Run! - Hold On! Season 3

by Peter Darley

  After another couple of beers, he felt the effects of the alcohol finally, although he was conscious of not taking it too far. He still had a considerable journey ahead of him and wanted to reach his destination by the following night.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the wall, which now read 11:23. Time to get some sleep. He finished his fourth beer and made his way out of the bar.

  He stopped to inhale the night air in an attempt to clear his head. The music from the bar drowned out all other sounds.

  As he moved away toward the road, the sound grew quieter, revealing another noise coming from the darkness along the opposite side of the road. Curious, he turned and made his way toward it. Somehow, it sounded like a scream.

  Jane Marabel crawled backward, pushing with her hands and heels, away from two youthful attackers.

  An impoverished woman with a young daughter to support, she’d been moving from bar to bar all afternoon, in the hope of attracting a man who may have had the means to support her. She thought she’d found him. He wasn’t attractive to her in the least. He was too clean-cut and timid-looking, but he appeared to be someone who was educated, and most likely had a good job. All she knew about him was that his name was Brian. Her plan had been to lure him back to her trailer and captivate him with her sexual charms.

  That was, until they attacked them.

  Two hoodlums punched Brian repeatedly in the head while he held his jacket tightly closed. What he lacked in brawn, he clearly made up for in courage. He wasn’t about to let them take his wallet. He looked at Jane and cried, “Run!”

  Despite being under attack, he was undeniably concerned for her safety. She wept with shock and a tinge of guilt at her predatory agenda. This was a man who was willing to take a beating in order to save her.

  A dark silhouette, formed eerily by the moonlight, fell across the street. Jane looked up and saw a huge man wearing a dark hood, which concealed his face in shadow.

  One of the two young punks turned to him. “Hey, beat it, asshole.”

  The shadow man’s foot shot up, taking the thug’s nose clean off. The other man turned to the interloper and attempted to lunge at him, only to be met with the blade of his hand to his throat. The punk fell to the ground, choking.

  The stranger knelt down, grasped them by their hair, and held their terrified gazes for a second. He then drove their skulls into one another with ferocious force before discarding their unconscious forms on the road.

  Jane stood, shaking and sobbing hysterically. “T-thank you.”

  Brian pushed himself up off the ground, his face cut, and bloodied. A hint of swelling around his eyes was already becoming apparent. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you just—”

  The man in the hood struck Brian in the jaw, rendering him unconscious.

  Jane staggered back. “Oh, my God!”

  He came toward her slowly. Terrified, she ran, recoiling into the trees. She was blind with fear and sprinted aimlessly, too afraid to look back.

  Hysteria and terror were impairing her reason as she made her way through the woods. There were so many trees. So many obstacles. Every time she thought she’d found her stride, another tree or protrusion of twigs would slow her down.

  What was happening? She’d met a nice guy in a bar and was taking him home. They’d been attacked by two muggers. And then a man without a face arrived to save them. He was remarkable. The speed with which he’d taken down the two punks was astonishing. But then he turned on them too. It was as though she was in a nightmare. It couldn’t be happening.

  She glanced back and caught sight of him through the trees. He was so close, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get away from him. There was so much forestry in the way. Waves of terror came over her as she struggled to escape through the woods. Breathlessness and panic continued to impair her ability to think rationally, and her actions became frantic.

  Her foot hit a stone, sending her plummeting onto the ground. Panicked, she hustled onto her feet again, and glanced back for the briefest of moments. He was standing above her. She tripped again and fell onto her back.

  He grasped her flimsy blouse and tore it in two.

  “P-please. Don’t do this,” she said. “I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”

  The man suddenly fell, gripping his head. She looked at him bewildered as he writhed on the ground. What was wrong with him? It didn’t make any sense.

  But neither did it matter. She got to her feet again and ran, leaving her strange assailant in agony.

  “Oh, God,” Drake whimpered as the debilitating pain crippled him. Again, the voices in his head echoed:

  I can’t do this. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t do it.

  You don’t have to. I do. Now, take it steady and join me here.

  Oh, God, please don’t let me fall.

  You’re not going to fall.

  He screamed with the pain. It was unbearable.

  Hold on!

  “No!” he cried.

  Hold on!

  “No!”

  Gradually, the sharp, piercing agony in his head began to ease enough for him to get back on his feet. His vision was blurred and the pounding in his head was nauseating. He knew he had to get back to the motel.

  He staggered back through the trees, falling sporadically. The pain was draining him of every iota of energy.

  He soon came to the edge of the forest and saw the road ahead of him. He tried to hurry toward it, but fell onto his face. Struggling to get onto his feet again, he crawled onto the roadside.

