I watch on, and my heart quickly constricts. A flash lights again, but this time it's silent, this time there's no thunder with it. My eyes swell as I watch on, seeing the window of my aunt and uncle's bedroom light up several times in succession before once more fading into darkness.
My breath is caught inside me, locked down and refusing to leave. I can't move, can't look away from the window as the curtains open and I see the silhouette of a man standing there, a gun in his hand. He stands motionless for a moment, looking on at me as I look at him. A shadow, bringing death.
Another flash lights up the sky and he quickly turns away. My instinct kicks in and I gun the engine, tearing down the road through puddles of murky water. I check my mirror, searching for signs that he's following me. When I see two pale lights in the distance I put my foot down harder.
I turn corners and pace through the streets as I move into town. There are no cars on the road, no signs of life as I fly through the pouring rain, my windshield wipers rushing by from left to right and clearing my view.
Before long I can see no lights tracing me, no sign of my pursuer, but I don't slow down, I don't stop. I keep on driving, hard and fast, until I burst through on the other side of the city and onto the open highway heading north. I drive and drive, my eyes wet, my hands shaking, until the dim light of dawn begins to break on the horizon and the storm starts to fade.
When I stop I do so off road, parked down a dirt track away from prying eyes. I cry hard and bang the wheel until my head hurts. My aunt, my uncle, shot dead in their home. And it's all because of me.
Chapter 5 - Colt
Colt
The backseat of my car is comfortable. I've manufactured it that way, with extra modifications, because sometimes I need to sleep there as part of the job. It's not always as easy to find a free room in a hotel as the movies make out. Sometimes, the backseat is the best I can do.
When I wake up, however, I feel that familiar crick in the neck. Maybe if I was short it wouldn't be a problem, but I'm not, I'm 6 feet 2, so it's never the best sleep. Kinda cramped, really.
The loud storm didn't help either. It raged all fucking night, clattering against my roof like stones rattling inside a tin can. But that's something I've gotten used to. I can go for several days without sleeping if I need to, so it's not a problem.
I step out of the car and my foot hits a puddle. It soaks quickly through my shoe and into my sock, riding up to my ankle. I grimace with annoyance as I drag my cold wet toes out of the murky brown liquid and step onto firmer ground. I move to the trunk and flick it open. I've got a spare everything in there: clean socks, clean shoes, clean clothes. I'm always prepared to hit the highway for weeks if I need to.
The sun shines down on my aching neck as I begin to undress, pulling off my pants and shirt and unfolding a fresh outfit from a compartment in the trunk. I stand there for a moment on the side of the road, dressed only in my underwear, and let the sun's rays soak into me. They sink into my skin, warming me to my bones as I stretch off my back and neck.
I hear a horn blare loudly and the shrieks of women fill the air as a car drives past. It slows down as it goes by and I see several flashes as its occupants take pictures. When I raise my head I offer a smile and the girls laugh and shriek louder. They're all wearing silly outfits and hats and, a soon as the car passes, I can see why.
“Sam's Bachelorette” reads a banner on the back, colored in pink and purple and with funny cartoons of male strippers in the corners. I guess I gave them an early preview.
The car picks up speed and whizzes off into the distance as I turn my eyes up and down the road. It's still early, and there's no one else in sight.
I drop my underwear and step out of them, feeling the light morning breeze rush over my naked body. It's particularly fresh after a heavy storm. Then I dress in new clothes: black pants and a white shirt. It's a simple look, one I've gotten used to.
It's eerily calm as I walk round the side of the car and step back into the driver's seat. There's not a whiff of wind in the air, not a sound of a car, or of someone talking, or a bird singing anywhere nearby.
The engine roars to life when I turn the key, breaking the silence. It rumbles angrily as I begin to cruise off down the road, my eyes set firm on my target: Kitty Munroe. And now, I know just where she is. Rick has seen to that.
