Run to Me (23 page)

The woman said nothing. She didn’t try to stop him or refute what he’d said. She didn’t tell him everything would be all right, maybe because she knew it wouldn’t. After what he’d done, how could it ever? Rocking gently, she just let him cry.

Eventually the touch of her hand quelled his sobs. His breathing slowed. The tears prickled his cheeks as they dried.
To the feel of her gently stroking his hair, in the knowledge she would still be there when he woke, he let himself drift towards the edge of sleep.

The tumbler exploded against the wall, the last of its twelve-year-old Chivas Regal spraying a starburst across the panelling. Tragg grabbed his phone and keyed in a number. Though it violated established procedure and could possibly put the receiver
at risk, he couldn’t wait a minute longer.

After Farrell’s initial call informing him of Nolan’s deception, Tragg had received only one other update – when the two men had returned to the woman’s cabin where Ballinger was supposedly hiding. Since then he’d waited interminable hours to hear the matter had been resolved, but the follow-up call had not yet come. Now, at going on 1 am, he had to
concede it wasn’t going to.

The phone rang out and switched to a private message bank. He hung up without recording a message. Something was wrong. Farrell would never have left him hanging like this.

He keyed in a second number. There was no other choice. He had to go to Deadwater himself and see to things personally. Something he clearly should have done when he’d left the damn hospital!

The call was answered and Vanessa’s sleepy voice said, ‘Yeah?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Tragg? At the motel. Why? I caught up with Quinlan and Stokes like you said. I’ll –’

‘Still no word from Farrell or Nolan. We’re going back.’

‘What?
We?
Why do –’

‘You know the area.’

A rustle of covers as she sat up in bed. ‘What about these kids?’

‘Leave ’em with the others. Pick you up in a couple of hours.
Be ready.’

The screaming came from far away. It threatened to weave itself into his dreams, twisting them towards the realm of nightmare. But the unfamiliar was too distracting. A woman’s voice. In the end it dragged him from the pit of sleep and spewed him into confused consciousness.

Zack looked around. She was standing in the half-light at the forest’s edge, shrieking her protests across the
water. ‘No! Let him go! Leave him alone!’ Her terror suffused him and for a moment he thought they were under attack. But peering closer he saw she was alone. He pushed himself up.

The new perspective only confirmed it – there was no one else there. The last he’d been aware she was lying beside him, spooned against his back for warmth. Now she appeared to be sleepwalking, trapped in some horrible
alternate reality.

‘Please! I’ll give you whatever you want! Just let him go!’

Sickened by the pain he heard in her voice, he struggled to his feet. Only to find he had no idea what to do. Weren’t you never supposed to wake a sleepwalker?

‘Stop! He can’t swim! No! Don’t!’

He watched, dumbstruck. Was this the same woman who’d
beaten two men with kick-ass weapons, climbed out a window, guided
him through a pitch-black forest, and then down a stream past dangerous animals? She’d held it together through all of that and now here she was freaking out over something that wasn’t even there?

‘Hey!’ he called out to her. ‘Over here!’

She spun around, a silhouette against the shimmering water. Arms outflung. Body braced. Did she even see him?

‘Jesse!’

Suddenly she was flying towards him,
stumbling over obstacles in the dark. She dropped to her knees, threw her arms around his waist and sobbed her words against his chest. ‘Jesse, oh God!’

Zack stiffened at the sound of the name. Who the hell was this kid? Was it the boy in the picture he’d found in her drawer? If so, what happened to him? Did the man in the picture take him away? She’d been shouting, ‘Let him go, leave him alone.’
Had someone hurt him? Did he die?

‘Jesse, my God, you’re really all right?’

Zack clenched his jaw. If the kid was dead why did she keep thinking he was Jesse? The boy in the picture had dark hair and eyes like he did. But they weren’t the same. Couldn’t she see that? What was wrong with her?

Another thought slapped him and he reeled from the blow. All those things she’d said and done, they
hadn’t been for him at all. It hadn’t been Zack she’d held and rocked, it hadn’t been his face she’d stroked so tenderly. What was so great about Jesse anyway? Why hadn’t anyone ever loved him this much?

