Chapter three, page one

Chapter Three

As we stepped off the curb to cross the street, I was flooded with fear.  The image of a red truck raised up on its axles came across my mind.  Then like a recorded message, played the words ‘get Quinn out’.  Wrenching my wrist from Stacie’s grip, I bolted back into the pub. 

It took me a few moments to locate him.  His smile was radiating against some skinny fake-blonde with way too much make-up and not enough clothing.  She was definitely not his type.  However she was being pulled in by his tractor beam smile and intoxicating accent.

“Quinn, sorry to interrupt,”  I offered my apology to both of them.  Then I lowered myself to his level.  “You need to come with me now.”

He blinked once and then again as he searched for words perhaps.  “Cherie, thank you but I am quite happy here.  Perhaps, you should rejoin ...”

Grabbing his wrist tightly I tried to pull him out of his chair.  “It isn’t safe for you here.  You must come with me.”  My eyes attempted to plead with him where my words failed.

He stood and I felt relieved for a moment until he turned to his ‘date’.  “Will you excuse me a moment.  I will be right back.”  His perfect tone and tenor made her bubble in her seat.  It wasn’t fair that he had the same effect on her.  She wasn’t his type – I was.

Quinn removed my grip from his wrist and clasped my hand tight in his.  Pulling me through the crowd, he made his way to the hallway of the washrooms.  He turned slowly to me with an odd expression on his face.  His eyes were downcast as he examined my hand that was interlaced with his.  He turned my hand over and studied each side of it.  The temperature in my hands rose from his attention and my heart swelled under his awareness of me.

“Cherie”, he spoke so soft I almost had to read his lips.  “You need to find your sister and let her take you to see a doctor.”

His words cut through me like a knife.  I snatched my hand from within his with lightening speed.  My eyes blurred with my own tears from his complete rejection. 

“Cherie, it is okay.  She will help you.”  He offered with a gentle and reassuring voice.

“My name is Cathie and I do not need a doctor.”  My intensity wore off quickly and I took a moment to gather my thoughts as I stared into his eyes, liquid with compassion.   A deep breath finally surfaced and I leaned into his ear.

“I know you don’t believe me.  I can’t truly explain it myself but please listen very carefully.  Dean is on his way here in his red truck.  He has a gun. ” I felt his shoulder stiffen beneath me.  “You may have no reason to believe me or trust me but I want to help you.”  I leaned back to my place and watched his eyes colour over in flecks of dark gold and his jaw muscle flex.

Once again he dug deep into my soul looking for answers.  “How do you know this stuff?”  His voice was soft and pensive.

“I don’t know.  I just do.”  I took his hand again and re-entered the chaos of the party scene.  We headed for the exit.  Once we were outside I saw Stacie leaning against her car hood across the street.  The rusty old car nearly looked sleek in the blackness of the night.  I could tell it was her as her angry eyes lit up the distance between us.

I pulled Quinn along behind me and she scowled even deeper and hung her head in disgust.  “He’s not coming home with you.”  She spoke through her hands that rubbed her eyes along the bridge of her nose.

“I know Stacie.  But can you pop the trunk for me?”

Her head shot up and her eyes scanned Quinn desperate for some answers.  I felt him shrug his shoulders behind me as I continued to drag him around the back of her four door car.  My fingers drummed on the rear hood as I impatiently hinted for her to comply.  In a noisy release of exasperation she popped open her trunk and then slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind her.

The blue satchel was right where I pictured it would be.  It was a nylon material that bulged out in so many different directions, ready to burst its contents.  When I reached for it there was a groan from my throat as it was heavier than I was prepared for.  

Quinn reached around me and pulled it closer to the edge of the trunk.  “What’s this Cherie?”  His accent dipped and swirled in his own curiosity.

“Cathie.”  It was upsetting me that he couldn’t get my name right.  “It is the money you need to pay back Dean.”

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