The Runaway Boy

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

TOMMY HUNG AROUND the shop for the days following, he refused to be picked up by Mason after the first day and instead walked to work. Tommy preferred to get a better idea of all the ways he could flee if he was cutting it close with his brother when he finally found him. Christian would send Tommy to the 'Lucy's Diner' just down the street for coffee in the morning before work started. He'd go for a walk on his lunch break around the main road. Pop into the library to say hi to Sasha if she wasn't working at the diner. He met their mother Lucy Hartford who was equally as bubbly as her kids — Mason being the obvious outlier.

On his first day off on Saturday, he let Sasha drag him to the beach. She had snuck a box a beer from her Moms diner, and they discreetly drunk them curled up in a blanket on the sand dunes, hidden behind the tall grass. He obviously only had a couple, he didn't like being out of control, but he still liked the gesture. He liked Sasha. She didn't stare at him like she doubted his story like he sometimes caught the others doing like Mason almost always did.

He liked how she talked, like how she most definitely exaggerated every story that fell from her lips. He thought they would be friends in another parallel universe where his life wasn't a burning match almost at its wilted end. He felt many people would easily fall in love with a girl like her. He even smirked slightly when he thought about how many of them had tried controlling a girl like her.

He told her on the beach that he wasn't into her because he wasn't into girls. It wasn't that she was coming on to him, it's that he felt that he wanted at least one thing in his life in Winchester to be the truth. She had just laughed and rocked her shoulder against his before blurting out "oh, I think that is probably the most honest thing you've ever said, but I don't mind." Tommy thought that other people might've been offended by something like that, but it was just the truth, it meant that she was more perceptive than he thought — and he didn't seem to mind that about her.

The boys in the shop started to slowly grow on Tommy, he let them banter away, and on the odd occasion he would throw back their taunting. Nicky usually instigated it, and Harry would feed into it, Mason always won no matter what. He had seemed to loosen up slightly around Tommy, but it wasn't a lot. Mason still had that look in his eye that he didn't believe a single thing about Tommy, that he didn't trust him and that the only reason he hadn't done something about it was because of the trust he had for Christian.

Nicky took him under his wing even though Tommy didn't ask for it. He tried to talk him into coming to the diner with them after work as it was a tradition to do so every Friday. He was invited to the Hartford place for dinner on Sunday nights too, it was also a tradition of theirs. Tommy politely declined each time, but Nicky was relentless even if his best friend was sending him deadly looks the whole time. Tommy didn't get how they were friends or as close as they said they were saying that Mason rarely cracked a full smile or talked all that much unless it was a sarcastic remark or small chat at the other end of the shop where Tommy couldn't hear.

Harry, on the other hand, was a lot like Sasha, he didn't question anything he heard from Christian about Tommy's life. He'd more been curious on how involved Tommy's family was with the Sinclair's and how much he knew of the Hartford's. That conversation was short and was never brought up again after Tommy said that he hadn't heard of them or their father, that Christian just told that they brought out of the business and came to Winchester for peace. Harry laughed at that and mocked Mason and Nicky, saying, "you call these two buffoons peace?!"

Tommy continued to ignore Christian. It wasn't out of spite, he didn't even think he was that angry about it anymore. He just couldn't bring himself to stomach a conversation that wasn't about cars with him. Every time he looked at him he saw the day he left playing behind his eyes. He saw himself at 14 searchings for him, running through his empty house, the empty garage. Every and all trace of his uncle wiped from existence. To Tommy — Christian was the only one who he ever considered family, he was his friend, his brother, his father. He was everything to him.

The town had caught wind of 'Howard Steer's' family friend staying in town, that 'Tommy Wilson' was staying at the Gardner's holiday home. People stared at him everywhere he went, which made Tommy's paranoia incredibly hard to stomach. There were a couple of men, probably Mason's age who taunted him when he walked past the local pub on his way home from work. He had to forcibly make his feet keep moving so he didn't throw the first punch whenever that called him names. He didn't know why they did it, but he had a fair idea that it was because he worked with Mason and Nicky.

Tommy didn't mind the constant bickering between the boys in the shop, though it made the silence of his place a lot more deafening when he returned home after the day's end. Despite being busy all day, having his mind temporarily taken from the reality that was his situation — the nightmares became severely worse. He found himself waking up thinking he was actually awake only to still be in his dreams, a constant cycle of fear throughout the night.

