On the Run

By S Joseph

He was sentenced to life in prison for killing his mother. His girlfriend knew he was innocent as she was with him the night his mother was killed. She couldn’t bear to see him taken away so she became a prison correctional officer and joined the same prison where he was serving his sentence. Her mission was to help him flee prison and soon they were on the run.
Her friends feared for her safety as they knew how dangerous he could be. They were the only people who could have saved her. They followed the couple, sparking a wild chase in the Canadian countryside.
It didn’t take long for her to realise that he wasn’t the sweet, kind guy she thought he was. When she realised he could be dangerous, she knew she had to put an end to the journey she had started. There was a problem though - he was an armed psychopath and he had held her captive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jun 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228894971

S Joseph

S Joseph was born in India and immigrated to Canada in 2014 where she works as a nurse. She began writing in 2019. When she is not working or writing, she loves to spend her time with her husband and two children. On the Run is her debut published novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As dawn breaks, I sit up in my bed, picking out the crust from the corner of my eyes and rubbing it between my fingertips. I didn’t braid my hair last night as I usually do. My modestly curly brunette hair is flat at the back but sticks up from the top and sides. My fingers smoothen my scalp, brushing stray hairs along the way to straighten them up. I pull them up into a ponytail and make a messy bun, leaving a few bangs hanging around my weary face. I stretch out my arms and let out a long sleepy yawn. I hardly slept last night. It was one of those monotonous nights where I lay in bed, wide awake for hours, palpitating and desperately wishing for sleep to cuddle me. It didn’t happen; of course, I was too restless to sleep. I tightly closed my eyes, trying to embrace the darkness, but the uneasiness was at its peak as a nightmare appeared the moment I would drift off, startling me awake. Then I kept tossing and turning in bed, eagerly waiting for the sun to show up. Unfortunately, the night seemed endless, and by the time the sunlight began to spill into the room through the tiny gap between the blinds and the windowsill, I was burned out and overwhelmed. I go through these types of nights once in a while, especially when I am tense or excited. I had this feeling the nights before my tests. I had these exact same feelings the night before my prom. I had this feeling the night Cameron proposed to me.

Cameron…, and his proposal! I still cannot believe it happened! I remember that day like it was yesterday, although the turn of events wasn’t very remarkable. He wasn’t romantic and he didn’t rehearse his lines. He didn’t even care to go down on one knee though I would have appreciated that. He had a reason for not doing what men traditionally do while proposing to the love of their life – he said he didn’t like drama. At least he proposed, for which I was pleased. I hadn’t had the faintest idea that he was planning to ask me to be his better half.

That happened on a gloomy weekend in early July when it was pouring outside. The rain was incessantly falling from the sky since the morning, rhythmically drumming on the roof and windows, and drenching the vegetation. Trees and plants lowered their heads and sheepishly stood – unlike me, they might have realized that he was going to propose to me –, shuddering periodically due to the whistling wind. Thanks to the rain and wind; we spent that summer weekend trapped inside our wretched one-bedroom apartment. We cuddled up under the comfort of a warm blanket in our leather recliner – which we recently bought from Facebook Marketplace –, and watched the raindrops splashing on our window and listened to its symphony.

‘Will you marry me?’ All of sudden, he asked me. I was shocked. Who wouldn’t want to? He was one of the sexiest, handsome men in the entire town. He was tall and muscular. His thick dark brown hair was smooth and silky, and seemed neatly brushed though his long fingers frequently pampered them, caressing and fixing. His blue eyes always glinted with a mix of mischief and mystery, making them unreadable. His pupils dilated when he spoke, causing the person to become bewitched by them. However, his most attractive feature was none other than his smile – a magnetic smile exposing his even white teeth. His chiseled jaw sharpened and a dimple appeared on his right cheek as his smile widened. He was intelligent too; he had the ability to grab everyone’s attention by talking about simple things. He was a complete package of beauty and brain.

