Running From the Past
You always thought the phrase "The Perfect Man" was a schoolgirl fantasy, until you met Oliver Sampson. He was gorgeous, exciting, dangerous and yet could be so romantic. You and Oliver had been together for six months. It was a wild time, and you fell for him like no other man you had ever known. Every night you settled in his arms, and gathered what you could of his love.
One day, he woke you by rubbing chilled strawberries on your bare skin. When you opened your eyes, he held the fruit in his mouth. Your kiss devouring both the strawberry and each other. You spent the rest of the day there in bed, in each other's embrace. You took a break only for dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town. Oliver and you, upon returning home, took great pleasure in unwrapping one another's most elegant outfit and leaving them in a crumple on the floor while you went back to the bed. As you fell asleep against his hair sprinkled chest, "I love you," escaped your lips. You had never told him before but the feeling was so strong now and you were so exhausted, it came out as if of its own will. The next day, he was gone, without a word. You were alone
You shake your head, trying not to think of all of that now. It's been months. It is August, sweltering and you are on a bus. Everyone is hot, angry and no one will give you seat. You have had a hard day. You get off the bus and struggle to the bench, heaving for breath. All you can think of is getting a drink, a cool drink. Your nerves are jangling and you need rest. You feel like you've just run a marathon. You smile at that thought. How far is that from true? What you are running from is your past. However, your past is right in front of you and you can't deny it.
You start walking and spot a nice, tree-shaded outdoor cafe. "Ice tea please. The biggest you have," you tell the waiter as he passes you. You settle in a chair and he brings you a tumbler glass of ice tea with mint and lemon. You sit, slightly reclined, and hope for a good rest.
Your eyes are closed and you savor the coolness in your throat. You feel everything, the ice in the glass, the wetness sliding down, the drops of water on your fingers from the frosty container. A slight breeze fluffs the hair around your face. You sigh. This moment is a cupful of peace in an otherwise noisy world.
On the edges of your psyche, you feel a tug. Someone is standing next to you and not leaving. Your eyes slowly open. You don't know who this stranger is next to your table for a moment. Then it dawns on you who it is. It is Oliver standing next to you, harsh emotion written on his face. You struggle to your swollen feet. He is speechless, eyes blazing with anger. You know why he is here. Your mind says 'escape!'. You say nothing and try to leave. He grabs your arm, hauling you close to his face. You glare at him. You are not to be stopped, HE left you! You suddenly remember the ice cold glass by your right hand. Your fingers curl around it.
"What is this?" His voice barely contains his rage.
You still say nothing. After all, what can you say? The evidence is there for him to see. What is he, an idiot? The guests in the cafe are looking at you. Your arm suddenly goes up and he gets a faceful of icy goodness. You push at him and he takes a step back. You go as quickly as you can out the entrance. He is not far behind. However, you are a bit quicker and slip into a taxi. Oliver chases you a few blocks but falls behind.
You are feeling weak and wondering if that was such a good idea, running away from him. You wish he hadn't found you like this. How did he? You wonder where you are going to go. If Oliver found you in a city of hundred thousands, he must know where you are staying.
You run your hand through your hair, unable to fight back brimming tears. You are tired of running. You want to stay in one place. But, the thought of Oliver being tied to you is worse. You have pride. Yeah, some pride, sitting here crying in the back of a taxi, not knowing why you're here or where here is.
"Lady, you gonna wash away?" The driver grunts.
You shake your head, wiping your tears with the back of your trembling hand, and give him the address of a hotel that you know of. It is no good going back for your things now. Oliver must have been through them already. The concierge looks at you strangely as you pay for the room with travelers checks and offer no luggage for the bellhop to carry. You are too afraid to use your credit card. Oliver could track you through the receipts.
Once in your room, you are too tired to undress and plop on the bed, falling into a deep sleep. It is a long hard sleep, the kind a person has when the minds needs to shut down. When you awake, you are starving. You grab the room service menu and order beef stroganoff, a large salad, and a chocolate malted with extra whipped cream. Your finger drifts to the sundaes, you pass on them and head toward the cheesecake.
After about what seems to be an hour, the "room service guy" brings your feast. He puts out his hand for a tip and you realize that all you have is unbroken travelers checks and your jewelry. "I'm sorry. I'll have to get you next time."
He grabs your wrist and you gasp. ITS OLIVER! "Did you think you could hide from me?" he says twisting your arm slightly.
"How did you find me?" you say accusingly. He remains silent. You know better than to expect an answer. He is Committee, you were too....almost.
Oliver looks you up, down and up again, like a cat appraising a caged bird. He reaches his hand out towards you. "Let me touch you," he says, almost a whisper but no less an order.
