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Tuesday 16 May 2017

3/12: R U N

part 1 can be found here
part 2 can be found here. 

 


12/12 Short Stories in 2017
3/12
word count: 1000 words
prompt: a new life
R U N



“What are you doing?”

Cameron shoved another t-shirt into the bag. “Morning, Van.” He pushed past her to get to the closet.

“I asked you…”

“I think it’s pretty clear.”

“Rob’s freaking out, Cam! You can’t just leave like this!”

“Watch me.”

Van snatched the sweater from his hands, threw it back in the closet. “I can’t believe you’d do this. One note, one silly little note! You’re being ridiculous.”

Cam glared at her, retrieved the sweater. “You don’t know what it’s like, Van. You have no frigging idea.”

“So tell me!”

“What do you think I was doing last night?” He pushed past her again.

“Well, you weren’t exactly making a lot of sense.”

“Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean I’m not making sense.” Cam shoved the sweater in the bag. “It makes perfect sense to me. I’m leaving. I have to go.”

“But where?” Cam’s brother, Rob, stood in the doorway now, breathless and flushed.

“You left work?” Cam said. “Perfect. Now you can both see me off. Would you – leave that alone, man!” Rob had taken the bag.

“We can talk about this, buddy.”

Cam bristled. ‘Buddy’ was what Rob called him when he was trying to be all reasonable and adult. It had pissed Cam off when they were kids. It pissed him off even more, now. “You can talk all you want. After I’m gone.”

“Hell, Cam! One note!” Rob had that strained look around the eyes that he got when he was trying to control his temper. “It’s probably a joke. A prank.”

“A prank?” Cam lunged for the bag. Missed. “Fine. I can buy what I need. I’m off.” Out of the room, down the stairs, into the kitchen, Rob and Van clattering after him. His wallet was on the table. “Where are my keys?” he said, shoving papers aside.

“Cam….”

“You don’t get it.” He’d tried to explain it last night, the three of them sitting around this very table until long after midnight, beer bottles cluttering the surface until it looked like they’d had quite a party. Cam had gone to bed completely sober, woken up with a hangover no more serious than the prickling, urgent, driving sensation he’d had since Van had deciphered the thirty-eight lists in February. “It’s here… right here! All. The. Time. It never leaves me alone.

“Maybe a doctor,” Van said, her voice gone small.

Cam just looked at her. “And what’s a doctor going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Van was embarrassed. “Maybe it’s neurological.”

“Are you frigging kidding me?”

“Hey!” Rob said, hand up. “She’s just trying to help. We’re both just trying to help.”

Cam rubbed a hand over his chest. His heart was pounding, his breathing fast and shallow. He tried a deep breath. Nearly choked on it. He needed some water. There was a clean glass in the cupboard.
“I know you’re trying to help,” Cam said when he was finished. “But have either one of you considered, even for a minute, that I might just know what I’m doing?”

“But.”

“No. Let me say this.” Cam tapped the side of the sink, ran water over his hand. He had a brief, violent memory of his mum. “It’s not just the one note.” One note was all he’d told them about. One note had seemed like enough, given the message.

“What is it, then?”

Cam turned off the water. Reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said. It was the note he’d told them about, the one he’d received two weeks ago. On one side, some stranger’s ‘to do’ list. On the other side, three letters: R U N.

“Okay.” Rob’s expression was cautious.

“And here.” The other pocket. A piece of paper so tattered and torn it was falling apart, but the message was fresh: R U N. Rob went pale.

“And here.” From the back pocket of his jeans, a sheaf of Post-its, memos, torn bits of newspaper, receipts, bills, labels, flyers, envelopes and other detritus. Cam gave them all to Rob. They spilled from his brother’s hands and fluttered to the floor. All of them different, but all of them saying the same thing: R U N.

“This is a joke, Cam,” Rob whispered.

“It’s not.” Cam nodded at Van. “There’s another one. I can feel it.” He had always known when a message was coming. A prickling at the nape of his neck, like he was being watched. “In your pocket.”

Van, her eyes never leaving Cam’s face, reached into her pocket. She felt something there. Her mouth turned down. She looked like she was going to cry. She pulled out a small folded bit of paper, the receipt from a debit machine. “I haven’t worn these jeans in a month,” she said. Her hand was shaking.

“Read it,” Cam said.

Van unfolded the paper. On one side, the receipt, on the other…. She began to cry. “Oh, Cam,” she said. She gave the paper to Rob. He read it.

“I don’t get it, Cam. I don’t.”

“It’s me, Rob,” Cam said.

“No.”

“It’s me. Just like Mum, remember? It was her, and now it’s me.”

“No, I won’t believe that.”

Cam took the note from his brother. “That doesn’t change anything.” He glanced at the note, then dropped it on the floor. R U N landed face up. “I have to leave.”

Rob handed over the bag. Cam took it, slung it over his shoulder. They looked at one another, then Cam offered his hand. Rob ignored it, throwing his arms around his younger brother instead. “You’re the only family I have left.” Rob’s voice was muffled by Cam’s shoulder.

“I’ll call you,” Cam said.

And Van handed back the keys she’d taken, and they walked Cam to the gold Volvo 870 that had been Dad’s. Cam started the car, feeling like he was doing the right thing, running away. It never occurred to Cameron that the notes might send him running towards the thing instead.


Thanks to Mia Joubert Botha and writerswrite.co.za for setting up 12 Short Stories in 2017. Click here for chapter 1, and here for chapter 2.