Michael

I wake to the smell of blood, blending with potatoes and meat. Only now do I notice the room’s appearance—green walls, flowered curtains on the windows, wood floors —all tinted bleak white by the dusty lamp above my head. From the darkness outside I judge that I’ve slept all day.

My head stings as if someone took their time banging it with a bat, but I ignore it as I turn to the side, supporting myself with one elbow. “Hanna?” She’s not here. “Freckles?”

The door to the bathroom opens and when I see a black-haired girl walk out I gasp with a tiny heart attack before I register her familiar face. I pull my head back, confused by her dark hair that coils around her face in short waves. A few black dots spot her freckled cheeks and the tips of her fingers are dyed in black.

“Why did you do that?” I know why, but gathering remorse makes me ask.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Her one shoulder jerks to her ear as she sits on the bed and reaches for my bandaged head. I tighten my lips as she undoes it.

“Is it bad?”

She hisses through her teeth. “It’s quite nasty. It’s not deep… and it’s starting to bleed again.” She presses the old bandage to the wound and runs off to wash her hands once again, or scrub them rather. When done, she grabs a new med kit and starts rebandaging my head. “I think it needs sewing.”

“Do you know how to do it?”

“No.”

Once she’s done, I swing my legs over the bed and stand, or rather sway on my feet before I collapse back down into a sit, my stomach churning.

She presses herself to my side, a not so firm pillar of support. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” I grumble. “I probably have a concussion.”

“From a bullet?”

“No. From you whipping me on the head.”

“Oh.” Her short hair, still damp, covers her guilt-ridden face. “Sorry about that.”

I wait for a few minutes till the dizzy spell passes, then stand again and manage to the bathroom, unable to ignore the cheap and dirty surroundings. Despite my fragile physical state everything looks sharper, the way it’s never been, like I finally woke from a dream I didn’t know I was dreaming. It scares me.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” I should have enough strength to tidy myself up. “It’s not like you’re going to help me through my shower.” I grin at her and wince when my temples give a sting.

She opens her palms. “Why not? You helped me.”

I snort even though my chest buzzes with unfamiliar sensation, something warm and forgotten for a very, very long time. A part of me pushes it away and another part wishes it to take roots deep in me, craves for it to be felt and experienced.

Yet, maybe, I’m mistaken. So, hesitantly, I decide to clarify. “Are you caring for me?”

Leaning on the doorframe she nods as if it’s evident and the warmth reaches up to my throat and to my eyes. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

She observes me for a few seconds, doubt in her eyes. “You’re not gonna kill yourself if I leave, right?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I promised to live more or less.”

“I’m just wondering if at this moment it’s more, or less,” her eyes don’t let go of mine.

Just stop caring, I want to scream, but I just swallow a ball of tears, sending that damn thing back into my stomach. Then composedly say, “it’s less right now.”

She lingers for a minute. “Okay.”

As soon as she closes the door I hold onto the sink and lower myself to my knees, my thoughts too heavy to bear. I swear I don’t deserve a hostage like her, a hostage who saved my life and wants me to live. What an insane person she is!

And yet, now I feel obliged to live and to better myself without any idea how, and do it while another, annoying part of my brain resists the change, fighting for its survival. But for now, it’s a lesser part.

I take my time showering and rebinding my wounds, anticipating her voice ring through the door at any second, inquiring if I’m okay, but no voices soothe me and I’m not sure if I should feel disappointed or relieved.

Feeling fresher I shoulder open the door and stop dead in my tracks when I see Jared, sitting at the foot of the bed. Freckles lies at his feet, unconscious.

“Sit down, Mikey.” Jared points a gun in his hand at the chair near the kitchen counter, in his other he has my silver switchblade. I straighten my spine on instinct, putting on a healthy facade, and walk as steady as I can to the chair, every step accelerating my heart into the overdrive. “You don’t look too good.”

Two thugs stand in the corners of the room, guarding the door, their weapons ready. I don’t recognize them.

I glare at Jared, reminding myself not to glance down at Freckles. I didn’t see any blood around her. God, I hope she’s not hurt.

“You taught me a lesson,” Jared says with a tilt of his head. When I keep quiet he proceeds. “Use real assassins to do my bidding. Not warm pussies like you.” He kicks Hanna into the stomach and I jump before I stop myself. The men lift their weapons at me and Jared cackles. “For a bitch, really? I thought you had it all! Fuck, Mikey, if you wanted a kid you should’ve said so. But to fail to kill a bitch and risk all of our income…” he trails off, shaking his head so the fat around his body jiggles. “We had the damn plan, remember? Back when I ordered you to kill the people. And I let you choose, didn’t I?” He trains his eyes on me, all sad. “And you did, only her you stalled. What is it about her?” He rams his boot into her shoulder and pushes her on her back, looks at her, then shrugs. Just then Freckles moans, waking. “Oh, wakey, wakey.”

