Run With Me

by Shorter, L. A.

  That evening I let myself forget the day just gone and the days to come. I forget about all the revelations, about the job still to be done. I laugh, actually laugh, for the first time in a long time. Kitty's long rest has clearly restored her energy and verve because she's doing a lot of talking, perhaps slightly buoyed by the alcohol. She smiles and tells me stories and laughs, and right there I see that girl from outside the cabin. The girl from her drawing. Smiling wide and pure, her whole life ahead of her. I wished to see her like that in the flesh. At least that wish has come true.

  When we sleep that night we do so next to each other in the same bed. I haven't felt the warmth of a woman for a long time, haven't been so close to be able to smell their hair, hear them breathing in my ear. For an all too fleeting moment I feel her stroking my head as we lie in the darkness in silence. Then the exhaustion in my body takes over and I drift, falling into a deep and untroubled sleep.

  A short respite from the days past and the days to come. Because I know a storm is still brewing on the horizon.

  Chapter 22 - Kitty

  Kitty

  Most of the next day is spent on the road as we make our way north through Oregon and into Washington. We take the exact same route we took the last time, and while my life isn't in immediate danger any more, not a great deal has changed. I'm still going to need to change my identity and leave my old life behind. I'm still going to have to get used to the idea that nothing will ever be quite the same again.

  Unlike last time, however, I don't feel the same way about it all. Not by a long shot. Perhaps it's the fact that only yesterday I thought my life was coming to a premature end. Perhaps it's the fact that everything had been happening so fast and I had no opportunity to get used to the idea of turning my back on my life, my friends, my family. Above all, however, I know it's really to do with Colt. The fact that he's in this with me. That he's here to protect me, to watch over me. His presence makes everything OK. Makes me see that everything is going to be all right after all. That from all of this horror, something will blossom. That after even the darkest of nights, a bright new day can dawn.

  I feel completely refreshed after the previous few days. Most of the journey yesterday I spent asleep, only waking when we approached Oregon. I slept right through the night as well, which was surprising given my extended nap. I suppose it must have been some lingering exhaustion from the drug they gave me and from the incessant fear I'd been feeling for days. I guess being in constant fear of your life takes a lot out of you.

  Now, though, that fear's gone. The only thing I'm really scared of is what we'll find back at the cabin. It's the last place I want to go, and I kinda wish Colt would just change his mind and let it go. I don't tell him that, because it's not my place to. And while I've lost loved ones, I haven't suffered in the way he has. So, I keep quiet and follow his lead, despite my reservations that it's only going to make him feel worse, whatever Pullman may have written on the following page.

  Then, I realize, there's still Dale to think about. Colt was completely right with what he said yesterday. Dale deserves to be properly buried, not just left there for the scavengers. I do fear, however, that there may not be much of him left. If that bear could be drawn to the cabin by my drying clothes, surely a rotting corpse is going to lure in just about every scavenger in a several mile radius. Again, though, I don't tell Colt about the run ins I had with the local wildlife. I'm sure he knows what he's likely, or rather not likely, to find anyway.

  We talk less as the day wears on. Colt seems to retract into himself a little bit, which makes a lot of sense given everything that's probably on his mind. It gives me time to reflect myself, and try to work my way through everything. Colt's revelation that the man I saw Carmine kill – the murder that started all of this – was actually the man who killed his family is difficult to get my head around. I try quizzing Colt on it from time to time, but he's clearly having just as much trouble understanding it as me. He tries to explain what Carmine told him, but it still hardly makes much sense. In any case, it's obvious that Colt still doesn't trust him, despite the fact that he let us go yesterday. That works for me, because neither do I, and I never will.

  The day turns darker as we move northwards past Seattle and begin to turn inland. There are black clouds lingering ominously over the mountains in the distance, and it looks as though a storm is quickly brewing. The light pattering of rain signals the start of it, before the first crack of thunder is heard off in the distance, rumbling through the hills and woods. I see Colt's face stiffening at the sound and feel the car accelerate a touch. Clearly, a heavy storm isn't going to make burying a man any easier.

  The rain grows heavier and the skies darker with each mile. I check the weather app on Colt's phone to find that the storm isn't intended to last long, which brings some relief to him. Within 40 minutes the lights of Concrete, blurred through the rain, can be spotted down the road. We only have to pass through the town and make the short climb up into the hills before turning down the track to the cabin. I feel my body growing tense as we progress and consider asking Colt if he can just drop me at a cafe and I can wait for him there. I don't, though, because I know what he'll say. My picture will still be all over the news, so it's too risky.

  As predicted by the app, the storm begins to fade as we start to move up into the wooded hills. I can still hear the cracks of thunder behind us, but the most potent clouds are now moving in the opposite direction, leaving behind a trail of lighter fog that's all but emptied out it's supply of precipitation. We reach the gate, previously concealed by shrubbery, and begin driving up the track. Within minutes I see the cabin, sitting alone in the clearing, up the tree lined track. I turn to Colt to see his eyes, intense and unblinking, staring forward at the sodden earth ahead. They're locked on a dark mound, slumped in the soil. It seems to be moving, its outer surface undulating and bobbing.

