The Runaway (9 page)

“It’s dark, Brooke, and you are a long way from home! The roads are dangerous and deserted”

“Tell me about dangers on the road, that too here in the middle of nowhere. As if having them at home..!”

She stopped mid-sentence. An awkward silence followed, with Martha’s quizzical glances, and an ashen faced Brooke trying her best to regain her composure. Richard knew of the dangers she referred to, knew what cost her to remember those lasting wounds.

“Yes, young Jillian did mug me you know, the other day. She stole my sandwich!”

He really couldn’t have thought of any other way to divert the topic
other than Jillian. It sounded stupid, damn right, but it set Martha off chortling and ranting about Jillian’s teenage angst. Brooke gave him a watery smile. Did she know how close to home he had scored? Did she know, it wasn’t heroic of him to save her from this conversation, rather a muted duty that he was bound to do?

Still laughing over Jillian, Martha looked at the two of them, shuffling their feet like teenagers and avoiding each other. She sighed, and handed her coat to Brooke.

“It’s chilly. How can you amble about without something warm?” she grumbled.

Brooke merely shrugged, and put on the coat. She picked up the dinner box that Martha had packed for her, and started towards the back door, when Martha pulled her back. Thank god, I wasn’t in my defence mode, Brooke thought, or she would’ve punched her squarely as she had trained herself to.

“Rick, be a darling and walk with her!”

“Wha… No! No!”

Both the women were looking at him frantically, waiting for his move. He gave up. No matter what he did, they were going to be pissed off in any case. Better piss off the lady who isn’t responsible for the roof on his head. He opened the door for Brooke; she glared at him and walked out. He shook his head in disbelief when Martha mouthed a “you owe me one!” at him. With Brooke’s temper, it was likely that he might return maimed or with one less eye.

The cold winds were howling about their ears. It made her feel uncomfortable, or was it because of
the man beside her. She somehow couldn’t reconcile with what she felt when he was around. She was mortified with her antics at driving him away. And how was he acting so normal after what happened last time? Annoying as it was to have him walk her home, but inexplicably, she felt
safe
with him. That hadn’t occurred for a very long time. Safe was with two guns, high heels and a karate kick. Not walking down the frosty road with an unknown man. She dared a glimpse over at the tall, rugged man beside her- yeah well, you could say he was like the man who’d carry you over the threshold and shield you from the world.  She smiled to herself. Not happening! Not anytime soon, not ever!

“You have a dimple”, Richard said, as he brushed his fingers on her cheek. He immediately pulled his hand back, as she froze beneath his touch. He didn’t know what had gotten over him. Not the eyes, not the eyes, don’t punch out my eyes, he kept praying, ignoring an unfamiliar hum in his mind that seemed to not like the disappeared dimple. Brooke simply stared at him. No one, and absolutely no one had touched her, a sex-less touch, since she could last remember. No one dared to even broach the invisible yet very evident bubble around her. And he just reached out and broke through that. And she liked it. The rough hands, leaving behind a trail of warmth on her cheek despite the cold. She felt frightfully normal, sane and almost blushed at his compliment. What seemed like the most scrutinising and painfully embarrassing silence, Brooke seemed to resume walking. Richard exhaled loudly and matched his pace to hers, cursing himself inwardly on his gimmicks. The red skies had almost been swallowed by the inky blue clouds, with a few stars peeping out through them, as they reached her home. She unlocked her maniacal collection of locks without a qualm. Somehow, she knew he’d not be intimidated by her paranoia. She didn’t know whether inviting him inside was wise. Too much of hormones working overtime, she thought to herself. As she steadied her breath, Richard spoke, “So… it’s really cold, I’d really like a cup of tea”. He nodded and walked past her into the hallway. He could tell she was struggling as to what to do next. He saved her the trouble, and wanted to push his luck a tad more to test if she would open up to him. Brooke blinked
z couple of times blankly, before realising that it was twice now that he had just invaded her private space, like he’d do normally with any other girl. It felt oddly novel to be treated normally and not like a glass doll who’d just break if pushed in any way.

