Out of Breath

by Blair Richmond

  “Really?”

  “I’m sorry.” I hope my face isn’t as red as it feels. “I know I shouldn’t take too much time off. I hope I can still make it through Cloudline.”

  “It’s just one night. You’ll be fine.” He studies me, a suspicious look on his face. “We’ll run tomorrow then, okay?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Absolutely.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes it, and I squeeze back, hard, trying to convince him that everything is fine. Or maybe trying to convince myself.

  ~

  In the darkened theater, I no longer see Hamlet on that stage, as I did last time. Now, I see only Roman. A vampire playing an actor playing a role. And I find my heart going out to him, despite what he is, what he does. After all, I know what it’s like to act, to pretend you’re happy when you’re not. To feel alone.

  Every line he utters seems to take on new meaning—his words seem as though they’re coming not from a play but from his life. He knows exactly where my seat is, and he looks at me directly several times during the performance, just as he’d done before. Only then, I thought I imagined it. Now, I know.

  But that the dread of something after death,

  The undiscover’d country from whose bourn

  No traveller returns, puzzles the will

  And makes us rather bear those ills we have

  Than fly to others that we know not of?

  Thus conscience does make cowards of us all…

  Death. The undiscover’d country. Not for Roman. He has not only gone there and discovered it, but he remains there. And he always will. I try to imagine what that must be like, to be trapped in a place you can never escape. I have always hated being on the run, but it’s only now that I realize that maybe I am lucky. I’ve always thought of my situation as a curse, but maybe it’s actually a gift to be able to leave a place and never look back. To outrun my mistakes. Roman can’t do that.

  But what he can do is change. He can’t change what he’s done in the past, any more than I can—but he can change his future. And this will be a sort of escape for him, or at least it’s as close to an escape as he can get. From the guilt. From a future of more pain. From a life that never felt like his own.

  I look up at the stage, and I watch Roman die once again, laid out before me, wounded by a poisoned sword. I watch him utter out his last line—The rest is silence—before going still.

  I wait by the back door of the theater, and after half an hour, the actors begin to exit; to sign autographs; to make their way home, to dinner, to bars. I stand back in the shadows and watch as Roman emerges. He patiently signs every program and a few T-shirts, mostly for awed young girls on school trips. He graciously stands next to them and smiles. I can tell that this takes almost as much effort as the role of Hamlet.

  But when I step forward and he sees me, he smiles—this time a full smile, a real smile. “Katherine. Thank you for coming.”

  “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” he asks, extending a hand.

  I pause and look at his face, his eyes. He looks tired, but I don’t even know if that’s possible. Do vampires get tired? Or maybe he’s just weary. That’s a different kind of tired but one that shows on your face just the same.

  I’m not sure I should, but I take his hand. We walk down a long flight of stairs to the entrance of Manzanita Park. The same park where I almost spent my first night in Lithia. I was so frightened then, so lost. Now, I’m no longer afraid of the park, though I probably should be afraid of my walking companion.

  “I would like to take you on another date,” Roman says. “A vegetarian restaurant.”

  “Really?” I watch his nose wrinkle even as he nods yes. “You would do that for me?”

  “Well, I might have to eat beforehand.”

  He clearly means this as a joke, but when he says eat, all I can see are images of him and Victor in the woods. Victor leaning over me. Just as he’d leaned over Stacey.

  I drop his hand and stop walking. “Roman, this isn’t going to work. I don’t know what I’m doing here with you. I—”

  He holds up a hand to silence me. “Someone is watching us,” he whispers.

  “Where?” I’m worried that it’s Alex, that he knows I cancelled our run to spend the evening with Roman. I search the darkness but I can’t see anything.

  Roman, looking to our left, does see something, and he calls out, “I know you’re there. Show yourself.”

  I follow Roman’s eyes, and all of a sudden I can make out the outline of a man. He’s coming toward us, and as he gets closer, I recognize him. The medium build, the balding head. The khakis. He is looking right at me.

  “Who are you?” Roman asks.

  “That’s not important. I’m not looking for you.”

  “If you are here for her, that is my concern,” Roman says.

  “I’ve been hired to find your friend here. Ms. Katherine Healy.”

  “You’ve got the wrong Katherine,” Roman says. “This is Katherine Jones.”

  “Is it now?” The creepy man smiles. “I know someone who thinks differently.”

  I feel a sharp stab of panic in my chest. “Leave us alone,” I say.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “She asked to you leave.” Roman steps toward the man, and he backs up. I have to admit that I’m grateful to have a vampire on my side at a time like this.

  “Easy now.” The man holds out his hand, like he’s calming an agitated dog, then he pulls his arm back to reveal a handgun holstered to his waist. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want a few minutes alone with Katherine.”

  “That is not going to happen.”

  “You don’t get to make the decisions, pal,” the man says.

  In a blink, Roman grabs the man by his neck with one hand and strips away his gun with the other. The man’s legs are off the ground, flailing; Roman is holding him in midair. I can hear the man struggling to breathe. I feel as though I’ve stopped breathing myself.