  The car pulls quickly to a stop and, before I can quite get my ahead around it, Colt rushes out, shouting and shaking his arms. Immediately the mound halves in size as a flock of scavenging birds spring into the air, leaving only the remains of Dale's rotting body. Colt stops a couple of meters short and kneels down slowly, turning his head slightly to the side and covering his mouth and nose. Against my natural instincts I step out of the car and follow Colt up the path. The stench of rotting flesh immediately fills my nostrils, even amid the freshness of the forest, and I feel my hand quickly rise to my face.

  When I reach Colt I look upon the second corpse I've seen in as many weeks. The first was Tara, shot dead on my sofa. My friend. Now I'm looking at Dale, his half eaten body decaying in the mud. Colt's friend. I rest my hand on Colt's shoulder and feel his fingers fall on top of them. No words are shared. There's nothing I can say, nothing I want to say. And despite the putrid smell, despite the traumatic sight, I can't turn away. We stay like that, Colt kneeling, me standing behind, for several minutes, just reflecting on everything as the raindrops continue to cascade down through the leaves. They create an incongruous soundtrack to what we're looking at. The calming sounds of a rainy forest conflicting with the grizzly sight of a murdered friend.

  Colt is the first to move, standing and turning towards me. I can't tell in the rain but he looks to have a tear in his eye. Or maybe it's just an expression of pain. He hugs me suddenly, and I grip him back. I can feel him breathing deeply and can only imagine what's going through his mind. Revenge for his murdered friend. Justice. Guilt maybe. Regret that he ever met me, that any of this ever happened...

  He let's go of me as quickly as he grabbed me and starts walking back to his car. He returns in a moment with a shovel and moves 30 feet or so into the woods. I watch as he pats the ground, searching for a suitable spot, and then begins to dig. I follow after him but still have no words, nothing to say. All I ask is: “do you have another one?” To which he shakes his head and keeps working.

  My eyes drift over to the cabin, a place that was my refuge and my prison all at o
nce. I get a strange sensation as I stare at it. A mixed feeling of safety and fear all bundled into one. Safe knowing that Colt had put me there, that Dale was watching over me. Fearful of starting a new life, of turning my back on everything. Then terror watching Dale get killed, having Rugger pursue me through the silent, black woods. All of that within a few days. But enough to make a permanent mark on me.

  With the sound of Colt digging at my back, I move towards the cabin. I smile as I look at the rudimentary shower, at the washing line where the bear came and sniffed my clothes. The smile disappears when I remember that the bear was also killed by Rugger. Seemingly nothing could escape him.

  My heart beats faster as I approach the door, splintered and broken off its hinges. I remember that dark night, scrambling to escape through the window as the door suddenly caved in. When I step inside, I look immediately to my escape route. At the jutted piece of wood that caught my bag. At the tangled vines creeping up the wall outside. I think how lucky I was to escape that night. How close I must have been to feeling the sting of a bullet in my back. Of seeing the looming figure of Rugger approach me as I writhe in pain, ready to finish me off in his own special way.

  Outside it's growing darker now as heavy clouds begin to rumble back overhead. The inside of the cabin is so cold and dank, the doorway wet from the splashing rain. Without the flickering candlelight and silent woods, it's not how I remember it. Any warmth and safety it had has deserted it, leaving only a desolate shack, devoid of any life.

  I turn to the table and see the book, the main reason we've returned. I flick to the ripped out page and look to the next one, the page Colt has come to examine. The words are so faded that I never noticed them before, but there is space where Pullman continued his confession. It crosses my mind to rip out the page, fire up a candle and burn it. Spare Colt any more heartache. But the thought is only fleeting. We've come all this way, and Colt deserves to know what else has been said. Whether it causes more pain for him or not, it may help to bring him closure.

  I can still hear him digging outside as the rain begins to grow heavier once more. I quickly rummage around in the cupboard until I find a wide frying pan. I return to Colt and kneel into the dirt opposite him, scraping as much mud as I can using my makeshift shovel. The sight of me struggling to dig a grave with a frying pan is the first thing to bring a smile to Colt's face all day.

  We dig for another half hour as the rain continues to pummel us. For one thing, it helps to soften up the dirt, although I'm now beginning to resemble a water rat. My blonde hair has probably turned brunette again, too, and I'm shivering so heavily I think I might fall into the pit at any moment. Colt continues like a man possessed, however, his metronomic digging motion helping to speed the job up no end. When I think the grave is deep enough, he keeps going another foot or so. He tells me with all the wildlife here, it's important to dig deep to make sure the grave is secure.

  By the time he's finished, the top of his head barely reaches the top. I've stayed out to clear around the edges, and it's a good thing too because he needs my help to haul him back to the surface. With the mud so soft and slippery, climbing back out proves more difficult than either of us would have thought. After a few slips and slides back inside, however, he manages to finally extricate himself.

  Covered in mud and looking worn, he returns to the trunk of his car and pulls out a large raincoat. I'm about to suggest it's a little late for that when he moves to Dale's body and carefully rolls the coat around him. He zips and ties it all up as best he can, ensuring that his entire body is carefully enclosed, before gentry dragging the body towards the grave.