Her eyes slide over the room and settle on Jared, her lip wobbles and tears spill from her eyes.

“Oh shut up,” Jared groans.

She scrambles into a sit, her arms extending at Jared. “Oh my god, thank you!” She wraps her arms around his legs. “Save me from him, please!”

Jared pulls his head back, half of his face scrunched and his double chin reminding me of a glob of dough. But my chin must be quite the same as I too stare at her as she whimpers into his legs, confused to say the least. No way she’s for real. No way everything before was an act. This has to be an act.

“Take me with you!” She begs him, her arms draped over my gangmate’s knees. “Please, you have no idea what this fucker did to me!”

Jared cocks his brow at me, his expression lost between pride and anger, but Freckles brings his attention back by sliding up onto his knees. My skin starts crawling without my consent, and even more so when she wraps her arms around his neck, weeping, thanking him over and over until Jared pushes her away. She staggers to one of the thugs and tries to hide behind him. He stomps in place, lost for a few moments, but then allows her into a corner, behind his back.

A hearty laugh escapes Jared’s fat throat and a smile cuts his face. “Good Lord, Mike. What have you done to this kid?” He twists his neck to scrutinize the bloody bed.

“What has he done?” Hanna screams, peeking out from behind the thug. She pushes him to the side and launches forward. “I’ll show you what he’s done!” Her face twists into rage I haven’t yet seen.

Jared catches her by her waist and throws her back. “Hold her, God damn it!” The thug envelops his free arm around her, grunting with effort to steady her wriggling—

Her small hand grabs his pistol, fingers snaking around the trigger, and she weighs it down. Two shots follow and the man cries out, jumping to his one foot.

I leap at Jared, striking him in the neck. I snatch his gun, my reflexes faster, and wrap my arm around his fat neck, pulling him up and pressing the barrel to his temple. “Don’t move!”

We all freeze. Me, holding Jared in a chokehold, one of the thugs with a shot foot, his fingers tangled in Hanna’s hair, and a third thug, his gun trained on me.

“Exchange,” I state.

Jared laughs. “Oh, you.”

“Exchange!” I raise my voice, glaring at the thug who holds Freckles. Her nose pours blood onto her t-shirt.

Jared nods and the thug lets her go. I let Jared go, my gun trailing his head. Both, Jared and Hanna glower at each other as they switch sides.

“I’ll do worse things to you, darling,” Jared says in a sultry voice and runs his tongue over his teeth.

Hanna puts her two fingers to her mouth and wiggles her tongue between them, then glances at me and flicks her eyes to the duffel bag. I tip my chin. She carefully steps to the counter and pulls out another gun. Jared’s not going to risk it. I know him too well. If there’s one thing Jared loves, it’s his life.

“So, Mexican standoff it is,” Jared says when he’s between his thugs, trying to sound authoritative.

“Seems that way,” I say, my sights on his head.

Jared raises his hands. “Fellas, back off. We’ll drag it.” He reverts to the door. “After all, I love a good hunt.”

They hide their guns before anyone sees them and exit, but knowing Jared it’s far from over.

Freckles and I stand stupefied for a minute or two until she breaks down in tears, real tears this time.

“Pack up?” She whimpers as she tries to keep her sobs quiet.

“No—” pain shoots through my body, to sharp to stand, and I fall to my knee, bowing my head to look at my abdomen. My knife pokes from my side, jabbed into my flesh to half of its length.

“Fuck.” We both say in unison. Freckles helps me to the bed.

“Stuff what you can into the pockets, so you can run,” I prop on my elbows.

She complies, and then throws me a bandage. “Is it bad?”

With a deep inhale I pull out the knife and pass it to her. “Wipe the blood and heat it on the stove.”

She slides the blade over her shirt before she ignites the stove and holds it over the fire.

Fucking A. I just got fucking stabbed by Jared. I remind myself to breathe. I’ve had major wounds before; a few bullet wounds and broken bones. What I didn’t have however was wound after wound after wound in less than a week with no time to heal.

Refocus. Hopefully the knife didn’t penetrate my muscle. I need to survive and get Freckles out of danger.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay awake during this,” I utter with a glance to the door. “You should probably leave me. Just run.”

“Run where?” Her voice is solemn as she watches the burning stove.

“I don’t know,” I grit my teeth, my hand turning red over my wound. “We’ve left fingerprints everywhere. The Feds will track us.”

She sighs. “We can always burn it, right?”

I gape, but find no words and clamp my jaw shut. I have a bad influence on her. “Grab the rag and a shirt from the bag too,” I finally say.

She passes me the red hot knife, together with the clothes. I bite down on the rag and wipe my bloody hands on the shirt, then I grab the knife. She sits behind me, supporting my back. “Have you ever done this?” Her whimper doesn’t comfort me at all. No. I haven’t done this, but I have to at least close the wound so I don’t bleed out.

