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Chapter 7 - Man on the Run

Her blaring ringtone shook Lucy back to real life. She dug it out of her pocket and checked to see the same number calling her. Lucy sighed in relief; it was Defoe calling. She was already charting plans on what next to do.

“Hello? Defoe?”

“You’re inside the motel, right?”

Lucy nodded. “Yes, I am. The lady at the reception says there’s no one here by your name. Did you use another name?”

“Walk back outside to the parking lot.”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“The parking lot. Come back out. I’m parked on the other side of the road. By the gas station.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

If he wasn’t lodged at that particular motel, then why had he given her that address? The only reason she could think of was that Defoe wanted to watch her first and make sure she came alone. But that only meant that he was hiding from something or someone. It was a red flag, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She made her way to the gas station, scanning the road for Defoe’s car. When a black Toyota corolla flashed its headlights twice, Lucy swiftly diverted her attention to it. She waited for it to do the same thing again before crossing the road.

She approached the car and peered through the windshield to catch a glimpse of the driver. She immediately recognized Defoe, except that this time, he had a gray hoodie on, with a black bandana tied around his forehead. He mouthed the words, ‘Get in’ and Lucy stopped gawking at him. She hurriedly entered the car and turned to him with a smile on her face.

“Good evening,” Lucy greeted. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You said one night?” Defoe asked, staring at her.

“Yeah.” Lucy nodded, scratching her neck.

“Then why do you have a duffel bag?” he questioned.

“Oh,” Lucy voiced. “You don’t have to worry about that. I pack all the time. I plan on going somewhere else to stay, actually. Anywhere but my house.”

“Seatbelt,” he said, still holding her gaze.

Lucy heard him, but she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to break the gaze. In fact, she was scared to look away. His eyes carried the same intensity they’d possessed at the police station.

“Do you do this a lot?” Defoe asked.

“Do what?”

“Make people repeat themselves?”

“Huh?”

“Seat. Belt.”

“Oh!” Lucy blinked repeatedly before dragging the belt down and locking it in. “So, wh– where are we going?”

Defoe didn’t reply. He started the car and drove out of the gas station. Lucy turned to the road, one hand holding the seatbelt strap. It was weird how his gaze intimidated and scared her, but her not knowing where he was taking her merely worried her. Lucy didn’t feel her heart racing like it would normally do in dangerous situations. Instead, she was somewhat calm.

Lucy cleared her throat. “So, I’d like to thank you for saving me back at the jail.”

“I didn’t save you. And you’ve thanked me already,” Defoe said blankly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Gee, just trying to make conversation,” Lucy mumbled, turning away.

Ten minutes went by and they were still on the road, driving. Lucy was starting to get agitated. Her worry had morphed into quiet fear. She had begun to play with her fingers, her eyes scanning the road for any landmark she recognized.

“Where are we going?” she finally summoned the courage to ask.

“You’ll see.”

“You’re not planning to traffic me, are you?” she joked, laughing awkwardly, but her attentive eyes betrayed her fears. “You know…”

Defoe turned to stare at her with his eyebrows furrowed.

“You know…” Lucy continued. “Like in the movies… Have you seen Taken? Liam Neeson?”

“What?” Defoe asked, looking irritated.

“I’m sorry. It was a joke,” Lucy said, raising her hands in the air. She was scared Defoe would get pissed at her and drop her on the side of the road. “I promise you, it was a joke. It’s just… the car is sort of very quiet and I wanted to just say something funny. Sorry.”

Defoe sighed and shook his head. He let out a deep breath and set his sights on the road. Lucy thought it best to keep quiet and just let fate happen. She asked to be with him, so she had no reason to complain, regardless of where he was taking her.

Another ten minutes went by. Lucy had graduated from picking at her nails to biting them. She had never had reason to bite her nails before, but the occasion seemed ideal.

They finally pulled into a wide parking lot. A part of her sighed in relief when she noticed that it was another motel. At least they were somewhere. But the other part of her was curious about the reason Defoe had decided to switch motels. The previous one looked much better than this one.

“Where are we?” she asked, taking off the seatbelt.

“Lucy, didn’t you say over the phone that you’d be quiet?” Defoe retorted. “That you wouldn’t be any trouble?”