He's an old friend, Rick. We met back in school and were friends for years before I left and joined the army. Whenever I came back from any tour of duty, I'd always hang out with him first out of all my friends. He was one of the only ones who stood by me when it all went to shit, when my life got crushed before my eyes. He knows what I do now. He knows what I am. But still, he doesn't judge. He even helps me sometimes, even though it could mean the end of his career.
But then, he has no choice. It's his moral responsibility that keeps him from telling me 'no' when I ask for a favor. He's a detective, and can help me get information about any person I'm trying to track down. Why does he do it? Because he owes me. Because he told me he'd keep them safe. He told me he'd catch the guy who'd done it. But he never did. And now, now he's racked with guilt. Now, whenever I need him to trace a cell phone signal or run a check for a credit card, he does it, no questions asked.
Sophie. Ellie.
The names rock around in my head every day, without fail. They're there when I wake, they're there when I'm drifting off to sleep. I don't think they'll ever leave me. They'll haunt me for the rest of my life. And I want them to. It's all I cling to: it's why I do what I do. And one day, one day I'll find the man who did it. One day I'll do what Rick couldn't. And when I do, he'll be begging for death before the end.
I drive for an hour before I begin to slow, feeling my way through the town of Bakersfield. It's quiet still on this early Sunday morning, the homes I pass yet to wake and come to life. I round a corner and make my way up a long street with large houses nicely spaced on either side. There's a small-town leafiness to it, the bright morning sunshine making the area look idyllic: somewhere anyone would love to live.
As I keep moving, the morning calm is suddenly broken. Up ahead I see flashing lights and a hive of activity. Cops cars are gathered outside a house, an ambulance parked between them. Its back doors are open wide and two bodies are being stretchered inside. I roll up slowly and a cop comes rushing forward towards me, signaling me to roll down my window.
“Sorry Sir, you're going to have to take another route.”
I poke my head out of the window and up the street, as if out of casual interest.
“What's the problem officer?”
“I can't tell you Sir. Please, go back down the street and find another way around.” He speaks politely, and I get the impression he's already done this a few times this morning.
I nod and put the car in reverse, my expression growing in fury as the police officer makes his way back up to the incident site. I know right away that it's the house I was intending to visit this morning. The source of Kitty's call was inside. It's her aunt and uncle's house, and I know immediately that the two bodies being carted out of it are theirs.
The thought makes me burn as my hands grip tight at the steering wheel. Carmine sent someone else, someone who'd kill two innocent people in their attempt to track down this girl. I don't kill innocent people, I think to myself. My wife. My baby daughter. They were innocent.
I can feel my hands shaking now and I pull up on the side of the road. Suddenly I'm there again, in Baghdad on tour when I get the call. The call that changed my life, that ruined my life.
I'd been on patrol with my unit when my Captain got some news on the radio. I remember vividly the moment as he looked over at me, his eyes growing sullen. But he never said anything, not right then. We were on active duty, and we needed to finish the patrol before returning to base. Yet I could sense that something was up, and that it involved me.
When we returned to base he took me aside and told me the truth. It hit me like a truck, knoc
king the breath from my body.
“Colt, there's something I need to tell you,” he'd said to me. “It involves your family.”
Those first words had primed me for something awful. I felt my blood run cold at the look in his eye. He wasn't just any officer. He was a man I'd known for years, one I trusted, one I counted as a friend. That he was the one telling me made it unbearable. I knew, just from the look on his face – that sad, pained, look – that my life was about to change.
“What?” I asked him, my voice stern, threatening to crack.
I remember how he took a few deep breaths before speaking again, as if trying to compose himself. As he did I spoke again: “WHAT?” This time my voice had grown louder, quickly demanding of the truth.
“There was an accident, Colt. I'm so sorry...”
