Run! - Hold On! Season 3

by Peter Darley

  Overcome with emotion, Belinda turned and ran up the stairs. She came to her old bedroom, closed the door, and wept. Why does she have to be like that? God, I love you, Em.

  She buried her head in her pillow, oblivious to what might be being said downstairs. The agony of knowing her existence came from a monster was unbearable.

  After a few minutes, she dried her eyes and sat up. She looked around the room and saw everything was in the same place. The bed, wardrobe, and dressing table were exactly as they always had been. However, the photographs of her as a child, teddy bears, or any possessions that belonged to her, were nowhere to be seen. Even her CD player was gone. Her mother had erased all trace of her from her life. The question that assaulted her mind persisted: Why?

  Finally, she stood and made her way over to the window. She opened the drapes and looked out over the neon-lit street. Memories of her childhood flashed before her, filling her with sadness and rage. She’d been abused in so many ways.

  She lowered her head and rubbed her eyes. Opening them again, her vision focused back onto the street. Someone was standing in the middle of the road. She couldn’t make out his face. It was concealed underneath a dark hood. Even from a distance, she could see the hooded top was torn in several places, as though it was riddled with holes. It was probably just a bum.

  And then he looked up at her, his face illuminated by the street lighting. Her heart pounded with an amalgam of elation and terror. Oh, my God. He’s found me.

  Twenty-Nine

  Dark Eyes

  Emily and Monica sat opposite one another in two living room’s armchairs. Emily looked at her with sadness and compassion. Monica’s expression appeared to be one of bewilderment.

  “Family is so precious, Ms. Reese,” Emily said. “I am very fortunate to have found mine. I have a brother. His name is Tyler. He’s very wealthy, but he’s also very kind. He has a terrific sense of humor. Being around him brings a ray of sunshine into my life.”

  Monica looked away, but Emily persisted. “Tyler’s father is a very powerful man, but he took me into his home, supported me, cared for me, and treated me like his own daughter. They’ve done so much to give me hope. They’ve shown me that there is tremendous good in the world. Because of them and Belinda, I’m finally beginning to understand who I am.”

  Monica turned back to her with a look that suggested Emily was finally getting through to her. She hadn’t said a word since Emily quoted The Golden Rule.

  “Why do you think you feel so angry toward Belinda?” Emily said. “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

  Tears came to Monica’s eyes. “I . . . I don’t know. I’m so confused.”

  “I’d helped people in crisis when I was a nun, but I’d never felt the warmth I’ve come to know. I took the love Tyler, his father, and Belinda showed me, and I used it to help others. I now work for The Samaritans. Being there for people is what life is all about to me.”

  Monica finally opened her mouth to speak. “I think—”

  “Oh, my God!” Belinda’s voice boomed to the accompaniment of stampeding feet down the stairwell.

  Emily and Monica turned sharply as she burst into the living room.

  “What’s wrong?” Emily said.

  “It’s Brandon. He’s here.”

  “But how can that be?”

  “I have no idea, but I’ve just seen him in the street outside.”

  “You’re sure it was him?”

  “Positive.” Belinda looked over at to her mother. “We have to lock every door in the house. Now!”

  Her face ashen, Monica stood, ran to the front door, and bolted it.

  “Come on. We have to lock every door and window.” Belinda ran out of the room.

  Emily followed, hurried up the stairs, and then into all three bedrooms. Once she’d locked all the windows, she headed into the bathroom.

  Belinda and Monica darted around the rooms of the ground floor, locking every door and window. They didn’t say a word to one another.

  Belinda finally entered the kitchen and froze. The back door was swinging open. Her heart stopped and she couldn’t swallow.

  Cautiously, she moved forward. Her hand reached out, her fingers shaking as she came closer to the door. The refrigerator was to her left and a whimper escaped her throat as she came past it. Was someone on the other side?