  I help him position Dale on the edge of grave, but there's no graceful way of lowering him into it. In the end, all Colt can do is roll him over the edge into the soft mud below, which is already collecting water. The body lands with a slap in the puddle, but remains contained within the coat. I stand up straight now, next to Colt, as he looks down into the grave for a moment, perhaps saying a silent prayer. Then he picks up his shovel once more, and begins filling the grave with mud. I help, scraping with my frying pan, until the grave is fully filled. Finally, Colt moves to the nearest tree, draws out a knife, and engraves Dale's name and life dates into the bark. Below it he merely writes: RIP, Brother.

  Once he's done he turns to me and looks me up and down. I'm soaked to my skin and shivering, my clothes covering in mud. “Let's get warmed up,” he says softly, before taking my hand and leading me towards the cabin. Once inside he manages to somehow shift the door back onto its hinges so it can close well enough, preventing the rain from splashing inside. He then heads straight for the small fireplace and quickly gets a fire started, bringing that warm glow back into the cabin. I help by lighting candles around the room, which is suddenly inviting and homely.

  I'm still shivering, even with the growing warmth, when Colt moves next to me and wraps his body around mine. “This will help warm you up,” he says over my shoulder, the mud on our bodies caking together. He holds me for a few minutes, rubbing my back, before stepping back out into the rain. He returns moments later carrying extra dry clothes, which he lays down near the fire.

  “We should get out of these wet clothes,” he says, stripping down to his underwear. In the candlelight, his muscles ripple as he steps towards me and helps me out of mine. They cling to my body with rain and mud as he peels off my top, before stepping away and letting me deal with the rest. Thankfully, my underwear are still dry enough, because I don't think he'd have any spares for me. What he does have, however, is a pair of sweatpants that are loose-fitting but warm, and a shirt that hangs cozily over my body. Once I'm dressed, he looks at me with a smile I can't work out. Probably amusement at my appearance, but there's a hint of desire in there as well.

  After being warmed against the fire, the clothes feel incredible against my cool skin. I hug them tight to my body and soak up the heat as Colt dresses in his own clothes. They fit better than mine, as you'd expect. Then he sets about preparing some food from the supplies still remaining in the cabin, which we eat as the room begins to grow warm and cozy.

  I realize that the entire time he doesn't even look at the book. He must be itching to go straight for it but he's more concerned with tending to me first. He asks me several times if I'm OK, comfortable enough in the clothes, warm enough by the fire. He lets me do nothing as he works the flames, makes the food, ensures the door remains firmly fixed in place to prevent the wind and rain from entering.

  When he's finished clearing the dishes we sit together on the sofa and I kiss him, swirling my lips against his. He holds me in his strong arms as my entire body relaxes, suddenly overtaken by the urge to shut my eyes and drift away into his embrace, the softness of his lips. When I feel his lips pull away from mine I allow my head to rest onto his shoulder, muscular and soft like a cushion. I can't help but fall asleep now, safe beside him, as the night sky grows dark and the flickering flames of the fire and candlelight more pronounced. The rain continues to steadily fall, pattering against the roof, and drawing me into a deep sleep, one devoid this time of nightmares and dread, but filled with promise and hope.

  I don't know how long it lasts, but it's the sound of a crack of thunder that brings me back to life. I lift my head from the sofa, and find that I'm no longer lying against Colt, but am flat down on the cushion. Several candles have burned out, but there's one still glowing bright on the table in front of me. Sitting at it in a chair is Colt, his eyes staring at the open book ahead of him. It's the same intense, unblinking stare I saw earlier. And I know that something's not right.

  I sit up and whisper: “Is everything OK?”

  He doesn't answer, but just turns to me and slides the book along the table in my direction. Then he passes me his ultraviolet penlight and I take it in my hand. In the book, Colt has placed the ripped out page back into its rightful place. I begin scanning the light over Pullman's confession again, before reaching the part neither of us had seen. It begins
at the end of the ripped page, the line I only read for the first time yesterday:

  I heard the woman had a husband. I was told this by...

  I hesitate briefly before scanning the light up to the top of the following page, nervous as to what the words will say. When I begin reading, I quickly realize why Colt's eyes are burning with such a fire.

  I was told this by....the man who hired me for the job. I can hardly live with the thought that he's going to learn about this and never know the truth. Part of me wants to confess and take the consequences, but I know I won't. I'll live in guilt and live ashamed for the rest of my life, and hopefully try to make amends in some small way.

  I don't want to try to pardon my part in this, but the man who hired me is even more to blame than me. It kills me that he's going to keep living his life while mine is over. He should pay for what he ordered me to do, because I know it wasn't just about burning down the house and sending a message.

  I could see it in his eyes. He told me there wouldn't be anyone in the house, that it was empty. But he knew it wasn't. That was the whole point....he wanted the woman dead, I know it, and now he's hunting me to keep the truth locked away. One day, maybe, someone will read this and put the pieces together. And then they'll know the truth.

  So my final words are a name. The name of the man who ordered the job that has changed my life, ruined many others. That name is Michael Carmine.

  Chapter 23 - Colt