Page 2 of Run Little Killer
Prozac made me anxious.
Clonazepam made me dizzy and depressed, and Lithium made my body numb.
As I'm nearing the end of the hallway in my ward, I hear the mechanical whirr of locks re-engaging and it gives me pause. My heartbeat echoes in my ears as I sneak a glance around the corner, watching with bated breath as Darlene unbuttons that hideous denim jacket with floral patches and drapes it over the back of her chair. She clicks through the channels on the TV as she sinks down behind her desk, and I don’t dare move a goddamn inch until she’s fully settled with late-night reruns playing out on the screen.
Perfect.
I hook a left, the sounds of the sitcom fading as I chase after the bright red glow at the end of the main corridor like a moth to a flame. Standing underneath the exit sign, my blood-stained fingers tremble with nervous excitement as I swipe Chad's employee badge across the electronic pad. With a beep, the light flashes green and I twist the handle to push open the heavy door. The crisp night air washes over my flushed skin, sending a chill racing down my spine as I step into the backlot and ease the door shut behind me.
Crickets chirp in the distance as I suck in a deep breath and run a hand through my hair.Freedom… well, kind of. I'd love to just plop down on the grass and enjoy how the fresh air feels as it fills my lungs, but I've got to keep moving.
I take off sprinting for the trees that line the back of the property. I know there's a fence that surrounds this place, and if I can make it over that, there's a service road not too much further away.
There isn't a clear trail up this stupid fucking hill, though. The ground is uneven with large rocks jutting out and huge tree limbs scattered about, and I'm only about halfway up before my lungs start to burn and calves cramp. I want to stop, catch my breath, and rub my feet, but between the sex and this, it's more cardio than I've had in months.
Still, I force myself to keep moving. I need to do this because as much as I don’t belonghere, Shawn doesn’t belong outthere.
Just when I think my heart might actually explode from the exertion, a gleam of silver catches my eye. The chainlink fence is within an arm's reach. My muscles scream in protest as I pull myself up and start to climb. Right as I’m swinging my leg over the top of the fence, the wail of sirens pierces the air.
Fuck, they've found Chad.
Hurrying down the back side, a fresh rush of adrenaline floods my system as I push off and jump to the ground, running as fast as my legs will carry me. The trees start to thin, the sounds of cars growing louder as I stumble closer to the road and Briarwood Asylum fades into the shadows behind me. Labored breaths saw from my lungs as I fold forward, bracing myself with my hands on my knees at the edge of the pavement as a single car rushes past.
Once my frenetic pulse has slowed, I push myself upright with a sigh and use my sleeve to swipe away thethin sheen of sweat that's gathered on my forehead. I swivel my head around, half expecting to see police cars zeroing in on me, but the road is empty. I feel a faint smile tugging at my lips as I start walking.Something might actually work out for me after all.
Without a phone or a watch, there's no way to know how long I've been walking. Judging by the way my feet are starting to throb, it's been a while. A mixture of sweat and blood dampens my socks, bits of gravel and jagged sticks digging further into the fleshy part of my feet with each step. I can't make it all the way there on foot– hell, I don't even know how far I am from Englewood. I didn't really plan this far ahead, but when Chad crawled into my bed tonight, groping my chest and threatening to send me to solitary if I didn't let him inside me, I snapped. Call it karma or kismet that I just happened to find that scalpel on the floor outside the supply closet last week when I was mopping.
Following the curve of the road further, I spot an older truck parked on the shoulder up ahead, and for a fleeting moment, I think maybe I can get a ride. That thought quickly dies as something sharp pricks my toe–fucking ouch. Glancing down at the broken beer bottle, I remember that not only am I covered in blood, but I don't have freaking shoes, let alone any money to offer someone. Nobody in their right mind would give me a ride looking like this.
As I draw closer to the vehicle, I can see the hood is popped and there's a note taped to the driver’s window.
Will be back to replace the belt once the auto store opens. - Raymond Shaw
My teeth sink into the cushion of my bottom lip as I study the note, then my surroundings. Ripping the paperfrom the window, I crumple it up and decide this is as good a place as any to rest and figure out my next move. Hoping to curl up on the seat and rest out of sight, I test the door handle, but it’s locked.Figures. I pace around to the back of the truck instead, the hinges of the tailgate squeaking as I lower it.
"Thanks for the seat, Raymond," I mutter, twisting around and pulling myself up to sit on the cold metal.
The dried blood acts like velcro adhering my socks to my skin, and I cringe as I struggle to peel them off. None of the small cuts and scrapes that litter the soles of my feet seem to be too bad, but I need to find some shoes if I plan to keep traveling on foot.
Briefly, I consider stealing a car, but that would only put a larger target on my back. Shaking that thought from my head, I lay back and shift an arm beneath my head to stare up at the night sky.
Briarwood didn't allow us much time outside, especially after dark. It’s so peaceful to be out here, gazing up like this. Time seems to slow as I watch the gauzy clouds scroll past, bright stars shimmering as they peek out every chance they get. It’s just like the painting Starry Night, vibrant and calming. The last time I saw the sky like this was the night that altered my existence– the night everything went wrong.
I internally kick myself every time I replay that night in my mind– or what I remember of it. I should've seen the warning signs, been more careful. My tolerance was decent, I worked in a bar for godssake. A couple of gin and tonics have never made me feel that way before. No one batted an eye when I could barely stand, or as they left. And when I thought help was finally coming, sheblamedme instead. She called me a whore, slapped me as I begged her for help.Natalie kept saying it was all my fault, but I knew it wasn't. I tried to explain, to make her see that I was the victim, not the villain, but she just wouldn't shut up! They lied, called me a monster, and got me sent away. The court called it a psychotic break, but itwasn't.
My jaw tightens in anger as my fingers idly trace the raised skin of the scar that runs across my cheek. Natalie said this would make me ugly; that no man would want me like this and it'd stop me from doing what I did again. Her venomous words were on a never-ending loop as I snatched the knife away and gave her a matching one. There was so much blood, and when the police came, no one wanted to hear my side of the story. No matter how much I tried to tell it, to scream at them to see the truth, they stonewalled me and shut me down. They just saw what Shawn and Natalie painted me to be:crazy.
I swipe away the tears before they have a chance to cut paths down my cheeks. Shawn and Natalie will get theirs, I’ll make sure of it.
The bright glow of headlights washes over my prone body, snapping me out of my spiral down the hell hole of memories. I haven't seen a single car since I stepped onto this road, and I'm suddenly regretting laying out in the open like this. The air trembles with the low rumbles of approaching motorcycles, the vibrations thrumming through me as they get closer. My anxiety starts to climb, heart lurching into my throat with each beat and my stomach drops as they idle beside me.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi…
Okay, that's long enough for the stop sign– why are they still here?
Fuck, please keep going…
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I lay as still as I can, trying to control my breathing and stay calm. They're probably just pausing to check their phones.Yeah, that makes sense. No one from Briarwood would come for me on a Harley, and surely if it were the police, they'd have flashing lights– right?
