Fugitives

by Jes Drew

  I stare after her. Wow- whatever Oto might have to say about her, that girl is good.

  Shaking my head to myself, I look back into the mirror and notice how pale I am. Just like that I remember my latest trouble. But it's no use hiding from it in here. Not when there are other, more important battles to fight.

  Even if this one does cause my heart to curl up inside me.

  Lifting my chin, I stride out of the bathroom to face the fall-out.

  Christopher is waiting for me with a cup of punch, which he hands to me.

  “Look, I’m sorry for what I said,” he begins. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I take a hesitant sip of my punch. “Then how did you mean it?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry, but whatever it was that I meant to say, it came out all wrong.”

  “What did you mean to say, then?”

  Christopher runs his hand through his hair. “Would you like to dance?”

  I look down at my half-empty cup of punch and shrug. “Sure.” Then I put it down and take Christopher’s hand.

  He leads me back to the dance floor. My hands wrap around his shoulders, and his find my waist. A bubble of strange grief bubbles inside of me.

  “It seems to be a Williams curse to drive women away,” he mumbles.

  “Christopher, you didn't drive me away.”

  “But I sure tried to! Here, let me start at the beginning.” He stares at the top of my head like he's avoiding my eyes. Like he's actually uncomfortable himself. “Ever since Chase dropped a pancake on my shoe, I was curious about who you were. And as I got to know you better, I got to like you better. On the Island, I was honored to be able to care for you and your cousins.”

  I nod slowly. Where is this going?

  Christopher finally drops his gaze straight to my eyes and the passion withing them takes my breath away. “Anyway, when you threatened Rudolf Masters during our big face-off with the Masters, I knew without a doubt that I…”

  “Go on,” Joseph urges. “Tell her what you told me.”

  “Shut it, Joseph,” Christopher mutters before taking a deep breath and looking back at me. “I was head over heels in love with you.”

  We stop dancing and just look at each other for a long moment.

  “Then why didn’t you just tell me?” I finally ask.

  “I did take you out for ice cream.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Well, we did just get off an Island where I had saved your life. I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me or something when I told you my feelings. So I waited. And then Joseph told me what you told that Mickey person.”

  “I don’t even remember what I told Mickey,” I say before pausing. “Oh- I didn’t mean anything by it!”

  Christopher clears his throat. “Anyway, you did seem like you liked Oto more, and I didn’t want you to feel torn… Especially since we both saved your life at one time or another.”

  I purse my lips. “You have some twisted logic, Christopher Williams.”

  “True,” Joseph agrees.

  “Shut it,” Christopher warns before looking me in the eyes again. “Now that you know the truth, does it change anything?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It means that I still love you, mon coeur.”

  “Ma coeur,” he repeats, his lips stretching into a smile, bringing one of his hands to my face while keeping the other one on my waist, like but also very unlike the 'passionate exchange' we had just moments ago. Then he begins to lean forward.

  “Um, not to ruin the romantic moment or anything, but I’m done,” Joseph says right before Christopher can close the remaining distance between us. “And I kind of set off a computer alarm, so I’m about to make a run for it. Prepare to cause a distraction.”

  “I know just the thing,” Christopher answers, pulling away slightly. Then he slips my pearl ring off my right ring finger.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, still a little breathless over what almost happened.

  “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Now would be a good time for that distraction,” Joseph interrupts.

  Christopher nods at me. Then he pulls away and yells, “Excuse me!” at the top of his lungs.

  The couples dancing around us pause.

  “Thank you,” he says. Then Christopher turns to me, drops down on one knee, and pulls my pearl ring out of his pocket. “Michaela Smith, will you marry me?”

  Somewhere in Italy, Mickey What's-her-name probably shouts yes.

  Unaware of the fact that I'm not really Michaela Smith, everyone in the room seems to hold their breath as they wait for my answer.

  “Yes.”

  Christopher smiles and slips the ring onto my left ring finger- a place no ring has gone before- and everyone cheers.

  “Good work,” Joseph says through the comms. “I’m in the limo. Oh, and congratulations, lovebirds.”

  “Have Charles take you home and then come back for us,” Christopher whispers while still smiling at the crowd.

  “Got it.”

  “Here’s a special song for the new fiancés,” the lead singer of the band announces. Then they begin playing a slow song.

  “Shall we dance?” Christopher asks me.

  I try to fight the smile threatening to explode across my face and somehow manage to keep my tone mature as I answer, “We shall.”

  Christopher and I get into position and he leads me through the simple steps. We don’t talk; we simply dance- but not awkwardly like before. I feel like the prettiest girl in the world and we’re definitely the most graceful couple on the dance floor.

  The moment is perfect.

  An adjusted mental list of the best moments of my life:

  (1) Once when I was four, I got sick with something- I can’t remember what- and my mom stayed up with me and told me stories about her childhood until I fell asleep;

  (2) My tenth birthday party when I actually had friends to attend it (that was before I started junior high, obviously);

  (3) Our Florida vacation;

  (4) When Chase, Mary-Ann, and I were reunited with our families after the Island ordeal;

  (5) Right now;

  But like all the other perfect moments, this one is over too soon.

