The Runaway (12 page)

“I’m scared
...!”

Richard stopped and looked down at her. Of course she is. Any normal person would be. The trouble was he didn’t know what to do about it. Brooke let out a deep breath and put her head on her knees.

“He loved me, you know! As far as memory serves me, father was there for me most of the times. Brushing my hair, ironing out my clothes, getting me stuff, listening to me read. He played mom and dad to me. Even though he was gone for days, he’d come back with something for me…”

Richard stood with his back to the wall, and was listening to her rapt in attention. This was what he had come for. His purpose in searching for her. But he was more troubled at how fondly she recalls him.

“Do you know Paul Jefferson’s story Rick?”

He gulped. He was a bad liar, but he shook his head. He wanted to know her story, her take, and her side.

“I am the elusive daughter of the notorious
dollmaker
.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Richard knew the amount of strength that she must have invested to confess her darkest secret. Brooke looked up at him. Blank eyes stared back at her – she read no judgement, no hatred and no disdain. Just questions. She shrugged. She didn’t quite understand his restrain. She didn’t want to, she was just so grateful. It was the
heady heat from the too bright sun, or just the residual fear that gnawed her soul, or just the fact that she was tired, torn and desperate to leave it all behind. She escaped all these years wanting to avoid the shadows of her past, unknowingly letting them shroud her in darkness. Who was she kidding when she dared to hope for a normal life, of settling down, of picket fences and dogs?

“Why can’t you?”

She looked shocked at his nonchalant question.

“Have you not paid attention to what I was saying? I killed 11 girls… I killed my mother. I am the reason my father is a mass murderer.”

She recalled scolding her dad as she was too old to play with dolls. But he insisted, he made one for her every couple of months or so. They weren’t pretty, but she loved that father made them himself. And she would keep them on her shelf, just above the other toys. She was troubled by the way they all looked at her, but then what did she know, a simple dumb girl? She could never forget the day when Wattson told her about her father, that he loved her.

“I laughed! Of course he loved me, I told him. Duh!!” She was afraid of the understanding nod of his, and the deep sigh as he plunged in the real story. A couple of hours later, she was numbed, too cold to acknowledge that she was being taken into protective custody by the AFP. AFP? Who were they?

“I was thinking of what to make for dinner, Rick, when they said all those eleven dolls had hair cut from each of the victims’ heads post mortem”

Richard squeezed her hands. Brooke looked at him, and continued further.

“That got my attention… well, zapped out my senses more like. And I just sat there frozen. I could not bring myself to believe that my own father was in love with me. All the hate came back, the abhorrence that my mother had for me! It all came rushing back, and I was sinking.”

Brooke couldn’t stop shaking like a leaf.

“You didn’t kill them. None of that. And you know it. Bad things happen”

She wouldn’t listen. Yes she knows. Wattson’s appointed therapist kept telling her that. But, it was her. If those girls hadn’t resembled her, then they would be alive. Her mother was right in thinking she was dirty, tempting her father with impure thoughts about her. She was such a fuck-up.

“Brooke, Brooke… listen to me! You aren’t a fuck-up. There’s nothing wrong with you. Despite everything, you turned out to be so wonderfully beautiful. You are more human than most…”

Beautiful. Brooke never imagined anyone would use that to describe her. She knew he lied to make her feel better; but she wanted to believe the lie, that beyond the myriad of scars and wounds, she existed, she lived and loved like any other. She had crossed a bridge today – something that was due for a very long time. It didn’t make her feel secure, or less burdened. It just was off the to-do list of her short life. She had to do it someday. Open up to someone, and let the pain and shame flow out of her. She drifted off to an unknown land of sunlight, and green meadows. Richard left her to her thoughts. He wasn’t sure if she would want to continue any further. He let the hot waters trickle down his back in the shower. Work, yes! That was accomplished. A few more days, and he was sure he’d wrestle out the other facts too. Still he wasn’t sated. He was sure there existed no scope of anything between them, it’s not like he was in love with her. Was he? The thought scared him. He truly didn’t understand the bond forged between them in the past few days. All his sanity screamed at how wrong he was for her. But he couldn’t let her go. Not when Paul was an imminent danger. But even after that? He chuckled. Brooke would simply dismiss his feelings and retreat back to her shell. This was better,
at least he could share a part of her without freaking her out.

