Run

By Pavithra Rajesh

Run.

Thats what Alexis Rivet was told to do when she was only nine years old. Run, and keep running.

But for how long?

Facing a threat at every corner, barely staying alive to see the next morning, her life is nothing but danger. Shes running from people who want to kill her. With little to no help on her journey, she struggles to protect a secret she knows nothing about. Shes put herself in harms way for a long timefor what? Can she do it any longer?

She soon finds herself surrounded by lies and uncovered truths, faced with the brutality of reality. Struggling with loss, heartbreak, and sorrow, shes clueless. People are relying on her, expecting her to do whats right. But shes weak. Can she find the strength to face her past and fight?

Seven years.

Seven years, shes been running from them.

Is it finally time to stop?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Aug 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543703665

Pavithra Rajesh

Pavithra Rajesh is a sixteen-year-old girl currently living in Bangalore, India. Accustomed to telling stories to her family since her childhood days, Pavithra has always had a passion for writing fiction, finding excitement in creating a world that is entirely of her own. Although shes been continuously writing since a young age including poems, short stories, plays, and several incomplete works this is her first full-length novel. An avid reader, writer, dancer, singer, and actor, she dreams of pursuing a career in the arts preforming on Broadway being her ultimate goal. She spends her free time binge-watching TV shows, listening to songs on repeat, spending way too much time on YouTube, and endlessly scrolling through memes. A strong believer in the vital value of art, she always strives to accentuate their importance in society and feels that theres nothing quite like the impact art can make. She is currently a Grade 12 IB student.

Book preview

Prologue

June 2010

‘Alex,’ the lady whispered to her nine-year-old daughter. Her own hands, battered and bruised, were dripping with blood as she caressed her daughter’s terrified face. Guttural screams were heard from outside the house, but the lady tried her best to ignore them, choosing to care for her surviving family instead.

‘Alex, I love you. Your father…your father and I made a mistake.’ Her hands shook as she took in her daughter’s wide, innocent eyes. ‘We never should have trusted him,’ she said almost to herself, casting a sideways glance at the door that could burst open in a matter of seconds.

A loud bang was heard from outside the house.

They were almost in.

Time was running out.

‘Alex, sweetheart,’ the lady said, attempting but failing to stay strong for her daughter. Tears started to slip out of her eyes as the lady placed a gentle, lingering kiss on her daughter’s forehead before taking a deep breath and pulling herself together. She had a job to do.

‘Alex, don’t lose this,’ she whispered, tucking a microchip into the breast pocket of her daughter’s oversized white jacket. She looked straight into her eyes. ‘You’ll be safe, I promise. You need to leave. Keep this safe, keep it out of their hands.’

‘We love you, Alex. So, so much.’ With a shaky breath, she took hold of her little girl, hugging her tightly, striving to make the most of the few moments she had left with her.

The front door burst open, sparks flying everywhere as the door itself fell to the ground with a loud crash. Two tall men in black suits entered with Alex’s dead, bloody father in their hands. They dumped him on the floor unceremoniously, limbs sprawling in awkward, painful positions — motionless.

Their eyes landed on the crouched figure of Alex’s mother. Surging forward, they grabbed her by the arms and dragged her onto the carpet, ignoring her shrieks of protest. They didn’t notice the nine-year-old girl huddled in the corner of a broom closet, shaking with terror, tears flooding out of her eyes.

They beat the lady up, her screams of pain heard with every kick, every punch…

Yet in all that agony, Alex’s mother managed to get out a few words, words that have never left Alex’s mind.

‘Alex, run! Run! RUN!’

1

December 2017

‘My name is Alexis Rivet. I am sixteen years old, and I was born on April 7th, 2001. I don’t have any siblings, and I ran away from home two weeks ago because my parents have been physically and mentally abusing me since I was nine. I don’t know where my parents are, but I doubt they’re looking for me. I came here because I need a place to stay, I’m not going back to my parents.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘Now can I go to the bathroom?’

This is what I say every time, even though I know it’s a lie.

