by Kate Swain
I screamed, willing my feet to go faster, but I couldn’t run at more than a sickening, achy crawl. I could feel the presence of evil behind me – faceless, nameless gray men in jackets. Hunting me.
I ran, reaching a shadowy pathway that I could feel rather than see under my feet. It twisted right and up, ever uphill and I couldn’t see the end, or even so much as see my feet. Everything was lost in the mist.
“No!” I panted, as the feet behind me started to catch up. I could feel them right there. I could hear the soft sound of breathing and feel a hand reaching out to grab me.
I screamed again as the hand fastened around my ankle. I woke up to find myself sitting up in bed, sweat soaking my skin.
“Whew.”
I leaned back on the pillow and tried to get my bearings. I had thought I was asleep in my bedroom, but the window had been beside my bed there, and there hadn’t been a wall behind me, but the back of a wardrobe…
I sat up and switched on the light. It wasn’t difficult, because the light-switch was very close to the bed – everything was close to everything else, in fact. The room was a small hotel room, and my suitcase was up by the end of my bed.
I had run away.
I rolled over and got up. There was no point in trying to sleep anymore – the room was quiet enough, but I knew I would find no rest. My ghosts were altogether too close for comfort – as close as a day’s drive away, in fact – or a day and a bit more on a bus. They were in my childhood home, and I was lost here like I had been in my dream. Nameless, placeless. Without family.
I went to the tiny bathroom and splashed water on my face, then reached for where I’d left the essentials for night-time: my socks, hand-lotion and a book. I slipped back to bed, noticing my reflection in the small mirror as I did so. My red hair was a wild mess around my face, the waves and curls breaking loose from their hair-scrunchie. I shook my head at myself.
“I guess runaways can’t be fussy.”
I smiled to myself, though it was not without an ironic touch. I had run away from a murder-scene. My father’s murder-scene. I still couldn’t think too hard about that – I would have more than just nightmares if I did.
I curled up and opened my book. It was a light, romantic read – I had grabbed it at random, and I was glad now that I hadn’t chosen anything scarier. The last thing I ever wanted to hear about again, or even think about, was death of any sort.
I had seen and heard too much about it as it was.
My mom had died when I was two years old – I couldn’t really remember her too well. After her passing, Dad had been my whole world. I still couldn’t believe he had gone.
I could never let myself think about it.
If I thought about it, my brain would stop working.
I had not seen his body, or the moment of his death, for which I was grateful. I had, however, heard the men break into our house, and I had run to Dad, but there had been nothing I could do for him. The men had him up against the wall at gunpoint, and the last thing he had done was scream to me to run.
“No,” I sobbed.
I couldn’t live with this. I wished I had a drink, but I couldn’t afford it. If I could drink something, I could forget the pain. I ached for wine – for anything that would still my mind for long enough to let me sleep.
“Damn it,” I said. I threw the book across the room and crawled under the blankets. I was ridiculously cold in this room, and there was no way I was going to sleep now. I looked at my phone. It was six am. I could have breakfast at seven.
I slipped out of bed and went to the tiny bathroom again. I would shower and go for a walk, and then I would come back for breakfast.
“And then,” I told myself firmly, “I have to figure out my future.”
I had to make money and find a place to stay. This place was okay – I was used to living a bit rough since Dad had never been exactly rich. I had enough savings to keep my head above water for a week or two, but after that things would become dangerous. I needed employment fast. I washed myself, letting the warm water trickle down my curves, and tried to forget my worries.
“Damn it,” I sighed to myself. I wished I could contact Laney, my best friend – but it would be dangerous to see her. I knew my dad’s murderers would try to get me too. They were after money – the debts he owed them. And, since they couldn’t get it out of him – he didn’t have very much money as it was – they would try to get it from me.
And that would be worse than death. Which would, I thought, inevitably follow.
I shivered and wrapped myself in my towel. I was here in Kansas City, under the pretext that it’s hard to find someone in a big city. In a small town, like where Dad and I had lived, we could have been tracked down fairly easily. Here, I imagined, I would blend into the masses.
“Probably need to cut my hair,” I told my reflection. It was a bit unusual – not many five-foot-six women with masses of red hair turned up in big cities. I had a knitted hat to cover it with, but I couldn’t stop it peeping out and if one of the thugs saw me, they would recognize me.
I sighed and reached for my jeans. I had only brought the clothes I was wearing at the time I ran away – I had no time to grab anything besides my jacket and the wallet I had in my pocket. I shivered. I was simply grateful to be alive.
I put on my shoes and headed outside. I would go for a walk, have breakfast, and take myself to the job agency. There had to be some sort of immediate employment that would take me. I was twenty-two years old, I had basic computer skills. And I had a camera – or rather my phone did.
I smiled to myself. I had always had a gift for photography. At least, my friends always said so, and my art teacher at high school had said so too. But, whether I could actually use that to get employment, I had no idea. I didn’t have any equipment – just my phone, and some sort of an eye for composition, which I had always been told I inherited from my mom.