"No!!" You try to cut around him. He grips both your wrists in his hand and pins you to the wall. Before you can scream, his searing mouth is on yours. You feel his other hand go to your shirt front and pop it open, his fingers on your bare stomach, heading downwards. It would be so easy just to be his once more. No, there was too much at stake to blindly trust this man again. You slide your leg up against his thigh. Oliver takes this as encouragement and begins to press into you. You position your foot on his leg and push away with all your strength.
Oliver lands on his backside and stares daggers up at you. He springs up before you have a chance to run and steps close to you again. "So you ordered this, now eat," he hisses between clenched teeth, gesturing at the dinner he brought. It is almost a command.
He steps aside and you move to sit at the small hotel room table, looking at your food. "It's not drugged or poisoned. I gave the bellhop a BIG tip to take it from him," he says brusquely. You simply chow.
Oliver watches you with an apparent mixture of irritation and impatience. He wants to ask you questions. You can see them burning behind his green eyes. You aren't going to give him easy answers. The dinner is delicious. You feel slightly drowsy. You know that if Oliver had his way you would be drugged and answering his queries blindly. But, that would be dangerous right now, wouldn't it?
You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. He nods. He can hardly stop you. "You know, you were easy to find," he says through the bathroom door.
You marvel at how callous he sounds. How can he ignore you, and pay attention to you at the same time? Perhaps it is your mood that makes him sound that way. There is no escape from the bathroom. Oliver is chuckling, as if he knows that is what you are thinking. You hate him for it. No, that is not right. You love him so desperately. You know that he does not love you, not now.
Tears splash in the basin, you angrily wipe them from your face "Stay in there forever if you want." You can hear him move away from the door. "You have to talk to me sometime." There is a hateful sound to his voice. Cold, oh so cold.
You wipe your face, and walk into the bedroom. Oliver is there lying on the bed, with his hands behind his neck. He has a smug look on his face. He acts like he has nothing to fear. He eyes you up and down, his face breaks into a scowl. He is disgusted with you. Why wouldn't he be? You feel disgusted with yourself.
He nods his head over to a chair as if to give you permission to relax. Well, His Majesty is not going to have the pleasure. You sit as far away from him as possible. Oliver stares at you, waiting for you to explain. You have no words. Can't he see what happened? "You shit!" you suddenly say. You are as angry and hurt that he abandoned you as when you woke to an empty bed that Sunday Morning.
"I'm a shit?" His voice goes up in the last syllable. It is as if he can't believe you said that. You stand, and impatiently pace around the room. He follows you with his eyes, but does not move. He thinks you are defenseless. Could you strangle him with a phone cord? Would you be strong enough?
"What do you want with me now?" you say, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.
"What I want is an explanation," he says simply. "What I need is for you to sit down before you make yourself ill." Oh that tone of kindness in his voice, soothing. Oliver is still distant, but his attitude is one of concern. You can hear his worry in every inflection. It's got to be a trick. He manipulates as easy as breathing.
You have your back to him. You notice he left his "little black bag" on the serving cart. How careless of him. "Don't you think you owe ME an answer?" you say going over to the cart and picking idly at the food there. You know Oliver is watching you, but does he know what you are planning?
"You know I had to leave..." He lets the end of the sentence hang in the room, full of unsaid apologies, and promises.
"What do you want me to say?" Your voice quivers. "I...I....oh OLIVER!" You say as you collapse on the floor sobbing. He does not move. You continue sobbing your heart out. Your heart is finally breaking and you've made your decision. Oliver gets up, walks over to you and you grab his ankles, still crying.
His hand is on your head, gently stroking your hair. "Please don't cry. We can fix this," he says gently.
Your vision suddenly blazes red. 'Fix THIS? How? Oh no. No. I DON'T WANT ANY OF HIS "FIXES"!!' You carefully uncap the syringe that you palmed when you were picking at the food on the cart. He is still not bending over. You take a huge breath and plunge the needle into his calf.
He yelps in pain and backs away. You crawl over to the far wall. "BLOODY HELL!" he yells. "What have you done?!!"
Oliver falls on the floor and starts crawling over to his jacket. You know he wants to get his gun. Spying the knife you used to cut your meat, you grab it and stab his arm as it is groping for the pocket. He looks at you, his face a mixture of hurt and amazement. He grips the knife with his hand but most of his body has gone limp.
You look in his pocket. Of course his gun is there, and a small vial of clear liquid. "Antidote?" You say to him, amazed. He nods his head. You suddenly have guilty feelings about stabbing him.
Oliver is aware, but not able to talk or move. 'That Committee sure knows it's drugs,' you think as you drag his body over to the chair. It took you a while, but you got him in the chair, putting his feet up on the ottoman. "I am sorry. I can't take your fixes. Not now." There is a suspicion of unshed tears in your voice.