  When our song ends, the eldest Masters- Clovis Masters- walks onto the stage.

  One of the brothers- the oldest one, I believe- crease his forehead. “Who-?”

  While he waits for his audience to fall silent, his eyes rove over the crowd. They land briefly on Christopher and me before moving on.

  I release a sigh of relief.

  “Ahem,” Clovis Masters begins. “I know most of us speak English, so that’s the language I’ll be using. A French translation of my words can be viewed on the screen behind me. My name is Clovis Masters, and as you all know, I am a joint owner of Tropical Trading. At least, I hope you all know me, because it’s rude to come to a party when you don’t know its host!”

  The audience laughs collectively.

  “Anyway, I’m so glad you could join us.”

  My heart freezes over. “I’m so glad you could join us,” the tallest and probably oldest brother (Clovis?) says with fake courtesy.

  “As you know, this is a charity event.”

  I blink. It is?

  Everyone else seems to be much more informed than us- or, more realistically, less informed- and claps enthusiastically.

  Clovis waits for them to quiet down again before adding, “And the subjects of our charity are the passengers of the last voyage of The Queen of the Sea- especially the Rogers and the Williams, who were hurt the most by its sinking. As many of you know, their children were assumed lost, but were then discovered floating on a piece of debris.”

  Liar. We so were not floating on a piece of debris but on a raft we worked hard constructing.

  “It would have been a beautiful miracle story. If it weren’t for the tragic
fact that their time at sea seems to have damaged their minds and they’ve recently run away with their grandmother.”

  The audience sighs collectively.

  But not I. I'm definitely more informed than this group.

  “I’m home,” Joseph says suddenly in our comms. “And according to my calculations, the limo should be pulling up right about now.”

  Christopher turns to me. “Let’s go.”

  “And now our guests of honor,” Clovis Masters adds, gesturing to five individuals climbing onto the stage.

  “Wait,” I breathe.

  Christopher doesn't argue and looks up at his father the same way I'm looking up at my parents, uncle, and aunt.

  “All five heroes,” Clovis Masters adds, his voice so sickly smooth it makes me sick. “Let's give them a hand of applause.”

  Everyone obeys but Christopher and me and some janitor cleaning up a punch spill next to us.

  “Would you grace us with a word?” Masters requests, his tone nothing but polite- but the look he's giving our families says that they'd better be the right words.

  Mr. Williams nods and steps up to the mike, his face a mixture of fear and determination.

  “What's he doing?” Christopher whispers.

  I bite my lip, sensing the same tenseness of a storm about to break out.

  On the stage, my parents seem to sense the same thing and grasp each others' hands like they're bracing themselves with something.

  I do the same thing for Christopher. I don't think he even notices because just then his father begins speaking.

  “I'm no hero,” Mr. Williams says. “I'm just an average man trying to get through life. And like any average man, I've made mistakes. Scores of them. Too risky investments; shady business deals; partnerships with the wrong people.”

  Clovis Masters looks confused, which means this isn't whatever speech Mr. Williams was supposed to give.

  I nervously squeeze Christopher's hand.

  “My obsession with my work drove away my wife. Then I lost my only son.” He shakes his head sadly. “No, I'm not a hero. But I am sorry. I know what I did wrong and I won't do them anymore. No more too risky investments. No more shady business deals.” He looks straight at Clovis. “And no more partnerships with the wrong people. No mater the personal cost.”

  Clovis Masters narrows his eyes. “My, what an inspiring speech, Mr. Williams. One could become a martyr for such views.”

  My heart ices over. Was that… a death threat?

  “Father, no!” Christopher yells, and suddenly everyone is looking at us.

  “It's the children!” Clovis Masters yells. “Keep them from running away again!”

  Immediately the crowd around us swarms us.

  Christopher grabs the mop from the janitor, clutches me to his side, and starts waving the mop around like a fencing sword- its splashing water convincing several people to jump back. Breathlessly, we use this opportunity to push our way towards the door just a large security guard steps in front of it.

  “Move now,” Christopher orders.

  The only part of the man that moves is a hand that reaches for a gun in a holster.

  “Don't hurt my baby!” Mom screams and I turn to see her, Father, and my other two relatives being pulled into another room by matching security guards. Two men are trying to wrestle Mr. Williams after them subtly.

  I'm not the only one who follows her voice and Clovis Masters finds himself surrounded by witnesses. Immediately, the two men stop fighting with Mr. Williams and merely hold him laxly by the arms.

  “Don't shoot!” Clovis Masters agrees. “We only want to return them to their parents.”

  The security guard drops his hand only to have Christopher ram the handle of the mop into his gut. The guard bends over in pain and Christopher grabs his gun from out of his holster. Then he rams the but of the gun on the man's head, causing him to collapse onto the ground. I cringe and several people scream.

  But Christopher doesn't say a word as he aims the gun at Clovis Masters, causing several more people to scream and many others to throw themselves to the ground.