“Damn it,” I sniffed, feeling angry. When I thought of my mother, I thought of my father. And I didn’t want to think of him. If I did, I would never stop screaming – the horror was too real, too close to the surface for any words to express it.
I rammed my hands into my pockets and marched through the door.
After a walk and breakfast in the small dining-room, I was feeling ready to take the next step. I went up to my room to check my appearance – I didn’t have any makeup or anything with me, which sucked, because it meant I couldn’t get made up for a job interview, so I just brushed my hair as best I could.
Then I went downstairs and headed through the door, following the directions of my phone to the job agency.
When I got there, I was sweating despite the cold. The walk had warmed me up. I waited in the hallway, taking my coat off and rocking back on my heels, a gesture that I always fell back on when I was stressed.
I breathed in smelling the scents of industrial polish and dust. I looked around, seeing two or three people sitting on plastic seats. I went over to join them, but I couldn’t sit still. I was desperately uncomfortable and hopelessly afraid. I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to turn. The man on the seat next to me smelled unwashed, and I did my best to ignore it. I was lucky I could afford a motel, or I also would have smelled unwashed.
This was my life now.
I jumped up as a woman at the counter called out to us. “Next, please!”
The man was ahead of me, and he looked around at me and stood up, somewhat bewildered, as if he didn’t know whether he should go ahead or not. I nodded to him, encouragingly. He looked even more bewildered, as if this was the first time in his life somebody had been kind to him. It probably was, I reflected sadly, as he went through the doors and left me waiting for my turn.
I went up to the counter next, answering questions and filling out forms. Fortunately, I had my ID card with me, or I don’t know what I could have done. I waited, relieved, while the woman took down my details and promised to contact me in the next few d
ays.
I left and was surprised to notice that it was nine A.M. already. I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I decided to catch a bus to the town center and spend a few hours walking around.
The city center was thronged with people – I had grown up in a small town, and I found the presence of so many people terrifying. Loud, pushy and unruly, it felt to me like I was a rabbit being hunted by a pack of hounds. And to make matters worse, I consciously looked out for the men who were actually out to get me.
I went into a few shops – there were makeup and perfume displays to sample, and I tried out a few products, feeling my confidence growing. At least, I thought with a grin, as I checked my appearance in my phone, I looked better with my lips and cheeks redder.
My green eyes sparkled back at me, enhanced by the pink blush and red lipstick. I was surprised by the genuine smile that twisted my lips. It was amazing what a big difference something so seemingly small could do for a person.
I headed down the main street, being careful to stick to crowded areas, where I was less likely to stand out. I’d covered my hair, but all the walking was making me warm and I ached to take the hat off.
My feet led me down another road and, surprised by the sudden sense of isolation I felt, I found myself jumping on a bus that stopped close by. It was packed with people, and I felt safer in crowded spaces, where I was less likely to be singled out. At the first bus-stop, most of the people got out, so I got out too.
I looked around. I appeared to be in some sort of industrial area – there were big parking-spaces and large buildings, transportation and forklifts and warehouses.
There was also a pizza restaurant.
I winced, feeling my stomach twist painfully in the middle of my body – a painful feeling. Breakfast had been meager and all the walking had worked up an appetite. I could feel the five dollars I had in my pocket – my budget for food today. I groaned.
“Lunchtime special: Margherita five dollars,” I read as I passed the window.
I hesitated. If I went in and had a pizza, I wouldn’t have anything left over for dinner today – not without spending some of tomorrow’s allowance. I stood where I was, hunger warring with my sense of economy. I frowned, feeling how sick and shaky I felt. Hunger won.
I was standing in line, waiting to place my order, when I overheard two men talking at a table.
“Matt… you can’t leave it.”
“I know, I know,” a voice countered. “Damn it, Mark! I do care – he’s my son, you know.”
“Hey, man… I know,” the other voice replied gently. “But I know how you always put yourself last – and you also need some time for yourself, you know.”
“It’s not going to happen – Lucas is my priority. And I can’t just hire someone for the sake of it.” The second man sounded annoyed as if the first man had suggested something that made him angry.
I heard the first man take a breath. “Listen, Matt… There are hundreds of women in this town who can take care of kids responsibly. Literally hundreds! You will have to look…”
“I’m not just jumping into hiring a nanny. You don’t understand. When Slade is older, maybe you will.”
I felt myself open my mouth before I even knew that I was going to say something. It felt like some deep inner sense was moving me; like I was being moved rather than making any kind of conscious decision for myself. I heard my own voice speak into the astonished silence in the booth.
“I am a babysitter.”
The silence stretched. One of the men turned around. My world stopped.
The deepest, darkest blue eyes I had ever seen were looking straight at me, directly into my own.
“You’re a babysitter?” the smoothest, loveliest voice I had ever heard said into the silence.
I nodded, trying to find my voice.
“Yes,” I murmured. “I am.”
3
Matt
I stared at the woman standing in front of me. Short, with big green eyes and the most stunning bust I had ever seen, she seemed hesitant and wary. As I turned to face her, she took a step back, like she expected trouble.