His eyes are most expressive. You know he is angry, angrier then you have ever seen him. They sparkle with emotion. Most of all, he was caught at his own game. You pat him on the cheek. "Hubris," you whisper.
Then, as you are fixing the wound on his arm, you say the very words he said to you so often. "Never underestimate your enemy." You take one last taste of his amazingly soft lips as his eyes slide shut.
You reclaim your purse and empty his wallet. You allow one long look at the man that you loved more than life itself, and leave.
You know he will be out for at least two hours. You have a lead on him, not much, but at least it is still a lead. The only bad part is that you stick out like a neon sign. You need to hide, but where? He found you here, he can find you anywhere! You start to think this is a dream where you are running but not going anywhere, chased by creatures, and unable to wake up.
You hit the street. It is way past midnight already and not a cab in sight. You are too shaky to walk very far. Maybe there is an all night restaurant you can rest in. You hope someone will take pity on you. You look like hell, feel like shit, and are badly in need of some sympathy.
You walk for almost three miles, well in your condition it FEELS like miles. It may only have been a couple of blocks. Your feet feel heavy on the ground, your arms are around your body. You walk into an all night coffee house. You may have found your piece of heaven. The man at the counter takes one look at you, and runs to catch you as you fall. You are at the end of your energy. You can go no farther.
The man puts you in the back, where he sleeps. The bed is soft and you sink down into its lovely depths. You sleep. It is not as restful as you would like, but at least it is something. When you wake, there is music in the air and you feel safe for the moment. The air is clean with the tell-tale smell of fresh coffee.
There is nothing to hurt you here. You are hidden for the time being. You must thank the person who took pity on you. However, you are in a bit of pain. The feeling came over you in your sleep and you chose to ignore it. It crept over you slowly, and now you can no longer ignore it. You know it was the walk, you have heard stories about this. All the energy you used was spent on the fight, and then your reserves on the long journey. You sit up, and cry out. The counter guy is right at your side.
"Hey, you need to get to a doctor! Now!" The man says, cradling your sore body. But that is where Oliver will find you!
You try to tell him this, but another jolt makes you gasp. "You're right. I do! Please would you get me a taxi?"
You are lying, but you must get away. Consumed with pain and blind panic, you aren't thinking. He puts you in a taxi and tells the driver to go to County General. You turn around and tell the driver to go to the airport. Once there, you struggle out of the taxi and find yourself on the sidewalk whimpering. The taxi driver is at your side trying to help you up. He is calling to others to assist you. Someone yells, "Call an ambulance!"
"Please, oh please," you whisper, "don't let him find me." Strong hands suddenly lift you up, you are too far into pain to notice. You can hear noisy sirens and through the haze of hurt, you see lights.
"She's too far gone. She'll never make it to the hospital in time," you hear a voice say.
"Quiet!!" a man's voice commands. "She is saying something."
You know that voice! YOU KNOW IT!!!! Oliver found you again! "Please don't hurt me..." The words barely leave your lips.
"Oh Darling, I'm not going to hurt you, EVER!" Oliver's voice is strangely soothing. "I didn't mean to..."
You struggle to say, "I...p-please, let me die." Your voice is hardly above a whisper.
You are loaded into the ambulance. "For God's sake can't you go any faster?" There is a note of panic in Oliver's voice. He is holding your hand. "Oh Love!" He says over and over again. "Why? Why?"
Pain rips again at you. "Because you didn't love me!" The phrase tears through the vehicle.
"I searched all over the world for you." He holds you again. "I was so damn mad at you Love, when I finally found you like this." You look at his face. "I was stupid." He admits.
Oliver has tears on his face. You have never seen him cry. "We're here!"
You are wheeled into a brightly lit room. You just want to scream. Oliver is fitted with a gown and mask. He is not going to leave your side. You don't want to run anymore. You want to tell him you did this all for him, all of it, the hiding and running. This would have ruined him. "Fully dilated. She's ready."
'Oh boy am I ready!' you think as you push. One terrible scream, and suddenly silence.....
A soft cry is the first thing you hear. The second thing? Well, it is the sound of a grown man crying. The Doctor steps back a bit and lets Oliver cut and tie the cord. You only know the pain is gone, Oliver is there and no longer angry with you. Gentle lips touch your face. "Look what you did..." His voice is all watery.
"It's a girl." He says laying the small body on yours. Oliver holds the two of you in his arms. "No more running Love, not ever again. You two are staying with Papa." You are way past tears, words. Exhausted, you drift off to sleep, with his voice singing softly. "Hush little baby, don't say a word....."
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| The character of Oliver Sampson and the show VR.5 were created by John Sacret Young and are © Samoset Productions and Rysher Entertainment. No infringement is intended and no profits are being made. |