  Almost too afraid to look, she took a brief glimpse before she’d completely cleared the fridge. It was enough for her to know there was nobody there. Brandon was a large guy. There was no way he’d be able to conceal all of himself from that angle.

  She looked up again. The back door was inches from her reach. She held her breath and inched forward slightly, still too terrified to touch it. Her right leg shot out to collide with the edge of the door. It closed with a loud slam, causing the key to fall from the lock. She reached down to pick it up with panic speed. Her hands shook, impairing her ability to insert the key back into the lock. Please, please, please.

  The key slipped into the lock and she twisted it. Moving away, she slumped back into the side wall behind the refrigerator, finally giving a sigh of relief.

  Footsteps came closer from the right. Every muscle in her body tensed as she held her breath once again. The steps came closer . . .

  Monica eased her face around the side of the fridge. Belinda exhaled again. She never thought she’d welcome the sight of her mother.

  “Are you all right?” Monica said.

  “I never knew you cared.”

  They stared at one another for a moment, and then Monica held her hand out for her. “Come on.”

  Uneasily, Belinda took her mother’s hand, pulled herself up, and walked past the storage cupboard toward the hallway.

  The cupboard door burst open. Belinda spun around and gasped. He raised his head, and she saw his face underneath the hood. His dark eyes met hers.

  His hand seemed to be shaking as he reached over his shoulder to unsheathe the sword.

  “No!” Monica said from behind.

  He turned around as she ran toward him, unable to stop in time. The sword ran through Monica’s solar plexus, exiting through the middle of her back. Her legs instantly failed her, but he held her steady with the sword.

  “Mom!” Belinda cried.

  Monica choked, clearly attempting to speak. Her gaze aimed toward Belinda, and a single word emerged from her throat: “R-run.” Her eyes rolled back, her arms became limp, and her body slipped from the blade onto the floor.

  He slowly turned around again, and Belinda found herself face to face with the one she once loved with all her heart. “Brandon, don’t do this,” she said, the distinct undertones of terror in her voice.

  He moved toward her and suddenly stopped. His free hand gripped his head as he staggered into the wall.

  Belinda noticed the struggle within him. “Brandon, I know you’re in there. You can beat this. Fight it!”

  He fell to his knees and screamed an anguished bellow the likes of which she had never heard.

  She heard Emily run to the end of the stairs and suddenly stop. “Open the door. Hurry!” Belinda said.

  Drake gripped the sword handle with his right hand, and drove his fist into the floor with his left. He pushed himself up with perspiration falling from his brow. Belinda noticed the pain in his eyes.

  “W-what . . . are you?” he said with a guttural growl.

  She stepped back slightly, knowing, at all costs, she had to get through to him. “It’s me, Brandon. It’s Belinda. I love you. You love me, remember? Can you remember the cabin?”

  He fell to the floor again and tried to stab the sword toward her, but she was out of reach.

  “You really want to kill me, don’t you?” She heard the click of the lock behind her. “You can’t kill me, Brandon. I know you can’t.” She placed her hand on her abdomen. “If you kill me, you’ll also be killing your own child.”

  “No. That’s not possible. You’re lying . . . bitch!”


  “No, I’m not, Brandon. You know I’m not.”

  “You . . . can’t run from me.”

  “And you can’t run from you, Brandon.” She glanced over at her mother’s corpse. There was nothing she could do for her now. Oh, Mom.

  Emily came up beside her. Drake looked up and tilted his head, as though intrigued by the sight of his sister.

  “We have to get out of here,” Emily said.

  Belinda’s eyes blurred with tears, and she stumbled backward through the doorway. Emily followed, keeping her gaze on Brandon at all times.

  “No!” he roared.

  Once they were on the path, they turned and ran toward the Porsche.

  Belinda took the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the doors with the remote control. They climbed in and locked the doors immediately. Belinda started the engine.

  Emily looked out of the side window and screamed. Brandon was virtually upon them with his sword raised.

