36. Cat & Mouse
Chapter thirty-six
Cat I don’t know how long I’ve been running for; it could be a few minutes, it could be an hour.
Sitting down, if only for a moment, my back resting on a large tree. I don’t care that it's wet. I’m already soaked. I just need a minute to catch my breath. Hugging my knees to my chest, my head falls to the side as I try to see what’s around me. Nothing but blackness. The moon’s highlighting the way when the trees break, but even that’s fleeting when the clouds pass over.
My mind’s too busy for sleep in reality, my overactive imagination hearing things, envisioning what’s coming for me.
Exhausted, but needing to move, I lift myself from the floor
Come on, Charlie.
After walking for a while, the sun is just starting to rise, warming my skin for the first time since the park yesterday. I spot a caravan at the far end of the field, which looks abandoned. Stepping closer, I have to climb on an old tire, boosting myself to take a look in the dirty, broken window. Empty. Walking through weeds that reach the height of the windows, I make my way to the door, covered in tall grass, paint flaking off the outside, its handle rusted to almost nothing. Pulling it open, it creaks and shrieks in objection, on its broken hinges. The smell of decay and mould hits me as soon as I get it open.
Entering the caravan, it’s heady, both relief at finding a place to hide, and the fear and utter sadness that washes over me in one fell swoop. It’s cripplingly.
Standing in the middle of the dirt of grime, I cry, really fucking cry, not for any particular reason, but for every reason at the same time. Everything’s crashing down on me in this moment. The loss, the fear, the exhaustion, the pain, but most of all, Owen. I want to run into his arms and have him tell me, everything is going to be okay.
Covering my face with my hands, I slump to my knees as a loud, guttural cry leaves my chest, Sobbing harder. I can’t breathe, my chest heaving with the heaviness I’m carrying. I want him to be looking for me. I know it’s stupidly selfish of me. I just want the security he brought me when he wrapped his arms around me. Because right now I have none.
My tears fall like waves of emotion being released. I’d say it’s good for me, but I don’t feel any better for it, just a little more drained on my already empty resources.
Would it have been different if I had run to Owen? When that man grabbed my arm, what if I had gone to him instead of running to my room?
Although the actions I took before I left and did what I did, contradict my not wanting him involved. I left him what I could, knowing he would be involved to a small degree, but not in the line of fire like me. I can’t do that to him, not when he looked so happy in that moment. I just can’t help but wonder ‘what if’ all over again.
The guys at Cerberus should have got the other envelope by now. That’s if it even got delivered. If no-one has anything, then I’m alone. I know what I sent to Xander will be kept quiet. He’ll keep it safe and only use it when he needs it. That also means I’m truly alone in this.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I take my first look at the small sanctuary I have found. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years, dirt and grime everywhere. The bed is messy and unkept like a ghost of a life that existed once a long time ago.
There’s a kettle and cups and bowls are set up on the small table by the broken window taped with a plastic bag, all covered in years of mould and other things I really don’t want to know about.
Nice.
Taking a deep breath, I regret it instantly; the smell making my stomach churn. Lifting my hoodie up to cover my nose and mouth, I continue to look around, wondering what life would have looked like when someone had this place.
Taking my bag from my back, I reach for my last snack bar and bit of water. I’ll give myself a few minutes before I move on. Resting my head on my knees, I don’t dare sleep. I have no doubt they will find me again. I need to be vigilant. Stay alert. It’s just getting a little harder to do it. Lack of sleep will do that to you.
One question remains though. How do they keep finding me? I need to figure it out. I’m missing something obvious. I know I am.
Snapping my head to the side, I hear a man cursing. Listening, standing quickly, I dare a peek outside through the broken window. Ohmygod , how are they doing this? I have no time to rest. Fuck . I need to leave, run. My mind telling me to go, but my body's having trouble catching up. How have they found me again? I can’t do this for much longer. I’m so fucking tired.
They’re a little way off yet. Heading my way, coming over the field, about a hundred meters away. If I can get out the window at the back, I’ll get out without being seen. I need to be quick. These guys don’t give up.
Dropping my bag out of the small window first, and leaping out before they spot me, I’m running again, my legs protesting with every step.
I spot a bus coming to the bus stop just ahead. I run as fast as I can to make it. Pushing myself harder.
I meet the bus just as it pulls to a stop. I’d say it was my lucky day, but I don’t feel lucky. I feel exhausted, deep in my bones exhausted.
I don’t know where this bus is headed, but I’m going there. Taking my seat as it pulls away, I let out a shaky breath. Relief mixing with anxiety rolling off me in waves.
I know I have what they want and it looks like they won’t give up until they have it. Maybe that’s why they haven’t killed me yet. Yet! My stomach caves at the thought . How has it come to this? Knowing I may not make it out of this alive. My eyes well with tears, my fear and frustration showing in the only way it can right now.
Setting my bag down beside me, I ignore the looks of the other passengers. I know I look like shit. I’m covered in crap. I more than likely smell like it too. The bruise on my cheek, which I assume is now full deep purple, hurts to touch, but I’ve yet to look in a mirror to see the full extent of the damage.
I start to search through the contents of my bag. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I get everything out, placing it on the seat next to me in a pile.
Could it be as simple as they are tracking me? To be able to find me in the corner of a field that surrounded by trees is either really fucking unlucky for me, or they planted something on me. If I want this ridiculous plan of mine to work, if I want it to succeed, then I need to be able to do this without being detected.
I’m franticly searching for a device I don’t recognise. I don’t know what a tracker looks like. Is it big, small, fat, thin? I have no idea.
I can’t see anything that’s not mine. Feeling defeated, I start putting it all back in my bag. I flick through my passport and spot a small slice of silver. I know it’s not part of my passport. That has to be it. A tracker?
A rush of relief leaves my body. I want to scream it from the rooftops. This has to be it. My fingers tremble. This is the first sign of good luck I’ve had.
Holding it between my fingers, I inspect it. Paper thin and smaller than my pinkie fingernail. There is no way to know for sure this is it, but I have a feeling it is.
I need to think quick. If I get off, they can track me. I need to leave the tracker on the bus or give it to someone on here. I don’t want to get anyone else involved, but if I attach the tracker to the bus, they’ll know I’ve found it when the bus continues its route. But if I can slide it into someone’s bag, I’ll have a better chance of getting away.
Looking up at the bus route, on the bus window, I spot a place I recognise. I need to head to Xander’s. He’s been a permanent fixture in my life since childhood, my brother's best friend. I know I can trust him with anything. And I need to get off the bus now if I want to make it there by tonight.
Standing, I press the button and ask to get off, purposely dropping my bag when the driver breaks. Leaning down, I slip the tracker into the side pocket of the man in the seat behind me's laptop bag, breathing a sigh of relief when my actions go unnoticed. I just hope the shitheads that are following me see they are innocent when they follow them to where ever they’re going.
Picking my bag up, I make my way to the front, prepping for a long walk ahead.
It's just getting dark when I walk up the drive. Xander lives in a very remote part of the upper-class community, just south of Winchester. I know he knows I’m here because when I reach the back door he’s already waiting, drink in hand, envelope in the other, waiting for an explanation.
“Boo, it’s good to see you, but you look like shit.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“Dickhead.” He just smirks and hugs me before settling himself down in the soft seating area.
“Go get yourself sorted. You know where your things are.”