Run With Me

by Shorter, L. A.

  “Settle down, settle down Colt,” comes his deep voice. “I'll promise it won't take long. Well, not too long, anyway.”

  He laughs lightly again as he wanders casually towards the door. Before he opens it, he turns one final time towards me. He seems to enjoy my anger, his smile growing at the sight of me shaking futilely in my chair. “You say hi to Sophie for me will you Colt. I really do miss her you know.” Then he laughs again, and turns to leave.

  My breathing is fast now. My death approaching quickly. He's never going to stop hunting Kitty. I can't lose hope. I have to save her, have to get out. I muster all my strength, trying to pull my wrists free from their binds. They burn as my skin is torn, blood beginning to flow from the wounds. It helps lubricate the surface, gives me more movement. I shut my eyes tight and ignore the searing pain as I slide my wrist up and down along the rope, growing wet with my blood. My right hand remains stuck fast, but my left begins to loosen. A few millimeters becomes a centimeter as I focus all my energy in releasing my hand, in squeezing it through the slowly opening gap. The blood continues to soak into the rope, slackening it, making it slippery and wet. I can feel the gap opening, enough to slide it up to the base of my thumb. I clench by hand together, one last pull and I'll be free....

  The metal door swings open ahead of me and I quickly relax my arm. In the doorway stands the imposing figure of Rugger, his frame filling the space. His eyes drop to my wrist, now covered in blood. “Oooo, that looks painful,” he says with his usual sympathy.

  He shuts the door behind him, and paces purposefully towards me. “It's OK though, soon you'll feel nothing. Mr Carmine said to make it quick....but not too quick.” He's carrying something in his hand, something wrapped in a sheet. He moves to a small table by the wall to my right and lays it down, unraveling the fabric to reveal a series of tools and implements.

  “The good news is,” he says, still arranging his instruments of torture, “I don't have to worry about keeping you alive this time. I get to see you draw your last breath. And soon I'll get to do the same with your little girlfriend.”

  I keep my heartbeat steady, my breathing stable. My eyes stay locked on Rugger as he stands fiddling with knives and devices I've never seen before by the table. I clench my jaw to stop from howling in pain as I continue to work at my wrist, sliding it up and down the rope, continuing to loosen it.

  Rugger turns, suddenly, and I'm quickly motionless again. He holds a knife in his hand, short and sharp and with a curved blade. “Looks like you've lost some blood already,” he says, referencing the various points of bleeding on my body. “Let's lose you some more.”

  It's now or never. He stands ahead of me, seemingly discussing with himself where he wants to cut me first. The pleasure in his eyes is palpable as they glide over me, wondering where will give me the most pain while keeping me conscious. Because he'll want me conscious for as long as possible. He'll want to drag this out.

  His eyes fall to my shoulder, and the newly formed scar from the gunshot wound he inflicted several weeks ago. His fingers run over it and then, without warning, he sends the knife straight inside, about an inch. I can't hold the howl of pain from my lips as he laughs his throaty laugh, before slowly sinking the knife slightly deeper.

  I thrash my body, but not through pain or fear. It's a distraction.

  It's fortunate the scar was on my right shoulder, because it's my left arm that is now free. With his focus on the knife digging into my body, I pull at my left arm once final time, releasing it from its bounds. I have a chance to glance up into Rugger's face, eyes full of pleasure as a fresh coating of blood glides down my shoulder, before I strike. Before he can react, before he even knows what's happening, I send my balled up fist straight into his temple. It connects hard with the soft side of his head, and the result is instantaneous.

  He drops to the floor, as if the life has suddenly gone out of him, leaving the knife lodged in my flesh. I grip it tight and pull hard, feeling the metal slide out of me. I'm thankful that it's so sharp – it means the rope is easier to cut. With Rugger groaning on the floor, I work my right arm free, my eyes constantly darting to the door, before moving to my ankles.