Brooke was dicing the potatoes with too much care. The air in the house had morphed somehow. She wasn’t sure of Rick’s reactions – he hadn’t reacted at all after her long story. Was he that disinterested? She hoped not. She stood up straight. Yes! She actually hoped that he would stick around for her. She didn’t need anyone’s help to get back to how she was, but it was the safety that he exuded that made her want to run to him. Lunch was a quiet affair. She didn’t dare meet his eyes, though she could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to run away and catch her breath. Wrap her head around what she was feeling. She was so relieved to have shed some of her baggage. She didn’t want to believe she deserved to feel this joyous or jubilant. It was a small victory for her. She heard Rick clearing away the dishes in the kitchen and the door closing behind him. She looked around her – the room, its impeccable wardrobe and that lamp she bought from the town.
She had enough of what she needed, yet hardly anything that she wanted. No pictures, no memories, nothing to tie her down, and everything that can be put in a duffle bag and move away. She knew she was over reacting – Paul would be heavily guarded, and escape was out of the question. But she didn’t want to underestimate his cunning. She was led into believing that isolation was the best cure to the disease she suffered from. She was safe as long as humans were away. She was strong as long as she never stooped down to ask for help. She would get by anything on her own – her guns, double locked doors and her stubborn head would see her past through all obstacles. How woefully wrong she was. She was still a child, a terribly lost child unable to deal without help. She was still in search for that shore she could rest, yes, but as days unfurled before her, she wasn’t sure she would survive the tides.

Richard heard her sleeping peacefully. He stood just outside her room, with his forehead on her door. He wanted all the emotions inside him to subside. He wanted to give her life, the life she deserved, not bottled up and locked behind doors. The pain in her eyes was too much for him to bear through. The fear too immense to be wiped off from her past. He was too involved and too compromised to be able to help her. It was whimsical to have invited James for dinner – but he wanted her to have a shot at normal. Too much fuck-ups along the way made her all the more ensnared in the cage of bygone despair. It somehow weighed heavily inside him, like a huge stone dropped in his stomach which refused to budge, pulling him down along with it. She stirred in her sleep, murmuring. Troubled sleep. He knelt down beside her bed. No, he was way in too deep with this. He couldn’t be involved. Once the truth was out, she would see him in a different light altogether, and firmly believe that what he felt was just out of duty. He wasn’t sure how he felt himself. There was no future, no hope of a happy ending in this, and that is what she truly deserved.

Brooke yawned and opened her eyes to find Rick, kneeling on the ground with his head on her bed. He was sleeping soundly. She ran her hands through his matted hair, and got off the bed as quietly as she could. She was distracted by the knock on the front door, and all the more by James standing in front of her.

“Rick asked me to come over for dinner! And judging by your face, you had no idea!”

Brooke smiled and led him to the sofa by the bookshelf. She was stymied by Rick’s sudden dinner plans, especially when he was planning to sleep through most part of them. James was his usual self, and certainly, only too pleased to be with her. Only when food was served, Brooke decided it was high time to wake Rick up, and well, question what his motive behind
playing the absent host was. Rick came in to the dining table, waved sleepily at James and dug in. He ate non-stop, and excused himself brusquely, even before the dessert was served. That’s when it struck her, Rick didn’t want to face her alone, be with her in the same room with her. The rejection stung more than she wanted to let on. She didn’t notice James talking about Dublin, or his Barbie. Wait what?

“That got your attention!” James
chuckled.

Brooke smiled weakly. James was rather upset by her lack of attention, and that her mind was miles away from where he wanted it to be. It didn’t take a genius to figure it was with the person who just nonchalantly walked away after dinner. He leaned back in the couch and enjoyed the warmth from the fire wash over him.

“So, Rick, huh!” Why wasn’t he surprised?

“It’s nothing like that James. He just helped me through some tough times.”

