Kindred Intentions

by Rita Carla Francesca Monticelli

  “She shouldn’t have moved him from the child seat,” she heard one of the paramedics say to the other.

  They were talking about her. She had been wrong also in that case. When she’d heard him crying, desperate, she had tried to console him. She didn’t even know who had called the ambulance. She had remained there, rocking her son and crying with him. Then he had passed out and she had cried even louder, thinking that, if he had died, nothing would have a meaning for her any longer, because there was nothing in the world except Joseph.

  She was about to rise, to respond to the accusation of the paramedic who hadn’t realised she was listening to him, then she saw him again. The man driving the car that had hit hers. Until now she had blamed herself for not slowing down at the junction, even though the traffic light was green, but now there was someone else to blame, so that she could shake off a bit of that burden oppressing her.

  Everything disappeared around her. There was only the man, and the space separating her from him. He was talking to the police officers. The truth was that he had run a red light. It had only just lit up and he had accelerated instead of slowing down to come to a halt. He was the culprit. Only him.

  Amelia stood up and started walking in his direction, at first slowly, then more quickly. In the end she was running.

  The man raised his gaze a moment before she was on him.

  “Murderer!” she yelled, hitting and scratching him with all of her strength. Joseph hadn’t died yet, but she knew he would not survive. She felt a part of her dying. That man hadn’t just killed her son, he’d killed her.

  She felt herself being grabbed by her shoulders. The two policemen had intervened, while the man was trying to defend himself from her fury.

  “I’ll kill you, damn you! I’ll kill you!”

  At last the two officers succeeded in removing her from him, but Amelia kept shouting and kicking. She wanted to go on, until she was dead from desperation. But a moment later any strength of hers disappeared. She stopped and stared at him, making a promise to herself.

  The sound of a voice, drowning out the grief on which her thoughts were lying, brought her back to reality little by little. Her arm was stretched out on the ground. Some ants were having a stroll on her skin, causing a slight tickling. Her ears were ringing. Beyond one hand was a bush. The other one was holding something tight against her body.

  Where was she? What had happened?

  She blinked a few more times. She could see earth and rotten leaves, some abrasions on her arm. There was a metal taste in her mouth.

  A loud blow made her start.

  “No, I can’t understand whether they’re trapped,” a distant voice said. “The car is tipped over. It’s catching on fire. The noise you’ve just heard was the explosion of a tyre.” He shut up for a moment, as if he was listening to someone, but she couldn’t hear anybody else speaking. “How can I go down there to check?”

  Amelia drew her legs up against her body. Between them and her chest was something. A rucksack.

  “I don’t give a shit about Goldberg!” the voice exclaimed. “Nothing went like he’d said it would, nothing!”

  So Goldberg really was involved in that man hunt. Although she was feeling confused, she could comprehend this information and its meaning, unlike all the rest. But she still had difficulty in connecting the dots.

  She tried to raise her head, but as she did, everything started to turn around. The pain was now located on her nape. She let the rucksack go and placed a hand on the back of her neck. When she withdrew it, she saw it was covered in blood. Pushing with both arms, she sat up. A sudden nausea overwhelmed her. She was disoriented, but something was telling her to make no noise.

  She stared beyond the bush and saw a darkly dressed figure standing out against the light of the rising sun. It was on the edge of a precipice. On both sides of his feet there were signs of tyres about to get lost in the void.

  Mike!

  The undefined images of the jump and the impact with the ground returned to her mind in a flash. She had to restrain herself from yelling his name. Her heart in a turmoil, she looked back and at the surrounding area, trying to keep herself hidden. He had to have jumped. Oh God, yes, he couldn’t have ended up down there with the car. He’d pushed her to jump and she had hesitated. Perhaps she’d hesitated too long. The comforting sensation of having found an anchor, a hope, was frozen by the sense of loss. She wanted to shout, call him, but that man was there and, if he’d seen her, he would’ve tried to kill her.

  The gun, yes; he had his back turned to her, he didn’t know she was there. She could surprise him. She touched herself, but couldn’t feel anything. She put a hand in the pocket of her sweater, as if the weapon could be lost in there. It was empty. It had fallen. Where could it be? She tried to check again beyond the bush, but the terrain was too irregular. Too many little plants. It could be anywhere.

  Her attention was drawn to the object resting on her legs. It was heavy. The rucksack. She’d wanted to look inside it, when she’d been with Mike. Oh God, Mike, where was he? She tried to hold back her tears. She could not cry right now. Perhaps he wasn’t dead, perhaps he was there somewhere, but why didn’t he come out? She wished that it was still dark so she could delude herself that he was a few steps from her, like a cat, watching her in secret. She could almost feel his presence behind her. He would put a hand on her mouth any moment now, to prevent her from shouting. She started counting the seconds. One, two, three, four, five … she turned. There was nobody.

  Her sight misted over. The thought of giving up and let them kill her crossed her mind for a split second. No! It didn’t have to end this way; those bastards would not win. They had to die, even if she had to finish that job herself.