  “Roman, stop,” I say. I want this man gone, but not this way.

  Roman looks at me. “Run straight home, fast. Go to David’s and lock the doors.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” he says.

  And I have no choice but to obey.

  Twenty-one

  I run home, but not to David’s. He is still up—all the lights are on—but first I go to the cottage, where I pack my bag. Again.

  This time, I have to leave. For good. But this time, I will say goodbye. First to David, then to Alex.

  It’s for the best. After all, David isn’t even sure whether he himself will stay, without Stacey. And if he sells the store, I’m out of a job.

  Besides, I have no choice. That man knows my name. My real name. I wonder if he is a cop. Or a detective. Most of all, I wonder how he found me.

  Because I haven’t gone far enough. That’s how.

  How far do I have to run before I can be free?

  Maybe, like Roman, I’ll never be free. Maybe I’m stuck, just like he is. In this moment, I can understand his gloom, his unwillingness to change. Why try to make things better when you’re going to end up right back where you started anyway?

  I wonder what Roman is doing, or has already done, to that man. I’m afraid to know. But I’m even more afraid of him coming after me.

  I hear a tap on my door and freeze where I am. Maybe I should’ve gone directly to David’s after all.

  I don’t answer, and I hear another knock, then David’s voice.

  With relief, I open the door. “You’re up late,” David says.

  I glance behind me, hoping he doesn’t see my backpack on the bed, half packed. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell him. “Um, yeah. I’m just cleaning up a little.”

  “Well, I don’t want to bother you,” he said, “but I wanted to give you something.” He hands me a shoe box. “They just came in.”

  I crack open the lid to see
a new pair of Brooks trail shoes, much like the pair I’m wearing—but these are built for trail running, with firmer soles and waterproof covering.

  “Wow,” I say. “These are beautiful. They’re going to be popular, with Cloudline coming up.”

  He gives me a strange look. “I should’ve been more clear,” he says. “This pair is for you.”

  I don’t know what to say. “I can’t accept these, David. They’re too—too good. And I already have shoes.”

  “Yours are fine running shoes, but you’ve worn them down, and I can’t even tell what the original color was. These are trail shoes, the very best. And if you’re going to win Cloudline, you need the best shoes.”

  It’s as if he knows, somehow, about my silent vow to win the race. I never told him.

  “I love them,” I say. He is making it impossible for me to say no. To these shoes, and to Lithia. “But I’ve already accepted so much from you, and I’ve done nothing in return.”

  “You’ve kept the store running,” David says. “You’ve helped me through some of the worst days of my life. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “But—” I choke up and can hardly talk. “But it’s only because of me that—”

  I start to cry, and David puts his arms around me.

  “It was my fault,” I say. “I left her behind. I’m so sorry.”

  “You are not responsible for Stacey,” he says. “You never were. And I should never have asked you to look after her—it was wrong. It was too much to ask of anyone.”

  He pulls away so he can look at my face, which I know is red and tear-streaked. “I knew Stacey very well,” he says. “She and I had our differences, but part of what drove me crazy was also what I loved the most. Like her stubbornness. She was running that trail long before you came along, and she would’ve been doing it even if you’d never shown up in Lithia. And she’d never let anyone tell her not to. There is nothing anyone could have done. It was her time.”

  David gets me a tissue. As he does, he sees my backpack on the bed.

  “Kat,” he says, “what’s going on?”

  I begin to cry again. “Nothing,” I say.

  “It looks like you’re going somewhere. Are you?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Why?”

  I look at him, and he looks so sad, like he doesn’t want me to go.

  “Kat?” he says. “What is it?”

  I decide to tell him. “When I came here,” I say, “I was running away from something. From someone. And now I don’t know what to do.”

  “What was it?”

  “I—I can’t say.”

  He studies my face. “Are you in any danger?”

  I think of Roman. Of his hands around that guy’s neck. “No, I don’t think so. Not right now, anyway.”

  “But you were, is that it?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I was.”

  David comes over and lifts my chin to look me in the eye. “Kat, you’re safe here. I hope you know that. Come over and stay in the guest room tonight if you’d like.”

  “Okay.” I blow my nose with the tissue he gave me. “Thank you.”

  “I want you to know that I’m keeping the store,” he says. “I decided this afternoon. And there’s a full-time job there for you if you want it.”

  “Really?”

  “It doesn’t mean you have to stay. But I’d like you to.”

  “I would, too. But I don’t know if I can.”

  “How about this?” he says. “Run Cloudline. Finish the race, then decide. Will you do that?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good,” he says. “Now, I want you to take these shoes. And I want you have this, too.” David reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands me Stacey’s custom running cap. The bright orange one with the “S” on the back.

  “Oh, I can’t,” I say.

  “Stacey would want you to have it,” he says.

  I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” he says. “It doesn’t fit me. And when I bought it, I knew that the woman wearing it would be the first one to cross the finish line. And now, that’s going to be you.”