I raised my hand in a placatory gesture, as if she was much younger than her years. I guessed her to be in her early twenties – a bit younger than me – but she seemed in some ways much younger even than my guess. Her big, frightened green eyes could have been any age at all.
She’s had a hard life.
It was weird, that thought that flashed into my mind. There was no reason to think that – she was wearing jeans, a green pullover and a beige hat, and she looked about as well-dressed and well-off as everyone. It was just the look in her eyes that suggested that to me. And her fear.
“Wait,” I said, more urgently, as she looked around again as if she was about to run off. “You said you’re available to babysit?” I really wanted to know, as she could be the solution to my dilemma. Weird, that she just turned up.
“Um…” the girl said, looking around us. She seemed like she was searching for signs of danger. “Oh, sorry,” she said, and her pale skin went bright red. “I got to go.”
“Wait,” I insisted, pushing back my chair and standing up. “We could talk…”
But she had already got to the front door and was halfway down the path. I paused, wondering what it was I had done. Behind me, I heard Mark clear his throat.
“Matt… Come on. She’s gone.”
I sighed. “I just…” I shook my head. I had no idea what I had done. I glanced around, looking for a mirror or some sort of reflective surface to look into. Was I really scary? I must look bewildered, I thought, because my brother grinned at me.
“It’s okay, you look like you did when you got up this morning.”
I shot him a look. Knowing each other so well makes him practically able to read my mind. That isn’t always welcome, especially not when my thoughts were somewhat less than charitable in that moment.
She has the most stunning face I ever saw.
I shook myself, feeling annoyed. Thoughts like that always felt like betrayal, to me; like I was disloyal to Amy. I knew that was not true; that Amy would never have wanted me to be alone forever. I still felt like that, however.
“Come on, Matt. It’s not that bad,” my brother said softly. “You don’t usually scare women away.”
I shot him another look – a dark one from under my brows. He grinned at me.
“Sorry,” he said. “Look – I’m sure everything will work out. There’s a job agency where you could put up an ad, there are colleges around, where they must have tons of young people looking for jobs…” he sighed. “You’ll find someone.”
“I don’t know if I want a young person,” I said slowly. “Older people are more responsible and experienced.”
“Thanks,” Mark chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”
“Who’re you calling old?”
We both laughed. Having my best friend in the whole world being exactly my age was a privilege. I felt my heart twist and I looked up at Mark and wondered what exactly I would do without him in my life.
“Come on,” I said, finishing my coffee. I didn’t usually drink coffee but today I needed it. I stood up and went over to the door to fetch my coat. “Let’s go do some more work.”
My brother chuckled and stood up, settling the bill on our way out. He settled it every other time, and I alternated. I found myself glancing down the street as we walked out, wondering if the girl was still around.
“I think we have a BMW to work on today,” Mark was saying with some interest. I listened, not really paying him much attention. I was distracted, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
I kept on wondering where the girl had gone. She looked hungry, I thought guiltily. If it hadn’t been for me, she would be safe in here, eating a pizza.
“Come on, Matt!” my brother called crisply. “You almost walked into the parking-lot.”
“Oh.” I flushed bright red. “So I did.”
“
Matt…” my brother frowned at me. I shrugged.
“Come on,” I said, feeling awkward. “Let’s get back to work.”
I changed into my overalls again, but when I reached the new bike, I found it had to concentrate. My mind was firmly focused on the girl who we’d seen at the restaurant, and even though Mark was reading out a long list of instructions for what we had to do with the bike, I could barely focus.
“And I think that we ought to replace the bearings, too,” he was saying. “I checked them earlier, and they look worn…”
“Yeah,” I shrugged. I looked up to find his blue eyes focused on me, an earnest expression in them.
“Matt, you’re distracted. You’re not worried about that girl, are you?”
“Which girl?” I asked, a little too quickly. I knew I was scowling, and I was sure he had guessed that I was thinking about her. I couldn’t forget that look of fear in her eyes, that pinched expression that showed that she was worried, and afraid. I knew that look – I had seen it in my own eyes, when I was in the depths of my pain. I had seen it in the eyes of desperate people living on the street.
What if she’s down on her luck?
I looked up at my brother, unable to hide the pain in my eyes.
“Look, bro,” he sighed. “I know that you’re blaming yourself. But you didn’t do anything. If she ran off, it was her fault, not yours.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” I said suddenly. My brother grinned.
“Matt…” His voice sounded wheedling and amused and it tore at my shredded nerve-fibers.
“And you can stop grinning. I wasn’t attracted, either.”
“You weren’t?” my brother asked, his big blue eyes innocent.
“No,” I said. “Mark – please?” I knew my brother wouldn’t push it – that the moment he realized that his words were really hitting home, he would stop teasing me. As I had hoped he would, he nodded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll start taking the wheels off, and you can check the gearbox. Okay?”
I nodded. “That seems sensible,” I said, and went to get my tools.