“I’m just asking a question. This isn’t making trouble.”

“I’m not kidnapping you, okay? You asked for my help, I’m giving it to you. Now stop asking so many questions and let’s go inside. I’m tired as hell.”

Lucy obeyed. She held her duffel bag to her chest and followed closely behind him. They didn’t go through the front. Defoe took her to the back, through a sheltered narrow corridor. They walked for a while then went up a narrow stairwell before arriving at the door to his room.

After Defoe unlocked the door and walked in, Lucy followed. She looked around, assessing the room she was going to spend the night in. For a motel with a deserted, rundown exterior, the room wasn’t all that bad. The walls were painted in a bright peach color, and there was just one chair that was placed opposite the double bed. There was a door on the left that Lucy guessed led to the bathroom, and by the side of the window was a small TV.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Defoe asked her. “I have cereal and whiskey.”

“Wow. So much to choose from,” she mumbled. She was in no mood to eat or chew anything, so the cereal wasn’t a great option. “I’ll take the whiskey, thank you.”

Defoe handed the bottle to her and crashed on the couch. He shut his eyes, and took in deep breaths. Lucy climbed the bed and sat at the edge with her legs crossed, watching him. The thought of him opening his eyes and catching her stare scared her, so she looked away. She scooted to the other side of the bed, reached for the TV remote and turned on the TV. She watched a random soap opera to distract herself.

Many hours passed, and it was past dusk. Lucy yawned. She turned to Defoe and was shocked to find him staring at her through nearly shut lids. It was one of two things. He was either watching her because he didn’t trust her, or he was just… staring.

“I get this feeling that you’re running from something or someone,” Lucy said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, I just… it’s difficult to ignore.”

Defoe continued to stare at her for a while before opening his mouth to speak. “Your feeling’s not far off. I just can’t talk about that with you.”

“That’s understandable,” she answered, nodding. “I wouldn’t want to be involved too. I can be deadweight.”

“If you want to talk so much, why don’t you tell me about you?” Defoe said. “Why did you so desperately want to leave home?”

Lucy turned to him. “I have this stepfather,” she started. “The one I told you about over the phone?”

“Was he the reason you were in jail?” Defoe asked.

Lucy nodded. “He beats my mom. She always yelled at me not to interfere, so I never did. But on the day I was arrested, he put his hands on my sister. I intervened and he ended up in the hospital. Then he decided to drop the charges so I could come back home and he could get revenge personally.”

“Rough,” Defoe stated.

“He threatened me with a gun, just five minutes before you called. He forced it into my mouth and pulled the trigger. The gun wasn’t loaded, but he promised that the next time he brought the gun into my room, it would be loaded. I believe him.”

Defoe sat up and interlocked his fingers between his legs. “You need to get a job. Lucy, you can’t just ask random people to house you, okay? I shouldn’t have called you when I did, but I was curious to see if you gave me a correct number. Then I heard your voice and I was tempted to ask what the matter was, so I did. I have no problem helping you for just tonight, but what are you going to do moving on?”

“I haven’t quite thought of that,” Lucy admitted.

“Exactly. Find a job, move out. Start your own life. You’re legally an adult now, so no one would force you to live with your stepfather. You just need to be careful.”

“Thank you.” Lucy dropped her head, feeling a sudden sense of responsibility. “Do you have any family? Sisters?”

Defoe rose to his feet and took off his shirt. “I’m not talking about that with you, Lucy.”

“Well, where are you going?”

“To take a long bath,” he answered, approaching the bathroom. “Get some rest.”

Lucy sighed and got under the sheets. She lay at the edge, leaving enough space for Defoe to sleep too. He was right. The only way she could escape was by getting a job and creating a life that she wanted for herself. Lucy yawned and shut her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, so sleep came easily for her, mostly because she wasn’t in her own home. She had a lot to think about, but she figured she could do so in the morning with a clear head.

Something woke her up. She couldn’t tell what it was but when her eyes opened, she noticed a standing form beside her bed.

“Defoe?” she mumbled, and was about to rub her eyes so she could see more clearly, when the figure leapt upon her. A gloved hand clamped down on her mouth, blocking off her breath and making her stiffen in shock. Panic cleared her vision quickly.

