The Runaway (8 page)

“Who taught you that?”

“Why. Are. You. Here?”

Right. Richard could see that he had spooked her by touching her unintentionally- but he only meant to wake her up. It was going to be difficult to explain to her that. She was like a ticking dynamite. Wattson had certainly done a good job training her though. His jaw must be bleeding internally.

“I just came to check on you. And I was hungry…”

“How dare you? Haven’t I told you I don’t like being mollycoddled – there are plenty of girls in the town, Rick. You chose the wrong girl…”

“I brought breakfast with me. I know you are hungry as well… So… I’ll just sit by the kitchen counter
, ok?”

Brooke was at her wits’ end. Why was he relentlessly coming back? She had to check with the Yard and find out about this Rick Hold. Funny name. She grumbled and brushed her teeth. She splashed some cool water on her face to soothe her senses. It’s just breakfast. She kept mumbling to herself. She tried to be patient – too much of misdemeanour could also attract attention towards her. And she had to devise of some other method to get rid of him. When she returned, he was casually rocking her kitchen chair, nursing the bruise forming on his cheek. She patted herself on the back for the meticulous punch.

Brooke walked in and settled herself beside him. He could hear her stomach grumbling and let out a low chuckle. He had been wrestling with the idea all through last night – whether he should meet Brooke again. Who would willingly volunteer to be insulted by a girl all over again? But he, with his apparent chivalrous roses, had been the reason that she suffered earlier – and he was sure, that she would have had a bad sleepless night haunted by memories. He just wanted to make sure that she was ok. She could just kick him out, literally – but he would be satisfied at having tried at least. He didn’t expect to be welcomed with a bleeding jaw though. He watched her intently, as she munched on the sandwich that Martha had packed, a little too happily. There was an array of expressions that spread through her face all the while – she seemed relieved, and then a sliver of doubt crossed her face, she rolled her eyes as if enjoying a private joke, and then she seemed satisfied with the food. She was oblivious to his presence altogether.

“So… How are you feeling today?”

“Alive. And it’s just because of
you
.”

Richard burst out laughing. Her snide,
dry sarcastic comments had a way of exciting him – which wasn’t a pleasant thought to be true. With what could be the most disgusted expression that she could muster, she cleared the plates. He noticed the strong locks in her doors and windows – can’t blame her for being paranoid after the father that she has had. He worried that if Paul decided to track him down – he would just know where she lived. The very thought made him throw up. He walked around her drawing room – a small bookcase with glass panes was crammed with an assorted collection of books. He went over the other volumes, and her collection of DVDs. He glanced around the room – it was clean, but not meticulously arranged, and smelled of lavenders. The vase looked well-polished and regularly used. The gerberas in them looked a little withered though. He had never spotted her in the town shops in all his stay here – who gave her the flowers? For a moment, he shuddered at the thought of Paul sending anonymous flowers to Brooke – which would explain her panic attack yesterday. But then she wouldn’t adorn her home with those flowers. With a sweeping glance over the rooms it was so evident suddenly, the tasteful casual elegance of her home – it wasn’t ostentatious, but somehow, it was soothing – with matched furniture, tastefully selected drapes and curtains and all the right décor. What struck him the most were the paintings hung asymmetrically – they were exquisite, with the right strokes and splashes and in the right myriad of colours, of different areas of Applecross or other homes that she had perhaps known. None of them bore any resemblance to Walhalla. He grimaced at the thought. The paintings were beautiful and done with a sincere dedication that tugged at his heart. He was lost in the maze of colours, so lost that he hadn’t heard Brooke’s approaching footsteps nor his phone buzzing– he checked his cell phone – James was back, hopefully with a healthier Bob. He didn’t pay attention to her hands resting on his shoulders. He was startled by the feather light touch of her fingers over his shoulder blade, and almost jumped out of his skin when he found her actually smiling at him. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like it – it had been quite some time since a woman had touched him with so much allure – more so with his distractions and obsession with Paul. But he hadn’t expected Brooke’s touch to startle him – much more than he wanted to. And all that putting aside, was the fact that he’d never imagined Brooke to think of him in any other way other than with the manner that she had meted out to him. Was she actually trying to s
educe him
? He was beyond shocked – by the way her touch sent tremors in the core of his soul, her darkened irises and those parted lips. Reason had been zapped out of him altogether and without thinking he jumped out of her reach. His face must have conveyed tons of how he felt – her hand fell limp, and her eyes widened for a moment. As time trickled by, she gathered herself and stomped off to the bedroom.

