Running From Death

Death was coming for me!

The air crackled with it, a deep depression that no matter how hard I fought it would win. It didn’t matter how far I ran or how long I fought, Death never lost. Since the echoes of time had brought Earth into existence, Death had been around. There was a process, a circle of life that everything that lived on this world would eventually belong to death. It was an enviable conclusion. Life was born, it lived, and then it died. 

But just because Death would ultimately win, didn’t mean that I, Pheobe Sands, was not going to fight.   

I’d been running for two weeks. Two weeks that seemed like it had stretched into years. It had only been two weeks—although it felt like years—since I returned from burying my father in Norway. I’d never been close to my father, because he’d mostly spent the majority of his life studying the cultures of Norway’s ancient beginnings. So, when I learned of his death and wishes to stay buried in Norway, I understood the need for him to be buried next to his life work.

I immediately flew to Norway and placed him the ground. But once laid to rest, a caretaker of his personal effects handed me his personal diary. I thought by reading it, I would begin to understand why he was obsessed with this cold place. The first thing I discovered was that it wasn’t a diary, but his research for the past thirty years. Reading it helped me understand who and what passion drove my father, and ultimately made him closer to him.

After burying my father, I returned home, hoping to find solace in the arms of my current live-in boyfriend Tim Johnson. It had been a long flight, and the only thing I wanted was to see Tim. Instead of the man I loved waiting for me at the airport; I discovered a pack of goons waiting to take me somewhere ‘private’ and talk.  Karate classes paid off, and I was able to escape there clutches. I was among the living . . . for now. I hailed a cab and immediately headed home to talk with Tim. Entering the house was like receiving a kick to the stomach when you were pregnant. It was bad enough my father was dead, but bam, Tim betrays me too, selling my life and my father’s diary to the highest bidder. So much for love.

Running fast and far, I was now holed up in some cabin in the middle of nowhere, awaiting the inevitable doom coming. I only prayed when the moment arrived, it would be over quickly. At this point, I would rather have this finished, then continuing to hide from the men hunting me. I’d spent the better part of two weeks moving from motel to motel, paying cash and not drawing too much attention to myself. But I knew the kind of people who were coming for me, and they would eventually find their target.  I hadn’t slept in weeks for more than a few minutes, and I couldn’t recall the last time I actually felt safe with my surroundings. It had been a long two weeks, and I was eager for it to be finished.

Now the only absolute in all this madness: people were coming to kill me.

This was definitely half a life, just trying to make it another day. Needing something to do, I stood up and walked out to the window to pull back the curtain. As I surveyed the surrounding scenery with a trained eyed, filled with dread as I spotted the three snowmobiles headed this way. My stomach dropped. It was too late to escape through the window, so I hurried into the back room, scurrying into the closet amongst the old coats I found there when I stumbled onto the cabin two days ago.

I closed my eyes, hearing the engines kill and he sounds of men talking. Then I heard the click of the front door open and I scooted even further back into the closet, hoping to become one of the planks of wood. I gripped my hands tightly together, until my knuckles were white. Then I heard the sound of boots treading across the rough wooden floor. It felt like my heart was going to explode from my chest. I was afraid to breathe, because I knew if they heard me, I would be discovered.

“Pheobe, you can’t run forever.” One man said.

“Just give us the diary and we’ll let you live.” Tim shouted.

Yeah, like I was going to buy that lie. The minute I turned over the diary, they would erase all evidence of its existence, starting with me. I may have been naïve enough to trust Tim once, but I wasn’t dumb enough to trust him twice. If he wanted me, he’d just have to work for it.

Suddenly I felt a shift in the wind, as cold bitter air blew through the paper-thin walls. I shivered, gripping the thin jacket I was wearing tightly around me. I had been sticking to the colder climates because it was sparsely populated and it would be easier to hide. But without having time or money to shop for proper winter attire, the cold was slowly killing me.

I held my breath as the door leading into the room burst open. I could see through the cracks in the door that Tim had entered the room, a nasty-looking gun in his hand. It wasn’t until I heard the click of the trigger that I knew I was facing the end. And I refused to cry about something I couldn’t change. I certainly wasn’t going to beg the likes of Tim to let me live.