  Belinda gunned the car forward as the blade came down, barely missing the car. She glanced in the rear view mirror to see him standing in the middle of the street—a hooded specter of death brandishing a scythe. He became smaller by the second as he receded into the distance.

  Belinda drove for hours toward the south. Not a word passed between her and Emily. Shock had taken hold of them beyond the point of speech.

  At 2:00 a.m. Belinda decided to pull over on a roadside in Pennsylvania. She slumped forward and buried her head in the steering wheel.

  Emily put her arm around her shoulder. “Hey. We have to call the police and report what happened to your mom.”

  “I know.” Belinda finally broke down.

  Emily reached across and held her tightly. “Oh, Belinda.”

  “Why did she have . . . to be that way, Em?”

  “I spoke to her when you were upstairs. She didn’t say much, but I don’t think it was you she was angry with. It was herself. I could see it in her eyes. She loved you.”

  Belinda returned Emily’s embrace, overwhelmed by the need for comfort. Her sobbing reached a crescendo, until exhaustion overcame her. Half an hour passed before she sat back and dried her face. “He’ll find us.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Belinda looked up and fixed her gaze into the night horizon. “We’re heading in the right direction, at least.”

  “In the right direction for what?”

  Strength returned to Belinda as a realization came to her. “There is somewhere we can go, Em.”

  “Where?”

  “To the only man I know who can help us.”

  Thirty

  The Operation

  Drake wandered through the void. The darkness was quickly becoming his second home. His only companion: his greatest enemy. As with each previous visit, he felt like he’d been walking through it for an eternity.

  Finally, he sensed him. “I know you’re here.”

  I’m always here, Scorp. You came pretty close this time, but you’re not going to hurt her.

  “Somehow, I’ll find a way to overcome you, you son of a bitch. She’s a vulnerability. An exploitable weaknesses. There’s something about her you’re using to break me down.”

  You’re the one who’s making the vulnerabilities happen.

  “What are you talking about?”

  The Interceptor appeared before him as though from nowhere. “All you have to do is leave her alone, and I’ll leave you alone. Haven’t you figured that out yet, dipshit?”

  Drake lunged at his adversary. The Interceptor sidestepped him with ease and drove his fist into his jaw with inhuman speed. Drake staggered backward, dazed by the blow.

  “You think I really did that, Scorp?”

  “Who else?”

  The Interceptor laughed. “I know you’re pretty slow, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  “Take the helmet off!” Drake said. “Face me like a man.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to take it off, Scorp. You’re the one who’s stopping me.”

  “Take it off!”

  “It’s what’s underneath it that you can’t face.”

  “Take. It. Off.”

  “OK. Let’s see how far we get this time.” The Interceptor gripped the helmet and slowly pulled it upward. “You don’t stand a chance against me until it comes off.”

  Drake squinted and angled his gaze downward, trying desperately to make out the face under the helmet. He watched as it passed his enemy’s mouth and eventually reached his nose—

  Drake awoke with a start. The pain in his head the night before had broken him, and he’d fallen asleep in the Chevy.

  He looked around as he recovered from his disorientation. It seemed to be an uninhabited forest region where he’d parked under the cover of the trees. He wasn’t sure where he’d stopped. Was it somewhere in New York State?

  The Interceptor’s words rang out in his head: You don’t stand a chance against me until it comes off. What was it about that damn helmet? Why couldn’t he see the face under it?

  He waited to recover from hyperventilation, and then grasped a small radio-like device from the passenger’s seat. He managed a smile. There was nowhere Belinda Reese could run from him.

  ***

  Senator Michael Adams entered Director Brenham’s office at Langley. Brenham stood to extend his hand. “It’s good to see you, Mike.

  Adams took the director’s hand. The lines around his eyes deepened and his complexion appeared slightly redder than usual. Brenham suspected Adams’ blood pressure was higher than normal.

  “We have some very serious business to discuss, Jack,” Adams said.