I remember nothing more from the conversation. I know it went on a little longer, but my memory hits a blank from there. Trauma, that's what it was. The emotional trauma of learning that my beautiful wife and my gorgeous baby girl has been killed. I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. I could do nothing but stare forward as my body began to shake. They told me my legs gave way, that I dropped to my knees and just stayed there, staring and shaking as the Captain told me what had happened.
A fire, in our house. They'd both been trapped as they slept together in the same bed, the fire engulfing them in their sleep. Since then I've never been able to shift the vision of them, screaming and terrified, as the red and orange tongues of the flame licked at their skin, turning it black. I can't help but think of it sometimes, as much as I hate to. It's a constant threat in my head, the darkest of memories, of images, that will never leave me.
There's a knock on the window, and I look to my left to see the same police officer from before. I glance quickly at my hands and see that they're still locked to the steering wheel, squeezing tightly at the leather. I slowly unclasp them, leaving imprints of my hands, and press the button to open the window.
“Are you OK Sir,” the man asks quickly. “You look very pale.”
“Thank you officer,” I say, “I'm fine. Seeing the ambulance outside the house just brought back some memories for me, that's all.”
My eyes are looking forward, but they shift momentarily to catch the officer's gaze. He has a consoling look on his face, his eyes showing a level of pity, as if he knows what I'm thinking. “Are you OK to drive now Sir?” he asks lightly.
I nod. “Yes, it's not a problem.”
“OK Sir, have a good day.”
Once more he turns away and walks back off towards the cordoned off area. I watch him in my wing-mirror and notice several men, dressed in suits, entering the property with pads and pens. They look like detectives. Then there's the CSI team, carefully fine combing every inch of the house for clues.
I know just what they'll find. Nothing.
I rev the engine again and start speeding back down the road. Now questions begin to build in my head. Where's Kitty? Has she already been taken? Did the killer kill her aunt and uncle and then manage to capture her? And who killed them? Why the fuck would Michael Carmine hire me to track her down if he's only going to go ahead and send someone else out as well?
What it does tell me, however, is that he wants this girl big time. He's willing to hire professionals to trace her, and kill anyone who happens to get in the way. It's not what I signed up for. He never told me he wanted her dead – that's not what I do. I track, I deliver, I don't kill. Not unless I have to, not unless it's defense, or the guy really deserves it. Innocent people are just that: innocent. They don't deserve to die.
I feel a pulse of regret surging through me. Sometimes I grow numb, sometimes I do nothing but follow orders. I'd have caught her and brought her back without asking any questions. Ignorance is bliss. I deliver the girl, take my paycheck, and move onto the next job.
Track and deliver, track and deliver. Don't ask questions and don't hear lies. It's how I get by. But now my mind's tracing forward, extrapolating into the future. I'd have found Kitty, delivered her to Carmine, and she'd be dead before I stepped out of the office and into my car. If he's willing to kill her relatives, he's willing to kill her.
Now I can't help but ask why. Why does he want her dead? Has she done something? Has she seen something? I know the sort of man Michael Carmine is. He's powerful. He's ruthless. He won't hesitate to kill anyone if they are any sort of threat to him.
I keep driving, my mind galloping as quickly as the car. How many people might have been killed as a result of my actions, I ask myself. A surge of regret accompanies the question. I've always worked in the criminal world, tracking those who have done wrong. Or so I'm told. It's how I intended to catch the man who killed my family, the man who set my house ablaze and made it look like an accident. I dived deep into the criminal fraternity as a means of working my way to the truth. One day, I thought, it will happen. One day someone will spill, someone will know the truth.
But nothing ever did happen. It's been years, and I've gotten nowhere. The cops who worked on the case – Rick included – could never get to the bottom of it. They shut the book on it all too soon and threw it into the locker marked 'unsolvable'. Rick had no choice, but he beat himself up about it again and again.
But me – I lived beyond the law. For me there became nothing but the truth. Nothing but finding the man responsible, and making him pay for it. Over time, however, I must have lost my way. I must have stopped caring about being a good person, and more about getting revenge.