Right now he sat in the mahogany wooden chair with the dark green upholstery cushions, his chair was angled slightly away from his brothers matching mahogany seat and towards the fireplace to the right.

He stifled a whimper when he saw him. Jonathan Sinclair, Jr. He stood over the fireplace, his arm resting against the shelve above the fire, the fire poker in his other hand, stirring the flames. Tommy resented how much he looked like his father, the ocean green eyes and the wavy blond hair. The flicker of freckles dusted across their cheeks and bridge of their nose. His brother though had a rigid scar that cut through his right eyebrow and down his cheek.

The flames flickered across his brother's emotionless expression, playing with the contours and shadows of his delicate cheekbones. He was without his suit jacket and tie, just his baby blue dress shirt which was half untucked from his dark navy blue dress pants. Tommy knew that his brother didn't intend on leaving the house for the rest of the night by this. That he didn't want to ruin his jacket.

Tommy didn't move or speak, he kept himself firmly in the chair, nothing or no one to hold him down except himself. If he tried to run, it would be a worse outcome then what he already had come for him. So he waited. He waited as patiently as he could for his brother to retaliate, to make the first move. Tommy couldn't stop his body from trembling the way it did, couldn't take the cloudiness from his mind, he couldn't do anything.

"You know," his brother started, words tight in his throat. "I let you get off easy the last times you tried to run from me, but Tommy you've really outdone yourself this time," his low tone of voice made Tommy want to shrink away and hide.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tommy forced the words to come out, but even he didn't believe a word he said.

His brother dropped the fire poker to its stand and paced towards Tommy, throwing his fist as hard as he could into the side of his face. Heat ravaged its way through his cheekbone and blood pooled in his mouth. He leaned over the right side of the chair, struggling to breathe as blood drooled from his shaking lips onto his hand that gripped the arm of the chair. Jonathan Sinclair grasped his younger brother's face, sending another shockwave of heated pain through it as he pulled him back to his attention.

"Don't lie to me Tommy, where are the documents, I know you stole those f*****g documents you little prick!" His brother spat venomously, squeezing Tommy's cheeks as hard as he did.

"I don't know what you're..." Tommy began to repeat himself but was shut up by another fist, striking his face.

"What an absolute disappointment you turned out to be, you betray your friends, your family name, your father, me. What good are you to any of us, huh?" His brother's words begin to strike twice as hard as his fist had. Tommy kept his eyes down on the blood dripping down onto his hand, forces himself to keep his eyes focused through the pounding in his head.

"I don't know..." Tommy began again, hoping that by angering his brother enough, it would make this go faster. His brother didn't let him get as far before striking him in the same place as the last two punches. Tommy struggled to keep his vision from doubling as he leans back in his chair, his head tilting back over it as he looks up at his brother. He still sees the face of the man he used to be, still remembers his brother's smile under his now twisted scowl.

"Yeah just keep hitting me... that's your solution to everything, right? Yeah, I stole the f*****g documents, you've taken everything from me, you took away the man my brother used to be, you took away my f*****g teenage years, my freedom, you've taken my f*****g life," Tommy sucked in another harsh and nauseating breath, everything hurt, he just wanted to see a reaction other than anger on his brother's face, but nothing came.

"I wanted you to feel what it was like to have everything taken from you too, so yeah I stole the f*****g documents, I wanted to see you rot away in a cell, I wanted you to feel what it was like being stuck in a prison, in your own hell," Tommy spat the mouthful of blood he had at his brother, watching as it splattered across his shirt and arms.

In one swift move, his brother was over him, knife pressing hard down into his wrists, and slicing. Tommy screamed out as the blood washed in a thick warm pool over his arms, it was coming out too fast to stop. His brother moved to his other arm and did the same. Tommy couldn't feel the pain he should be feeling, just the cold metal on his skin, the hot blood washing over him.

"Now I've taken your life, you are not my brother anymore, but you belong to me, you'll always belong to me," Jonathan Sinclair said venomously before dragging Tommy from his chair by the back of his shirt. Tommy tried to fight as his Jonathan dragged him out into the foyer of his New York home.

He lay on the cold white marble floor, watching everything fade away as the blood seeped from his body. He was going to die. He was going to die. He—

Tommy gasped awake, clawing at his throat for air but none went through to his lungs. He was back in his bed, in his room, in Winchester. The lights were suddenly turned on, but there was a flicker of a warm red glow somewhere. The fireplace? Where am I? Tommy pulled himself out of bed, and half jumped, half fell from it. He spun around, looking, looking for the fireplace, his brother, where was he? Did he pull up the sleeves of his hoodie to see the scars where was the blood?

