Dead or Alive (6 page)

His arm was slung high over his head, causing the black t-shirt to creep up his hard stomach, revealing his powerful abs once more.  They rose and fell with varying intensity, and Violet sighed when she realized he had yet to take one deep, solid breath.  His feet jutted out from the tapered dark washed jeans, and never stopped moving, even as he slept.

She concluded that she’d let him sleep for at least half an hour. Then they’d have to be on their way.  He was right, they couldn’t stay in one place for too long.  Now that he was sleeping—or as close to sleeping as he was going to get--Violet thought, it was the perfect time to find out how to get her hands on some gasoline for the boat.

She looked around the living area. But where had Barbara gone?

“Barbara?”  Violet whispered, searching room after room.  When she opened the door to the basement, she hesitated, then slowly began making her way down the concrete steps.  She pulled on the lamp cord as she moved, illuminating the musky basement in light.  The first thing that caught her eye were a couple of bright red gas buckets tucked into the corner of the frigid basement.

She bounded down the rest of the uneven steps and leapt for the gas cans, saying a prayer of thanks when she realized they were both full to the top.

“Thank you god,” she whispered, taking a can in each hand before turning on her heel.

The sight that met her stopped Violet dead in her tracks.

She bit back a scream, and the cans slipped from her hands.

***

Moments later, Violet raced back into the living room where Remy still slept, with the duffle bag on her shoulder and a gas can in each hand, attempting to cross the wood floors as quickly and quietly as she could.

She made her way around the couch, setting down the bag and cans long enough to shake Remy’s shoulder gingerly, attempting to wake him as gently as possible.  He didn’t budge.

She shook him with a little more force, gasping from the pit of her stomach when his eyes flew open, and he took both of her arms in a grip so tight it stole her breath.  In a flash, Violet was on her back in the middle of the couch with Remy above her, large hand around her neck.

At the sight of her porcelain face below him, looking wild and terrified, Remy immediately raised his hand from her neck. The sudden adrenaline wore off instantly, weakening him once more, and sending him down to his elbows, so close that the tip of his nose nearly brushed hers. Violet’s hands were raised over her head, making her breasts stand at attention, heaving just inches from his bare chest.  Remy cradled himself on either side of her body, his own eyes wide with shock and fear. He dropped his head, and when he looked back up, a soft hint of concern flashed across his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I have these nightmares…” Remy faltered. The concern was gone in an instant, and he was looking at her with his signature glower once more. “I was hoping you’d come to your senses, and wouldn’t be here when I woke up.”

“Archibald.” Violet wasn’t sure if she was shaking from the sudden and frightening way Remy had just thrown her onto that couch, or from what she’d just seen in Barbara’s basement. “Archibald, we have the get the hell out of here.”

Suddenly frustrated and angry, once more, Remy lashed out.  “No,
you
have to get the hell out of here, Violet.”

The idea of her experiencing even a moment of pain or danger made him more sick to his stomach with every minute that passed.  She was the only person in the country who wasn’t family that believed him innocent.  She’d just secured him a shower, fresh clothes, antibiotics and even a haircut. He’d have never pulled any of that off without her.  It brought alive a need to protect her like nothing he’d ever experienced.  He placed his hands on either side of her body, looking down at her sweet face.  Against all his good sense, he still yearned to rip that flimsy top off, to see the naked flesh of her heaving chest first hand.  “I’m sick of turning every corner and running right into you.  I’m sick of
you,
Violet.  You’re free.  Just get the hell out of here.  Get the hell out of my life.”

I’ll only drag you down.

“Listen to me,” Violet said, frantically, unaffected by his harsh words. “We have to get the hell out of here,
right now
.”

For the first time, Remy became aware of the sheer panic in Violet’s eyes, and it had nothing to do with the violent way he’d just woken up.

“What is it?” he demanded, his own heart beginning to thunder in his chest.

***

Minutes later, Remy and Violet stood shoulder to shoulder in Barbara’s basement, gaping up at the expansive collage on the wall.  A collage that Remy was the star of.  He’d never been a big picture taker.  Even when he was a child, he always found the fastest exit in the room as soon as a camera came out. If he had to guess, he’d have estimated that there were, at most, 10 pictures of his face in existence--
total
.  Including the ones he’d taken in prison. Apparently, that guess would be wrong
.