I raised my head from his chest and fixed my gaze on him. ‘What?’ I asked, astonished. I heard him well. I heard him right but I wanted to hear from him again. That question in particular. Each word separately and slowly, like Will…You…Marry…Me…? That was the least expected question from him. I was shaking inside out. I had been waiting for this moment my entire life.

We knew each other from when we were still kids. We lived on the same street in a run-down neighbourhood in tiny wooden houses with faded curling shingles and squeaky stained carpet floors. Our parents didn’t want to bring another life into this misery so we both ended up being the single child in our homes. Cameron’s parents, Mr and Mrs Boss, were a loving couple and protective of their son, whereas my parents were the polar opposite. Spending my time with him, playing together under the shade of a weeping branchlet of Katsura in his neatly maintained backyard – unlike ours –, was the only sweet memory of my childhood, and the best.

During one summer break – while we were still in junior school – I ran to his house as soon as I finished my breakfast and knocked on the front door. That was a habit I picked up over the years - knocking on his doors with an authority as if I owned that place. No one opened the door for a few minutes, but I continued banging anyway, calling him loudly. I knew Mrs Boss was out conducting a training program related to her work but Mr Boss and Cameron were supposed to be at home. My mom came out to our porch, hearing the noise and watched me – not for my safety, but out of curiosity about what was happening in the neighbour’s house – while pretending to pull out the lawn weeds. My parents hated Mr and Mrs Boss and never spoke to them. They quarrelled frequently over banal issues such as parking in each other’s yards, loud music or leaning trees.

Finally, Cameron opened the door and stared at me with irritation. ‘What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?’, he asked. ‘You woke me up from my sleep,’ he complained.

‘It is quarter to nine,’ I informed him.

He watched the sky with a scrunched-up face like he was able to read the time from the sun’s position. ‘What? Quarter to nine!’ he gasped. ‘Dad hasn’t woken up yet?’ he wondered – he and his father were early risers. We both went inside his home, while my mom continued to pull out weeds from our lawn for the first time in her life, whilst spying on us.

Mr Boss’s bedroom door was ajar and he was lying in bed motionless. His chest wasn’t moving up and down as it should have been. He wasn’t snoring as he usually did, a sound which could always be heard from miles away like a train passing through the tracks. It seemed to me that he wasn’t breathing at all, but Cameron didn’t seem to notice it. He casually began to call his dad, while I stood one foot in the door and anxiously clinging to the wall.

‘He isn’t waking up!’ Cameron said, shaking his dad. ‘He is cold,’ he added, his voice almost on the verge of breaking. ‘Call your mom please,’ he pleaded. I ran outside and alerted my mom. She was the one who confirmed Mr Boss’s death.

‘He must have been dead for hours; he is already very stiff. It must have been a heart attack,’ assumed my mom.

Mr Boss’s unexpected death was a shock to our community. He was a middle-aged healthy man who had no history of a medical condition. His sudden demise was a terrible shock to everyone close to him, especially to Cameron and his mother. After that day, Cameron was no longer the same. He – the guy who was once my voluble and inseparable friend – began to spend more time by himself and detach himself from others, which worried me. I tried to persuade him to join me for some fun, but he always came up with excuses to not go.

‘Let us go for a bike ride?’ I would ask.

‘Sorry, I am very tired,’ he would reply.

‘Let us go to the park,’ I would ask him another day.

Not today, some other time. I got work to do,’ he would say.

Things got worse when his mother got a huge sum from his father’s life insurance policy. They bought a large mansion in an affluent area and moved out from our neighbourhood. I cried for days then. The only relief was that we were in the same school and could meet every day. However, the separation hurt both of us. That was when we realized that we were in love and it was me who took the initiative to declare it.

‘I think I am in love with you,’ I casually told him one day after school, too shy to meet his eyes. We were sitting on an abandoned railway track behind our school, me watching the fall colours on either side of the track and him picking up the track ballast and hurling it away. He went still, probably thinking of an excuse to say something without hurting my feelings. I was prepared to accept whatever he said, but his reply was not what I was expecting.