She sauntered in after him, and put on the kettle. Brooke eyed him from the kitchen counter. He was busy going through the book shelf, and her DVD collection. Elaborate, Rick thought, he hadn’t noticed the last time. What with her and him
, and their shared past, well... Rather not think about that. How do you move around so much stuff when you’ve to leave on a short notice?? He was taken aback by the presence of the volumes written by him among her collection.

“You, a fan?” he asked waiving one of his books at her.

“Yes! One of my favourites”, she chirped. That unfamiliar hum inside him, approved of her appreciation. Pity he couldn’t magic into shiny clothes and declare himself to be Richard Halden. She seemed to have read most of his books, which were few to begin with. He skimmed through the other volumes – detective, romantic and historic. She read a lot evidently. She couldn’t afford to have any internet presence in any case, not when it is so easily tracked with a few bucks to spare.

“Are you?” she asked as she set his cup down on the table.

“Huh?”

“A fan?”

“Hmm well! He’s OK, haven’t read much!”

“You should. I love Richard’s obsession with details”

Ohh! He liked it, the way his name rolled off her tongue. He loved to hear her talk of him. For a muted moment, he had no idea as to how to respond, except, he wanted to bask awhile. He almost succumbed to the temptation of revealing his true name to her. He hardly heard her ranting away about his own books, and how he weaved the plots and carved out the characters. It was an altogether new experience for Brooke too, to actually sit with a three dimensional human being other than Ian, or AFP, in her living room and have a normal conversation. She was almost grateful to Rick. She hadn’t felt this close to sane for a very long time. He seemed to immensely like the cookies she had laid out for him. The plate was squeaky clean within minutes. The sound of the fire crackling and the cricket’s call was all that the night could manage. The usual silence filled in the woods, and somewhat seeped into her home too. But, it was difficult to not talk to him, or to not bask in his genial annoying air. Her home didn’t feel deathly metallic cold, the warmth snuggled into her, and weighed down her eyes. She could make out a blurred Rick hovering over her, and then all she could feel was a musky fragrance wrapping her senses as she fell into a deep sleep.

On his way back, he double checked her doors, or she’d go into a fit if her doors were found to be unsecured. It was pitch black, with a few flickering lights on the streets. He didn’t mind the solitude, rather he yearned silence to calm down his overloaded senses. It would be so utterly easy for Paul to attack her when she
was sleeping – she was stupidly vulnerable then. He just couldn’t rid his mind of her sleeping serene face, and the way she chewed on her lower lip in her sleep. She shirked away from him every time her bare arm brushed against his, even in her sleep. But it felt so natural, so right to tuck her in. This wasn’t headed the right way, he could feel it in his bones. He kept muttering that it was a sense of duty that made him feel so overtly protective of her, or for him to harbour any such feelings, but deep down he feared something else. No, he couldn’t do that, she was younger, and she was hurt. He ran his fingers through his hair and stopped to smoke. The eerie silence could actually scare you out of your wits. He walked back briskly to the hotel. Once in his bed, he went over the day’s events. What stuck in his stubborn head was her exuberant smile, and her ease with Martha. He felt stupidly elated, and he had no clue why. Hours spent in sleeplessness, and tossing and turning in his bead, and he couldn’t get the emotions to ebb away in him.