Suddenly the closet door kicked open and Tim reached in to grab me by my hair. He dragged me out of the closet, as I kicked and crawled my way. Hey, I said I wouldn’t beg, I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight. I jumped to my feet, punching Tim with the full extent of my body weight. But other than a small trickle of blood near his lip, I did no lasting damage. Then he pulled me out into the main room, where his two counter parts were waiting.

As I surveyed them up close, I wondered if they were twins. Both were giants and each possessed the Kara scary calm control that I hadn’t seen in another man before. They both had long flowing blonde hair and silver eyes. They even dressed alike, in loose-fitting suits and long wool coats. I eyed the coats with envy. I knew there was no surviving this, but I wished that at least I could die warm.

“It’s useless to fight.” Tim insisted.

“It may be useless, but I prefer it than just giving myself to you.” I shrugged. I’ve always been known for my being sharp and witty, even under the direst of circumstances.

“You gave yourself to me once.” He reminded me. “And you thoroughly enjoyed it.” I hated that what he said was right. I was once in love with him, but that was before the last few weeks. He was talking about the Pheobe from a year ago. That woman was a history teacher with nothing overly exciting in her life except and MIA father. But spending time just trying to stay alive, another day chances a person, and I had changed. “Phoebe you aren’t thinking clearly.”

“I seem to be thinking quite clearly.” I crossed my arms. “You, on the other hand, clearly have lost your mind.”

He grabbed my upper forearms, shaking me hard. “You never cared about your father’s research. Just give us the diary and you are free.”

I snorted. “You have no idea how I feel about anything involving my father.” I snapped. “And even if I hated the bastard, my father worked hard to get himself where he was. I’m not about to let you destroy it by getting a couple of dollars for it.”

“Where is the diary?” He ordered, slamming me into a chair, stepping back.

“What diary?” I flippantly responded, earning a sharp slap from one of the scary twins.

“You need to understand something, Pheobe, I will get that diary, one way or the other.” He promised, gesturing to the scary twins. “This is Anil and Baxil. You do not want to have a private conversation with this two.” I winced, realizing he was referring to torture. But I was still a Sands and I refused to beg. “You need to tell me where that diary is hidden.”

“And I also need to go shopping for a new coat.” I answered, earning a slap for my spirit. It sent my head spiraling back, bringing tears to my eyes. When I lifted my head again, I felt a tingle of blood from my lower lip.

“They can do this all day.”

I shrugged, “It isn’t as if I have anything better to do today.” I earned another slap for my insolence.

I guess I really did need to learn how to be quiet. I spat the blood out of my mouth, shoving all the pain inside to prevent from giving in. When I was little, I hated the thought of pain. The kids would make fun of me if I skinned my knee and started crying. So, my father invented a game that I could play to hide the pain, or at least ignore it. It was to pick an ancient civilization, mostly Norse, and recite all the names and purposes of the gods and goddess in mythology.

Ignoring the counterparts of the room, I focused on a crack on the wall. I remained stony and focused, reciting the Viking first because it was my father’s favorite. As the torture continued, I started reciting Greek mythology characters. Tim was aggravated, because they couldn’t even get as much as a moan to move through my lips. It went on and on, until I wasn’t able to keep my head up. One of my eyes was swollen shut and I had at least two broken fingers.

Tim, finally tired of playing games, raised a gun to my head. “One last time, where is the diary?”

“You may torture and beat me, even kill me, but you will never get your hands on that diary.” I choked out. “See you in hell.”

He turned red, pulling back the hammer, “Last chance.”

“Fuck you.” I screamed.

And just as he was about to pull the trigger, the glass in the windows shattered and a blaze a gun fire followed. Until I was the only remaining occupant alive. I lifted my head to survey the room, startled when the door was kicked open and three men in military uniforms rushed in with guns moving around the room.

After it was deemed the room was secure, another man entered, this one very familiar. “Pheobe are you okay?” Lt. Frank Creed inquired, moving towards her. “I tried to get here before them.”

She slumped into his arms, the arms of her ex-boyfriend, inquiring her, “How . . .”

“I have been following you for months,” He admitted. “I never trusted Tim.”

She laughed, as he swept her up into his arms, “I guess I can run forever.”

 The End