He nodded mutely. It had hardly been a little over a week since he moved in. What tough times? She was letting him in ways that he never thought she would want to. She looked healthier somehow, a little haunted around the eyes maybe, but something was different. Or he was just delusional. But he understood when he needed to bow out. Rick’s attempt was rather poor, and if he didn’t understand Brooke’s untold sentences, then he was rather thick. Would he have the heart to talk sense into him? No. Rick would come around. It felt rather lonely to be sitting with her, only to be ignored while she frantically searched for Rick, even if it was unconsciously. If roles were reversed, he wondered, if she would feel the same for him.

It was quite late into the night that Rick dared to return back to her house. He would need to move out, complete off his work
from someplace else and go back. This was becoming too complicated to be handled by either of them. He didn’t expect the lights in the hallway to be turned on at that moment. Praying that she was asleep, he tiptoed in.

“You do realise I shoot trespassers who sneak in to my house in the night?”

Against his will, he laughed out. Yeah! So like Brooke.

“Why are you still up?”

“Who’d let you in otherwise!?”

Point noted, Richard thought. He’d have to spend the night freezing outside with no hope of breaking open those multitude of locks.

“So why did you bail on us tonight?”

Richard froze with the bottle in his hand. He was setting them up, did not qualify as a good answer right now.

“Had to take care of some stuff. Here on work, you know.”

“Yes,
that
much referred to entity. Would you care to elaborate?”

Richard shrugged and started walking towards his room. She covered the distance in a couple of strides and guarded his way into the room. Rick gave her a perplexed stare, but she wouldn’t let him pass. No way of escaping the inquisition,
he sighed to himself. He simply lifted her bodily and set her aside, as if moving a vase out of the way, and proceeded to his bed. He didn’t want to know just how vexed that must have made her – pretty much, judging by the huffing and banging of the doors.

He fell on the bed without having undressed. He didn’t know for how long he could keep up the act of the Good Samaritan. He wanted her. Bad. He had used all his willpower to not grab and kiss her when she was guarding the door to his room – with that frown, the wild mane of chocolate hair, and the full lips. He realised, after constantly worrying about what James and Brooke would be up to in his absence, that he couldn’t deny his feelings anymore.
And that was all the more dangerous with him being around her. She was beginning to show signs of neediness too. Which never went down well with him. She was strong and she had to do this alone. Not that he didn’t want to make sure she was alright, but everything along with Paul made it too complicated to be anything permanent. And stable was what she needed right now. He drifted off to sleep. He needed to check with Cook about further updates on Paul. He didn’t expect anything drastic, but it is always advisable to stay a step ahead of your enemy.

Brooke was apparently still pretty pissed off at him. She absolutely refused to speak to him, and made non-committal grunts when Richard persisted on answers. It was good, he thought, this will keep her at a distance, till he
was able to unwind his mind from the shit it was suffering from as of now. He refused to acknowledge the need in her eyes, and that how difficult it was for her to not take refuge in him, that she was still scared of the prospects of Paul’s escape. But, Richard reined in his restrain, and tried his best to avoid seeing her. He almost ran to complete the grocery shopping and any other shopping that was required. This didn’t go unnoticed by Brooke. It stung, that he ran away. He didn’t run after he had heard about her past – so what happened after that to have turned him away? She felt so ashamed, raked with guilt at having to need him. He wouldn’t make her world go around, but just
for now
, for the moments that she was still recovering from the shock. But in retrospect, it was perhaps better that he stayed away. She didn’t want to get used to needing him, she didn’t want to face the rejection after developing a habit of having him around. It wasn’t like he would be around forever. She smirked mirthlessly.
Forever.
It was such a meaningless term for her. Richard needn’t worry about her nagging and latching herself onto him. She wouldn’t, she was too arrogant for that.

James laughed himself silly when Richard refused to budge from his home.

“Ran out of excuses?”

“Don’t know what you are saying. Can’t I spend time with you?”

“Not when someone is waiting for you back home!!”

“Well, this is not my…”

That shut James up. And Richard too. Both knew how true the statement was, and the finality of the declaration that Richard would leave someday. It didn’t leave anyone in the room content. He felt uneasy and queasy when he thought of sleeping with Brooke under the same roof. And he was utterly annoyed with his helplessness in ensuring no harm would befall her. And neither could he whole heartedly set James and Brooke up. He was frustrated. With a heavy throbbing head, he started his way back home. He wished, that it was though.