‘I am in love with you as well,’ he said softly, leaning towards me. He was so close to me that I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. He took my face under his folded arm and pulled me closer to him. His eyes locked with mine and stopped blinking. His penetrating gaze made me nervous in a good way. As his stare intensified, I could feel butterflies in my stomach and my face reddening. I felt like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. I wished that there were only the two of us who existed in this world, no one else. All I wanted was to look into his eyes, never at anyone else. I wanted the whole universe for ourselves and I wanted to spend each second of my life with him.

After grade twelve, when we both started earning doing part time jobs here and there, we rented a subsidized apartment in the growing town of Alliston, Ontario, and moved in together. We had been living together for two years when he asked me to marry him. I was all of 20 and he was a year older than me. I didn’t jump for joy and say ‘yes’ when he proposed to me, like other girls do.

‘Why not?’ I asked, instead. I was reciprocating to the way he had proposed to me. Of course, he didn’t mind.

‘I will get the ring then,’ he said and went into our bedroom. I thought I was dreaming, but, when he returned, he had a plain, inexpensive gold ring in his hand. He put the ring on my finger and time stopped for us. That ring was the most precious and valuable thing I ever owned. I promised myself to never, ever remove it. Never, ever remove it! I promised! A broken promise indeed! I was compelled to remove it, because I didn’t want anybody to know about our relationship. For everyone out there, especially my colleagues, I am still single and in search of the ideal man, which is why I reneged. I stare at my fingers, filled with regret, and massage my empty left ring finger. I reminisce that moment one more time, Cameron sitting on the recliner facing me and putting the ring on my finger.

Thinking of Cameron brightens my face. I was lucky, I had the best boyfriend in the world. If he had enough money, he would have bought me the most expensive ring in this world.

Money. Money was always tight throughout the course of our relationship. Cameron was often disheartened by our financial troubles.

‘Why? Why? Why are we the only ones who can’t have all these things?’ he would say, while ogling at luxury cars zooming past us on the roads or splendid mansions in an upscale area whenever we went out.

‘Only ones? We are lucky to be born and brought up in this country. There are people suffering from drought in other parts of the world. They don’t have enough water, babe. They don’t have enough water to drink. Please be grateful for what you have,’ I used to say. He eventually stopped whining, maybe because every time he brought this up, I would remind him of the deprived. However, no matter how many times I said this, Cameron didn’t stop wanting material things. His stance on this never wavered – he wanted to be rich no matter what.

Cameron’s ideology on affluence was totally different from mine. As long as we had food on the table and a roof over our head, I was content and grateful. In contrast to that, Cameron wanted more than financial stability. He wanted to be able to buy anything in this world. I too had a similar feeling; but my world revolved around him and it was him itself.

Cameron. My universe. My life revolves around him. I like doing everything for him. My only focus is to keep him happy. He knows it. He never says anything; but I know how much he appreciates my effort. I will continue to do anything for him as long as I live. In return, I just want him near me where I can talk to him or touch him as I please. I cannot live without him. Without Cameron, my life is empty and monotonous, like a sea without waves. I cannot live like this for the rest of my life. The loneliness is unbearable. I had to make sure I am never separated from him again, which is why I chose this profession. To solve all my problems, and Cameron’s. I went to university, completed a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and joined as a correctional officer at the correctional center in Fingin, Ontario, only for one purpose, to solve all our problems. All our problems start with the fact that we are not together anymore.

Thinking of Cameron’s absence from my life brings tears to my eyes. I try not to cry today but one drop escapes and makes its way down my cheek to my neck. Before I know it, many accompany it, and I am sobbing uncontrollably, digging my face into my hands and heaving. This is how I begin my day every day. A couple of minutes later, I gather myself, get to my feet and stagger towards the washroom. I splash my face with cool water. Once the water washes away all my tears, I dry myself and stare at the face in the mirror. My eyelids are heavy, which isn’t unusual. My brown almond eyes are always heavy, heavy from all the crying I do ever since Cameron was taken away from me. Today my eyes look puffier, because not only did I cry, but also, I didn’t get much sleep at night. I cried and cried, while in bed, until I had no tears left to shed. The tears I shed last night were not tears of despair – unlike other days –, but more of happiness and relief because I know I am getting close to achieving my goal. All these years of my hard work are finally going to pay off today.