  Fear grips me, and I grip Christopher's arms. “Christopher, don't.” This isn't a remote Island where people are about to be sentenced to death. This is a civilized country with laws and no promise that they'll believe us over them concerning certain kidnappings.

  Christopher stares at Clovis for a long moment and Clovis stares at Christopher. Then Christopher points his gun up and shoots the large ball of light, causing darkness to descend and shards of glass to descend. And more screaming.

  Grabbing me again, he drags me out the door and into the lighter darkness.

  Thankfully, Charles is waiting for us outside. He opens the limo door for us and we jump inside. Then Charles drives us into the night, but I can't help but look back.

  And when I do, I can't help but notice a lone figure diving out the door and running the opposite direction of us.

  A figure who looks a whole lot like Mr. Williams.

  ~~~

  At home, Joseph is happily showing everyone his laptop. Ata is sitting beside him with her leg propped up and an icepack on her ankle.

  I ignore him. “Your father is safe,” I tell Christopher, my head leaning on his shoulders. “I just wish...”

  “Your parents are safe too,” he assures, squeezing my hand. “The Masters need them now more than ever. And they won't dare hurt them with the world watching them”

  I say nothing and hope he's right.

  “This’ll put the Masters behind bars for sure,” Joseph announces proudly.

  This gets my attention.

  He taps his screen. “It has everything from evidence of tampering with dozens of governments files for permission-able water routes and air routes to some pretty shady business deals and bribes. If a business corporation run on slave labor isn’t enough to convict them, there’s plenty more.”

  “Does it say anything about its founding?” Christopher asks, seeming a bit distracted- no doubt thinking about his escaped father.

  “Yeah, but it's hard to understand it. From what I can tell it was founded by a Nazi, who when traveling to complete a secret overseas mission, found and took advantage of a primitive village on a remote Island, which he returned to when the war went the wrong way.”

  Makes sense with the evidence. “Are you going to send it to Interpol now?”

  “Well…”

  I bite my lip and brace myself.

  “What Joseph is trying to say is that he thinks it’s best that we give it to Interpol in person,” Christopher explains.

  “But, what if we lose it or they take it?” Oto asks, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

  “I have it in a special file,” Joseph assures. “If the Masters so much as blink in a way we don’t like, I can push a button and send it to Interpol ASAP. And no matter how many corrupt cops there will be, they can't overlook evidence like this.”

  I nod slowly. “I guess that sounds good.” I keep expecting something to turn out wrong. For someone to say that the police won't use the evidence because we got it illegally or something.

  But Christopher nods too. “Everything sounds good.”

  I smile up at him and he smiles down at me.

  “Good night, mon loup.”

  He smiles. “See you tomorrow, ma colombe.”

  Looking up at 'my wolf' I find that, for the first time in weeks, I’m excited to go to sleep so I can wake up; excited for what tomorrow may hold.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I wake up, I smile. It’s a brand new day.

  After sliding on my pearl ring, which now has a whole new level of sentimental worth, I quickly change and head to the kitchen. Apparently, I’m the first one up because no one else is around. I take the opportunity to twirl.

  Today we bring down the Masters. Today we rescue our parents. Today I have Christopher’s love.

  I twirl again.

  “I take it yo
u had a good time at the party,” Madame Monique says.

  I stop spinning, but instead of blushing, I grin. “The best.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She begins making breakfast.

  I help her by setting the table. Then I hear the television on in the next room, which I ignore it. Until I hear screaming. The same screaming I heard last night.

  I dash into the room and find Oto, Joseph, and my cousins sitting in front of the television which is replaying what happened last night. Grandmother, Ata, and Christopher come in behind me just in time to see Christopher take the gun from the security guard and aim it at Clovis Masters.

  “Has Christopher Williams gone rogue?” a voice over reporter asks.

  “Whoa,” Oto says after a long silence. “The screen reveals much.”

  “Yes,” Madame Monique agrees behind me. “It does.”

  We all jump and turn around to find our hostess standing in the doorway.

  “Madame Monique-” Christopher begins.

  “It's breakfast,” she answers abruptly before turning around and walking away.

  Awkwardly, we all follow her into the kitchen, looking rather like children with their hands caught in the cookie jar.

  “So, where do we go exactly?” Joseph- perhaps the only one oblivious to the tension around us- asks over breakfast. “Interpol?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Christopher answers, giving Joseph a be-quiet-or-else look.

  Madame Monique raises an eyebrow but says nothing (maybe she thought the be-quiet-or-else look was for her?).

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “I’ll get it,” Madame Monique says, standing up. “Stay here.” She gets up and leaves the room.

  In the distance I hear the door open and Madame Monique say, “Hello?”

  “Are you Madame Monique?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  “The one and only.”

  “Is Christopher Williams here? His father is looking for him. He ran away.”

  My heart begins to race. No, no, no. Not when we're so close. Please, God, no-

  “Did he now? This is news to me.”

  “He did, and he's dangerous. Is he here?”