Вера Ефимова – Soulmate (страница 4)

 His dad is a monster, no doubt. I wonder if he was a hostage or a regular son of a hophead. I have so many questions to ask.

 “Follow me,” I led Febian through the alley that got us to another impasse. “Shit”.

 What a lot of trouble it is. How do criminals manage it?

 I was adamant and unwilling to give up that easy. All I had to do was get him out of here and get to the station. Easier said than done.

 “There,” he noticed a little hole in the fence; we got through it. It led us to an unknown area we had no idea about. His face reflected perplexity and fear. “How about giving up?” Funny.

 I grabbed his hand and pulled us out of an uncommon area. We ran towards the subway station. A stroke of hope pierced my body.

 “No one’s giving up. You follow me.” I got tired of the getaway. There was one bus that could take us to Washington, where we would be safe. All we needed was to wait for it to arrive and hope for the best until we were caught. Besides, the whole town is most likely aware of the occasion and already on their way to find and return little cop’s son home and get a smooth remuneration. Febian better not come back.

 “Give me your phone,” he said, taking it out of the bag and handing it over. I immediately threw it away somewhere out. “I’ll give you a disposable as soon as we get to my place.”

 “How can I be sure you’re on my side?” He asked timidly, like a little child asks his mom to buy candy in an excessively crowded store.

 “We just ran away from police. What else do you need?” He was so unwilling to trust me I couldn’t bear it. How are we going to be in the future?

 “Why are you helping me?” The train stopped by. I caught a sight of police officers going downstairs to the station. We are extremely lucky to get on the bus before they saw us.

 “No more talking.”

 I paid for both of us, and we sat on opposite seats and didn’t make eye contact all the way to Washington. It was a long and peaceful trip. I was about to fall asleep, and I would if the burden of fear didn’t bother me.

 Cops don’t know me, do they? If so, they won’t be able to find us if we’ll be miles away from Riverside. The only way to track us would be Febian’s phone, which I threw away at the station. Oh my god. His scent.

 “Come here,” I called him right away and took the perfume out of my bag. It might help for a while to lead police dogs astray. I sprayed his clothes with this perfume and told him to cover his face with a. We cannot afford to risk.

 The bus was almost empty inside. The situation was escalating every moment, as I was too afraid of being captured every damn second. Febian was calm and quiet, as he usually is. A slight breeze gave me goosebumps. I was startled by Febian’s calmness and unassumingness. It would fill me with just insane running away for myself. I couldn’t probably pluck up my courage and not be so worked up about it. Perhaps, it just me.

I couldn’t sit still and wait, so I decided to turn the TV on to distract my busy mind and discard any negative thoughts.

 “And now, word to Major Hawthorne.”

 Oh my God.

 “Tonight was the most desperate night in my life. My beloved son Febian ran away from home. I don’t know what circumstances could cause such an event, but I’m going to do everything to bring my son back. Police won’t rest until they find my son. This horrible nightmare should be put to an end once and for all. If you have any information concerning Febian Hawthorne, please report to the police. ”

 It was quite expectable that Major Hawthorne would contribute to his son’s search. The situation will become more intense from now on. We need to be more careful. Something bizarre happened while I was speculating about our next step.

 “What’s happening?” I could hear anxiety in his muffled voice.

 The train had stopped suddenly, leaving us at a crossroads. We were only passengers today. There must be some gas leak or other malfunction. We’re on our very own now. I noticed how struggling Fabian was with his fearsomeness; this is something completely new for him, but also, he’s got a whole lot of packages behind his back. There is a lot to figure out and tailor.

 “We’re out of light. There must be some accident.”

 “What do we do?”

 “Wait a little, teenage mutant ninja turtles are on their way to help us.” The joke was a little irrelevant. All my jokes were a little irrelevant most of the time.

 “You’re delirious,” ok, not a little.

 “I am. But it’s going to be fine; we just wait here.”

 I wasn’t sure what to do either. This is the first time the station was down. I don’t know how long it takes to repair it, probably till the dawn, but we can’t wait such a long time. Kyla is going to kill me.