  Her hands trembling, she started opening the zipper of the rucksack, avoiding any loud noise.

  The sound of another explosion emerged from the drop. With all her strength, she shooed the image of Mike’s body burning from her head.

  She completed the opening of the rucksack. There were many things inside it. A well folded T-shirt, the rigid case of a tablet, some energy bars, a small water bottle, a package of wet wipes. She inserted her hand looking for something, a weapon. She recognised the shape of the satellite phone. Provided that it was still in one piece, she still didn’t know the code, so she couldn’t use it. Then her fingers stopped on a hard object resting in the bottom. With the help of her other hand, she took it out. It was a rectangular box, a black one. From its size and weight, Amelia understood what it might contain. Or at least she hoped it was a gun. In a frenzy, she ran her fingertips along the edge to find the opening mechanism, but they touched a combination lock.

  Damn it, Mike! Those damn codes again.

  Frustrated, she threw the box into the rucksack again.

  All at once she realised that the man had stopped speaking. She felt her breath failing her. She’d forgotten about him; she’d been making too much racket. If he’d found her, she couldn’t have defended herself in any way, unless she was going to try to beat him with the tablet. She started touching the external pockets of the rucksack. She stopped when she felt something oblong on the right one. She opened the strap slowly and then reached inside with her fingers. A flick knife. She snapped it open. She flinched when the blade came out.

  She held the handle tightly, whilst she pricked up her ears to hear the man’s steps. The wind was strengthening and whistling as it passed through the fronds of the bushes. She swallowed hard and risked another glance, moving almost in slow motion, until the line of her gaze went beyond the edge of the obstacle in front of her.

  Nobody.

  There was no trace of the man in the place he’d been standing earlier. He had moved away.

  She backed off. She checked everything around her. Her other choice was to look out from the other side. Crawling slowly on her knees, she shifted to the opposite side of her shelter and again with her heart in her throat she peeked out.

 
Nobody, again.

  She turned. The woods were becoming thicker behind her. Perhaps she could escape and hide herself. She closed the knife and put it in a pocket, then looked at the rucksack. The temptation to leave it there was strong, but it was all that she had. She put it on her shoulders.

  From her kneeling position she changed to a crouched one, trying to ignore the pain in her legs. She had a dizzy spell and had to leave on the ground with a hand for a moment. She inhaled the humid air deeply, and started to rise. When she was able to look beyond the bush, she couldn’t see anybody again.

  Where had he got to?

  She’d been distracted while rummaging in the rucksack, thinking about Mike, and she hadn’t listened to the man’s movements.

  Fuck it! She started running towards the taller plants, praying that nobody could see her.

  She kept doing it without looking back, until she felt safe enough. What was she supposed to do now? Go on, try to reach a road, but she wasn’t certain her direction was the right one. Oh God, she wasn’t in the middle of a desert. It was England. Sooner or later she would find a road, some people, a farm, whatever. It was sunrise and she had many hours of light in front of her. She should go, that was all.

  Yeah, should. But she couldn’t convince herself to do so. She needed to know what had happened to Mike. And if he was still alive, she couldn’t take his things away. His spare weapon, for instance. Or his tablet. Who knew how many secrets were hidden inside it. Even if she was more than certain they were protected by yet another password. He wouldn’t have gone without them. If he had survived, he would’ve looked for her to get it back.

  She had another dizzy spell. She placed a hand on a tree trunk to avoid falling. She wasn’t doing well at all. She could have a concussion. She had to find help as soon as possible. A part of her wanted to stay, take advantage of the fact the two killers didn’t know she was alive. Spy on them as they went to check the car. This way she would know what had happened to Mike. And then kill them. With what?

  She shook her head, but that gesture caused more nausea.

  She had to go back to London, report everything, and nail Goldberg, whatever was behind that story. She was about to laugh. She had no evidence.

  Her indecision paralysed her.

  “Officer Jennings …?” A voice was calling her from afar, chanting her name.

  Amelia felt her throat narrowing, as she leant her back against the trunk. It wasn’t enough to hide her.

  “Where are you?”

  She turned to her left. It sounded like the voice was coming from there. She had to escape, but in which direction?

  “I know you’re here. I see you.” It was closer now, but it seemed to be coming from the opposite side.

  At that point any direction was good. Her nape was pulsing; she was feeling her blood dripping on her neck. Even though she wasn’t sure she could make it, she started running.

  The man leapt out in front of her. He was smiling. She tried to dodge him, but her coordination was poor, to say the least. She lost her balance. She found herself lying on the ground.

  She heard him laugh. “I don’t think you’re so good, Officer Jennings.”

  She pushed up with her palms to try to rise, but she felt herself being crushed on her back. The man had placed a foot on it and was pushing.

  A stabbing pain made her shout.

  The man stopped pressing. She heard him stoop beside her.

  She was almost blinded by the light. She knew she was about to faint. She wanted it to happen. She didn’t want to be awake when he shot her.

