgiven me,” Anderson grins, then dives even more deeply into the bag.
“I can’t imagine him forgiving anything,” I say, even though I meant to keep this to myself.
“You, and many others,” he nods, finally extracting something out of the bag.
Judging from the look on his face, it was exactly what he was looking for.
“You’d better put that back.”
“No way,” he shakes his head.
I still can’t see the thing in his hand properly, as he looks at it tenderly, almost lovingly.
“We’ll make this baby work,” I hear him say, extending his hands to me, and I see it’s one of those old radios. “This baby right here is a Pioneer SX-850 series, a typical AM/FM stereo receiver from the 1970’s.”
“The ‘70s?” I repeat.
“It has an outstanding FM reception, we just need to see if there is a good external antenna.”
He put the radio down on a small table in the corner, and went to rummage some more in that same bag.
“Got it!” he shouted victoriously, holding an antenna in his hand.
“Will it work?” I ask.
“Will it work?” he repeats, accentuating every word. “It sure as Hell will work.”
He looks around, still looking for something.
“Ah!” he shouts, rushing over to his backpack and getting out a screwdriver. “Now, we’re talking!”
He sits down on the floor, and gets to work. I watch as his fingers dance around the little machine which seems all but broken. It gets twisted, opened, the closed once more. The wires that are poking out are all tucked nicely in. The antenna is first resting wobbly, but he fixes that, too. When he is finished, he gets up, actually jumps up from the floor, and places the radio on the little table.