Before the knife cools I place the red blade over the wound and slide, dragging the melting skin to one side. I do it faster than the scream reaches my throat, and by the time it does, I drop the knife and fall to the side, face first into the sheets. A muffled yell explodes out of my throat as pain snakes through my abdomen. Freckles places a hand on my shoulder and rubs it until my muffled scream dies out, at least I think she does because I lie in anguish-ridden minutes that seem to last hours, panting, trying to force the pain out of my body quicker.

“Michael?” A whisper swirls through my head. I grunt, shifting. The pain has dulled a little and I squint my eyes open to her bloody face. “Can you stand?”

“Have to.” I strain and with her help sit, recalling that infection is another thing to worry about. “Can you give me some antibiotics or something? And something for the pain.”

“Sure.” She rustles through the med kit until she finds some pills. I gulp them down, together with some water she brings me.

Then she grabs the bloody bedsheet and throws its end at the still burning stove. It catches ablaze. She takes the red pillow and holding it away from herself lifts it over the fire until the flame takes its corner, then she throws it into the bathroom, next to some towels, and quickly carries a wooden stool and places it there.

“Let’s hope it works,” she coughs as she cracks the window.

With a tiny gush of black smoke, we exit through the front door and I spot Jared and his thugs in one of the vehicles further down the parking lot. He watches me with his sharp eyes, enjoying the game. He would always like to watch boys in the gang fight. At first, I thought it was to gauge who’s stronger, but appears he savors the play, the pain, the rush.

I turn and, urging Hanna to move faster, set off into the alley behind the motel, crossing into a live street.

An engine roars behind us and I know we’re being followed.

“Should we like, call the cops?” Hanna says. “I mean maybe we’ll manage to escape.”

“No. They’re going to come soon either way.” I limp forward, disappointed that the live street is not live at all. It’s just brighter lit, but still lifeless, and I think the sunrise is a good hour away.

“We need a car.” Freckles peeks back over her shoulder at Jared’s vehicle, rolling down the street. Just then, after it, another sedan makes a corner and slows down, closer to us. “Two cars? Fuck.”

“Hurry.” We start to jog and the pursuit accelerates as well. As we dash through the intersection, crossing the street, car tires screech and a pickup truck jolts to a stop right in front of us. A woman behind the wheel peels her eyes wide.

I hurry to the driver’s door and fling it open.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She gasps.

“Get out!” I brandish my gun and she yelps, throwing her hands up. I pull her out and want to sit behind the wheel, but Freckles pushes me to the side. “I’ll drive.”

We cross our eyes, both ready to argue, but there’s no time, so I rush to the passenger’s seat. The woman sprints away, her arms flailing for help. Just then Jared’s sedan rounds the turn and smashes his front into ours. Vehicles still and one of the thugs pokes a gun through the window, aiming at the screeching woman. A shot echoes into the night and Freckles and I jolt as the woman drops dead.

Freckles shifts the gear into reverse and revs the truck backward. One of thugs fires twice at us before she speeds up and takes a sharp left into a narrow street, then shifts into drive and floors it, jolting the car forward.

Through the suburbs we speed out of town, two cars in tow, and into the wilderness of Canadian territory.

“Well, it was a pleasure being kidnapped by you,” Freckles says when the first sun rays hit the horizon, reflecting off the snow covered fields.

“Stop it,” I grunt, fighting to keep my attention on the road and not on the pain in my side, or my head.

“What?” She shrugs. “There’s no way we’re going to outrun them. They’re playing with us.” Two cars are still following us, a good distance apart.

A remote monotonic rattling catches my attention. I glance to the left and she looks too. “A freight train. I’ve never seen one of these.” She squeezes the wheel. “It’s so long.”

I turn my eyes back on the road but can’t help but glance at her black-haired head. She’s right. We’re screwed, but only if we’re together. She slows me down. I have to worry about her instead of just about myself. She’s my Achilles’ heel.

I look at the train again. It’s headed into the mountains, into the depth of nature. “We could try and hop it.”

She whips her head at me.

“Could you?” I ask, some hope fluttering in my chest. “Freight trains are quite slow.”

With a nervous shudder she wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand. “Yea, I think, if I’m close enough. I’m a good jumper. If I die it’s still better than being raped by Jared. Can you make it?”

“Yes. But you go first.”

“Okay, how are you going to jam the pedal, though, so you can jump?”

“I know a few tricks,” I take the wheel. “Come on, let’s switch.” She climbs over, her foot still on the pedal, and I shift under her. The truck cab is big enough for us to do it without slowing down.

When I’m in charge I twist the wheel, leaping over a small bump and heading through the snowy field toward the train. There’s no way I’m making that jump. But it doesn’t matter.