Fugitives

by Jes Drew

  ~~~

  “So, Emily,” Mom says, standing outside my bedroom door. “Maybe you should take a break from unpacking and come spend some time with you dad and me.”

  I jump, leaving my book collection only half sorted. Usually my parents’ job (they’re free-lance inventors) takes up all their time (and it’s the main reason for our move), so this is an opportunity to be seized.

  I follow Mom downstairs and into the living room. Dad's already there.

  “Wow, it sure is quiet in here,” I say, sitting next to my dad. “Where is everyone?”

  “Your uncle, aunt, and cousins are exploring the neighborhood,” Mom says as she sits down on my other side, sandwiching me between my parents.

  “Aunt Donna went too?”

  Mom nods. “And your grandmother took Oto and Ata clothes shopping.”

  “So the house is ours?”

  “The house is ours.”

  “Is there anything you want to talk about while we can still here?” Dad asks.

  I pause for a moment. Now is the perfect time to tell them my plan. Even if they don't believe me, they have to know. I take a deep breath. “So, you know there was a secret, illicit society on the Island led by three brothers called the Masters, right?”

  Mom sighs, but Dad nods, intrigued.

  “Anyway, they probably don’t like us very much since we kind of took two of their slaves and possibly incited a rebellion. They don’t know who we are, though, so we should be safe.”

  “Are you going anywhere with this?” Mom asks.

  Dad gives Mom a Look. “You know what the therapist said. We need to let her tell us what she thinks happened so that she can finally come to terms with what really happened.”

  I feel tears well up in my eyes. They still don’t believe me. I should have known that- they were only talking about me last night, after all. Still… And when did they even contact a therapist about me? I’ve only been home for two days!

  “Continue,” Dad urges gently. Too gently.

  I will myself not to break down. That would not help with proving to them that I’m perfectly stable. Nor will it drive away the two-edged fear gnawing at my gut“Anyway, I doubt that they’ll ever find us, but if we do, then we’ll be ready. If we’re separated when they come for us, we’ll all head to Ostend, Belgium, okay?”

  “Belgium?” Mom asks. “Why Belgium?”

  “Because who would look for us in Belgium? That’s what makes it so perfect.”

  Mom and Dad each give me a look that leads me to believe that I haven’t helped them see me as any more stable.

  I sigh. “Just promise me that if I ever called you and said ‘the cat came back,’ that you’ll go straight for Ostend, Belgium.”

  “What does ‘the cat came back’ mean?” Mom asks.

  “It’s code for ‘the Masters found us.’”

  Dad nods. “Got it. If you ever say ‘the cat came back’ then we should head straight to Belgium.”

  Suddenly, Mom starts chuckling.

  Dad gives her another Look.

  I sigh again and get up, deciding right then and there never to say 'the cat came back' again. “If you need me I’ll be in my room unpacking.”

  “Emily,” Dad calls as I stand up, but I ignore him and make my way deliberately out of the room before hurrying upstairs in time for an emotional breakdown fit for a whole year of therapy.

  A mental list of my most emotional moments:

  (1) When I was four and I got separated from my parents in a park;

  (2) When they found me;

  (3) Just about every day of junior high;

  (4) My fourth day on the Island;

  (5) Now;

  ~~~

  Ding. Dong.

  I drop my pillow, my whole body trembling. Which is stupid. Bad guys wouldn't use a doorbell.

  But I know who would.

  Despite my shaking body, I jump up and hurry over to my window to see who is at the door. A shiny, red sports car is parked in our driveway and Christopher is on our front steps.

  Christopher!

  I rush to my bathroom and splash the remaining teas off my face. My emotional break-down was twenty minutes ago, so my face is only slightly pinker than usual (it always flares up when I cry). Hopefully, it’s not too noticeable.

  I quickly comb my hand through my hair and reapply my lip gloss because one never knows when one might need it. Thankfully, I only wear waterproof mascara (it’s one of those things that ‘my’ therapist would probably say was proof that I knew I had deep emotional scars).

  After smoothing out my outfit, I run downstairs.

  Christopher is in the foyer, talking to my parents. Seeing him next to them reminds me of just how tall he is- maybe a few inches on my father.

  “Hi, Christopher,” I greet happily as I step toward him, trying to hide just how happy I am to see him.

  “Hello, Emily,” he says, running his hand through his golden curls- a habit of his I myself picked up on the Island. But I still note how stiff he keeps his left side. The left side I saw bloodied and bullet-ridden and in moments I still see as if it just happened...

  “Emily?”

  I realize I've been looking down and force my gaze upwards to meet his sweet, blue eyes.

  “H-how is your side?” I whisper.

  “Recovering with minimal risk of infection,” he assures, his lips twitching. Is he amused by my concern?

  “Well, you kids go have some fun,” Mom calls gleefully. She was worried that I would have a problem making friends here in Britain. Honestly, so was I.

  “But not too much fun,” Dad adds good-naturally. “Just kidding. I know you two are both very responsible.” He had been a little upset when he realized I was stuck on an island with a teenage boy and no adults (but, hello, I had my cousins!), but then he met Christopher.