All at once he was fighting to pull from her embrace. But at the sound of something rustling in the undergrowth he froze again. It was probably just a possum or an owl but it doused his anger
with a frigid splash of realisation – men were after him trying to kill him, he was still really weak, he had no idea where
the hell he was and the only reason this woman was helping was because she thought he was someone else.

The last of his anger ebbed away. How could he have been such a dummy? The question he should be asking himself was, how long did he have? Because the minute she snapped
out of her fantasy trip she’d ditch him just like everyone else. She’d never go on risking her life for a reject like him. So rather than insist she see him as Zack, the smart thing to do would be to play along. At least till he was strong enough to make it on his own again.

‘Jesse, you’re all right? They didn’t hurt you?’

‘I’m fine. Honest.’ Why did the words burn his throat so badly?

‘They
. . . they had you. They were going to . . . they would’ve –’

‘Yeah, but they didn’t.’ He blinked the acid sting from his eyes. ‘Because you got me away from them. You saved me. See.’

She lifted her gaze. Crying and laughing she swept her hands over his face as though to confirm her eyes weren’t deceiving her. ‘My precious boy. You’re really here.’

Zack gazed into her upturned face. Even if
it had been a product of insanity, her courage had made her a hero in his eyes. If she needed so desperately for him to be Jesse, then how could he not?

He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, Mom. I’m here.’

Mist rose from the dawn-lit track and seeped through the trees on either side. Tragg eased the Jaguar slowly forward, tearing the gossamer membrane to shreds.

‘This guy you sent to help Nolan,’ Vanessa said, rubbing her eyes – she’d barely slept on the night-long drive – ‘he’s not one of Lazaro’s people.’

‘No, he’s freelance.’

‘And you trust him?’

‘Like that drop-kick faggot boyfriend
of yours?’ A soft chuckle from the man at the wheel. ‘Farrell and I go way back, grew up in Roxbury together. Closer to me than my own brother.’

Vanessa peered through the swirling tendrils. ‘How do you know they came this way?’

‘Farrell’s last update. Man always gives his location, he’s thorough like that.’ An admiring smile appeared on Tragg’s face. ‘If there’s one person in this whole frigging
world I’d give my life for it’d be Jake.’

A four-wheel drive appeared through the mist, standing amid a grove of saplings. Tragg pulled his car up behind it and shut off the engine.

Taking her cue from his silent exit, Vanessa got out and, with weapon poised, began circling the Cherokee with him. It appeared undamaged, at least on the outside. Clearly, the two men had arrived here safely. They’d
just never left.

From opposite sides they stepped to the windows. A brown pig skin jacket lay on the front passenger’s seat. Vanessa recognised it at once as Nolan’s. Seeing it filled her with a sense of foreboding.

She shot a look across at Tragg, noting the tight forward thrust of his jaw. Without a word he turned away and started through the woods. She hurried after him.

They followed the
track – a driveway she realised now – as it swung a wide arc. A few moments later they were crouched in the undergrowth before a cabin. Most of the glass had been blown from its windows and the bullet-riddled front door stood wide open.

At a nod from Tragg they started towards it, across the clearing and up the steps. They paused at the door, then burst inside with weapons raised.

All was silent.
What remained of the furnishings lay in splinters, shards and billows of stuffing. They eased through the room, around the couch and stopped at the sight of what lay beyond.

Vanessa heard a strange sound escape Tragg’s throat – half-moan, half-growl. He approached the body cradled in its bed of shattered wood that had once been a kitchen table. The remains of only one leg stood upright, held
in place by the torn flesh and bone of Farrell’s neck.

Under the guise of searching the rest of the house, Vanessa quickly walked away. Though she’d taken no part in what had happened here she felt suddenly and keenly at risk, threatened by the sheer force of dark energy radiating off Tragg in squalls.

In passing she noticed a small bottle sitting on the end table
beside the couch. She picked
it up, read the label, saw who the prescribing doctor was. At once she turned. But, seeing the storm still masking Tragg’s features, thought better of speaking and slipped the bottle in her pocket instead.

She went through each of the rooms in turn. After giving him what time she thought he’d need, she returned to Tragg to report her findings. ‘No sign of Ballinger or the woman anywhere in the
house.’