I get ready for the morning, humming to ‘The Fugitive’. Suddenly I remember that I haven’t hummed a song for years now. For the last five years all I did was study, work and prepare myself for today’s mission. I didn’t have time for anything else. My life was robotic, like everything goes according to settings and with no change. Getting up early in the morning, going to work, attending class and going back to work until midnight. I had a busy schedule for four years until I became a correctional officer. That is how I earned a decent amount without spending much, other than my college fees and on this expensive mission. From tomorrow, I have no idea how long I am going to be unemployed. I need money. I specifically need cash, which is why I keep it all with me in cash.

After getting ready, I leave my apartment for work. I don’t lock the room, nor do I care to say a final goodbye to the crappy apartment where I stayed for the last one year. I dawdle along the pavement to the nearest bus terminal, saying hello to the pedestrians on the street. The streets are busy; kids are trotting along the pavement to reach school on time and adults are striding across the road to go to work. I am a little late today but that is a calculated move. I wanted the rest of the day to go busy – for me and my colleagues – trying to catch up on pending work. No one dares to say a thing, even if I am a few hours late to show up for work because they all like me. I showed up for work every single scheduled day for the last one year; neither could I afford a day off nor could I miss the chance to see Cameron. Punctuality was my trademark. Not only that, I was always there to pick up shifts when someone else had an emergency and couldn’t make it to work. I always offered to stay back so that someone could take their children to an appointment or meet their date or attend a family event. Some days when there was a severe shortage of staff, I volunteered to be a prison guard. I always went beyond the call of my duties and helped guards with their duties. I was a flexible and hardworking officer. Everyone liked me because they asked me to cover for them a few times in the last one year so that they could handle their personal matters. I made myself available to them, no questions asked, to create a sense of obligation. I was successful in doing this and it is going to tremendously help me in today’s mission; a mission I have put my heart and soul into and devoted every bit of my waking moments to for the last five years. I am well prepared, because I know I cannot afford to fail. If I fail, I will die and so will Cameron.

Chapter 2

Cynthia, Assistant Director of Corrections, strides down the hallway towards her office in a hurry. It is half past eight and Sophia has not shown up for work yet; she was supposed to be here at seven. Cynthia tried to call her an hour ago, but the call went straight to her voicemail. She called again and left a message requesting a call back, but is yet to hear back. Sophia is not the kind who wouldn’t turn up on time. This is something that hasn’t happened since she joined Peterson Correctional Center a year ago. Sophia is very punctual. She always arrives early and leaves late, and is known to never take a leave. Cynthia feels something must have gone wrong. As soon as she reaches her office and watches the surveillance monitor one more time, she calls her colleague Liam, her best buddy, the tower guard.

‘Hey Sir,’ she attempts to lighten her mood a bit.

Liam could recognize the slightest change in her voice – that tiny little fragment of stress. ‘What is the matter?’ he asks.

‘Sophia! She didn’t show up for work. You know her very well. This is very unusual. I have this strange feeling that something is very wrong. Is there any way can we do a welfare check on her?’ Cynthia asks.

‘Don’t worry. She is on the way. I saw her entering the building a few minutes ago. She had trouble starting her car this morning and had to catch a bus.’

‘Oh! Thank God.’ Cynthia lets out a deep sigh. ‘I was so worried. You know, it has never happened before. She didn’t answer my call either.’

‘She left her home in a rush and forgot to take her phone. By the time she realised this, she was far away from her home so she couldn’t call us or a taxi. She had to walk a few miles, all the way from her house to the terminal.’

‘That is crazy. But her phone! It didn’t even ring though, went straight to voice message.’ says Cynthia, skeptical.

Cynthia never takes