I grew a one-track mind. I'd do jobs all over the state and beyond, and soon my own moral compass began to break down. Maybe I've contributed to the deaths of other innocent people? I'd never kill an innocent, but maybe I've set them up for death.
Is the same true of Kitty? I can see her face smiling at me from inside the file on my passenger seat. She's young, she's pretty, she's got a full life ahead of her. What could she have done to make her the target of Michael Carmine's wrath? And why, why did I agree to track her without even asking what he wanted with her?
My mind is still racing as I drive. I've been locked in thought for over an hour now, driving aimlessly. Just driving. Eventually I slow and gather my bearings. I'm outside of the city now, cruising up a quiet road with wide, open, fields on either side. The sun is beating down and my car is growing warm. I haven't even had the sense to turn on the air-con.
I pull to a stop at the side of the road, with a a dirt track leading through a parting in the fields to my right. The crops are high here and I can hear the growling of combine harvesters chugging through the tall grass.
My phone is in my hand now, and I'm staring at it. I stare for what seems like hours before dialing and waiting for the call to connect. It rings several times before I hear the voice on the other end. It sounds strained.
“Hello?” says Michael Carmine. He doesn't have this number, and I always block my calls.
“Mr Carmine,” I say, “I have some questions.”
His voice remains gruff. There's a stress to it. “Colt, is that you?”
I don't answer his question. He knows it's me. “Why have you sent someone else out to find this girl?” I ask, my voice maintaining its calm. “Do you not trust me to bring her to you?”
“Someone else?” he says. He's doing his best to sound confused, but I can tell a liar from a mile off.
“The girl's aunt and uncle. They've been killed. I want you to tell me the truth.” My fist is clutching at the phone tightly as I hold it to my ear. I have to control myself, however. Michael Carmine is someone you have to watch your tongue with.
There's a short silence on the other end, as if he's considering his next move. “OK Mr Tanner, here's the truth. This girl is important to me. I always hedge my bets, so you're not the only one tracking her. You'll still get paid your fee, whether you bring her to me or someone else does. Does that satisfy you?” His voice has grown colder now. There's a menace to it, like he doesn't enjoy his authority being quest
ioned.
So, she's not been found yet, I think to myself. Whether you bring her to me or someone else does. She must have escaped before the killer caught her. If she'd have been caught already, he would tell me.
“That satisfies me Mr Carmine. I'll find her.”
I wait a moment, listening intently for the inflection of his words. “Good. Make it quick. It's urgent.”
Then the phone hangs up, and the sound of combine harvesters once again fills my ears. But my head fills with something different. This girl: when she's found, she's dead. I can't escape that thought, I can't escape the growing suspicion that through my hand, other innocent people have been murdered.
But is she innocent, I ask myself. How can I possibly know what she's done? How can I know why Michael Carmine wants her so badly if he won't tell me?
I hear a response to my question echoing from the back of my head. It's my own voice, my own conscience, giving me the reply:
She knows. So find her Colt. Find her before anyone else does.
Chapter 6 - Kitty
Kitty
The gentle sound of tapping on glass breaks me from an uneasy sleep. My eyes crack open and bright light spills into them, pouring through my windscreen. I squint as my eyes adjust and see a man standing outside my car. He's wearing a pair of light jeans, a beaten up old shirt, and a large straw hat. He looks almost like a live scarecrow.
“Excuse me darlin', um...you're kinda in my field,” he says, his voice muffled by the glass.
I open my mouth to speak back and feel my lips crack from dehydration. My throat croaks quietly, trying to spout a reply; an apology, but he can't hear me. He leans in closer, gesturing with his hand to his ear to indicate his lack of understanding.
It's stifling in the car, and I quickly realize why my mouth is so dry. The heat, and my tears from the night before, have dehydrated me. My head hurts too for the same reason, my brain pulsing inside my skull.
Run With Me Page 4
