Hey, everybody!
Sorry for the INSANELY LONG WAIT for the update! In between AP and honors classes at school, volleyball and getting really sick, I've had no time to write WHATSOEVER. SOOOO INCREDIBLY SORRY! I'm gonna stop rambling so you can read. Enjoy!
Chapter 6: Freedom
It's been almost a year since Casey and I ran off, and no one has found us. The M.R.D. chased us for a good six months, up through Texas and into Vegas, where they had us cornered.
Long story short, that was probably the single scariest night of the whole run. Casey and I got separated, and had it not been for Casey's lack of solid blonde hair at the time, they would have recognized her, caught her, and dragged her back to Louisiana, kicking and screaming.
And when I finally did find her, she was standing about a block or two away from the M.R.D. headquarters.
And it was on fire.
She soon told me that the M.R.D. had chased her there, and when they tried to trap her in, she yanked off one of her gloves and sent a pillar of fire into the side of it.
I lost count of how many headlines that little stunt made.
Apparently the building burned to the ground and a bunch of equipment was destroyed in the fire, as well as a few big egos.
To say I was proud of her would be an understatement. We didn't lose them that night, but she did let them (and me) know that she meant/means business.
They tried to push us farther north and get us cornered in Portland, but we both saw that one coming and got out of there in the nick of time. Once we crossed the border into Canada, we lost them. At every border patrol station in the north, there's an M.R.D. officer on the lookout for me. It almost seems as if now, the M.R.D. is using all of its resources for the sole purpose of tracking me down and "rescuing" Casey.
I know for a fact that she definitely doesn't need "rescuing", or even want it, for that matter. As far as she's concerned, I'm the one that saved her. She and I have a mutual feeling that I had a good reason to, too.
For the six months we've been hiding in Alaska, it's almost as if she's become a completely different person. Those purple eyes of hers shine whenever she smiles (which is a whole lot more than she used to.) And the last time she ran out of hair dye, she didn't bother to go get more. So now, Casey, the real Casey, is sitting inside watching T.V. while I stand outside on our pathetic excuse of a front porch, getting some fresh air.
The volume on the T.V. suddenly gets a lot louder, and I hear Casey shuffle. When I turn around, she's leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, eyes glued to the screen. If something's got her attention like that (and it ain't me), it must be pretty important.
"Remy!" she calls.
I make my way inside and stand behind the couch, putting my hands on either side of Casey's shoulders and leaning up against the couch.
"Look at this…" She sounds pretty shocked. And after watching for a few seconds, I find out why.
There's a reporter on screen at one of the border patrol stations. She sounds pretty put together, but I can see it in her eyes that she's anything but. "Can you tell me why you decided to call it off?" she asks calmly. When the camera shifts to show the person she's "interrogating," my jaw drops.
For once in his life, Candid actually looks… defeated.
"It's been almost six months since we've heard or seen any of LeBeau. And the whole time we were chasin' him, we never did find or even see Casey. There was another mutant with him in Vegas, but that sure as heck wasn't my daughter. That thing was fiery… literally."
The reporter chuckles. "No kidding."
Casey's jaw drops.
"Anyways," the reporter continues. "Why did you decide to call it quits on the hunt for your daughter?"
I can't see Casey's face, but I can tell she's starting to smile. Her hand reaches behind her and grabs mine, and I give it a reassuring squeeze.
"Well…" Candid sighs. "There's no telling where LeBeau took her. We put a tracking device on that Mustang, but our radars suddenly stopped picking it up once he and his… sidekick… left Portland."
"And it sure made good firewood," Casey snickers. I chuckle.
"After that…" Candid continues. "We posted lookouts at every border patrol station on the Canadian border, just in case he really got stupid and tried to come back. But it's been six months since then, and knowing LeBeau, I would think he would have come back in two or three weeks, probably with Casey." He sighs. "If he wasn't back by winter, I decided, I'd tell everyone to pack up and head back to Louisiana. It's almost spring now… and still no sign of either of them."
"Do you have any idea where Casey might be? Or what's happened to her?"
Candid runs his hand across his mouth and says shakily, "That's just it, ma'am. We don't know where she is. As for what LeBeau has done to her or with her or made her do, I've got a pretty darn good idea as to what it could have been. Knowing him… it probably wasn't pretty." He sighs. "She's probably out in the middle of nowhere, scared to death, wondering where the heck I am. Either that or…"
"Or what?"
"She…" His voice breaks. "She could be dead."
"Dead?" Casey almost sounds hurt. "Scared? I'm fine, Daddy. And happy. Happy to be away from "home" and away from you."
Ouch.
"So…" the reporter looks stricken, but her voice is still calm. "You're calling it off because you've given her up for dead?"
Candid nods.
Silence.
"And if you catch LeBeau, what's in store for him?"
Candid's face twists in anger. "He is a dead man." The tone of his voice says that the death I would die would probably be a slow and painful one.
Crap.
I move around to the front of the couch and sit next to Casey, who puts her head on my shoulder. She grabs the remote and turns off the T.V., and we sit in silence for a while.
"You know what this means, petite?" I've never been one for dead quiet unless I'm "at work," so I decide I'm gonna break it.
"What?" Casey says, reaching for my arm and putting it over her shoulders.
"Candid's given up. There's no one at those patrol stations. Which means…"
Casey's voice drops to a relieved whisper. "We can go home."
"When you say "home," you don't mean Louisiana, do you?"
Casey shakes her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of that place in New York you told me about."
"Westchester?"
"Yeah."
I nod. "'At's what I was thinking, too. It's out in the middle of nowhere and kinda hard to find unless you know exactly where you're goin'."
"Kinda like here."
"Yeah… except you don't have to travel all day to get to the nearest gas station."
Casey laughs out loud (she knows I'm exaggerating). Sitting up and turning so she can see my face, she smiles at me and whispers, "We've done it, Remy. It's… it's done. We… we don't have to worry about them anymore." She beams, and pushing a little piece of hair out of my face, she leans in and kisses me. After she breaks it, she puts her head on my chest and puts her arm around my waist. "We're… free…"
Just about every single time I've picked up on Casey's emotions, she's either been scared, uptight, or nothing at all, up till now. As of now, "overjoyed" is an understatement for her. I smile to myself; for the first time since that day in Louisiana's backwoods all those months ago, she's pretty happy, and it's rubbing off on me.
The only sound we can hear now is the rain hitting the top of the tin roof of the house, and the next time I check up on Casey, she's asleep in my arms. Gently, I pick her up, take her to her room, and lay her on her bed, pulling a blanket over her shoulders and closing the door behind me.
Because if she fell asleep with me, I'd be barbecue the next morning. Sometimes, I still don't understand that woman…
"We're… free…" Casey's words echo in my head as I try to go to sleep. I know if Candid truly has thrown in the towel, she's darn right. We are free.
But I've got a sneaky feeling that our days of running and hiding and dealing with him are far from over.