Page 5 of Festive Fugitive
It’s regretful I didn’t get to be at Arthur Sullivan’s side when he died. The smell of his blood would have been rich with adrenaline and cortisol, but I’ve seen it happen, and that's all the closure I require. I’m no longer on his leash, but after years with the invisible chain around my neck, I can’t help but feel attached to the one who freed me. Especially when he’s so in need of my help.
Running out of the gala, he was like a drunken rabbit pursued by a pack of proficient hounds. He would have ended up torn apart if it wasn’t for my intervention with the giant tree. When you save someone’s life, it’s a special kind of bond that develops. You’ve invested. You can’t let go.
I don’t know what to do about this sudden new attachment, but I am adrift without Sullivan, so I might as well go with it for now, admiring the frail, inexperienced killer who accomplished what I wasn’t able to despite my background as an assassin, bodyguard, and even torturer. Whatever Sullivan commanded, I did.
When the bus stops and Eli gets up, I do the same, lured by the aroma of his flesh. He needs gloves. His fingers are so slim and pale I can just about imagine their touch. I’d suck on each one with pleasure and warm them in my mouth. It’s not what I’m following him for, but I’m not one to push away intrusive thoughts when they’re of the tasty variety.
I’m not sure where he thinks he’s headed, but we’ve stopped in Nowhere, Oregon, and he’s been traveling north, so he might be hoping for an escape to Canada. In those shoes, he won’t make it without losing toes.
His hood is up when he walks fast down the street decorated with Christmas lights. It hides his steel-grayhair which is the perfect length for grabbing. Maybe he has some kind of accomplice in this town? I’ll find out sooner or later.
Instead of heading straight for whatever place he might have in mind, Eli stops in front of a bright shop window, and the television screen reflects its colors onto his pale face. His profile’s sharp, with a large yet narrow nose, and uneven lips. The top one is larger, and rather chewable. Mouths like that are addictive, and I know I’d get hooked if I ever got the chance for a taste.
As I drift closer, attempting to be one with the shadows, the reason for his interest becomes obvious. If he has any sense, he’ll have already discarded his phone, and it’s only now that he gets to catch a glimpse of the shit he’s in.
The cops have long identified him, scoured through all the evidence in his car, concluding the killer’s homeless, twenty-five, and the media even came up with a catchy name for Eli, dubbing him the ‘Festive Fugitive’.
I watch him stiffen, then blow warm air on those pale hands. I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to slide them under my sweater for warmth. But the moment the screen goes on to show a portrait of Sullivan, Eli walks off, his wrecked shoe slapping loudly with every step. I promised myself I’d watch from afar, make sure no one interferes with his escape. That seems like a reasonable thing to do for a man who ended Sullivan for me.
Only I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours either, so my mind is getting a little too dazed with fantasies of ‘what if?’. Eli had a snooze on the bus, but I couldn't allow myself the luxury of rest. He’s become my priority as soon as I understood what he’d done, and following him without revealing my presence is a struggle. He’s not dressed right for this snowy weather.He doesn’t seem to have any escape plans, and here I am, hoping he is not as clueless as he appears. At this rate, he’ll make some terrible blunder, and I’ll have to save the day.
Then, I’ll have to be close to him, tempted by his scent and the shape of his ass. I’ve seen its outline when he bent over, and if it were Friday and he—a stranger at the sauna, I’d have dived my face between those tempting globes long ago.
I understand what his goal is when I spot a food truck boasting about their seasonal roast turkey sandwiches. I can only hope he buys two, because he could use some protein in him. He should also take a third to go if he’s smart.
I wish I knew more about him. It would help me navigate my task of keeping him safe.
Eli passes the empty wooden benches where customers can sit down to eat by the warmth of an outdoor heater and approaches the truck. It’s decorated with festive lights, and every twinkle reminds me that I’m stuck without my last Christmas gift from Sullivan. But I’ll worry about that once Eli is safe.
I stand back, watching him order his food, and then coffee, and the sight of a bank card makes my blood run quicker. He can’t be this ignorant. If he uses that thing, the cops will be here in under five minutes, so I step forward, ready to stop him, but he catches himself on time and stuffs the offending plastic back into his ratty wallet.
With this emergency avoided, I let myself relax, but the single fiver Eli plucks out next won’t be enough to cover his meal. He’s fiddling with the coin purse under the watchful eye of the truck owner, but both he and I already know Eli doesn’t have enough cash on him.
I told myself I wouldn’t interact with him, just protect him from afar like a guardian angel. But now I find myself stepping forward, with my own wallet out. “I’ll also have the signature turkey sandwich, and a coffee,” I say and put a large bill on the money tray. “My treat,” I add when Eli turns his big gray eyes to me. They’re large, with dark rings around the paler iris, and appear almost iridescent in the glow of the twinkling lights. He’s even more handsome from up close and just my type.
“Are you sure?” he asks from behind the scarf he pulled up high to be less recognizable. “Thank you,” he adds without waiting for an answer, because he’s desperate to eat. Obviously.
I smile. “Isn’t Christmas the time for good deeds?”
He looks at his shoes with a frown, probably imagining his own ‘good deed’ from yesterday. What washisgrudge against Sullivan? The police haven’t yet leaked much about that. It shouldn’t matter, but the closer I am to him, the more I want to find out, and I already crossed the boundary of talking to him.
Even his voice is pleasant to the ear—much lower than I expected, and it has depth and darkness to it, like strong black coffee. It’s as addictive already.
Eli takes a deep breath. “I suppose it is. I’ve had a… rough day, so thanks for this, really. I don’t usually need help.”
I should let him go. Wait for my food and scurry off to continue watching him from far away, but he glances at me again, curious what I might want, so I clear my throat and shrug. “I want to see you eat. Hope that’s not too strange?”
He might be a killer, but is he strong enough to break the social contract after I bought him food? Does he want to? Reasonably, he’s a fugitive. He should stayaway from people. Especially in a situation that will require him to pull down his scarf. So what will it be?
Eli nods as the seller hands him his food and coffee. When he assesses me, does he like what he sees, or does it not matter to him? Am I someone who bought him food, or is he calculating how much bigger than him I am, in case he needs to fight me off? We’re almost the same height, but where I’m a solid wall of muscle under my coat, he’s a twig in broken shoes.
“S-sure. I have some time to kill until my bus,” he eventually says and leads the way to one of the benches under the colorful lights strung above us.
We take the table closest to the portable heater, and I immediately see the warmth it produces is a huge relief to this young man in threadbare clothes.
He leans a bit closer to me. “Is this like… a fetish thing? You can tell me, I don’t judge.”
I’ve only had a pastry and some protein bars since I’ve started following him, so the savoriness of the sandwich is a blessing. “Do you always go with people’s fetishes?” I ask after swallowing the first bite.