He didn’t linger for too long. He needed to breathe and clear his head. He was still processing the chain of events at Brook’s home- the punch, the breakfast, her ever present wit and then what was that? Why was she
all over him? He didn’t give off any damn signal of wanting to sleep with her for god’s sake – what the fuck was she thinking? Is this the only way she developed relations or interacted with people? And Christ! James!! What the hell was he supposed to tell him? And explain whatever was going on? He decided to meet Bob right away – Sam’s food could perhaps give him the strength and energy to rethink his strategy. It was not until he reached the end of the road that reason came back to him. He stood rooted to his spot, not knowing, again, how to react. It was so devastatingly simple – her act to ensure he never meets her again. He was so easily fooled by her gimmick, he felt so embarrassed at his reaction that it never occurred to him that what she had always wanted was to be left alone. And well. She succeeded. He had no idea he could ever get to talk to her after what happened today. Not only did she make a fool out of him by the way he reacted, she also made it clear that she could go to any length to get him off her back. She obviously knew how he would react, and now she ensured his own reactions embarrassed him enough to keep away. He was chivalrous after all, and he wouldn’t want to put her in a spot after refusing her advances, would he? He punched his forehead, a little too hard. And started laughing.

Brooke watched him walk away, quite briskly into the woods. She sighed. With relief. It wasn’t like she had expected him to be a gentleman – but she was sure he wasn’t attracted towards her, and he wouldn’t react well if she “acted inappropriately”. She laughed at him – although she was feeling a little uncomfortable at the outright rejection that he meted out to her. She wasn’t that ugly – a cold, mean bitch – yes! But not that hideous to be shocked at her touch. She hoped this would, at all costs, make him stay away from her and her home. Whenever he was around, somehow all the demented memories of her past came rushing back to her and she suffered from insomnia, terrible insomnia.

James was emptying his truck when Richard finally reached his house. He was red in the face with the heavy exercise and over thinking. James welcomed him with his boyish smile –relief was sketched all over his face. Richard smiled and shook his hands – he did miss his company.

“Survived without me?”

Richard laughed freely. It felt good to escape the mounting tension of his days. He was nervous about the topic of Brooke though. He thought it was best to avoid it as much as he could. Brooke would obviously be around – now that James was back. Actually, they could stop their night time rendezvous and come out in the light – that might be useful in helping her better her moods someday.

“Hello… err… right here!”

He had completely forgotten James’ presence and that he was standing at their doorway. He smiled at Bob who was resting on his couch, with Sam’s head on his shoulders. They looked serene. James busied himself in the kitchen and calls. Richard slipped away quietly. That night he lay awake till the sun had dawned on the little town. He watched the fresh light wash through him and flood his small room. He hadn’t slept a wink – the night’s visions were dedicated to Paul and that fateful day all those years back.

The sound of the bullet crackling through the air caused the nearby birds to fly off the surrounding trees. Brooke wondered what the townsfolk made of the sounds of her practising in the woods. She hadn’t done this for quite some time, and it left her paranoid about safety measures. She tried hard not to think about the day – but then even Brooke deserved to cut herself some slack. It was like Independence Day to her, the day of the second chance in her life. All those years ago – the day when she was left all alone without any kith or kin, and yet the day that she had been happiest like never before. As she watched Paul being dragged away from the courtroom, she felt the sun like it had never shone on her before, and the earth had never smelled so fresh. She felt a twinge of guilt over not feeling bad for her dad at all – she didn’t, not for the monster who killed the only friend she had as kid, the man who slaughtered multiple girls to satisfy his perverse fantasies about her, the man, who at the end of the day failed to be her father, her saviour and her hero. She felt no tears, no remorse except the vague emotions of transcending life the way she had ever known. She stood near the stairs leading out and gazed at her father for what she hoped was the last time. It wasn’t the same for Paul though. His still gaze was fixed on her, drinking her in, preserving her in a frame in his mind that would last him while he plotted to claim his prize later. Did he not know that this was wrong? Of course he did. He hadn’t hurt her that’s why, isn’t it? She was safe. He would always protect her. It was the urge he couldn’t fight, didn’t want to fight, and he took out on girls who weren’t worthy to live in any case. Why didn’t Brooke see that? And now she hated him. He ran his eyes over her, desperate to capture every line, every curve in that innocent being. He felt betrayed, and lost. He didn’t expect his plans to be thwarted. His legacy could continue, and Brooke could have forever lived with him. She could’ve been trained to kill with her. Oh the high that would give! Those frail thin fingers with a dagger, and those intent blue eyes raking over her victims’ bodies – it made Paul’s mouth water. And Brooke could read all that in his eyes – his seemingly restrained lust and promise to be back someday.