  The bar was right ahead of him, and the motel was a mile past it. The way he felt, it may just as well have been a thousand. With slow, weakened steps, he moved forward. Every step was an ordeal. All he could think of was collapsing onto the motel bed.

  He glanced at the two unconscious thugs and the woman’s friend. He couldn’t even remember why he’d done it. He barely noticed the blood-spattered face of the one who didn’t have a nose.

  As he made his way along the road, he scarcely recalled the lustful urge he’d felt toward the woman when he’d first seen her in the bar. He’d wanted to take her. To own her. It was as though it was his right. Now, all he could feel was crushed.

  It took him an hour to reach the motel. His fingers trembled as he took the door key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. He pushed the door open and almost fell into the room. Bracing himself against the walls, he reached out for the bed.

  His eyeballs felt like they were about to explode, and he needed to close them. He threw the hood from his head, fell onto the bed, and sank into the pillow.

  Drake walked through the void of darkness, and the fear tore through him again. It was a horrifying, endless vacuum of nothingness. Every direction led to nowhere. No matter which way he turned, no matter how hard he tried to see a ray of hope, there was nothing except the darkness.

  Hey, Scorp!

  He turned to the sound of the voice, but once again, there was nobody there. “Show yourself!”

  I can’t. You won’t let me.

  “What do you mean, ‘I won’t let you’?”

  More of it is coming back to you, but not enough, yet. There was just enough for me to stop you again.

  “Are you the pain I felt?”

  Kind of.

  “Are you The Interceptor?”

  That’s what they call me.

  “What are you?”

  There was no response, but at least the voice was giving him some semblance of sensory experience in this place. “Tell me who you are.”

  I’m the one who exists to stop cruel, raping, predatory scumbags like you.

  For the first time, the voice demonstrated a hint of aggression. Before, he’d seemed fairly light-hearted.

  She reminded you of her, didn’t she? You tried to take her. It was only because of her that I could protect that woman.

  “Reminded me of whom?”

  I h
ad no connection to that other poor kid you killed, and I wasn’t strong enough to stop you. But this time, you came so close to remembering.

  “I came so close to remembering what?”

  Hold on!

  He shivered at the sound of those words. “What does that mean?”

  It means everything I am, and everything you’re not. It means hope.

  The fear gripped Drake again. “P-please. Show yourself.”

  You sure you can take it?

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Can you remember?

  “Remember what?”

  Think. Think deep and hard. Remember hope.

  The words that had taken him down in the woods came back to him:

  Oh, God, please don’t let me fall.

  You’re not going to fall.

  A shape appeared through the darkness and came closer. It seemed to be a man walking upon the dark air. Or at least, he thought it was a man. Within moments, he became clearer. He was wearing a black suit of some kind, with a belt around his waist that seemed to contain an array of technological gadgets.

  And then the helmet came into view. It was like a motor-cycle helmet, but more slender, as though it was molded to his head.

  “Interceptor,” Drake said. “So, you’re my enemy.”

  “Depends how you look at it.”

  Why does his voice sound so familiar? “Take the helmet off.”

  “I can try, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you won’t let me.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “I’m breaking through slowly, but it’s taking time. You’re in the stronger position.”

  “Take it off!”

  The Interceptor reached up to the helmet and gripped the sides. “OK. Here goes.” He moved his hands upward. The helmet began to come loose . . .

  Drake shook as he awoke abruptly, coated with perspiration. He shivered uncontrollably, terrified by knowing, and yet not knowing. “Oh, Jesus. What are you?”

  For the first time since his childhood, he wept. And yet it was to the last one who’d made him weep he had to return.

  In the place where it all began.

  Sixteen

  Premonition

  Jed Crane sealed a suitcase and took it from the bed in his favela apartment. His heart fluttered with apprehension.

  “Do you have to leave?”

  He turned to Juanita, his roommate of the last three months. She’d been a good friend to him, and he knew she was secretly in love with him. It hadn’t been easy for him to resist. She was appealing and sensual, but he had a life and a fiancée back home. His sojourn in Brazil had only ever been a temporary hideout while he tried to come up with a solution to his plight. Now, one had been handed to him.

  Juanita was an impoverished woman as he was now an impoverished man. Together, they’d managed to pull enough money together to finance living in a run-down apartment in a favela.

  “I have to go, Juanita,” he said. “We both knew this day would come.”

  “How are you getting back?”

  “I’ve got a job on a cargo ship. It docks in Florida, and they didn’t ask any questions. I’ll just do my job and get off when we arrive.” He walked over and held her. “Once I’ve got all of this sorted out, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  “Is it about the men who came here?”

  “One of them.”

  “The one who collapsed in front of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . who is he?”