  ~

  The next day after work, I lace up my shoes and jog away from the store. I am supposed to meet Alex at the co-op for a run—a short workout before the race tomorrow. But instead of heading for the co-op, I find myself circling around it. I’m still trying to decide what to do, and I haven’t had any time alone to think.

  I snake back and forth on Lithia’s streets for a while, but it’s not the same as being on the trail. I have to wait for lights, dodge pedestrians, watch for cars. I can’t think here either. I want to head for the trails, where I can be alone, at peace—but I’ve promised Alex I wouldn’t. And this is one promise I plan to keep.

  I hear a voice shout my name, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see a figure in the shadows of the streetlights running toward me, quickly. I can’t see who it is, so automatically I accelerate, heading for Main Street, for heavy traffic and crowds of people.

  I hear the footsteps getting closer. There’s a gas station ahead, brightly lit with people and cars, and I run toward it. The footsteps are right behind me now, but oddly, I don’t hear the sound that should accompany it—the sound of someone out of breath. As soon as I’m under the bright lights of the station, I stop and turn.

  It’s Roman.

  I breathe, leaning down and resting my hands on my knees.

  “Why are you running from me?” he asks.

  “Because you were chasing me. I thought you were that guy. From yesterday.”

  “You no longer have to concern yourself with him,” Roman says.

  Roman’s wearing running gear, head to toe, and I remember that he, too, is taking one last run before Cloudline. His skintight tank top exposes his broad shoulders; the black tights display sculpted legs.

  I look at him. “What does that mean, I don’t have to be concerned about him?”

  “You think I hurt him.”

  “I worry you did more than hurt him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “How can I believe you?”

  “You’ll have to take my word for it. I could have killed him, very easily, and nobody would have been the wiser. Believe me, I was tempted.”

  “How am I supposed to believe you didn’t?” I say. “It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

  “Do you think this is easy for me?” Roman asks, and I hear in his voice the same anguish I heard when he was on stage, playing Hamlet. Roman’s never been emotional, except on stage, and it takes me by surprise. “I eat very seldom, Katherine, and I usually travel far away from here when I do.”

  “You think that makes it better?”

  “No, but it makes it easier. You don’t understand. When we get hungry, we don’t realize what we do. It’s as if we go into a trance. What you think is barbaric—for us, it’s normal.”

  “But you’re living in a world where it’s not normal.”

  “Katherine, I did not harm that man last night. I escorted him to his car, and I watched him drive out of town. I’ll admit I made sure he would not come back, yes. But I didn’t hurt him.”

  I look at him doubtfully.

  “You are in a strange position to be so judgmental.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Roman holds up small notebook. “I lifted this from the man’s coat. You may be interested in its contents, Ms. Healy.”

  I grab for it, and he holds it out of my reach. “We all have our secrets, Katherine. We all live with mistakes.”

  “Give me that,” I demand, and he lowers his arm.

  I take the notebook and open it, holding it up to the light. Inside is a minute-by-minute breakdown of my life over the past week. Nothing more.

  “What’s this for?” I ask. “Who was he?”

  “A private investigator. From Texas. Do you know anyone in Texas who might want you followed?”

/>   “No,” I say, but I can tell Roman is unconvinced. As unconvinced as I am that he let that man go.

  I feel the night close in on me. But I’m not telling him anything. I can’t.

  “Are you sure you don’t have something to tell me?” Roman asks. “He was being paid a tidy sum to follow your every move. That usually doesn’t happen to people who have nothing to hide.”

  “Did he say who hired him?”

  “Why are you using a different name?” Roman counters.

  “I asked you first.”

  “Katherine, I know what it’s like to have secrets,” Roman says. “And I’m quite certain that I can handle yours, whatever they are.”

  “Have you told me all of your secrets, Roman?” I’m getting defensive. He’s the vampire, after all; why is he interrogating me? Besides, I’m not prepared to talk about my life.

  “Some secrets are too painful to share,” Roman says quietly.

  “Then stop asking me to share mine.”

  Roman sighs. “I was not completely forthright about this investigator.”

  “So you did kill him.”

  “No, I did not. Truly,” he says. “But he told me who hired him.”

  I feel an awful pressure, like strong hands squeezing my heart, making it hard to breathe. “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  The grip tightens. “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Then he lied to you,” I say. “Or you’re lying to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Then that investigator lied to you.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “My father is dead,” I say.

  Roman looks at me, puzzled. “This man seems to think otherwise. One of you clearly has the wrong information.”

  “He’s dead,” I repeat.

  “And you are sure about that?”

  “I’m positive,” I say. “I’m the one who killed him.”

  Twenty-two

  The night before a race is often a sleepless one. At least, it’s always been that way for me. And most of the girls I ran with in high school also got stressed the night before a competition. Our coach would tell us that it doesn’t matter if you don’t sleep well the night before a race—as long as you get a good night’s sleep two nights before a race. This helped relax us, and it changed our focus, so on the night before our races we all slept like babies. He’d tricked our restless minds, and it worked.