Tragg stood quaking. In a voice more animal than human he said, ‘Find Nolan.’

Vanessa shuddered as she backed away. ‘I’ll check outside.’

Light flickered across his eyelids, teasing them open. Zack took a deep breath of pine-scented air, scraped the dead leaves off the side of his face and rolled onto his back.

The sun winked down at him through shifting pin holes in the forest canopy. It was well past dawn, probably later than the crazy lady had wanted them to sleep, but who cared? Where did they have to be anyway?
As long as no one had followed them here they were perfectly safe.

At the thought, he pushed himself up. Apart from the canoe at the water’s edge there was no sign of human presence as far as he could see. He cocked his head to the woods behind them. Not a sound other than the chatter of birds and the soft sighing of wind through the branches.

He gazed down at the woman beside him. She seemed
so peaceful, her head cradled on one of her arms, the fingers of her other hand curled beneath her chin. Pine needles and leaf litter clung to her hair but somehow it only made her look prettier, like some kind of fairy. Did he need to wake her? After the night she’d had she probably needed to sleep a bit more.

He peeled off the blanket, covered her with it, pushed himself up and limped towards
the water.

The stream was wider and slower here, more like a pond. Huge slabs of granite stood along the shore, ranging in size from a chest-high boulder off to the left, to the jumble of smaller ones on the right. The canoe lay between them, marking the only clear path to the shallows.

As he walked towards it, a fish broke the surface, leapt a foot into the air and fell back with a splash.
Ripples spread outward till they reached the reeds and cat tails beyond the rocks.

Why did fish do that? he wondered idly, bending down to wash the sleep from his eyes. Probably for the same reason human beings jumped into water. Because it was fun.

A strange sound suddenly broke through his musings, a faint pulsing, like distant music. He rose, spun around but couldn’t see the source. Until
he looked up. In the clear patch of sky above the pond a V-formation of Canada geese winged their way south announcing their passage with boisterous honking.

Zack smiled as he watched them fly over. When they’d passed he stood marvelling at the pink horse-tail clouds that curled across the lightening sky. It wasn’t so bad out here really. He almost wished they could stay in the woods. As long
as the weather was nice like this. As long as they were together and could find enough to eat and no one bothered them.

He turned and looked back at the sleeping form beside the fire. But they wouldn’t be together for very much longer. Sooner or later – probably sooner – the woman would see him for what he was. A useless throw-away who wasn’t as smart or cute or brave or any of the other things
Jesse surely was.

As if she’d heard him, the woman stirred. She threw off the blanket and sat up quickly. On her feet in an instant, she stood
looking around in confusion. After a moment she turned towards the water.

She seemed to see him and started running, but ten feet away she slowed to a stop. Probably wondering what to say to him. After his breakdown the night before he could understand.
In fact, what was he going to say to her? Should he mention her nightmares? Could he ask her about them? Would she even remember?

Zack took a step and opened his mouth.

She stopped him dead with her whispered command. ‘Jesse, don’t move. Stay right where you are and don’t make a sound.’

‘Careful, there are probably more of them around.’

Nolan heard the words through a red haze of pain. A familiar voice, seemingly distant, but one he had to reach at all costs. He struggled towards it, pushed through the fog, opened his eyes.

The form standing over him slowly took shape. Dark hair, female build . . .

Tears stung his eyes. ‘Vanessa, thank God.’ He licked his lips,
tasting salt and dirt. ‘My leg . . . it’s broken. Been here all night. Couldn’t . . . get the damn thing off.’

Nolan fell back. He was cold. So cold. Just the simple act of raising his head had brought him close to blacking out again.

The pain of the steel jaws clamping his leg, grinding his splintered bones together, was beyond enormous. Each time he moved, a firestorm seared up his leg, along
his spine, until it consumed his entire body.

Over the hours he’d lain there he’d tried repeatedly to open the trap. But he just couldn’t force himself into a position where he could exert the required leverage. Sometime in the darkest hours of night, when the pain had dulled and numbness set in,
he’d grown convinced he was going to die. In this stinking, rotten hell-hole of a place. Phillip
Nolan was going to buy it.