His eyes scanned the expansive wall of Barbara’s basement, where hundreds of pictures of his face were pinned up in various sizes, colors and angles.  The photos littered the long concrete wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. Excerpts from magazine and newspaper articles chronicling his trial were also scattered amongst the pictures of him with random, illegible scribbling written all over them in red sharpie.  He was sure, in the darkness of the room, that he’d even spotted his high school yearbook picture.

How the
hell
had that old bat gotten her hands on his high school yearbook picture?

“We have to get the hell out of here,” he croaked.

Violet nodded furiously.

They both turned on their heel and Violet gasped out loud, throwing her hand over her mouth.

Barbara stood with a shotgun aimed square at Remy and Violet.  She cocked it, and the horrifying sound echoed in the dark, muggy basement.

Remy brought a protective hand to Violet’s stomach, immediately pushing her behind him.

“You’re not going anywhere, Archibald.” Barbara sneered.

5

“I’m so sick and tired of having guns pointed at me,” Violet murmured.

Barbara motioned to Violet with the shotgun. “Shut your mouth.  In fact, get the hell out of my house.  This has nothing to do with you.”

Violet went to defend herself.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

She gaped at Remy in disbelief, still vaguely aware of his hand on her stomach, holding her behind him.

“Why don’t you just put the gun down, and we can discuss this like adults.”  Remy’s mind swam.  He had no idea what they would be discussing.  The woman was clearly insane, obsessed with him, and had become unhinged.

“I’m not putting this gun down until she gets the hell out of my house.”  Barbara’s voice lowered as she began speaking exclusively to Remy.  “Don’t you see, Archibald?  We don’t know anything about this one.  We can’t trust any of these people.  You’re a fugitive on the run.  Trust no one!”

Violet looked to Remy in shock, then held her hands up.  “You know what, you’re right.  I believe Remy is innocent, too, Barbara. I really do.  That’s why I’m still with him even though he’s been trying to get rid of me for a while now.  But now I see that you’re more than equipped to help him on your own.  I’m sure that you’d take much better care of him that I ever could.”

“You’re damn right,” Barbara spat. “Now get!  Go on.”  She motioned to the stairs of the basement with her gun.

“Please don’t shoot me,” Violet pled as she passed, arms still raised.  She made it to the first step of the basement stairs before turning to Barbara, who was still facing Remy, taking in the woman’s vulnerable state.  Before she could think herself out of it, Violet leapt from the stairs and wrapped an arm around Barbara’s neck, immediately taking her opposite wrist in her hand, locking the chokehold in place.

“Oh shit!” Remy cried out, and had the good sense to duck just as Barbara pulled the trigger of the shotgun out of pure shock, sending a bullet crashing through the ceiling as the air was stolen from her lungs.

Violet tightened the arm she had around Barbara’s neck when the old woman began to struggle, sure she could feel the exact moment Barbara’s air supply was completely blocked off.

Remy watched in horror as Barbara began to turn blue. “Good god, Chambers, don’t
kill
her.”

Without responding or loosening her hold, Violet looked at Remy just as Barbara’s eyes began to roll into the back of her head.  Within seconds, she was out cold.  Violet eased Barbara to the floor before bracing herself on either side of her limp body, holding her ear next to the woman’s thin lips. Looking up at Remy, Violet saw him with both hands digging into his hair, and nodded to him.  “She’s out.”

“Yep, I noticed that.”

“Grab the gun.”

With hesitation, Remy swiped the gun from Barbara’s limp hands.  “Is she--?”

“Remember those two tomboy sisters I told you about?  Well, when I was little we used to play this game all the time.”

“I’m sorry, this is a game?  Because it looks a lot like you choking a poor old lady to death.”

“Poor old lady?  She was about two seconds from blowing both our heads off.”

Remy cut a look at Violet.  Even if their lives
had
been in grave danger, she still looked a little too proud of what she’d just done.

Violet placed her hands squarely on her hips, eyebrows raised.  “She’ll be fine.  In a couple hours she’ll wake up with no idea what happened.  It’ll be like she took a long nap.”  Violet quickly grew exasperated at the pure horror on his face.  Her shoulders slumped.  “Like I said, Sally, me and my sisters used to do this to each other all the time.  Pull your panties up. She’s fine. She just had a rifle pointed straight at our skulls.  We had to get her before she got us.”