  Moments later I'm on my feet, which are unsteady and stiff. My head still aches, my right arm is shot to hell, but the adrenaline is surging through me now, keeping the pain at bay. Rugger is pawing at my feet, completely at my mercy. I kick him off me and walk to the table. I'm not like him though. I don't want to torture anyone. Even someone as cruel and sadistic as he is.

  So I make it quick. I pick up the sharpest knife I can find, bend down to the ground, pull back Rugger's neck with his thinning gray hair, and slit his throat. The knife slices right along the scar under his neck, right where he'd been cut before. But this time they'll be no going back for him. Blood quickly pours from his throat as he splutters feebly, before his body goes limp.

  I let go of his hair and his head drops back to the concrete floor, his forehead splashing into the pool of his own blood. “That was for Dale,” I say, as the life fades from his eyes. I check his body for weapons, and find a pistol clipped to his belt. He could so easily have just shot me dead, but he wanted to stretch out my pain, my suffering. And now look at him, emptied of blood and life. That was his final, fatal, mistake.

  I stand now and use part of my torn shirt to clear the knife of blood, before clipping it into my own belt. Then, with the gun locked in my grasp, I walk towards the door and open it slowly, peering out beyond my cell for the first time. A see a corridor, empty and decrepit, its walls peeling of their paint. Lights hang from the ceiling, rusty and broken, but still working. At the end of the corridor one flickers, making a buzzing sound, and I see in flashes a staircase leading up.

  I pace forward quickly, but carefully, keen to make no sound. When I reach the stairs I peer up. There are about a couple dozen steps up to a solid looking metal door. When I reach it I twist the handle as gently as I can. It scrapes loudly in the silence and then finally clicks open.

  The whistle of the wind is immediate, and the light outside blinding. Sharp shards of light flash straight in through the crack and I smell fresh air for the first time in days. I open the door slightly wider as my eyes take their time to deal with the sudden burst of light. When they clear, I see grass at my feet, stretching about 20 feet up towards a tangled fence, surrounded by bushes and trees. I arch my neck outside and look up and down the side of the large building. Its blank walls stand tall against the blue sky, colored a horrible sickly gray. It looks like an old industrial building or warehouse, one long fallen into disuse.

  By the looks of things I'm at the back, with the fence beyond signaling the end of the complex. I step out into the sunlight, exposing myself fully, but can see no sign of anyone either side of me. Then I see them. The tracks. Footsteps, written into the patted down grass and dirt. They lead to the left at the back of the building, curving off around beyond my eye line. I trace them, moving along the wall until I reach the corner. I can see the fence continuing on beyond the building in the same direction behind it. To my left are several other large warehouses and plants, all seemingly out of business.

  I turn my head around the corner of the wall at my back and quickly retract it. Cars. Two of them. Parked just 50 feet around the corner facing out towards the entrance to the complex. Outside one of them stand two men, the two men who've been keeping me company over the past week. They suck on cigarettes and talk between themselves. In the other car I see the figure of a man, sitting in the back seat. There's only one man that can be.

  They're waiting. Waiting for Rugger to finish me off and return so they can be on their way. But he's not going to be coming back. I dart my head around the side once again and see that Carmine's door has opened. He steps out and says something to the two men, something I can't make out. I don't need to. They immediately drop their cigarettes and begin moving towards me. He's ordered them to check on Rugger, tell him to finish the job quickly.

>   I slide my head back around the wall and push my body as far as I can up against it. I can hear the two men approaching as one hand grips tight at my pistol and the other slips towards my belt and grasps the knife. I'll want to make this quick, keep things quiet.

  Within seconds I see them, out of the corner of my eye, casually pacing around the side. It will only take them a split second to see me, but that's all I need. With the precision of a sniper I step towards them and slash at one with my knife, the blade slicing across his neck and spraying blood over my face. His eyes go wild with shock as his hands rush to his throat, squeezing tight to stem the flow of blood. I felt the knife cut deep though. They'll be no going back for him.