  “I’m just taking her to the ice cream parlor,” Christopher tells him, standing as close to me as he can without touching me- he seems to avoid touching me as much as possible for reasons I know not. “I don’t know about you, Emily, but after two weeks on that Island with no ice cream, I’ve really missed some good, old ice cream.”

  I nod. Speak it, brother… who's actually not my brother, thank goodness.

  Christopher glances at me and graces me with a rare smile and my heart flip-flops inside my chest. Definitely not my brother.

  Then he reaches past me and opens our front door. I love how he’s so old-fashioned and chivalrous. I also love how his face is handsome in a classical, statue-like way, but I try not to focus on that too much.

  I smile and wave at my parents before following him outside, trying to keep my smile under control. It wants to become a wide, open grin, the silly thing.

  Christopher comes to the opens the passenger door to his beautiful, blue sports car. That’s another thing about Christopher I don't particularly mind- apparently, he’s rich. He opens the door for me.

  I climb in and he shuts the door behind me. Then I take in the beautiful, black upholstery of the car I'd only gotten to see the outside of during the last few hectic days.

  Then Christopher climbs into the driver's seat and I check myself so I don't seem like a tourist.

  “I see you didn’t have any trouble with having to run back upstairs for your purse,” Christopher says as he starts the car.

  I glance down at my brown satchel that hasn’t left my side since I’ve gotten dressed this morning. “I kind of carried it around all day. I like to be prepared, you know?”

  He glances at me, that curious expression of his sparkling in his eyes. Boy, does he look so adorably boyish when he does that. “I know you had a satchel with you on the Island, but did you carry a satchel around your own house before the Island?”

  I shake my head. Great, one more person to think I’m crazy.

  He puts the car into reverse without the slightest expression. “Between you and me, I’ve finally gotten around to stocking my car with a first aid kit
and a flashlight. And the amount of my pocket litter has increased.” He turns to me, smiling now as we pause at the edge of the driveway.

  I smile back at him. He understands. He accepts my brokenness and respects it.

  But he doesn't even know the full extent of it since the Island. I don't even know...

  And, wait- he actually got into a car when it didn’t have a first aid kit and a flashlight in it?!

  “Did you tell your parents about the Plan?” Christopher adds, pulling out into the street.

  I groan and lean back, surprised at my being so comfortable around a boy. An attractive boy. Maybe not as close as we were on the Island, but the bond's still there. “Yes, and now they think I’m even more of a basket case than they originally thought.”

  “Yeah, well, I found out that my father has actually done business with the Masters.”

  I choke on air.

  Christopher nods, his tone even but also cold. He obviously is none too proud of his father. “He claims that he didn’t know they ran on slave labor. Apparently, their business is called Tropical Trading, Co. and it deals with tropical goods. They’re based in Paris, France.”

  So the evil has a name. And a location closer to us than I'd hoped. “Weren't you and your father meeting with representatives of that company on the cruise ship?”

  “Yes.”

  A shiver goes down my spine at the thought of employees of the Masters having been so close to me and my not knowing it. How many other employees do they have around the world? Around my world?

  “My father assured me that he wouldn’t be doing any more business with them,” Christopher adds, that same indecipherable look on his face every time he brings up his father. I've only seen the man a couple times, but it's not hard to tell that there's a wedge between them.

  But more importantly- the Masters. Will Christopher's dad ceasing business ties ties with them be enough to avoid them for the rest of our lives? “Is that why you asked me to go to the ice cream parlor with you? To tell me to avoid Tropical Trading, Co.?”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me.“Why couldn’t I just take you out for ice cream for the sake of taking you out for ice cream?”

  Because you're absolutely gorgeous and I'm not. “Um, uh… Watch out for that car!”

  Christopher turns his attention back to the road and we don’t say anything more until we reach the ice cream parlor.

  ~~~

  “Have your parents decided what to do with Oto and Ata yet?” Christopher asks after we've been brought our orders.

  “Nope.” I take a bite of my mint chocolate ice cream.

  He leans forward in his seat, fiddling with his fork, his eyes twinkling in a new way. Mischief? Is that even possible? “I don’t know what to do with them either. Except, maybe, throwing Oto into the ocean.”

  “Christopher!” Definitely mischief. For all the study time I put into this boy, he still surprises me. Will it always be like this? Me unlocking different levels of this boy?

  The thought thrills me and eggs me on at the same time.

  The person in question grins at me as he takes a bite of his vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and pistachios on top.

  Raising my eyebrows, I point my spoon at his cup of ice cream. “How did you even get pistachios on your ice cream anyway? It’s supposed to be peanuts.

  “I come here often. I’m a valuable customer.”

  I glance back to where the waitress is gazing at Christopher with a dreamy expression in her eyes. “Actually, I think the waitress has a crush on you.”

  Christopher shrugs. “Or that, I suppose.”

  I roll my eyes. So he does know how handsome he is after all.

  And yet he's sitting here with me. “So, is that your favorite kind of ice cream?”

  “Yes. Is mint chocolate yours?”

  Shrugging, I lick the spoon. “It might be my new favorite.”

  “What was your old favorite?”

  “Coconut.”

  “Why isn’t your favorite anymore?” Realization dawns in his words just as he says that. “Is it because of all the coconuts we ate on the Island.”

  I nod. Why does it seem that everything goes back to the Island? Is any relationship I might have with Christopher merely another reminder of the Island? Would I even have a relationship with Christopher if it weren’t for the Island?

  Does that make the whole ordeal worth it?