The distant church bells brought her back to the present tense. She wanted to celebrate today – she felt the need to. This was the longest that she had ever lasted in a place. It was almost like she could call
this place her home. She shrugged and went back in to concentrate on her daily chores. She would need bread and other groceries to be bought today. She hated the night trips, and more importantly, she hated being in town. But then, she dared to look forward to meeting James. He could easily smuggle out the bread rolls and get her without Sam and Bob knowing.

To some extent she knew, somewhere deep inside, she understood why people actively avoided her. It was just 7 months that she moved into the small cottage by the woods in Applecross. An unnamed stranger, secluded from the local areas, no neighbours, no past and no history. No smiles, no talks – she was a breathing mystery to the townsfolk. Her lithe body and those piercing blue eyes caught the eye of many a men, but they kept their fantasies hidden under the mats as taboo talks. She was followed by whispers and scared glances till the time she got absolutely fed up and stopped going to the town altogether. No one knew how she sustained her daily life, what she did, who she talked to. All they ever saw were regular visits by Ian, the local sheriff and knew that she was trouble. People steered clear of her, and they ensured others followed suit. She was actively ignored by most, some went to the extent of making her realise that she was unwelcome to the residential parts of the town. She didn’t mind the desolation, she didn’t mind not being a part of the moronic ritual of socializing. But there were some things that had to be taken care of by mingling with people. Thus she actively avoided any sort of physical interaction with the locals. James was an exception – reluctantly she told herself – he was smart, handsome in a rather swooning manner, with a messy flop of blonde hair and sparkling eyes. He made her heart stop whenever he smiled at her in a sheepish way every time he smuggled bread out of his shop for her. She still couldn’t fathom why he went to all the
trouble for her sake – much of his antics suggested he harboured some sort of feeling for her. But who was she kidding? Why would James deign to register the ruined maimed loner when he could have half the Applecross at his feet? She yawned widely, and busied herself with dinner. She would love to have an elaborate succulent feast today. And then there was that nosy obnoxious guy, Rick, was it?  However much she tried, she just couldn’t shake him off her mind. She tried concentrating on better things – like James’ smile. Right, unwelcome thought!! Especially just before she had to meet him for her supplies. She double locked her doors, tucked in her pistol in the inner pocket of her jacket and walked through the dense covers of the woods she had come to love. She loved the early morning, unadulterated chirping of birds, and the constant gurgling of the waters in the stream just behind her house. And she loved the sounds of the cricket echoing throughout the forest as night fell. It kept her world sane, free of human commotion and from any sort of lies.

It didn’t take her more than half an hour to reach the bakery. She tried to
read mentally off her list, as she’d always end up horribly tongue-tied in front of James. And God knew why he would still patiently hear her out, and help her as much as he could. She sighed and placed the call. A sudden shrill noise made her almost jump out of her skin. She looked around wildly only to find James grinning right behind her. He already had her things with him. So, he wasn’t exactly sure how he would phrase asking her out on a non-date liquor date, like say coffee. No place in town where they could be seen together. She was definitely not going to invite him to her place – in all probability, she would just glare his life out even if he did ask her out. She stood there shuffling her feet, her cheeks pink with the chilly wind. And she was breathtakingly wonderful to him. Those bluest irises made him want to dive into them, and yet he just knew of no way that he could break through her façade and reach out to her.

“I’ll walk you home!”
That was all he could manage.

She nodded her head. He had half expected her to refuse his trivial request too. Did he dare to hope that she didn’t feel hostile towards him? It was too soon. He was just happy to have her
walking by him, on the foggy late night hours, the quiet roads and the gently whoosh of the winds. She had a million things racing in her mind, one of which rationally explained the calm inside her at that moment. She felt like a little piece of her jigsaw like life suddenly made sense. The walk lasted for a lesser duration than he would have liked. He couldn’t fathom why her eyes darted all around them, like a trapped rabbit. She gave a nervous smile, and wished him good night. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he knew better than to freak her out. “You alright?”

Brooke loved the rich accent in his voice. She wished she could say no and take refuge in him, but the code said yes, and she gave a brisk nod to his question. Someday, she wished foolishly!

Somehow, James sensed she wouldn’t go in unless he left. Brooke didn’t want to prove her paranoia by displaying the multitude locks on her door, she was sure that he had heard weird stories about her already. He had to turn away. The hormones raging in her did no good to her, so he just
had
to turn away. As if understanding what she wanted, he waived his hand, turned and left, leaving her behind with an all too audible hammering heart in her chest. She went in to lock herself out from the insane world, to her secure, straightened bed, only to lose herself to dreams of dreary corridors and evil laughs echoing in those death like pathways, and the sound of her scared breathing.

