Run! - Hold On! Season 3

by Peter Darley

  A line of disheveled, hungry men and women formed outside the porthole. With a compassionate smile, she filled the bowl of each person. Jake was the last.

  “Hi,” he said. He was the only one who spoke to her.

  Blushing, she looked into his striking grey eyes. His brown hair hung limp across his forehead, and he had a chiseled bone structure. He was so good looking, yet the sadness in his eyes was apparent. She ached to put her arms around him. “Hi,” she said.

  “I . . . I really appreciate this.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure, Jake. Are you OK?”

  He held her stare for a moment, as though he knew she liked him. “I’m fine.” He smiled nervously, and then made his way back to his place at the table.

  Emily watched him, tormented by her own inability to know how to help him.

  It had just turned four o’clock in the afternoon. Emily took her denim jacket from a cloakroom hook and made her way toward the exit. At that moment, a familiar, smartly-suited male in his mid-fifties stepped inside.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Eisley,” she said.

  “Emily. I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Really? Is something the matter?”

  “Not at all.”

  She felt confused. Why would Glen Eisley, the founder of the shelter, and the administrator of a nearby Samaritans organization, be keen to come over just to see her?

  “I have a proposition for you, if you’re interested,” he said.

  “What’s that, sir?”

  He smiled heartily. “How would you like to try out working the phones at The Samaritans?”

  She looked at him, surprised. Why on earth would he think of her for something like that? “I . . . I really don’t think I’m qualified, sir.”

  “The only qualifications you need are compassion and a sympathetic ear. I can’t think of anyone finer. Consider what you’ve been through and the horrors you’ve survived. If anyone can understand suffering and despair, it’s you.”

  She looked away in deep thought. Could he be right? The gnawing pangs of doubt still plagued her.

  “I’m just asking you to try it, that’s all. You’d sit in with a few of our counselors first to get the feel of it, and I promise, you’ll be under no obligation.”

  His words made her feel a little easier. It sounded like something she would find truly fulfilling, but her heart ached with uncertainty.

  “Give it some thought, OK?” he said. “You have an extraordinary counselor in you. I can feel it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Eisley. I’ll certainly give it some thought.”

  “You do that.” He smiled and turned back through the exit.

  Emily stood motionless in the foyer for a moment, trying to assimilate Eisley’s suggestion. Finally, she walked toward the exit. Her hand pressed against the door as Belinda showed up.

  “Hi,” Emily said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I finally decided to pay Charlton a visit,” Belinda replied. “I’ve been with Alex all afternoon discussing this marketing job, so I thought I’d come down and see you.”

  They stepped out onto the walkway.

  “How did your discussion go?” Emily said.

  “Great, actually. I think I’m gonna take the job. It’s what I set out to do originally, but just never had the opportunity. It was rejection after rejection, until all I could find were secretarial jobs. Wanna grab a coffee?”

  Emily smiled. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ve got some things to tell you.”

  Belinda sat opposite Emily in Starbucks, pregnancy-consciously holding a large cup of decaf. After discussing their respective new job offers, it was Emily’s second revelation that prompted Belinda’s intrigue. “You’re kidding! You’ve actually got your eye on someone?”

  Emily giggled bashfully. “Well . . . yes, I suppose. But, what do I do? I have no experience with things like this.”

  “Nobody does in the beginning. Just go with your heart. Talk to him. Chances are he’s just as nervous as you.”

  “Well, how was it when you met my brother?” Emily asked the question with more than a little eagerness. It was clear she’d wanted to ask Belinda about Brandon for weeks, but had been afraid of saying anything that might upset her. Perhaps she felt the conversation had just presented the perfect opportunity.

  “Oh, boy,” Belinda said. “Don’t take my relationship with Brandon as a guide to normalcy.” A thought came to her and she laughed.

  “What?”

  “The first thing I ever said to him. I can’t believe I just remembered.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “‘Please don’t kill me’. How romantic is that?”

  “‘Please don’t kill me’?”

  “I know. I thought he was one of the terrorists. You wouldn’t believe how scared I was.”

  “Actually, I would.”

  Belinda cringed. Damn. Why didn’t I think? “Of course. I’m sorry, Em. What you went through with those Tong jerks must have been unimaginable.”

  “It was horrible in the beginning, but I don’t remember much of it after that. I think they . . . did things to me. I was drugged up all the time so it’s just a haze.”

  Belinda placed a comforting hand on Emily’s and closed her eyes at the thought of her friend’s terrible experience.

  “But I do remember seeing Brandon in the parking area,” Emily said with a more spirited tone. “He was on the floor. I think I remember his hair was quite long. He looked up at me. I just knew he was my brother and that he’d come to save me. What was he like?”

  “What wasn’t he like, is more like it. There were so many sides to him. When I first met him, he was kind and considerate. He seemed strong, yet so vulnerable, and then—”

  Emily leaned forward with eager eyes. “What?”