My name is Alexis Rivet. I am sixteen years old, and I was born on April 7th, 2001. I have an older brother, but I don’t know where he is, and I ran away from home about seven years ago because these men came to my house and murdered my parents. I’m being hunted down by a group of people who want to kill me and take the chip my parents gave me, they haven’t stopped looking for me, and I don’t think they’re ever going to. My now-dead uncle had told me to come here to find safety and a place to stay. Help?

That’s the truth. But if I told anyone that, they would probably send me to the nearest mental asylum, and I’d rather avoid the paperwork.

The man sitting across from me sighs in disappointment, casting his gaze below. The dark-walled room is empty save for the two of us, with only the chairs we’re sitting in furnishing it, clearly too big for its occupants. The man’s white formal shirt is hastily and raggedly tucked into his black pants, his leather shoes unknotted, almost waiting for him to trip. When he looks up at me, I see his green eyes are exhausted, his face stubbly. His army-cut black hair is the only neat thing about him, despite the strong wind outside. He glances up at the guard standing by the door, and the guard pulls it open, waiting for me. I stand and walk out of the room. The guard follows me and closes the door behind him.

Outside in the hallway, I walk a few steps towards the entrance of the girls’ bathroom, the guard right at my heels, our footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise empty corridor. I stop right next to the door, turn slowly on my heel, and look at him.

‘Are you really going to follow me in here?’ I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, looking at him with raised eyebrows. His pinched lips tell me that this is the last place he wants to be.

The guard rolls his eyes, taking a single step back.

‘Thought so,’ I reply with a tilt of my head.

I turn and walk into the bathroom, and my reflection immediately greets me — my short, wavy black hair dishevelled as if I had just woken up, my dark brown eyes dull, dark circles prominent, my not-so-white t-shirt crumpled at the edges, my jeans torn and caked with dirt.

Well, it’s an improvement.

I sigh as I walk towards the wash basin in front of me, turning it on and letting cold water flow over my rough palms, trying to pick out the dirt from underneath my nails. I splash some water onto my face in a failed attempt to look a little less like Death. I turn the tap off, and I dry my hands and face with a paper towel. I run my hands through my hair in a bid to flatten it out, only to give up five seconds later.

Before I turn back towards the door, I hear what sounds like a conversation and automatically turn towards my left, the voices seemingly coming from a room nearby. I approach the source of the sound, stepping into the last bathroom stall on my right and perching myself on the closed toilet lid. I press my ear towards the air ventilator, straining to hear any sign of conversation. I hear two voices: one that I don’t recognize, and the other belonging to the man who was just questioning me.

‘Got a little taste of what you’re going to be dealing with, Kent?’ the voice I don’t recognize says, his tone light and teasing.

‘Matt, why was I called?’ my interrogator, Kent, asks, clearly tired. ‘She doesn’t really seem like the kind of kids I usually deal with. The kind of kids I usually deal with are more…five-year-olds.’

I hear Matt’s short laugh. ‘Yeah, well, this one was a special case. None of the other volunteers would take her. Well, at least not for more than one day.’

Special case.

Nice.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Kent asks, and I try my best not to roll my eyes.

‘Nightmares. When she went into her first home, about two weeks ago, the mother sent her back the next morning saying that she couldn’t take her. Turns out that Alexis had woken up in the middle of the night screaming out incoherent words, but the mother couldn’t find out why because she wouldn’t say anything. Same thing with another family, and the rest of them. She’s gone through six homes already.’

That does sound like me.

‘No one knows why? Have you had her talk to one of the shrinks?’ Kent asks.

‘Of course, that’s our protocol for kids like her. But you’ve seen her. She masks any little piece of emotion with sarcasm and carelessness. Even our best people could barely get anything out of her. What you heard right now is the most she’s been willing to say to anyone.’

‘So again, why exactly am I taking her?’

There’s a short pause.

‘Well, you know, unfortunately, you’ve had experience with this,’ Matt says, his voice much quieter now.

I don’t hear anything for a few seconds, then Kent speaks up again.

‘Derek,’ Kent says, a sigh in his voice.