Richard was losing time, in a rather mundane and irritating manner. He couldn’t muster up the will to face her, nor James. But he had to get this done. He couldn’t give up now. He was clueless as to how to best approach her. She was shut down. Completely. And he had made a fool of himself enough. He was getting tired of waiting around for her to show up, and he was
too chicken to show up at her doorstep. What would he say in any case? Hi, I was the person, who almost cost you your life on the day your dad had come to kill you, but then he got captured and you were left fatherless!! And now, I need you to relive all that for my book. Yes, that should work wonderfully. And now Martha wanted to kick him out of her guest house too.

“I didn’t exactly put it in that manner!
” she admonished him.

Richard chuckled, “Well, you did say you want me to move out! Who’d take me in; now all of a sudden??”

A doorbell from somewhere down the hall chimed in just then to avoid him being smacked by Martha. He had come to love her company, and that she regarded him like a son. He just couldn’t fathom, why in the off-season, was she expecting a sudden surge in the number of visitors to this unknown town which is well-nigh inaccessible to the outside world?

“What are you doing here?”

Richard was jolted back to the present by the harshness in the tone.

“And why do you know about this door..?”

He tried his best to comprehend her mumbling about how she should be the only one using the door. Although, it was a good opportunity, even if he hadn’t expected Brooke to turn up here of all places. Just when he was thinking of a way to kick start his mission befriend Brooke again!

He couldn’t stammer a response well in time, she shoved past him to march into the kitchen. He closed the door softly and braced himself for some sort of miracle that could cure her of the disdain she felt for him. He was mildly surprised by the animated chattering between Martha and Brooke – he had come to believe that the townsfolk had deliberately avoided any sort of socializing
with the weird loner girl staying in the woods, much to his dislike. He liked their chattering. She had someone to turn to, just in case. Brooke was actually smiling. She looked so alike any other young girl, that his heart went out to all that pain she hid behind her façade of normality.

“Stop lurking there and come here Rick!”

Brooke whipped around to find Rick staring at her from behind the curtains in the hallway. Weird guy. He just doesn’t let her be. And there was something about his presence that triggered unpleasant memories in her mind. She just couldn’t figure out how to behave around him. He was trying hard to be nice, and it felt so abysmally bitchy to keep pushing him around. She toned her expression down a notch, and stared back blankly.

“Hey”, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Well it worked, thought Brooke. She nodded and turned back to Martha to continue talking about her trip to the city.

“That’s pretty amazing!!” Richard almost barked in wonder – Laid out on the table was a beautiful assortment of the most succulent looking cakes and cookies he had seen, and belonging to London, that’s saying something. All the flavours that he could think of
, some he couldn’t, was spread out on Martha’s kitchen table – strawberries, blueberry, chocolate, vanilla, pineapple, plums, he lost count, and well, he lost himself in the wondrous rainbow of gourmet heaven.

“Didn’t you ever wonder where I got those croissants from?” Martha laughed in.

Brooke? Cooking? He had never imagined that. A secluded writer maybe. Or some other sort of trust fund money would be supporting her. But not this. This was… if nothing, so darn normal. And how did the entire town not know whose food they were relishing? He just blinked stupidly. Brooke was amused at his expression, and that confused air about him. Well, that was predictable. But she quickly resumed her stern face.

“You cook..!” Wow, Richard though
t to himself, very smooth, Mr Obvious!

“Of course. How do I feed myself?”

Brooke had toned down the harshness in her voice, and she even bestowed a small smile on him.

“Brooke has been my chef for quite some time. The same time around that my place got a complete makeover”

She smiled. Martha was always good at making others feel good about themselves. She just helped her out, that was all. She got paid for something that she absolutely loved doing. After several hours of the usual chit-chat, the sun had set over the horizon, leaving behind dull red streaks over the dense forest covers. Watching Brooke with Martha, made him realise that he was actually relieved, content even, that she wasn’t a pariah, not that alone and isolated from people. All these years he had worried unconsciously about the girl he’d saved in Cooper Creek, of what would become of her, what sort of a person she would turn out to be. Now, seeing her right in front of her, he felt a twinge of pride that she had turned out quite alright. A good human. Brooke glanced over at him, and smiled. It felt good, that she had somewhat warmed up to him. At least she wouldn’t be throwing punches and thrashing doors at his face. Or seducing him. He gulped at that memory. One step closer. Check!