Broken

As I reach the front door, I grab my bag to bring it up to my room with me. Maybe Dad will guess I’m in anyway, but I don’t want to give him any clues to my whereabouts. I race up the stairs, taking some of them two at a time as I go, and soon I find the room I’m looking for.

I tear inside and lock the door behind me, before collapsing breathlessly to the ground. My lungs are constricted, I can’t seem to suck back enough air for them, and that only gets worse the harder I try. Even a tear runs down my cheek as I think about the horror that I’ve just experienced.

My father is a criminal… a killer… the worst sort of man around.

I feel utterly helpless, hopeless, like I have a huge weight on my shoulders that I can’t do anything about. I don’t feel like I can

just sit here and do nothing while someone’s life is in danger. I want to, need to, take some sort of action. Maybe I can’t go to the cops yet, but that’s because I don’t have any evidence. If I think about it, my father runs a lot of his business from this house, he always has done. He must keep something incriminating in here. If I find something and I take that to the police then I can stop him before someone else dies at his hands.

It isn’t right for my bloodline to be killers, I just can’t accept that. Maybe my mom doesn’t mind because she gets to wear fancy things, but blood money doesn’t do it for me.

I have to get out of this house, I think determinedly to myself. Once I’ve done this I need to escape. My family are hell and I have to get away.

I glance around the room, confirming that thought. My bedroom is a shrine to the person I was years ago before I left for college. Pictures litter the walls, all my old stuff is scattered everywhere, it’s been left exactly as it was as if to let me slide right back into the person who I once was, as if I never left her behind at all. The immature school girl who cared more about her friends and make up than anything else. In a way, I’m miles away from that person now, but in another way. I’m still just her. Insecure, scared of the world, no idea where I’m going to go. Only now I have new knowledge, and it’s the information that my father likes to kill people. There’s no coming back from that.

Chapter Eight - Stephen

I glance behind me for what feels like the hundredth time, a sick iciness consuming me. I don’t think I’m being paranoid, I’m pretty sure I’m still sane, although my brain does feel a bit like it’s cracking under the pressure of everything. I hope I’m just imagining things because the alternative is unbearable to think about… but I do think there’s someone in the shadows, chasing after me.

It’s been that way for ages.

Ever since that night on the cruise ship, things have been going downhill for me. I couldn’t leave my room on the boat the whole time, I had to feign sickness for the rest of the time I was aboard, just because I was so damn scared of getting caught by one of them… the murderous men who put a man to death over what seemed to be some drugs money. If the suits can kill that easily without even thinking about it, then there’s no telling what they’ll do to a man like me.

A witness.

I don’t like to think of myself that way. Basically, it scares the shit out of me, it sounds so ‘bad Mafia movie’ but that’s exactly what I am. Even if the memory is hazy now, tainted by fear, I can still remember it. I still saw it. I saw a man being murdered. I probably could have done something to stop it and I didn’t. Now he’s dead and my life is on the line.

Plus, I cannot forget that I’m pretty sure they took a picture of me. It’ll probably be blurry, but I’m sure big time criminals have a way of overcoming that.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m fucked.

As I spent the rest of the cruise pacing my tiny cabin room, thoughts of Tia would occasionally pop up. I felt bad for leaving her the way I did and not going back, but I just saw someone die. It’s safe to say I wasn’t thinking straight. Also, I just couldn’t leave my room for any God damn reason. I even had to get the staff to bring food to me, just to keep me alive. There was no way I could go out just to see her to explain. I didn’t want to endanger her either. Just because I found myself in trouble, didn’t mean she had to be dragged into it too… I was trying my best to keep her safe!

Maybe if I thought ahead and I took her cell phone number, I could have spoken to her again, but I didn’t. That’s just something I’ll have to live with. Forever now. Maybe it was never meant to be, maybe it’s best that I just accept that. I probably would’ve ended up getting bored with her anyway. All that bullshit about really liking her was probably just a fad. I know what I’m like, never destined to settle down. Probably.

I pull my hood up over my head and tighten the strings to keep my face covered. Then I dip down an alleyway that I’ve never been down before, trying to keep the man that’s following me away from learning my address. Maybe it’s pointless, maybe he already knows, I’m not too sure. All I’m positive of is the fact that I’m not feeling the constant prickle on the back of my neck for nothing. There is someone out there who’s after me, and they have a reason to be. If I’m not careful I’ll end up dead because of it.

I think it’s time to go back to New Zealand, I think morosely to myself. I can’t stay here like this. The US just isn’t the same.

My steps quicken, I almost run in a bid to get away from the person following me. Or not even the person following me since I haven’t actually seen them yet. I don’t know what they look like. Just the feeling that I’m being followed.

Ring, ring…

Ring, ring…

I almost leap into the air with shock and fright as my cell phone bursts to life. I’m so much on edge that it nearly gives me a heart attack. The ringer sounds so much louder than usual even though I know for a fact that it isn’t.

Stop being crazy, I curse myself as I slide it out my pocket. I’m acting like I’m guilty and I haven’t even done anything. If I’m not careful I’ll actually draw attention to myself instead of pushing it away.

“Hello,” I say nervously into the receiver. I didn’t recognise the number on the screen so this could be anyone.

“Is that Stephen Jones?” a female voice asks me. “I’m Violet, I work for Princess Cruises.”

“Erm, right.” There’s a part of me that isn’t sure whether or not this is a trick. I saw them men on that cruise, just because this woman sounds nice enough it doesn’t mean she isn’t part of a terrible, criminal gang. I don’t remember a Violet but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m always forgetting names. “Y… yes, it is.”

“Right, good. I just wanted to let you know that one of our customers…” My heart stops dead in my chest. This isn’t good, this isn’t good at all. “Saw you playing on the ship and wants to have communication with you.”

“They did?” Still I cannot trust it.