 “Hey mate, I think we should get to be going.”

 “Where?”

 “Out of here.”

 “But how are we going to get to Washington? It’s a shitload of miles from here,” he was right. And it is dangerous up there anyway, but I’m afraid we have no other chance but to leave.

 “Just go”

 And now it’s been hours since our leaving. We were eager to finally get to surface, but to no avail. Darkness was increasing gradually, as was our possibility of getting lost for a sustained period of time. Our feet are dumped from the slob and mud of such a place, and we were cold to death. It was exactly the opposite of how I imagined the “running away together” feeling.  My goal was to survive this night.

 “So you like The Beatles?” I initiated the conversation.

 “Why would I?” he responded unwillingly.

 “You have a picture of John Lennon on your shirt.”

 “Oh, well, it’s just the shirt,” just like I guessed.

 “What music are you into then?” I was eager to hear some rock group or heavy metal out of his mouth.

 “It’s one direction mostly,” oh my god. He doesn’t look like a directioner at all. He’s all depressed and somber and never thrilled. But okay, now I don’t judge a book by its cover. I was a directioner once myself, for it was the “in” thing among teenagers back in the days; however, it’s not anymore. Paramore would be another good example of time-changing, though it is one of those rock bands from the 2000s that may keep their flexibility throughout 20+ years.

 We were walking straight for an hour, if not more, through the filthiest sewer in the entire world. We went slowly and steadily, as if we were strolling down the seaside on the verge of the sunset in the most marvelous evening in Washington; sand would clinging to our nine-our-walk feet, lingering as if we were standing still, experiencing the pressure of waves underneath them sometimes. The wind blowing carelessly, making us both rue not worshipping invaluable times like this, which happen only once in the very blue moon. A sonorous squeak would

distract us from our innermost thoughts, which are meant to be never shared. A light-headed mind of ours would be no longer loaded with unflattering solicitudes, which made our everyday life so miserable no one ever could escape. The idea of a utopian world always seemed so tempting and soothing; with such a carefree carbon-based life form, I would undoubtedly be on top of the entire world. I would make this universe knee in front of my gorgeous goddess-kind frame, the supremacy of which no one was allowed to doubt.

 This is the life of my dream.

 In reality, it was quite the opposite: it was unendurable to avoid the smell of sewer-dwelling rats, which appeared to be semi-degradable in a place like this. No offense, Master Splinter. I genuinely expected us to encounter a lost-hope light penetration, leading to the surface a long time ago. Sometimes Febian would stop for a break, staring at my eyes like there was something besides the iris and corneas. I did the exact same thing to him.

 We were still marching through the sewer, and it seemed enormous, making it impossible to escape. While we were passing it, I’ve noticed some significant features: the walls were unreal to discern as they were dark as the black hole, but a slight stroke of light penetrated from somewhere above, demonstrating the view of it’s shining. The floor we were standing on was made of stone and bleached to make it less rough; the ceiling was not possible to see, but I could say it was the same substance as the floor, however, neither bleached nor rough. Tiled structure could be felt underfoot, highlighting stripes of glue. The most significant part was the smell of it. Ugh! I’ve never felt this revolt before. The stench caused me immediate nausea on the spot, but I could endure it.

 “Vincent, look!” said Fabian, in excitement. I looked right in the direction he was pointing, and oh God! We finally found the exit. It was a door, scornfully constructed in the end of the hall; it was so old it had mold all over it, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. We tried to open it manually, and it opened, welcoming us to exit. I haven't felt a breeze in my hear like this for a sustained period of time.

CHAPTER 4

 The wind subsided, and a and a black, obscure sky piously hung above us, almost merging with the end of the horizon, making us not able to see anything, for our eyes are not used to dark yet. It became easier to be with every single breath of fresh air, with every single shine of night sky, and with every single realization of finally breaking free. My comrade’s inexperience was showing so easily I found it a bit unjust to perceive him as if he were a puppy—a tiny, frightened little puppy who is afraid to pluck up his own courage and follow his heart.