‘Yeah, Derek,’ Matt replies, his tone still soft. ‘You were great with him. I mean, look at him now. It’s like nothing ever happened.’

‘That was different. He’s my son, I knew how to connect with him. Alexis is a random girl.’

‘That’s the job, Kent. We meet new people every day. The reason we’re so good at our job is because we treat random strangers like family. Derek may have been your family, but Alexis doesn’t have one right now. She’s going through the same thing your son went through — she deserves the same care.’

I hear a door close, implying that one of them has left the room. As if on cue, the guard bangs on the bathroom door. I jerk away from the air ventilator, relieved that it hadn’t turned on like I thought it had. I clench my fists, stepping down from the closed toilet lid to walk back towards the door.

‘What took you so long?’ the guard demands as I step outside.

I raise my eyebrows, hold my hands behind my back, and lean towards him. ‘Do you really want to know?’

The guard mutters inaudibly under his breath — something about godforsaken children — as I grin and walk back towards the room I was in before.

I push open the door to see Kent still sat on his chair, typing something on his phone. I walk in and slump back into my seat, causing him to look up.

‘So, what’s next?’ I ask. ‘You want me to tell you my life story again? If you want, you could go ask the fifty other people I’ve been forced to talk to. You’re not going to hear anything new.’ I stare defiantly at him.

Kent takes a deep breath before speaking, his face holding the same patronizing look I’ve seen many times on other adults. ‘What’s next is that you’re going to come and stay with me. Since we don’t know where your parents are—’

‘I’m not going back to my parents,’ I cut in.

‘Listen to me, Alexis, don’t interrupt me,’ Kent says firmly, raising his voice by a fraction. ‘I know that you and your parents don’t have the best of relationships. That being said, you’re still a minor, and you can’t make decisions like this rashly and on your own. When we find your parents, you may have to go and stay with them for a while, but I promise that you will get your chance to say what you have to say in front of a judge, who will make the decision for you. Until then, you’re going to stay with me, and I’m going to help you.’

I arch my eyebrows at him. ‘Help me? Well, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.’

‘Trust me, I do. I’ve dealt with people who’ve had nightmares before. I’m sort of used to it,’ he replies.

‘Nightmares, huh? I guess you could call them that,’ I mutter, and Kent must have figured out that I have had enough questioning for one day. He gets up and walks to the door, opening it and waiting for me.

‘Let’s go. We’ll go get your stuff, and then we can go home,’ he says, glancing at me.

Home.

If only I had one of those.

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The car ride is silent. Sat in the back-right window seat, my denim knapsack clutched tightly in my hands, I stare out the window, at the tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. The dark night sky, which always used to scare me, looks calm for a change, blinking stars sprinkled all over it.

About three weeks ago, a kid who was slipping me some change said something about Christmas holidays. Sure enough, kids and teenagers run around outside, playing and throwing snowballs at each other, enjoying their free time. Elderly couples trail around Central Park, hand in hand. I watch two young parents support their toddler, helping him walk through the slippery snow.

I take a moment and try to imagine myself as one of them; running around in the snow, being free, being normal.

The idea is so absurd that I almost laugh.

A few minutes later, the car slows down as Kent pulls into a driveway. It’s quite dark now. Besides the dim streetlamps, the only source of light comes from a bulb hanging above the front door of his house. As I get out of the car, I notice that the surroundings are very empty, quiet, contrasting to what I thought winter would look like in New York City. Most of the other houses seem so dull, it’s hard to imagine anyone living in them.

Kent motions for me to follow him as he walks towards the side of his house, opening a door that leads inside. It opens into a small kitchen with white marble walls and a wooden floor. The room smells awfully like rotten eggs. The black marble counters against the walls are overflowing with dirty plates, cups, bowls, and old pizza boxes with half-eaten crusts lying inside. The sink is the same scenario, and a small puddle of water has accumulated below it. The refrigerator is half-open, the light inside already gone out, and drops of milk from an open carton inside spill onto the floor every five seconds.