The thoughts were accelerating inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could just breathe, but they kept fighting his every attempt. His breaths came in hard, choked gasps, and he thought he might pass out soon if he didn't figure out how to use his lungs again. His heart was a tyrant force, hammering inside his chest as if it belonged at the end of a drill.

The room was spinning at an uncontrollable speed, and Tommy tried to crouch on the floor, tried to make everything slow to something his brain and body could cope with. He felt so sick. Did he want to run to someone for help, maybe Christian? He wouldn't even know that Jonathan was here, that Tommy was in trouble, that he was dying. Maybe call an ambulance, where was his phone? Where was everybody? He needed help. The hospital, he hated the hospital. He'd die in there. Vincent or Maura — his brother's lackeys could get to him in there.

He wasn't safe. Breathe. He wasn't okay. Can't breathe. He was going to die. Never breathe again.

In a rush, he pulled on his sneakers and ran from the house, still wearing his shorts and a hoodie. It must've been at least midnight, Christian would be home, he wouldn't know that Tommy was running, that his brother was after him now. But he still didn't get it, he was just in his brother's office back in New York. But now he was running down Main Street in Winchester. It couldn't have been a dream, you couldn't feel pain in dreams, but he felt that. He felt the knives dig deep into his skin like they had before.

He slowed down and forced himself to stop running, looked around for any onlookers before pulling up his sleeves. All of the scars on his arms were as they should be, none of them was oozing blood. He grabbed hold of the fence next to him for support and crouched down, burying his eyes against his open palm, he let out a choked sob, his body wracked with uncontrollable shaking. It started to slowly all make sense. What had happened in his dream had occurred to him before, word for word, action for action. He was dreaming it, and his body was responding with phantom pains of the memory.

"Hey! Hey you!" A slurred voice called out from behind him. He gripped tightly to the fence, turning to look over his shoulder slightly, he didn't need someone's help anymore, like always he helped himself.

"Your a friend of Mason's lot aren't you?" Another voice shouted. Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat, turning to get an idea of how many of them there were.

Four... Two of which were quite drunk, easily overpowered given that they weren't that big of guys either — basically the same size as himself. The other two were sober, walking towards him with closed fists. Tommy clenched his jaw as he always did instinctively when he was expecting to get hit, he didn't need his teeth going through his tongue or gums. He recognized them from the guys who always antagonized him on the way home from work. It was the one guy in the middle that Tommy especially didn't like, the one that looked like he really wanted revenge for something and the way he was going to get it was through Tommy.

"Not really, I work with them," Tommy said bluntly, forcing his fingers to relax at his side instead of on the fence.

"But we saw you with the sister yesterday, I'm surprised little ole Mason let you get close to that," the middle man said, licking his bottom lip not at all subtly.

"And? What does that have to do with you?" Tommy bit back, trying his best to keep his voice neutral, but well, he's always had a bit of an attitude problem.

"Oh, Tommy, right?" He asked and before he had a chance to answer he carried on, "You are new here, so you don't get it; apparently, Mason doesn't dare to tell you what it means to follow him. You see Mason, and I have some bad history, and because it's Mason that means his little siblings and Nicky, you know, even his boss can be a real asshole," This guy was really starting to grind on Tommy's last nerves.

"So what are you trying to tell me? You better get to the point because as you can see here, I was going for a run," Tommy cut in, he had to force his grin down when he saw how they all stared at him in surprised frustration.

"What I'm saying is watch your back."

"No, see what I'm hearing is just a few small-town Hicks thinking they are all tough by —," Tommy didn't get to finish his sentence before the first fist landed square to his jaw. He grunted as he fell back against the fence but put his arms upon the defensive as the next punch came fatally following the first.

A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Tommy's body from where another one of the men kicked him back, foot to chest. His stomach ached, his arms lost tension, and his legs began to weaken. He knew that he wouldn't win this, it was 4 on 1, and soon enough he was overpowered, unable to distinguish where and when the punches were landing, just that his body was on fire and he was slowly sliding down against the chain length fence.

His tongue was soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, he grabbed the foot of the man who had threatened him and pulled him to the ground. His head was pounding. He forced himself on top of him, straddling his waist as he brought a fist to his face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie. It was only one punch, but it was satisfying enough. He felt his body dragged off of him, felt a hard elbow slam hard against his eye socket and the world fell into darkness.