It was a man in a ski mask who was muffling her, and he was huge, almost double her size, with arms covered in tattoos. There was a cold hardness pushing into the side of her head and when she turned to look, it was a gun.

Another gun.

Her heart was racing at unsustainable speed. She was about to die at the hands of an unknown assailant. Through the mask, his eyes gleamed. At first, Lucy was confused at his gun’s long muzzle, then it clicked. It wasn’t a muzzle; the extra length was a silencer. He could kill her and not a single soul would hear the shot.

He raised the gun to his lip in a gesture of silence, and slowly pulled his hand from her mouth. Lucy nodded and swallowed her whimpers. Hot tears stung her eyes. The possibility of death was chilling and her entire body shook like she had a cold. She didn’t know the man, she had no idea what his intentions were or how dangerous he was. Hence, she couldn’t call his bluff. She did what she could, obey his every command in the hope that he spared her.

The man slowly got off of her. Still watching her, he made his way to the bathroom. He stopped by the door and held the gun with both hands downwards. It occurred to Lucy that he was here for Defoe, not her. Lucy watched as he reached for the bathroom doorknob, slowly twisting it. Defoe had saved her… twice. It would be very unfair of her to let him die so easily. Plus, Lucy was one hundred percent sure that once the man killed Defoe, he was going to kill her too for being a witness.

“Defoe! Watch out!” Lucy screamed, before diving to the floor and crawling under the bed.

She succeeded in getting the attention of the man away from Defoe, but to her own peril. He swirled in one move and pumped the trigger a couple times. Each bullet missed but they were mighty close. The assailant quickly realized what she was doing, but when he whirled back to face the bathroom, Defoe was already waiting for him.

With a loud roar, Defoe took two steps before tackling the man and sending them both crashing to the floor. The gun skittered away from the man’s grip, sliding under the bed and stopping by Lucy’s thigh. Without thinking about it, Lucy grabbed the gun and crawled out of the bed, unsure of what she was doing. Defoe had mounted the assassin and his punches were hard and short, smashing into the man’s masked face. Blood oozed out from the sides of the ski mask but Defoe didn’t stop punching.

“Defoe, you’re going to kill him,” Lucy screamed.

That half second Defoe paused for was enough. The masked man jabbed a distracted Defoe in his naked crutch, forcing him to grunt loudly and crumble to the floor.

“Defoe!” Lucy yelled, standing to her feet.

The man mounted Defoe and dug hard punches into his midriff and his face. But he soon stopped to wrap his fingers around Defoe’s throat and suffocate him.

No, no. He’ll kill him.

With shaking hands, Lucy pointed the gun at the man as she walked to him. The tears were still streaming down. She couldn’t stop them.

“Get off of him or I will shoot you,” Lucy threatened, her voice trembling.

The man stole a glance at her and scoffed. “Do it, I dare you,” he rasped, without letting go.

Deep down, Lucy knew she couldn’t pull that trigger. There was no way she could live with herself if she killed a man. Instead, she flung the gun to the bed and immediately snatched up the empty whiskey bottle. Imagining the bottle to be a bat, and the man’s head to be John’s, she swung as hard as she could and the bottle shattered on the back of his head.

That only fazed him a little. The man reached for the back of his head with one hand, groaning loudly.

“You bitch,” he rasped.

Thankfully, the distraction was enough for Defoe too. One short right hook sent the man to the ground. Defore staggered to his feet and grabbed the man by the shirt before swinging again. This time, Lucy heard a crunch and she winced at the sound. She was certain that Defoe had broken the man’s nose.

Defoe staggered back and grabbed the gun from the bed. He strolled slowly to his attacker, with rage written all over his face.

“Wait, Defoe, don’t kill him!” she yelled, stepping forward. “We could go to prison because of him.”

Defoe glanced at her before turning back to the man. He reached for his shirt collar, pulled his face to him and slammed the butt of the gun on his temple twice. Blood splattered from his split head but he was knocked out cold.

A short, but eerie silence ensued. Lucy stared at Defoe, her fingers trembling, her mind unable to process the past few minutes. Before today, she’d never seen a gun up close. Now, she’d had two guns pointed to her skull.

Defoe turned to her, naked, bloodied and panting.

“We’ve got to leave. Right now. You are part of this now, Lucy.”

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