Brooke was seated comfortably near her fire, with a book in her hands, listening to nothing but the sound of her own forced breathing, as she tried to calm herself down. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected Ian Hardy’s visit anytime soon. But it all just made it look so gloomier and graver, and she did not want to believe that precautions were needed. How can a man break AFP custody and escape? Of course she is safe. He hadn’t expected the seldom used mobile phone to ring either – with some
Ronan Cook checking in on her. She was jumpy, scared at any and every alien sound around her. It would have been so different if Paul would have killed her on that night several years ago. Would he have killed her? What if he would have forced on something all the more horrific? She shivered. He was the father for crying out loud. And he was mad, told her a small inner voice. Did he kill mom too, to get her out of the way? She rested her head on the couch, and tried not to panic. She ran out of medication a few days ago and hadn’t replenished it. She didn’t want to sleep – she couldn’t get any even if she tried to. All she could do was fall back to dreams of dark dreary woods, and slashed bodies with their blood on her, and she would wake up in sweat. She baked a dozen cakes to take her mind off everything, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was just round the corner to attack her. She couldn’t live like this. How long would it take for someone on the force to break down and give up her current whereabouts? Though Scotland is a pretty huge land mass to scope, but Paul was clever, too clever for his own good, and he would eventually find her. But she didn’t want to leave this life behind. She was happy, after a very long time and search. She liked gardening with Martha – like she would have with a normal mother as a child. She liked talking to James. She grudgingly thought that she liked Ian too, like an older brother, who did nothing but fret about her. And then there was Rick. She wasn’t sure what she felt about him, but he made her feel good about herself, feel invincible. Surely that meant something. The book fell from her lap to the ground with a sot thud. When Richard came in, he looked for Brooke, hoping that she’d be asleep by now. As he approached the fireplace, he noticed the hand awkwardly falling from the armrest and the book on the ground. He placed the book back, and glanced at her. Head lolling from side to side, and body at a weird angle, Brooke was sleeping obliviously. He stifled his laugh. He couldn’t let her sleep here throughout the night, she’d hardly be able to move with that crammed neck. He didn’t want to hold her close, it did weird things to his head. But heck, he had no choice.

“Stupid girl!” he muttered under his breath and lifted her from the couch. She felt too light against his weight, much to his chagrin. She wouldn’t have liked this carrying her to bed business either. It was wrong to have moved in here, he kept reminding himself, hopelessly unable to do anything about it. He placed her as gently as he could on her bed and pulled back the covers on her. She stirred and murmured something – she had been doing that a lot lately, talking in her sleep. But her phrase caught his attention. He stood rooted to the spot, his heart almost jumping out through his mouth.

You found me.

He found her, he would always find her, and then watch helplessly as she slowly dissolved in front of him. Isn’t that’s what happening now? What was the point of having saved her, if her life after that comprised of hidden shelters and void memories yet to be filled with something or someone she loved? He fought hard against the tears blinding him, as he looked down at her sleeping form, hunched up beneath the blankets. He didn’t want to save her this time. He didn’t
have to. She was strong and capable. He’d fail if he intervened. She was stronger than he could ever be. He didn’t linger to listen to her mumbling. That age old memory of the phrase affected him too badly.

He recalled Cook’s warning: to not mess with him. With Paul. As he made it his habit to mess around with people’s heads. He wondered if Paul knew, Richard was present when he confessed to murdering those girls. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, how he bows down. It was eerie sight, as Paul’s gaze was fixed on the glass door separating Richard and him, as if almost he could sense his presence. He reeked of a sneering pride in his work, as he counted off names of his victims, licking his lips as if he still enjoyed the memories of his kill. He ticked off eleven names and revealed the location of 9 bodies. He shut down completely after that. Richard wasn’t satisfied with the punishment – how can he be allowed to live? The families of those ravaged girls deserve to know that he died in pain. But his confession allowed him to escape the gallows. Richard was sure that was his purpose in accepting defeat then. Bide his time, till he can go after his Brooke again.

He couldn’t do a thing about it.

Somewhere thousands of miles away, amidst the sound of machines beeping and the solitary drop in the IV, he had woken up to his second chance at
his
redemption.