The sunlight poured in through the partially open window and hit her face. She was woken up
by the extreme heat of the sun along with the thick blanket that slid down from her as she stirred. Well, not her usual sleeping place, that’s for sure. And she didn’t recall getting the blanket either. She stifled a yawn, and made her way to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, she felt fresh enough to think back on what happened last night. The tea, Rick’s abysmal charm, she thought of blushing, and well then nada! She must have slept off while he was talking, she thought, mortified at her own actions. What was he doing to her? She felt so safe, agreed, but how could she sleep off unarmed in front of a complete stranger, with her house unlocked. She couldn’t believe herself! She helped herself to more tea. Should she apologise for the appalling behaviour to Rick? He was a perfect gentleman, even though being pushy and a self-loving arse. She stretched and checked the time. 7:30 A.M. Plenty of time to go for a run, before the first batch of croissants are put in the oven. She locked her doors, and started off. The chill hadn’t lifted off from the woods, neither had the fog. Running on the paths within the forest would be highly impossible with the fog cover. She took a detour and chose a path just outside the residential area. After several laps, she didn’t realise she was standing in front of Rick’s guest house. She recalled the previous time that she was around, hauling up a very drunk and puking Rick up to his room. She could see Martha working in her gardens, but she didn’t acknowledge. Why drag her through the society ire for having fraternised with the oddball girl by the woods? She quietly passed the double wooden doors and climbed up the stairs to his room. Calming herself before she knocked, she was trying her best to put on the cool act and how to best frame her apology. It had been a very long time since she last had someone to apologise for being stupid. After more than a couple of knocks, she stepped into the room. Typical. Haphazard and messy. Old newspaper and magazines strewn all over the place, which in itself was plunged in darkness despite the very sunny morning. She glanced at the bed, where he lay sprawled across, a tangled mess of blankets and pillows, snoring softly. She didn’t know if it would be appropriate to wake him up – he did seem to have been working late. Without making any other noise than her sneakers squeaking, she turned around to leave, when something caught her eye. An old crumpled newspaper, dated several years back reporting a series of murder, and right in the centre was
him
. She felt the room around her swimming, as iron chamber walls clamped her respiratory tube, and she could see in slow motion dark, very dark clouds enveloping her eyesight. She tried her best to cover her ears to cut out the screams all around her, and pushed herself in a corner of the room. Everything went noisily blank, until she felt huge arms around her, pulling herself up and being placed on the couch. After several dazed minutes, when the heat from Rick’s body had warmed her senses, she realised she was resting her head on his shoulders. She gruffly pushed him away, “I don’t need your help.”

She briskly stood up. Wrong move! She felt the world move away from beneath her feet. Rick caught hold of her just in time again, and seated her carefully back on the couch. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d been in the room, till he had hear a dull thud of her
stumbling feet on the ground. He looked around and found the newspaper clipping of Paul’s arrest lying on his table. He hid it in the drawers and pulled her up. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t expected extreme reactions, he just wasn’t sure how to best handle her. She had passed out completely the second time. He went down to fetch some warm milk for her, and some cookies. Sugar should do her some good.

Brooke was comfortably nested amongst the pillows and the warm covers of his unmade bed. It wasn’t enough that she’d slept off midway while he was talking, she also passed out, twice in front of him. And that’s not counting the rose fiasco that she had pulled off. What was with him forcing out all the weak spots in her?  So, can you get the ground to swallow you up
when you want it the most??

“How can I be so stupid?”

“Hey! Take it easy. Here!”

She quietly gulped down the glass and put it on the table. Her eyes didn’t leave the blanket all the while, as she busied herself with a lint on the sheets. Richard sat down opposite to her. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t continuing his dream, and that he was truly awake and Brooke was in his bed. That came out all wrong, even in his mind. He was dreaming of her, in his room, and something familiar to the situation
that was unfurling right about now. Except the fainting part of course. He wanted to know what she was thinking, well apart from not liking that she just had to accept help from someone else. She wouldn’t even look up and he didn’t know how to start a conversation with her.

“So, I guess, my presence is really repulsive or something...!”

Brooke looked up.

“Well, you choose to
rather pass out on me, than having a conversation!”

Brooke stared him, through those icy blue eyes that contained no emotions, almost. And then she smiled. A small one. And that dimple flashed and it was suddenly hard for him to breath. Great
! He mentally punched himself. It was becoming increasingly difficult to be around her without feeling weird. Brooke was thankful that he didn’t ask anything about the panic attack. That hadn’t occurred for quite some years until today. She was curious as to why he had that article, but it would lead to a very disturbing conversation, and she hated that. He had been uncannily understanding of what she didn’t want to talk about, and how she didn’t want to be treated. God knew how!