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Chapter Eight

Chapter 8:

Hope

We boarded our flight to Paris as soon as it hit midday. Today was the day Lily had warned me about; the day that Haven had expected me to hand Harry over and return home to continue with whatever they had planned for me next. Running away was a risk to both of us, but it was all I could do, and it was what I owed Harry, even if I wasn’t being honest with him about my reasons. I switched my view to the airplane window; lights twinkled in the darkness outside, slowly disappearing as the plane cut through the clouds and left San Francisco behind – no turning back now.

            “Scared of flying?” Harry clicked the buckle on his belt as soon as a beep indicated that it was safe to, and he leaned towards me, chin balanced on his fist. I laughed and tapped his nose with a finger.

            “What’s it to you?” I smirked. I was struggling to get a grip on my anxiety levels, but not for the reason he suspected. It would be much easier to allow him to think it was that simple. Harry laughed.

            “Flying is safer than driving, you know?” He paused and sipped his cola, balancing the can on his knee. “Unless you’re eight years old, strapping a blanket to your back and diving off the top of your brother’s bunk bed. I learned the hard way.”

            I held back a giggle and rolled my eyes. “That’s why I don’t drive. Or read comic books.”

            “Safest option,” he nodded, his cheeks lifting behind the rim of his can. “I always love taking off, but I hate landing.”

            I moved the liquid in my cup around with my spoon, and my thoughts drifted back to Lily; to Haven; to the consequences of my escaping California. If they found me, we were both dead.

            "Sometimes, you think the plane will land gently  and just as its wheels hit the floor, the whole thing jolts and bounces and you feel like you’re crashing into a building or something.”

What if the punishment didn't come soon - what if it would take years from now when I least expected it?

"Hope," said Harry. "You awake?"

What if my plan didn't work? What if it just made everything worse than it already was?

“Hope,” he repeated. He waved a hand in front of my face.

"What?" I blinked at him as if he was speaking another language, and his hands steadied my mug - hot drops of coffee dripped onto my legs. I winced, but minor pain didn’t affect me anymore. Harry smiled as I met his eyes and I forced a laugh. And, after a few seconds, it came naturally. It felt good to laugh again.

I sunk my head onto Harry’s shoulder and soon I was dreaming.

+++

I know it’s a dream; the branches of the trees rake at the air but no breeze touches my skin. I stand on the edge of an empty road, surrounded by darkness for miles - no street lights, no stars, no moonlight. It’s dark outside, but I can see him standing on the fringe of blackness, and I know why Jared Hunter is here; it’s time.

            “Hope.” His strident voice cuts through the silence and a chill laces through my cells. In his naturally taunt voice, my name sounds like a death sentence. His pale brown eyes appear as black holes in the shadows and he stands tall, his shoulders squared, hands tucked into the pockets of his frayed jeans, abnormally casual – but the corner of his mouth quirks into a barely visible sneer that curdles my blood.

            “Hope.”

            “Where am I?” I ask, trying not to sound afraid, but my voice gives way into a whisper. I step closer involuntarily, like a puppet attached to invisible strings, and I see the blood on his shirt. His eyes are crazed but focused on mine.

            “Nowhere in particular. That’s what happens when you keep running away – you get lost, and how do you escape when there’s nowhere left to run?” Jared swipes his palms down the front of his white shirt, and crimson handprints stain the material. He chuckles a little, patting his pockets. “Where did I put that?” His arms drop to his sides; blood remaining on his hands despite the excess marking his clothing. “Ah. I remember now. Look in your jacket pocket.” His mouth fixes into a thin line.

            “What? Why?”

            “Look in your jacket pocket,” he echoes, unmoving. A few moments pass before I take my eyes away from Jared, blood-stained and crazed. My hands tremble as they find my pocket, slip inside and curl around the base of a handgun. I pull it out and hold the handle in my palm – cool metal on soft flesh. I notice that my palms are blood-stained too, but I don’t feel any alarm.

            “You know what I want you to with this, don’t you, Hope?” I hear the click of a single bullet being loaded into a gun, and look up to see Jared pointing one in my direction with one hand.  I shake my head. A man surfaces behind him, steps out of the darkness, and I know who it is before his face materializes. Jared swings his foot forward, and Harry slumps to his knees in the centre of the road between us. He was already bleeding before he hit the floor.

“Shoot him.”

I feel a lump form in my throat. “No,” I shake my head, but my finger curls around the trigger, my arms raising the pistol ahead of me. My teeth start to chatter as I fight to regain control of my body.

“Shoot him.”

A gash of blood streaks Harry’s face, just below his hairline; the front of his light brown hair appears black with blood. His eyes stay on mine, pleading, but full of blame. Hurt. Betrayal. Tears burn on my cheeks.

“Shoot him.”

“I can’t.”

Jared’s snake-like tongue rakes at his teeth. Somewhere in the midst of the black backdrop behind him, the sound of steady footsteps beat in the distance, and I know that time is running out. Jared’s foot collides with Harry’s back again, and he writhes on the pavement like an insect, drained of the will to fight back.

“Shoot him.”

Jared throws another kick to his chest; the thud of flesh; bones breaking; Harry’s pained moans growing into screams. I hear a crack, and I know his nose is broken. Cold fills my chest and renders my throat dry. He coils into a ball and whimpers. Why won’t he pass out?

The footsteps draw nearer, and I know that I have no choice but to end it all quickly. I steady my grip on the gun and blink tears from my eyes, aiming the mouth of the weapon at Harry. The blast of the bullet penetrates the air, and I wake up screaming.