The first few miles are scrubland, and though my eyes are rapidly scanning left and right I don't spot a thing. She'd be too easy to spot out here. Harper probably ran this stretch as fast as her little legs would carry her. Another couple of miles in, though, there's a pine forest stretching out to my right. Now that would make an ideal hiding place. Did she veer off here or further up? My guess is here because she wouldn't know when Gabriel would wake up, and she didn't know when I'd be back either. She'd err on the side of caution.
I park up on the side of the road and start walking. My eyes are scanning for footprints, but there's more wet grass than mud and it's difficult to tell. Some of the grass nearby appears to be trodden down, so I take this as a good sign. Walking briskly towards the forest, I look for any clues that might indicate someone has been here recently. I'm assuming Harper has taken some food with her; maybe she's thrown a wrapper or apple core down somewhere? It's unlikely, but I'll take any crumb I can get at this point. Making my way through the trees as stealthily as I can, I can't spot a soul. If Harper has been through here it was some time ago.
While the trail might be cold, I have a feeling I'm on the right track. When I get to the edge of the forest there's more brush with another small forest about half a mile away in the distance. Something tells me she's there. Don't ask me what it is, but my sixth sense is rarely wrong. This means I need to be cautious. If she manages to catch me unawares and clobbers me around the head she'll be gone, and I'll never find her again.
I find the eerie silence of the outdoors oddly comforting as I make my way slowly across the clearing, keeping towards the edge of the forest. I'm guessing she'll stay more central, using the trees for cover. Too much noise tends to freak me out these days. Back in prison it was an indication that a riot was going down, or something just as nasty. To be fair, silence could be just as deadly, but I've made my peace with that. Micas is no longer out there to haunt me, and there's no one looking over my shoulder that I know of, except perhaps Gabriel, but I'll deal with that later. At the moment I have more important fish to fry.
Where has Harper gone? My eyes are drinking in the verdant landscape, but so far I've got nothing. Hoping she'll be focused on moving forward and not looking back over her shoulder, I plough on as fast as I dare. I'm exposed out here and if she catches a glimpse of me it'll either have her running or shimmying up a tree somewhere. I know I can outrun her, but if she hides and I can't find her, we're back to square one.
Keeping my footfalls soft, I comb the ground continuously for any signs of life. In the back of my mind there's the thought that she might have headed towards the cliffs and jumped. It's a possibility. If she's dead I'll never forgive myself. I want her to pay for her sins, but I don't want her to die. That means I still care about her. I do my best to dispel that thought. I can't afford to care about her. If I have my way she'll be incarcerated for the next few years. Could I put her through that? The woman should have to pay for her crimes, I tell myself. She shouldn't be able to just walk away. It doesn't answer my question, though. Do I want her put away? I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure. What is wrong with me? I can't seem to make a decision these days. Is this what prison has done to me?
While I'm berating myself for going soft in my old age, I start to veer into the centre of the forest and I suddenly spot what I've been looking for all along. It's a footprint. It's not Harper's footprint, though, it's my footprint. One of my trainers, to be exact. She had no clothes in the house, or shoes. I burned them. I thought that would put paid to any ideas of escape, but I've been wrong twice now. Harper is far more resourceful than I gave her credit for. I can't imagine what she must look like, dressed in men's clothes that are at least twice as big as she is. I mean, how is she even walking in my shoes? They would drown her tiny feet. Anyway, the good news is that I'm on the right track. She's been through here recently.
Standing still for a minute I stop and listen. I want to hear rustling undergrowth or snapping twigs. I need a sign that somebody is still in here with me. Seconds tick by slowly. I hear nothing but the whistling of wind through leaves and the chirping of birds. Is she still here or should I keep walking? My gaze goes up into the trees. I can't see anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn't mean she's not around. I have a feeling that I'm lagging behind, though. I need to get a move on.