  Jed looked away sadly. “He was my friend. A courageous hero who put himself on the line to save innocents.”

  “But he came here to kill you.”

  “That wasn’t him. That was what they did to him. It’s what I have to stop. There is an evil running amok in America, and it operates from the highest levels of intelligence.” He picked up his suitcase and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, my friend.” He turned and made his way toward the door.

  ***

  “Samaritans, Emily speaking. How can I help?”

  A tearful male voice came through the receiver, barely coherent. Emily’s eyes moistened at the mere sound of it. She’d had so many of them and it was beginning to wear her down. She could feel his pain without even knowing the cause of it. Every call was another voice of heartbreak and devastation. She questioned if she had what it took to continue with her new position. She felt too close to the callers for comfort. Conversely, she considered, perhaps, that was how she was able to empathize with them. She knew she couldn’t abandon them.

  “Can you describe what you’re feeling right now?” she said. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  “They took everything from me. My whole life.”

  “Who did? What did they take from you? Can you tell me your name?”

  “M-my name’s Mark. I live in a rough part of town. A gang came into my home and robbed me blind. I live alone. I haven’t seen my family for five years. They took my hope chest. Every last photograph I had of them was in it, even my mom and dad, and they’re no longer alive. I don’t have a penny to my name, and I can’t pay my rent. I have nothing left.”

  She could tell he was desperate and knew she had to keep him on the line. “OK, stay with me, Mark. We can work this out. I know you’re terribly sad. I understand that.” Focus on his strengths and find hope for him. “I will alert my director and try to get you set up in the shelter here. You don’t have to be out on the streets. Then we can work on getting you back on your feet. There is always hope, Mark. Believe me, I know.”

  “How?”

  “Mark, this isn’t about me. This is about you. All I can tell you is . . . you feel like you don’t know what you can do when you’re on the edge of it all. You feel like your life is over, and nobody is coming to save you. Somebody saved me, and I want to be there for you. Now, do you think you can trust me?”

  “I . . . I guess so.”

  “OK, what skills do you have? Tell me about yourself. We will find a way out of this.”

  As the conversation continued, Emily began to feel stronger. She’d been flitting between the heartbreak caused by her own innate compassion, her doubt that she could continue, and then to knowing she could. In an ironic way, it was helping her through her own traumas and personal issues.

  During the call, she learned everything she could about Mark, just as she learned as much about each of the callers. It was a huge responsibility—far more so than when she was a nun. Back then, her every move arose from orders. This time, she was subservient only to her own heart, which was why it was such a trying task. If anything went wrong, it would be on her own head. But she was getting better at it with each passing day.

  By the time the call had ended, she’d persuaded Mark to make contact with his estranged siblings and advised him on how to approach them. She put in his mind the likelihood that they would have copies of his lost photographs, from which he could take duplicates. It didn’t take her long to get him to realize, not only could he get his life back, but a life that was far better than the one he’d been living.

  Eisely had spent much time training her in procedure, teaching her the pattern of questions, and the temperament a distraught person responded to the most favorably. Finding common ground she could empathize with, and offering no judgment, was essential. She was beginning to realize he had chosen her wisely. Who could possibly empathize with hopelessness more than her, after being a victim of a human slavery ring? And who would have had more of an aversion to judgment than one who had escaped from a convent? Finally, she was finding her true self.

  She stood up from her desk, walked across to the hook on the wall, and took her coat. Belinda said she’d meet her outside.

  Belinda was on her mind often. She was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a friend: spirited, funny, supportive, loving, and most of all, free. She was her late brother’s lover, but in
Belinda, she’d found a sister of her own.

  She walked out of the room. At that moment, Glen Eisley stepped out of his office and came toward her. “Emily. How was it today?” he said.

  “It was . . . good, sir.”

  “You sound uncertain.”

  “I don’t know. There are so many people with problems, and sometimes it overwhelms me. But then . . .”

  “Yes? Tell me, Emily.”

  “It makes me feel so good when I can help them. They really seem to hear me. Ideas come to me when I talk to them that help me to show them there are alternatives to . . .” She lowered her head. “Suicide.”

  Eisely smiled warmly. “This is why I asked you to do this, Emily. I’ve been involved in this for many years, and I know an empathetic person when I see one. Those who have suffered are those who have the most kindness in them. I knew this would help you too.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Glen,” he said. “And I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

  “Thank you, si—Glen.” She chuckled.

  He patted her shoulder affectionately, and moved on.

  She walked down the steps and saw Belinda waiting for her at the bottom. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Em. How did it go today?”

  “Same as usual. Emotionally trying, but rewarding.”

  They turned and walked out the door. Emily could sense Belinda was not her usual self. “Is everything OK? What have you been doing today?”