  “Whenever we were in serious danger, this thing came over him. He became this incredible fighting machine who was consumed with rage. It was terrifying to see, but he protected me. After each episode, he didn’t remember a thing.”

  “What was it?”

  “At first we didn’t know. Then, one night, we returned to the cabin and found Treadwell sitting there. He told us Brandon’s memories and personality had been manufactured in a mind-control experiment. In reality, he’d been a psychopath they called The Scorpion, and his blackouts were remnants of his true personality coming through. It completely crushed him when he found out.”

  “I remember some of this from the funeral, but I didn’t really understand it. What happened then?”

  “After he escaped from Leavenworth, he developed a serious drinking problem. I guess he just couldn’t come to terms with his life being a lie, and the truth being the worst of all truths. His intoxication damn near jeopardized our chances of finding you and getting you out.”

  Emily shuddered and placed her hand against her mouth.

  Belinda tilted her head slightly and shot her a pensive smile. “I often wonder who your brother might have been if he hadn’t been abused as a child, and hadn’t been brainwashed. I think about it every day. Who was the real Brandon Drake? His two personas were products of what others had done to him, not who he was naturally.”

  Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. “It’s really incredible. I wish I could have been there for him.”

  “Oh, Em. I don’t think anyone could have helped Brandon. His circumstances were so extraordinary. It was something he had to work out for himself. The thing that pisses me off the most is that he was beginning to find himself, just before . . .”

  Emily looked at Belinda with profound sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, you have a chance to help people in distress now. You’re gonna make a terrific counselor, Em. I know it. People can come through the most terrible tragedies. You did. I did. And Brandon did. Just look at the effect he had on the rest of the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He divided the country. He had fans and followers across America. They e
ven turned him into a comic book hero.”

  Emily laughed, spontaneously coming out of her sad slump. “I remember your celebrant saying something about him being in a comic book?”

  “I hadn’t seen Brandon laugh for weeks before he saw that first issue. They call him The Interceptor.”

  “The Interceptor?” Emily chuckled, almost choking on her coffee.

  “Yes. I’ve still got the first issue back at the ranch. Tyler picked it up in Nevada when we were trying to find you. You can read it if you’d like.”

  “OK, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve never read a comic book before.”

  Belinda laughed again. “There’s not much to it.” She took another sip of her decaf and gazed into the ether, her mind becoming flooded with wishes and the possibilities of what might have been. Oh, Brandon. If only you were still here.

  Ten

  Deadly Seduction

  Drake moved back into his own room after waking from his drug-induced sleep. Uneasiness had a constant hold over him. So much was wrong, but he couldn’t figure it out. It was too hot for the time of year. He’d remembered something he couldn’t identify. And there was the voice inside him trying to tell him something in his dreams. It felt as though a part of his life was missing. But how could that be? What had happened to him in Rio? There was something he felt he knew in the pain that had taken him down. It was as familiar as the voice in the darkness. But what was it?

  He paced the room aimlessly, stopping finally to cast his gaze through the gap in the drapes across the desert. The room was on the third floor, thirty-five feet above ground, and he didn’t even have means of getting out without a security clearance. He would occasionally sneak out the back for a cigarette if the rear exit was open. Personnel were often coming in and out, but as soon as the back entrance was closed, he was locked in. That didn’t sit well with him in the least.

  Wilmot stepped out his Mojave office with Cynthia Garrett. In contrast to Garrett’s professional attire of a white shirt, a blue skirt, and a jacket, she wore extremely alluring make-up. Bright red lipstick complemented her bronze-hued skin tone and flawless black eyeliner. Seduction was her intention, not that it would have taken much with a predator like Drake. However, this particular task required that she present herself as the ultimate distraction.

  “Are you sure about this?” she said.

  “I’m not happy, obviously, but I’m sure,” Wilmot replied. “Just be careful. What you need is under his mattress.”

  “I know.” She kissed him tenderly and then headed toward the elevator.

  The doors opened on Drake’s floor. She arrived at his room and knocked. There was no answer, so she tried the handle to find it was locked. She knocked again.

  The door opened, and Drake’s towering frame stood before her. “What’s going on?” he said icily.

  She shot him a sultry smile. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  He held her gaze for a moment with a suspicious demeanor. Without warning, he gripped her shoulders and thrust his lips onto hers. He hungrily pulled her into the room, probing her mouth with his tongue. With one stab of his foot, he closed the door.

  Their lips parted for a moment. “You move fast,” she said.

  “Why wait?”

  “Why, indeed?” She dropped to her knees and set about undoing his belt buckle. “I’ve been waiting weeks for this.”

  She noticed his impressive bulge tenting forth underneath the denim. Damn, he’s eager. Pulling down his jeans, she was startled as his sterling appendage sprung out. Leaning back slightly to take it all in, she lightly grasped him, at all times conscious of her macabre task. What a waste.

  She slowly took him between her lips, and his primal impatience became apparent almost immediately. His hips rocked back and forth aggressively, causing her to gag. “Hey, take it easy,” she said. “Do you have a license for this thing?”