Picking up my pace, I follow the trail deeper into the woods. I see more footprints, often spaced quite far apart, and I wonder if she's been trying to run. It would be hard in a pair of shoes that are ten times too big for you, but not impossible. If she is, that's a bonus. It means she's not so cautious any more. She just wants to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. Harper also knows that she'll have to cover a lot of ground before she comes across another human being, unless she's really lucky, and I hope to hell she's not. I need to get my hands on her as quickly as possible.
Breaking into a run, I do my best to push past the exhaustion that's consuming my body and start to close the gap between us. Thankfully I'm on adrenaline overload, but it won't last long. If I don't find her soon I'll be on my knees. The thought of the walk back is already making me queasy. Where is she? My eyes are once again everywhere, but I see no sign of her. When I get past the trees that have plunged the world into darkness, there's a field with nothing but rolling hills and heather in front of me. I wonder if I'll be able to spot her at the top of the next rise. It's really exposed out here, and she'll have nowhere to hide.
Hiking up the side of the hill, thankful I have my heavy-duty walking boots on, I watch a deer run off into the distance. He is utterly breath-taking with a full head of antlers, and his back legs give one hell of a kick as he sprints away from me. Has he been disturbed by someone? Sure enough, when I get to the top I spot a lone figure in the distance. It's got to be her. As I get closer I'm sure of it. She looks faintly ridiculous with my oversized clothes on her, and she's waddling about trying her best to power walk. My shoes keep slipping off her feet, and an old duffel bag of mine bangs against her hip. I'm amazed she hasn't fallen over yet, but somehow she manages to struggle on.
Breaking into a run I get within four hundred metres before her head snaps around. Her eyes immediately catch mine and she looks like I've just fired a gun at her. It makes my gut clench. She looks haunted, scared out of her mind and utterly defeated. Damn it. What did Gabriel do to her?
Putting another burst of speed on, I watch as she ditches my shoes and breaks into a sprint. But there's nowhere to hide and she's going nowhere. Harper fights until the very end, though. Her feet must be killing her on this rough terrain, but it doesn't stop her pelting off as fast as she can. I'm pushing my body to the limit as I try to keep up, but as another steep hill looms ahead I know I've got her. That sharp incline will slow her down, and as long as I keep my pace I should be able to reach her before she gets to the top. My strides are far longer than hers. Just a little further.
My lungs are screaming as I pound my shoes into the long wet grass, but I push on. Harper's feet are slipping all over the place. She's regularly stumbling and scrabbling about on the ground, and this means I'm rapidly closing the distance between us. It doesn't help that her movement is hampered by clothes that are spilling out all over the place. There is no way she'd have made it thirty miles dressed like that. She'd have ended up killing herself out here.
"Get away from me!" There's a choked sob from her as she realises the game is lost. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
"Stop running, Harper. You're not going to get away. It would take you days to escape from this wilderness, and there's no way you'd have ever made it."
"I'd rather die trying than stay there with him!" she spits at me. "You sent an ex-con to babysit me. He broke into my cell in seconds. I'm there naked, and he's threatening to fuck me then kill me. You're an animal." She sounds hysterical, and she's got a point.
"I didn't have a choice. I thought I was flying out to America and I could hardly
invite the next-door neighbours around, could I?" I lunge savagely for her leg, but she pulls it away just in time. God damn it, I don't have the energy for this.
"He's a monster. I'm not going back. How could you do that to me?" Tears are pouring down her cheeks and damned if I don't feel guilty about them.
"You are going back, but you're going back with me. I won't let him near you." I do my best to placate her, but the reality of the situation is we need to be getting out of here before I collapse.
"I am not going back to that cell," she screeches. "Not when he can waltz in any time. I'm not a whore. You can't share me with your friends and expect me to roll over. I'd rather die." Harper seems to have got a second wind after that sentence because she tumbles over the hill almost headfirst, rolling downwards at an alarming rate. I sprint after her as if the law is on my heels, worried that she's about to kill herself or worse. She cannot die on me - not after all the crap I've been through.
