On the Run
Page 7
I start to light the fuses of the shells that are laid out parallel to the water. I have to keep the cops from crossing that line. That’s all that counts.
It’s dangerous and the police know it. I’m a kid who’s brandishing big ignited shells at them. They stay back, not expecting this.
They shout for me to step aside. I look out at the sea. It’s dark, and the dinghy has disappeared. Noemi’s father takes out a gun and shoots. Now I know he recognized me. But it doesn’t matter. Since it’s nighttime, the police aim red lasers at their target. The target is my dad, and I’m scared.
I keep lighting the fuses, which make a lot of noise. People start looking up at the sky again. Multicolored fireworks explode. They’re a lot prettier than the small red dots the cops make on the waves.
But I don’t know if the noise is coming from the fireworks or from the sound of gunfire. Everything is confused. I look up at the sky, not wanting to see if my dad is hurt, and I forget that I’m scared.
Thierry is in handcuffs, leaning against a police car. He asks Noemi’s father if he can talk to me. The policeman hesitates but signals for me to approach.
“Everything’s fine,” Thierry says to reassure me. “He had time to reach the boat that was waiting for him. The cops won’t catch him.”
“He should have given the money back. I told him to, but—”
Thierry puts his handcuffed hands on my shoulder and squeezes it. It hurts, but it feels good too.
The fireworks are over. It’s dark and the stars are gone. Shell casings litter the beach. I was supposed to pick them up with Thierry and Dad, but the police are questioning Thierry, and Dad is gone. He left without me. Suddenly I remember that I totally forgot to meet up with Noemi.
I am on my own and I am not afraid. I can hear the distant noise of the police motorboats. They’ve turned on their lights to illuminate the ocean, and it looks like lots of moons are shining right over the water. But the police don’t see anything.
“Rafael Cantes!” they shout into megaphones. “You won’t make it! Give yourself up!”
They don’t know my dad. If they think he’s going to surrender …
Now I have to wait.
Dad will be back. I know it. I don’t know when. I don’t know where. But I know he’ll come back.
And I’ll be waiting for him.
About the Author
Clara Bourreau writes screenplays for television and film in France, where she lives.