“Us?  She has a shrine of worship for me hanging on her basement wall.  If anybody was going to go, it was going to be
you
.”

Violet scoffed and rolled her eyes.  After a few seconds passed, her frown melted into a laugh.  “You’re right,” she admitted.

Remy wagged a finger at her.  The handcuffs that were still locked around his wrist jingled as he did. “You know, I always did have a knack for picking the wrong women, but holy shit baby, do you take the cake.  By a mile.”

“Are you really whining to me about swiping the wrong hostage?”

“You don’t get to call yourself a hostage, anymore.  If anything, I’m
your
hostage now.”

“Do you hear yourself?  Pretty sure I just saved you from a lifetime of reenacting the movie ‘Misery’ with little miss Kathy Bates over here.”  She motioned to Barbara passed out on the floor.  “Call me crazy, but I think some thanks are in order.”

“Are things back home so boring for you that you have nothing better to do than follow a criminal around everywhere he goes?” He could see that he hit a nerve with that one, so he tucked it in his back pocket for later.

“You don’t know anything about me, Archibald.”  She moved passed him and made her way up the stairs, into the living room.

Remy hopped up the stairs on his good leg, almost passing out when the exertion proved too much.  Limping after her into the living room, he motioned to the duffle bag and gas cans as she swiped them up from the floor.  “Where the hell did you get those?”

“I found them right before I came across Batshit Barbara’s creepy shrine to you.”

“Give them to me.”  He made a swipe for the cans, and his chin rose in the air when she pulled it out of his reach in the nick of time. “Leave me, Chambers.”

“Stop wasting your breath saying that same sentence over and over.  Let’s just get the fuck outta this creepy old house.”  She tucked one of the cans under her arm, throwing him a look when he immediately snatched it away.  Cutting her eyes at him, she pulled open the front door.  “Don’t think you’re going to take that gas and run.  You’re leg is still in bad shape, and I could easily outrun you…”

Violet forgot what she was saying as she looked out of the open door and the sight of a lone police car pulling slowly up to Barbara’s driveway stole the words right from her mouth.  She slammed the door closed with a quickness, turning to Remy.

The expression on his face was a mirror image of the panic she was feeling inside. He’d seen it, too.

“Back door,” she demanded, through clenched teeth.  “Now.”

Remy allowed her to race passed him, hobbling close behind.

Seconds later they were out the back door.  As Violet vaulted down the stairs of the deck into the mucky grass below, she turned and caught sight of Remy still struggling at the door, looking dizzy and on the verge of complete collapse.  Cursing under her breath, she bounded back up the stairs and put his arm around her shoulder for leverage.  The liquid in the gas cans they held sloshed audibly as he gave her most of his weight.

Remy cringed as they descended the steps, struggling against the pain in his leg as they made it to the grass and began moving down the side of the house.  He’d only seen one police car, but he was sure that wouldn’t last.

“We stayed too long.”

“Stop talking,” Violet chided, hearing the grit in his voice with every word he said.  She looked down at his leg, where blood was already leaking passed the fresh bandages Barbara had put on him, grateful that she’d put extra supplies in the duffle bag on her shoulder. The pain he was shouldering was astronomical, she had no doubt, and talking couldn’t possibly be helping him.

As they made it to the edge of the house, Violet peeked around the corner and caught sight of the cop knocking on the front door, and peering suspiciously into the windows.  The porch light illuminated his face in the darkness.  To Violet’s surprise, he was extremely young.

The officer spoke into a radio on his shoulder.  “I have a possible break in at Barbara Levingtons’s house.  Gun fire reported by neighbors, over.”

Violet jammed her eyes shut and turned to Remy, who was standing closer than she thought.  “It’s not about us.  Someone heard the gun go off,” she whispered.

“We should go.”  His eyes widened. “Now.”

But Violet was already back to listening to the young cop as he continued to speak into his radio.

“Naw, it can’t be Archibald.  That chopper crashed into the ocean ‘bout a half hour ago.  Son of a bitch is dead as dirt.  Too bad he had to take that pretty young thing with him.”