  “Take a seat.”

  Adams settled into the chair and eased forward. “My assistant, Robert Bolton, had a very interesting meeting yesterday.”

  “Oh? With whom?”

  “An SDT operative who’s been listed as missing since the beginning of April.”

  Brenham’s heart pounded and his eyes widened as he leaned forward. “Crane met with your assistant?”

  “That’s right, and he had a very interesting story to tell.”

  “Go on.”

  “He claims the director of SDT, Wilmot, is a traitor, and that he’s now leading Treadwell’s faction. Apparently, Wilmot had a very curious duo attempt to take him out in Rio a couple of weeks ago.”

  “And you believe him?”

  Adams took three photographs out of his pocket and placed them on the desk. “I have to believe my eyes, Jack.”

  Brenham picked up the photographs and sifted through them. “How do you know these weren’t faked?”

  “Because I have the cell phone they came from. They’re timed and dated. I had a specialist examine the data.”

  “Where is this phone?”

  “In a safe place. What’s going on, Jack?”

  Brenham considered his response, his mind conflicted by personal fears, and also the hope that this might be the break he’d been waiting for.

  “Crane claims Elias Wolfe was murdered,” Adams said, “and that Wilmot’s faction has been out to kill him for months. It seems they’re now using a dead man to do their dirty work.”

  Brenham rubbed his eyes. His immediate reaction was to say, ‘That’s preposterous’, but he knew this was no time for denial. The situation was critical and he needed help. He needed Jed Crane.

  “Why don’t you seem surprised by all this?” Adams said.

  “Because . . . I’m not.”

  “Well, you’d damn well better start telling me what you know. If there’s a chance there’s a traitor running SDT, and you’re doing nothing about it, I’ll have the matter brought before the Senate Select Committee before you can blink.”

  Brenham waved his hand up and down passively. “All right, calm down. All is not as it seems.”

  “Tell me something, Jack, because I can assure you, you’ll never have a more captive audience.”

  “In that case, you’d better brace yourself.
We’ve known Brandon Drake is still alive for a few days, and he’s running wild.” Brenham opened a drawer, took out a report and handed it to Adams. “That came through this morning. It’s a report from the Boston Police Department. It was called in by Belinda Reese. Drake killed her mother, and almost killed her and his own sister.”

  Adams looked up from the paper. “So where are they?”

  “We don’t know. According to the police, she said she was running for her life. Drake was responsible for the hit on Mach Industries, and we have fingerprint evidence that he was responsible for the massacre at Faraday Ranch. Belinda Reese wasn’t exaggerating when she said she was in fear for her life.”

  “Where does Wilmot fit into all this?”

  “Drake told Professor Jacobson from Mach Industries that he couldn’t remember anything after twenty-twelve. According to Jacobson, Drake said he’d woken up in a facility in Mojave, which is exactly where Wilmot had spent a lot of his time allegedly looking into an ISIS cell.”

  “The facility that was destroyed in an explosion?”

  “The same one.”

  “Where’s the professor now?” Adams said.

  “We let him go, but he’s a material witness, and he’s agreed to assist us with the case. We believe Wilmot faked Brandon Drake’s death, and used the same mind control techniques Treadwell used in order to give him a new persona. Possibly his original one.”

  “What are you doing about it?” Adams said with a demanding tone.

  “Treadwell used a memory revision specialist in New Hampshire, a Doctor Frederick DeSouza. We’ve tried to contact the man, but it seems he’s disappeared.”

  “So, why aren’t you going after Wilmot?”

  Brenham stood and walked over to the far window. “Going after Wilmot right now could be lethal. We have no idea how far this goes, or who’s involved. We need to take them all down in one move, Mike. We can’t afford for any of them to know we’re on to them.” He turned back to the senator. “We’ve been waiting for hard evidence. If you have it, you have to give it to me. Let me talk with Jed Crane.”