Veneration of Dreams // Ransom Drysdale

five // f*cking scissorhands

As Katarina shoved open the car door, the last thing she expected was to be grateful for Ransom pulling her back but had he not, then the bullet currently lodged in the side mirror would be in her skull instead.

In the panic that followed, Katarina found herself stuck in the passenger seat as Ransom bent over her to slam the door shut and restart the engine, prompting the other cars to do the same. To their shock, the tunnel began to move in sync with them as he chased the white light of the exit. Neither one of them knew where the handgun was for sure but Ransom hoped it was whatever the hell he was sitting on and not lying on the floor beneath her feet. God knows she would shoot him sooner than he would.

Not that he'd admit this sentiment aloud.

The police car at the back, containing officers Mark and David, the latter of which had been keen enough to spot Katarina moments earlier, struggled to keep up with the procession as it sped back onto the M9. Chryslers shot left and right, leading the array of five cars and one confused helicopter astray while the real culprits escaped unfollowed.

A dazed Katarina reached for the door handle again but this time Ransom noticed the faint gesture and although his intention was to hold her down not knock her out, he didn't complain when her head struck the window and she went unconscious. At least it was quiet now.

Turning into a smaller road, he followed a trail of five vehicles which split into pairs down three different paths then diverged once more so they were alone. Unlike Katarina, he was able to relax with the knowledge of where he was going and what it would take to get there so they moved slowly but surely into the night. His stomach rumbled and he revelled in the idea of a proper night's sleep but at the moment, his top priority was getting rid of this car.

By the time Katarina awoke she was lying in the backseat of an old Ford, a blanket curled over her still form and tucked firmly beneath her chin. An odd smell emanated from the fabric, like a mix of urine and- No, exactly the smell of urine and she kicked it off in a hurry, watching it crumple onto the floor.

Sitting upright, she saw Ransom in the front seat. He'd replaced his orange jumpsuit with a white tank and some stained denim jeans which clung tightly to his body but it was the unfamiliarity of the vehicle that unnerved her the most. It wasn't just the blanket but the entire car which reeked of piss and she doubted the white powder on the floor was a sign of anything good.

"Tell me, please, tell me you did not trade my dad's car for what looks and smells like a druggie's final resting place."

Ransom glanced at her in the rear view mirror.

"Good, you're up. We need some gas."

"We?"

With feigned nonchalance and the hope that she would provide an entertaining response, Ransom chucked her a handgun but against his expectations, the woman looked at it dryly and proceeded to check the ammunition rather than make a fool of herself. Obviously, it was empty.

Almost as disappointed as her, Ransom pulled up by a grove of trees and began rifling through a silver briefcase on the seat beside him. Pushing aside stacks of cash and passports which made her forehead furrow in concern, he collected a wad of twenty dollar bills from the bottom and a crumpled sticky note, which he tossed into her hands.

It was a shopping list, of all things.

"Now you want me to do your groceries?" She asked, incredulously.

"There's a gas station a little while ahead. I want you to buy everything on that list. The gun is in case anybody starts asking too many questions," He said, scrutinising her uniform, "What's under the blue?"

"A tank," Katarina mumbled, grateful the cold weather had prompted her to wear thermals beneath her uniform. Nodding, Ransom surveyed her pants, satisfied that without the belt they looked relatively normal.

"Take it off," Ransom said, rolling his eyes when she glared at him, "Unless you'd rather do jail time than show a little skin?"

"I get it, Romeo," She said through grit teeth.

When he turned back to the road, she glanced at the rear view mirror uneasily before slipping off her shirt. The black sleeveless tank looked odd with her work pants but at least she no longer looked like a cop.

Despite any of this, she couldn't understand his logic. What was supposed to stop her from running away the moment she reached the store? Yes, she technically entered the car willingly but he made it pretty clear she was his hostage when he put a gun to her temple and no doubt, she would fare better without him. Wouldn't she? Katarina realised with growing anxiety that she was beginning to doubt that. She had no money, no family, no friends out of the force...no one she could trust anyway, and Maroni said he knew something. That was the thought which made her most sick. He knew. Knew what?

"Ditch the hair tie." Ransom said, drawing her back to the present.

With a sound somewhere between an annoyed sigh and a scoff, Katarina took out her ponytail, smoothing the bumps in her hair until it waved and bobbed about her mid-back. Ransom shook his head.

"No, this won't work. Turn around."

"What is this, Queer Eye?" Katarina snapped, about to refuse when she saw an old-fashioned but likely active glock on the dashboard. The guy was prepared, she'd give him that. Plus, as much as she hated to admit it, he had connections she could only dream of. Like whoever sent those cars.

"It's loaded," He answered her unspoken question.

Katarina felt him tug down on the back of her hair before she heard the sound of faint snipping, and it took all her strength not to snap her head around. By the time the string of swear words were out of her mouth, he stopped and moved away, a smug look on his face. Avoiding her reflection in the glass and the mirror, Katarina ran her hands down the length of her hair, whirling around to face him.

"You fucking asshole." She spat, horrified to feel it stop above her collar bones.

"I think you look great."