  It only takes a moment for his partner to realize what's happened. He steps back and his hands fall to his rear, fumbling for a weapon. A gun, a knife, I don't know, because I don't give him time to retrieve it. I'm springing forward like a cat, rushing at him with my re-bloodied blade. It plunges straight into his chest as I push him to the ground, forcing my weight down onto the knife to drive it deeper into his heart. His mouth opens to release a scream but I'm too quick. My gun bearing hand is suddenly empty as I drop the weapon to the reddening grass and plant it over his mouth. I feel the spit of warm blood hit my palm as he gurgles and coughs, his eyes deep with horror.

  I twist the knife hard and feel a fresh convulsion flow through his body. He shakes for a few more moments before I see his eyes bulge and then roll back into his skull. My hand drips with blood when I unclasp it from his mouth and stand, pulling the knife from his heart. My other torturer lies in a thick puddle of red, his own fingers still squeezed around his neck. He's still alive, just, as I step towards him and pull his arms away. The fresh flow of warm fluid from his jugular joins the rest.

  I move quickly back to the wall and flash my gaze around the corner. I can see Carmine, inside the car, his hand held to his ear. It looks like he's making a phone call. I must look like something out of a horror film when I finally step around and begin pacing towards the car, my face dripping in blood, my hand clasped to a red knife, glinting in the sunlight.

  As I move forward, I get no reaction from Carmine. He continues to talk on the phone, seemingly oblivious to my presence. It's not until I reach the car, open the back door, and point my gun in his face, that he finally notices me. We lock eyes for a brief moment before he drops his phone and shoves his hand into his jacket. Before he can point the gun at me and get a shot off I squeeze the trigger. The bullet rips straight into his arm, flinging it back as his gun drops to the floor. He roars in pain and scrambles on the floor with his other arm. I squeeze again, this time sending a burning bullet through the back of his good arm. Blood splatters across the leather upholstery as the force of the round sends him crumbling in his seat.

  Now I reach in and grab at his leg, dragging him from the vehicle. Without the use of his arms he's unable to pull back or offer much challenge, so he's quickly in the dirt beside the car. I drag him to his knees and point the gun down into his chest as he whimpers on the floor.

  “Please...Colt...please don't do this. I...I'll do whatever you want. I'll pay you anything you want.” He lifts his eyes to look at me. They're pleading, desperate, but there's no hope inside them. He knows there's nothing I want from him except his life.

  “You can do one thing for me,” I say, coldly.

  “Anything, I'll do anything.”

  “Tell me the truth. I deserve that much.”

  Our eyes stick to each other for a few moments as he ponders my request. He knows that it won't stop me killing him. It's just an opportunity for him to do something good as his last act. To be honest for once in his life. The look in his eyes tell me he knows I deserve that.

  Then he speaks, telling me the full story. It's what I've suspected, and I know now that this is the final telling, the truthful telling. There's nothing left for him to lie for, no chance to manipulate me or gain my trust.

  He speaks of how Sophie came to him looking for money. How she'd tried other lenders and had been rejected, and how she never wanted me to know. He tells me of how he began to pursue her, how he fell in love with her, but how she never gave in to his requests, never betrayed me. Her tells me he lost control and snapped, that he made a mistake by ordering the arson attack, that he feels the sting of regret every day for what he did. He tells me he never knew I had a daughter, and that cuts him up the most. Above all, however, he tells me that for everything that he's done, for everything he is, he deserves death more than anyone. That after killing Pullman himself, having me finish him is the perfect poetic justice.

  When he's done, I raise my gun to his chest. I thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to do, to kill the man I'd hunted for so long. We both know the truth won't be enough to save him, but something stays my hand for a moment. Then Carmine's voice comes at me. “Do it,” he whispers, nodding with a conviction in his eyes. “I deserve this. You deserve this. Kill me Colt.”

  My hand shakes lightly in the breeze as it points at him, but I don't pull the trigger. He speaks again, his voice growing louder. “Shoot me. Come on. I deserve to die Colt. SHOOT ME!”