  “You’ve really got yourself into big trouble, haven’t you?” He was having fun. He didn’t seem interested in ending his game any time soon.

  A retching tore her away from her torpor and woke her up. She raised her chest just in time to let the contents of her stomach pour out on the ground. They were nothing more than some gastric juices.

  “Ah,” he commented, disgusted.

  She rolled onto her side. Now that she had vomited, she felt better, but that wouldn’t change her situation too much. She gazed up at her tormenter. He was a man in his thirties, perhaps even younger. When she’d heard his rough voice, she’d thought he was older. She wiped her mouth. “What are you waiting for?”

  “What’s the hurry?” He moved his eyes across the whole area. “It’s a nice day. A man and a woman in the middle of the country. It could be fun.” His mouth widened in a lascivious smile.

  A ticking drew Amelia’s attention. The man was holding a gun in his hand and making the barrel hit his boot, with a constant rhythm. In different circumstances, the dread of being raped would’ve terrified her, but in this case the alternative was to die at once. Perhaps his revolting animal instincts would give her a chance to stop him from killing her.

  His smile was replaced by a curious expression. “What’s in there?” He pointed at the rucksack with his weapon.

  Amelia swallowed slowly and took it off. She made as if to give it to him. Then she threw it to his face with all the strength of which she was capable. A dull sound, as the case inside it smashed into his brow. The man moaned, falling to the ground. She jumped to her feet and, even though the world was spinning around her, she resumed running.

  “Where do you think you’re going, slut?”

  A gunshot. This time it sounded like it had reached the tree she’d just passed.

  Then she felt she was being pushed and she fell again. The man was on her. She shouted, although she knew nobody could hear her.

  “I have had enough of playing with you!” He was standing over her now. He forced her to turn. “Where is he?”

  Amelia opened her eyes wide.

  “Over here,” Mike’s voice replied.

  Another gunshot. The expression of her aggressor became blank, then his lifeless body collapsed on her.

  But Amelia didn’t care about him at all. She pushed him away, stood up, and ran to Mike. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “You’re alive,” she murmured, allowing herself to weep. “You’re alive, you’re alive.”

  After a brief hesitation, he responded to her hug. “It’s all right, I’m here.”

  Amelia wept louder. Only now did she understand that, without him, she would’ve been dead by now. He had saved her again. But what made her happy was that he was alive. At last she could remove her head from his shoulder and look him in the face. He was covered with dust, and scratches, but looked good. “I heard the explosions. I thought …” Her voice was choked by her weeping.

  He smiled at her. “I jumped from the car before it fell, but I was far from you.” He ran his hand over her face, teasing away her stray hairs. “Then a motorbike arrived. I had to know whether the other one was near, before coming out into the open.” He reached her nape with his fingers.

  The burning sensation made her start.

  Mike’s gaze became concerned. “You’re wounded.”

  “Yes …” she babbled. “I’ve … hit my head somewhere. I feel … dazed.”

  He sighed. “Fuck, I’ve got to get you away from here.” He looked bothered, not just worried.

  Yes, she was a burden to him. Amelia knew that he wanted to find the last one of their pursuers and eliminate him. She could see the conflict in him between the intention to accomplish what had become a mission to him and the desire to save her.

  “Do what you have to do,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I’ll stay hidden. I’d like to help you, but I don’t think I can make it.” She sighed. “I have difficulty concentrating. I feel dizzy.”

  Mike was still hesitating. It seemed he couldn’t make a decision. “No, I’ll take you away,” he said, at last. She was feeling flattered by that choice, but also guilty.

  A hiss went past them and stopped against a branch, which was torn by the impact.

  Amelia felt herself being dragged along by Mike and she started running beside him. She didn’t even know how she could. But those were ri
fle shots. Like those shot at them before, when they were in the off-road car. The last killer had them at gunpoint. They had to keep moving.

  She heard another shot hitting a tree. This time it had been further.

  “Keep running!”

  Not that she could avoid that, given that he was holding her wrist tightly. But she felt like her heart was about to burst. If they didn’t stop soon, she would fall. Or pass out before falling.

  Mike halted their escape and Amelia started panting, bent over.

  “Listen to me.”

  She could barely hear him. It was already too hard for her to keep breathing.

  “Amelia, listen to me very well.” He forced her to straighten up and look him in the face. “The main road is less than a mile from here.”

  She struggled to follow the meaning of his words. A mile seemed a huge distance to her. It would’ve been better if he hadn’t told her.

  “You just have to walk in this direction.” He pointed somewhere behind her. “And you’ll end up finding it. Do you understand?”

  Yes, no, she didn’t know. “Yes … the main road … a mile away.”

  “You must go.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant. Why weren’t they going instead of speaking about it?

  “You’ll get there soon. It’s quite a busy road, you’ll surely find someone even at this time.”

  She felt her tears come up again. Did he want her to go alone? “I … don’t know if I can do that.”

  He nodded, squeezing her shoulders with his hands. “You can do that, it’s close. Make someone take you to a hospital. You could have a concussion.”