‘Nice place,’ I say, raising my eyebrows as I step over a spillage of what I hope is ketchup to stand next to Kent.

Kent closes his eyes before he yells, ‘DEREK!’

A boy immediately appears at the doorway leading out of the kitchen, as if he’d been waiting near there the whole time. He has messy blond hair, pale skin, and soft, playful green eyes that are the same shade as his father’s. He wears grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a grey hoodie that has a green paint stain on the left sleeve. There is a pair of headphones dangling around his neck as well as a phone carelessly hanging out of his pocket, both about to fall.

He looks like a normal boy; not one who used to be plagued with nightmares.

He wears a cheerful look on his face, that is, before he looks at the state of the kitchen and then back to his father. He gulps, and a nervous smile appears on his face.

‘Dad,’ he says, trying and failing to act nonchalant. He stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and leans awkwardly against the wall. ‘What’s up?’

Kent scoffs before crossing his arms over his chest. ‘What’s up is that you didn’t clean the kitchen like I asked you to two hours ago, when I left. Why, may I ask?’ He looks expectantly at Derek.

‘Uh…,’ Derek starts uncertainly, his hands unconsciously fiddling with his hoodie zipper now. ‘Well, you see.’ He pauses, unsure of what to say next.

‘Right,’ Kent says, unimpressed.

‘When you left, two hours ago,’ Derek looks up at the wall clock in mild shock as if just realizing two hours had passed. ‘I was planning to clean up the kitchen right after you left, I really was!’ he says further, catching Kent’s disbelieving glance.

‘But…?’ Kent presses, waiting for his answer.

‘But The Hunger Games was on TV, and you know I could watch Katniss volunteering for Prim over and over and over again. So, I went to watch it, planning on coming back after the scene, but—’

‘You forgot, because you were so enthralled by the greatest—’

‘Greatest cinematic moment in movie history, exactly, Dad!’ Derek rambles. ‘So, you understand, we’re cool? Okay, great, awesome. Well, I’m going to go.’ He starts to turn around.

‘Derek,’ Kent repeats sternly, rolling his eyes and sending an apologetic glance in my direction.

I don’t know why he’s apologizing; this is highly amusing.

Derek lets out a noise somewhere in between a grumble and a sigh before turning back to face us. ‘Yeah, Dad?’

Instead of telling him to clean the kitchen, like I thought he would, Kent turns towards me and looks back at Derek. ‘This is Alexis Rivet, Derek, and she’s going to be staying with us until we can get in touch with her parents.’

‘Hey,’ Derek says, waving at me, a polite smile on his face.

‘Hi,’ I reply, avoiding his gaze and instead eyeing the mismatched socks he is currently sporting. He probably notices because he moves one of his legs behind the other, an embarrassed smile appearing on his face.

Kent faces me again. ‘I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, and then why don’t we head out for dinner? I’m in no mood to cook today.’

Okay, fine. I can try and appreciate the gesture of taking me out for dinner on my first night and all. But making small talk at overly quiet restaurants in dim lighting while snooty waiters tell you the specials?

Pass.

Before I can even answer, Derek lets out a whoop of joy, sounding very much like an animated bird. ‘Where are we going?’ he exclaims excitedly, unexpectedly attentive now and about as jumpy as a five-year-old.

‘Well, I don’t know yet. Chinese, maybe?’ Kent wonders aloud.

Huh.

I haven’t had Chinese food since I lurked outside of that weird fast food place a while ago.

At least, I hope that was Chinese food.

Or at least food.

Derek’s eyes widen as he punches the air. ‘YES!’

Kent’s face turns into one of mock confusion as he looks at Derek. ‘Wait, I’m sorry, were you under the impression that you were coming along?’

‘Heh?’ Derek excitement visibly lessens, much like the way in which a balloon acts when you let all the air out.

‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Kent chastises, but I can tell he isn’t serious. ‘You see, you said the kitchen was going to be clean by the time I got back. It clearly isn’t,’ he says, looking around the room in distaste. ‘That means that you have to clean the kitchen now and, unless you clean it in