Remy was now listening with Violet, and their eyes met again.  “They think we’re dead?” she whispered.

“Sounds like it.”

Her eyes came alive.  “This is perfect.”

Remy squinted at her.  “You’re so insane.”

“Stop saying that,” she mumbled. “Let’s get out of here.  This way.”  She pointed toward the southwest end of the house, and took his arm around her shoulder, again.  She cringed at his weight.  Son of a bitch was heavy. “Go, go, go.”

They made slow progress towards the back of the house and, soon, they were deep in the thick, dark, unfamiliar woods of Suede Falls.

Though they had to make a slight detour, Remy was a seasoned pilot, and had a knack for directions.  Because of this, they soon found themselves emerging from the quiet darkness of the woods and racing toward the dead boat they’d left behind.  It was still floating quietly on the dock, white paint standing out against the black waters and starry sky like a shining light.

“Where does the gas go in this thing?” Violet asked, after they’d climbed—or in Remy’s case, tumbled--inside.

“I don’t know.” Remy fingered the outside of the boat, feeling for anything that remotely resembled a gas gage.

“Take your time, Archibald.  Really.”

He shot her a look just as his hand swept over a little door on the boats backside.  Blindly, he was able to swing it open and stick his finger inside before bringing it back up and sniffing it.

“Did you just sniff your finger in front of me?”  Violet asked, handing him the gas can that he was wildly motioning for.  “Archibald, I’m a lady.”

“No, you’re a pain in my ass.”

“Now you’re talking dirty to me.  Just what kind of girl do you think I am?”

As Remy emptied both cans into the gage, he couldn’t help shaking his head at her.  “There’s a cop within a hundred feet of us, and you’re making jokes?”

“A cop who thinks we’re both swimming with the fishes out there.”  She pointed her thumb toward the water.  “Besides, Barbara’s house is fifteen minutes away on foot.  That small town cop has no idea we were even in there.  And, even if he did, I highly doubt he would recognize us.  No way anyone in this boondock ass town knows what we actually look like.”

“Of course he knows what we look like.  Everyone in the country knows what we look like by now.” Remy imagined having that small town cop find them there, recognize them, and concluded it wouldn’t be the worst thing.  In fact, it would surely be the best way to get rid of Violet Chambers, her long legs, her sweet smelling hair, and her perpetually loud mouth for good.  If that cop found them here, he would insist Remy let her go, and Violet would have no other choice than to comply, lest she be considered an accomplice to a murderer.  Remy would then let her go, and zoom out of sight without her.  With a smirk, he realized it would be the
second
escape he made that day, this time from the prison of Violet Chambers.

Of course, if the cop did find them, there would be nothing stopping him from shooting Remy dead the moment Violet was out of range. Remy, however, had caught a glimpse of the kid at Barbara’s door, and he doubted very much that rosy-cheeked cherub would have the balls to actually shoot him, even if he had a clear window.

He would simply bring Violet to safety, all while aiming his weapon at Remy—searching desperately for the fortitude to fire as Remy whipped the boat out of sight, making his escape from both of them.

He found himself looking off into the grassy field longingly, daydreaming about that infant cop spotting them from the distance and hurrying to them with his weapon drawn.

Let the girl go, Archibald,
he would scream.

Remy almost laughed out loud at his own thoughts.  Let the girl go?  He’d only been trying to do that for the last hour.

His head snapped toward Violet when the sound of the boat roaring to life vibrated at his feet.  She’d started the engine.  “This is your second chance, Chambers.  You can leave me now, and never look back.”

“No way.  If I leave you now there’d be nothing left to stop that mall cop from shooting you dead if he finds you alone.”

“He’s a kid, he wouldn’t shoot me.”

She knew Remy was right, but she’d die before she ever let him know that.  She met his eyes and, without another word, put her hand on the joystick of the boat.  Her eyes shot up to him when Remy covered her hand with his own, stepping up next to her.

The move felt warm and protective. She smiled. “I know how to handle a speedboat, you know.  Probably better than you, if your skills from earlier are any indication.  Besides, you need to stay off that leg.”

Remy gently nudged her out of the way.  “I’m not going to let them think you’re involved in this.  If anyone sees you move this boat out of here, they could get you for aiding and abetting.”