"Calm down, Harper. You are not going back to that cell," I confirm. "I don't trust him either. You'll stay with me until I can get rid of him." I make another lunge, and this time I miss her jeans pant leg by a mere whisper of air. I almost scream in frustration.
"Let me go. If you want to kill me, do it. If not, let me continue to make a colossal mess of my life in peace. I was doing just fine until I met you." She stumbles again, and this time I take no chances. I leap forward, grab her butt, and tackle her into the ground.
"Get off me!" she squeals, and the woman is madder than a bulldog chewing a bumblebee. Struggling like a banshee underneath me, her nails are trying their best to gouge my eyes out. Moving higher up her body, letting my weight rest on top of her, I let her get it out of her system. I swear I could fall asleep right now, even with all the screaming and shouting, but I'd probably suffocate her in the meantime. At least the tiredness means there's no chance of me becoming aroused by this. Mind you, she doesn't know that.
"Careful, Harper, or I might have to fuck you right here in the grass." She stills immediately, like I knew she would, and the fight drains out of her.
"You're a bastard, Brandt." Her body is shaking all over, and if she's not careful there'll be nothing left of her. I'm amazed she made it as far as she did. She still looks ill. I bet she hasn't eaten half of what I left her. Maybe she's hoping she can starve herself to death.
"And you're a bitch, Harper Wilkinson. My crimes don't even compare to yours. You ruined my life. You've managed to break every little piece of it up and then spit on it." There's no anger in my voice. I haven't got the energy for anger.
"Yeah? Well, lucky you. My life was ruined a long time ago." There's an unmistakable edge of bitterness in her tone, and I know I need to find out this girl's story. Not today. I'm not going to remember much from today - but as soon as we're able, we need to sit down and get this over with.
"We'll talk tomorrow, Harper. I promise. Now will you come back with me? I can drag you kicking and screaming if you insist, but I'd rather not." I'm lying. The effort that would take would kill me. That doesn't mean I can't knock her out and sling her over my shoulder, though.
"You promise you won't put me in the cell, or leave me with him?" Her voice wobbles on the last word. I want to kill Gabriel. This whole mess is because I trusted him to do something ridiculously simple. When will I ever learn?
"You have my word. Now can you walk, or do you need to be carried?"
Harper falls into line, insisting she can walk, but after only a short way I can't bear to hear her whimpering every time she steps on something sharp. Picking her up in my arms, we march onwards. I have no idea how I'm still upright, let alone walking, but at least Harper is as a light as a feather. She weighs virtually nothing in my arms because she's all skin and bones. I want the girl I remembered back. The one with the laughing eyes and cheeky sass. The Harper I have now is a mere caricature of her former self, and she looks dreadful. If I hadn't found her when I did, I wonder if she'd have managed to last much longer. She's obviously fallen on hard times. It's probably no more than she deserved, but I can't think about her starving and feel happy about it. I know I am missing something here, but I'm too tired to join the dots together. Maybe I'll figure out this puzzle tomorrow.
I plod on in silence, listening to Harper's laboured breathing as it curls up my chest and fans into my face. It matches my own, but she's not actually doing anything now. The last few hours have really taken its toll on her. I need to get us back home as soon as possible and tucked up into bed. No one will be getting up to much for the next couple of days at the very least.
"Where are your parents?" My voice is soft and curious. When I hired someone to find her whereabouts while I was in prison, I wonder why I didn't ask them to give me the lowdown on her background. Actually, a call to any private investigator would have managed that, and those details might be important. Back then rage was consuming me, and I just needed to get my hands on her. Now I have other things to consider. Nothing about this mess is panning out the way I expected it to, and I suspect there's a reason for that.
"They're dead." Those two words let me know that Harper's guard is down. Up until now she's been careful to keep me in the dark, but she's too exhausted to think straight, and I know the feeling. Even so, she never offers any more information than absolutely necessary. It's frustrating.
"How did they die?" My footfalls are sure and even, and I wonder if the motion is lulling her to sleep. Her eyes are closing every few seconds, and although she is fighting sleep it won't take her long to succumb to it.