  Then he stands, grimacing as he pushes himself up to his feet with his wounded arms, and rushes towards me. My instinct kicks in, and I feel the pistol explode once again in my hand. The gunshot echoes loudly in the sky as Carmine drops back to his knees, blood oozing from his chest. Then he looks at me, his lips dripping red, and smiles.

  And that's how I leave him. Kneeling in the crimson earth, the sun shining down on his body, a smile etched on his face. The man who killed my family. The man who ruined my life. The man who, finally, has given me closure.

  Chapter 26 - Kitty

  Kitty

  “My name is Sarah Hunter,” I repeat in the mirror. The name still sounds odd to me. I guess it will take some time to get used to it.

  I've been Sarah Hunter for about a week now. That's what it says on all of my documentation. My passport, my driver's license. I even have a birth certificate with that name too, and a brand new social security number. In fact, I've been set up with a whole new life and back story, and I've been told to memorize it all until it sinks in.

  The man Colt sent me to was just like Dale. Suspicious, gruff, a bit rude on the outside but meaning well. I stayed in a hotel under his name for 3 days while he sorted everything out for me. I was amazed at how quickly he could do it all. During that time I thought of nothing but Colt. He haunted every single one of my thoughts, invaded my dreams if ever I fell asleep. I know it will take a long time for me to feel secure without him, even though I'd only known him for a few weeks. I also know I'll never forget him. Never be able to truly thank him for everything he did for me.

  I did what he told me though. I drove away. I took his car and went straight out of LA, heading south. I didn't care exactly where at the time. I just drove for as long as I could before stopping and passing out in the back of the car. When I woke up I checked the trunk, found the address and the money, and made my way straight to Texas.

  For several days I kept the phone he gave me, willing for it to ring. Against all logic I prayed that maybe he was OK, that maybe I'd got it wrong, that he'd call me and everything would be fine. After 4 days of staring at it, though, I knew it was never going to come alive. So I dumped it, thinking that maybe Carmine could trace me with it or something. I threw it into a river and said a silent goodbye to Colt. Then I left to start my new life.

  It's been about 10 days since then and now I'm in Florida in a small coastal town. It's quiet, warm, and always sunny, and I've managed to find a permanent place to live already. For the past few days I've spent my time on the beach, just as Colt promised. Somewhere warm, he'd said. Somewhere with a beach and the sea. It's not the same without him though. How could it be.

  I'll look for work soon, or maybe go back to school. With the money Colt left in the trunk, I could do almost anything. I was shocked when I opened up the bag
. It was more than I could ever have imagined. I guess the fees payed for by people like Carmine are pretty high.

  But not today. Today I'll return to the beach and watch the surf spill up the sand until it reaches my toes. I'll sit and wait for my heart to begin to mend, for my life to feel like it carries some meaning again. I still don't know how long that will take.

  Days pass, and my ritual continues. I don't sleep well, but mainly lie awake each night with the lamp on, just waiting until I'm too exhausted to keep my eyes open. When they shut, my brain fills will darkness and I wake again. Sometimes only ten minutes will have passed. Sometimes 3 or 4 hours. When dawn comes, however, I go back down to the sand and suck in the sea air.

  It's been 3 weeks now, and still the nightmares come. Still I visit the beach each day, although I spend less time there. I know I need to move on soon or I'll grow stagnant and listless and my life will devolve into nothing. I can't do that to Colt, who sacrificed everything to keep my alive. I can't insult him like that. I have to live on and do something good in his memory. Something that would make him proud.

  I decide to go back to school, go back and study medicine. I don't know if I'm smart enough, but I have to try. Follow in my mom's footsteps and help people. Help those who are injured and in pain and suffering. It's something I really think I could do if I put my mind to it. Something that will help repair me and others at the same time.

  I buy books and visit schools, hoping my new identity is watertight enough to help me get in, that everything checks out. I know that even my fabricated past won't be enough to help me study as a doctor, and I don't think I'm smart enough for that anyway. Nursing is what interests me anyway, and I find medical facilities that are willing to train me.