  “I want you.”

  She stood again and smiled at him sensuously, bringing the moment back round to where she wanted it. Knowing he wasn’t the type to waste time on foreplay, she cast off her jacket and quickly unbuttoned her shirt. His hands were upon her within seconds, tearing her bra away. He gazed upon her firm breasts for only a moment, giving her the time necessary to remove her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  “You came prepared,” he said.

  Garrett didn’t respond. For the first time, she was beginning to doubt she could pull off her mission. There was nothing in Drake that even remotely resembled vulnerability. He was cold, compassionless, and animalistic.

  He circled around her, and she shivered. There was a momentary pause, as though he was taunting her.

  Suddenly, he grasped her hair and thrust her over the bed. For the first time in her life, she felt helpless.

  He prized her legs apart and entered her, thrusting with violent savagery. She gasped with shock and a stabbing pain, but forced herself to endure it. But this wasn’t the position she needed to be in.

  Her gaze fell upon the widescreen HD television set on the cabinet. It was nothing. It was irrelevant. But it was enough of an anchor for her attention while she formulated a plan.

  Relentlessly, he ravished her, grunting with every thrust as they consummated their loveless union. It was the most distorted experience of sex she had ever known. It wasn’t a type of mission to which she was a stranger, but it had never been like this before. Now, it was personal. Drake was brutally violating her, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to kill him.

  He relaxed his hold on her head, giving her the opportunity to ease herself up a little. “Wait,” she whispered.

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  She forced herself to stand, and he slipped out of her. She was unable to prevent a gasp of relief from escaping her lungs. “I need to rest for a moment,” she said, and tapped the bed. “Lie down. I need to get off too, you know.” Please, go for it.

  He nodded, despite his constant, hard, savage expression.

  Garrett watched with a subtle sigh of relief as he lay back on the sheets. At all costs, she knew she had to keep him there.

  Quickly, she climbed on top of him and guided him inside her. She sank down onto him, angling her knees into the mattress in order to move her hips up and down on him with ease. “Just relax and let me do all the work.”

  For long minutes she rode him, watching his expression for even a hint of vulnerability. Of surrender.

  Finally, she saw his eyes rolling slightly. The pleasure was actually breaking him down. It stunned her that she was deriving some pleasure from it herself now that she had a degree of control.

  She sensed a sudden, steel-like rigidity inside her and knew he was about to come. Now or never.

  He cried out with the raptures of climax. Garrett threw herself down onto him, capturing his cries with her mouth. His eyes closed, and she knew wave after wave of pleasure was coursing through him. But it would be fleeting, and she had virtually no time to do what she had to do.

  She grasped the back of his head with her left hand, pressed her lips to his, and dropped her right hand down to the side of the bed. Her fingers slid under the mattress, gliding along frantically as she distracted him with a deep, faux-passionate kiss.

  Within seconds, her fingertips came into contact with a hypodermic syringe. She drew it out and let her hand hang over the bed for a moment. Her mind raced. The paralysis would kick in first and within a couple of seconds. However, he wouldn’t need any longer than that to break her neck. She had to get the needle in him and then move across the room rapidly.

  His eyes were still closed with the faint hint of a satisfied smile creeping from the corners of his lips. She raised the needle and angled it toward his neck . . .

  The world exploded. Stars appeared before her eyes for a fleeting moment before the veil of oblivion claimed her.

  Drake threw Garrett off him, sending her flying into the television set. It
fell upon her as she collapsed onto the carpet.

  He leaped off the bed and picked up the syringe. Studying it for a moment, he wondered what was in it. There was no doubt in his mind that it would have been the instrument of his death, had he not kept his wits about him.

  He stared at Garrett’s limp form. She was merely unconscious, albeit with a broken jaw. Perhaps he should use the needle on her. Then he considered he may have a use for it. It was, at the very least, a weapon.

  But why would she have been trying to kill him? It seemed to fit with the mysteries that filled his mind. Perhaps now, he had the opportunity to find some answers.

  He moved around the bed and picked up Garrett’s jacket. Sifting through it, he came to her iPhone. He questioned why should that be of interest to him? Could it be that he’d not been provided with one? Whatever it was, there was something about it he was sure contained an answer. A clue.

  He switched it on and waited a few moments for it to boot up. In an instant, his clue was displayed on the screen: July, 30th. Ten weeks ago was September. This should be November.

  His heart quickened, prompting him to search through her other pockets. The inside pocket contained a credit card wallet. He found two cards––her security key card and an American Express card. His eyes widened. Her American Express card bore an expiration date of August 16th, 2017. The start date read: August 17th, 2015. Immediately he realized, in all the time he’d been living in the complex, he’d never seen a date on anything. What year is this?

  He could hold Garrett’s head under the cold faucet to wake her up, interrogate her, and find out what the hell was going on. But if they were trying to kill him, they’d be waiting for her to leave his room. There was no time. He had to get out of there.

  He spun around, grabbed the bed sheet, and wiped Garrett off him.