  ~~~

  When Christopher drops me off at my house, Dad and Uncle Gerald are both outside, talking to several occupants of news vans parked near our driveway.

  “No, you may not interview my children,” Uncle Gerald tells one van.

  “This is a family affair and I will not have the public sticking their noses into it,” Dad tells another.

  Christopher opens the passenger door for me and then rests his hand on my the small of back as he propels me forward; however, not fast enough. One of the reporters sees me, jumps out of their van, and rushes over.

  Next thing I know, a microphone is being pushed in my face. “You were two of the four children who disappeared when the cruise ship The Queen of the Sea was mysteriously torpedoed, are you not?”

  Neither Christopher nor I answer him. We keep walking, me biting my sore lip.

  Please don’t take our picture. Please don’t take our picture. Don’t give the Masters anything that could lead them to us.

  Though, if I tell the reporter about the Masters, I might be able to bring them to justice and release all those poor slaves.

  Or the world will think I’m a disturbed girl with an avid imagination just like my parents.

  I keep walking.

  “How did you survive all that time in the open ocean?” the reporter asks, picking up his pace to keep up with us. “Where did those two other children that you were rescued with come from? Are you planning on suing the owner of The Queen of the Sea?”

  Christopher wordlessly opens the front door from me.

  “Wait- you two aren’t related, are you?”

  I look back just in time to see a wry grin spread across his face at the thought of a possibly sordid story. And then he snaps our picture.

  Christopher propels me inside before roughly shutting the door on the reporter.

  And the door for Emotional Breakdown Part Two opens wide. “If those reporters know where we live, than the Masters can find us!”

  Rudolf Masters scowls. Then he whips a pistol out of a hidden holster and aims it at Christopher. “Criminal am I? Well, I can shoot you dead before you have a chance to pull the trigger.”

  Christopher turns to me. “Run!” he says. “They’re coming!”

  Something touches my face and reminds me of a reality outside of my head. “Emily, Emily, listen to me.”

  I snap out of the horrible montage of flashbacks and try to shake off the slippery feeling that has moved in with my fear since the Island. The dirty feeling I refuse to acknowledge yet keeps trying to make itself-

  “Emily.”

  Blinking, I focus on Christopher. Focus on the reality right in front of me.

  He sighs and drops his hands… that were on my face? “Look, I'll fix this.” Not taking his worried eyes off me- like he's scared I'll fall back into myself or something- he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone (his old one was damaged during the whole Island ordeal- what else?). “I’ll contact my father. He’ll have his agent get rid of those reporters or something. Don’t worry; they won’t find us.”

  I nod. They won’t find us. They won’t.

  Don't you just love lying to yourself?

  ~~~

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Christopher,” Mom offers.

  “Thank you, but I promised my father that I’d eat with him.”

  “Well, you’re always welcome at our home.”

  “In that case, I’ll try to stop by tomorrow.” He gives me a warm smile before turning back to Mom. “Thank you.”

  “By!” Chase and
Mary-Ann yell.

  “Bye,” I echo, but my voice is lost amongst all the others. Still, I can't wait for tomorrow.

  At dinner, Grandmother turns to the adults of the family and announces rather sullenly, “As your agent, I’m afraid that I need to tell you that you can’t have any more time off from work.”

  I look down at my dinner to hide my dismay. I should be thankful that they were able to take so much time off to search for us and then spend these last two day with us. I shouldn’t be greedy.

  “I’m afraid you four have a business meeting with a prospective client tomorrow,” she adds.

  “How long will it be?” Dad asks.

  “About all day. From ten to seven. The client will provide lunch.”

  Aunt Donna turns to me. “You kids will be okay here, right?”

  I put on my poker face. “Of course.”

  “Emily and I will keep care of the kids,” Grandmother assures.

  “Well, I’m glad Emily will be taking care of them,” Mom mutters.

  Grandmother looks down at her plate.

  Dad frowns at Mom. Who sighs and turns to Grandmother as if to say a forced apology.

  “No, you’re right,” Grandmother says before I can begin. “It is a good thing Emily will be here to take care of them.”

  “So, um, speaking of me,” I say, “I was wondering if maybe we could all watch a movie tonight. I’ve hardly watched TV at all this summer- and that’s the truth.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like an excellent idea,” Dad agrees.

  “Yeah!” everyone echoes except Oto and Ata.

  “What’s a movie?” Oto asks.

  Chase puts his hand on Oto's shoulder. “You have much to learn, my friend. Much to learn.”

  ~~~

  As I sink into my bed, I think about how much things have changed since the Island- mostly for the better. There’s the way my bed feels so much more comfortable. I can definitely get used to that. Though, when I do, it probably won’t feel quite so good. Oh, well, I’ll enjoy it while I still can. I’ll enjoy everything I have right now while I still can.

  Because you never know when it’s going to be gone.