"A car accident." Her words are slurred now, and she sounds drunk. Has she been up for as long as I have? I can't help but wonder.
"How old were you?" Questioning Harper is like pulling teeth, but I plough on regardless. I'll take any crumb I can get.
"Seven." She sighs as if in pain. I'm not sure if it's because she's remembering that time in her life, or whether she just wants me to shut up so she can nod off. If it's the latter, there's no chance I'm giving up now.
"I'm sorry," I say, and surprise myself by meaning it. No one deserves to lose their parents that young. Mine might not like me, but at least they're alive. "Do you have any other relatives? Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, or grandparents maybe?" I find myself hoping she has someone to rely on. The other side of that coin is too horrifying to consider.
"No." Her voice is surly, and it's clear she wants to end the conversation. I close my eyes and sigh. This is the last thing I need to hear. Harper Wilkinson has probably been bouncing around residential treatment centres and foster care for most of her childhood. It must have been awful at best, and at worst - well, I don't want to think about that. I've read the newspapers, and I've heard the reports.
"How did you come out the other side of that?" I don't realise I've asked the question out loud until she responds brokenly, in a choked-up sob that almost destroys me.
"I didn't."
Chapter 7 - Harper
I don't remember the journey back to Brandt's house. I fell asleep in his arms shortly after he picked me up, and when I awoke I was already being carried upstairs. The house is freezing cold, and when I breathe out little clouds of condensation form in the air. My teeth begin chattering immediately, and my toes feel numb. That's what you get for walking about with no shoes on. It's probably a good thing I can't feel them. When they warm up they're going to hurt like hell.
After Brandt places me carefully on his bed I moan and curl up into a little ball. All I want to do is sleep. Then I remember that Gabriel is prowling around these halls, and I immediately sit upright.
"Gabriel..." I gasp.
Brandt shakes his head. "He won't hurt you while I'm here, but there is a price to pay for my protection - if you want to sleep with me up here. You can either be handcuffed to the bed or handcuffed to me. I haven't slept in well over twenty-four hours, and I'm not running after you again. If you don't want to do that, you can go back in your cell, and I'll sleep on the other side
with you."
"I want to stay up here," I whisper. My face has gone white at the mere mention of the word 'cell' and the thought of returning there makes my stomach lurch. Besides, it will need to be cleaned up first, and I can't face that.
"Fine. Do you want to eat first?" Brandt looks at me hopefully, but I shake my head. The last thing I can think about now is eating.
He sighs but doesn't press me on the issue. "Wriggle out of those wet clothes and get under the covers, Harper."
I do as I'm told. There's no point protesting because he's seen me naked enough times that I no longer need to make a fuss. If he wants to fuck me, he will, whether I have clothes on or not, but I don't think either of us has enough energy for that. When I settle under the covers he pulls out a pair of handcuffs from his top drawer and fastens one around my wrist, while the other goes around the headboard. He doesn't trust me not to move, and I can't say I blame him.
"Give me five minutes and I'll be right back. Gabriel is not here at the moment, so you don't need to worry. Try to get some rest." I nod at him, but I can't hide the fact that I'm anxious. If Gabriel finds me again he'll probably kill me. I saw the look in his eye just before I electrocuted him, and I know what he planned on doing to me. The man has no scruples. Brandt might have lost most of his, but there's still something there. Gabriel, on the other hand, is a loose cannon. He scares me.
Brandt runs off downstairs, while I sit upright in bed thinking that I've just jumped out of the frying pan and into the mouth of an erupting volcano. Unless Brandt sends his friend away, my life expectancy around this place has suddenly taken a giant nose-dive to rival a refugee in a war-torn country. Everywhere I look death and destruction await me. Mind you, that might be a good thing. I'll take quick over slow and painful any day, and I have a feeling Gabriel is going to be just a little bit pissed with me - as in a giant fucking lot. What a lucky girl I am. I wonder how many other ladies have two beautiful hunks fighting over who gets to be the one to kill her first? Not many I'm betting.
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