My Reward; His Punishment

THE CHASE

"Catch him as soon as you get the visual but do not harm him. I repeat do not harm him at any cost, over." The cop commands on the radio to other co-officers as they rush past me.

I stand in between the City Square, with shopping bags in my hand, frustrated.

The police cars are dashing here and there, sirens are blaring and there's unusual tension in the street, in this daylight. Suddenly, people are rushing back to their homes and in a flash, there's hardly any civilian on the street.

Nobody here knows that I'm the wife of the one they're chasing and before they do, I need to escape from the place.

Because once they catch me, I'll be enveloped by their obtuse list of questions, that will have nothing to do with anything, but mere annihilation of my precious time, like the last time. 

My heart rate starts growing faster as I again dial my husband's number on the phone for some 30th time, in the last twenty minutes.

"Please pick up!" I whisper to myself and soon, a water drop falls on my skin. I look up to see the gray clouds, growling up in the sky. It's about to rain.

"The number you're dialing is not reachable, please leave a..."

"Damn!" I hang up, annoyingly. Should I delete his number? He never picks up my phone when I want him to.

"All the civilians are requested to stay back in their buildings until informed otherwise." One of the cop cars announces.

I groan before throwing my phone inside my bag and getting into my car.

"Relax Jane," I convince myself, "Nothing's gonna happen." 

The cold, swift wind touches my face as I drive through the green, open meadows of the West Yorkshire.

This is nothing new and happens often in our city. My husband is a troublemaker for them and that's why they're hunting for him.

I know they won't be able to catch him this time too, because either he'll go into some hideout or another warning from Government administration will help. But still they're gonna chase him anyhow, that's their duty.

He might be chilling somewhere with his friends or whosoever, but this is still new for me. It has just been a year since we married. I don't know how to talk to him about this because it's impossible for me to get used to it.

I sigh before stopping the car in front of my house. Wait, our house. Nope, his house, maybe, because I'm not his wife. I mean I am, but he doesn't think so. He's never said so but I can feel it. He is no less than a troublemaker for me, though. 

Nonetheless, this is my house as much as it is his.

"Stop thinking s**t, Jane," I tell myself and rush inside before yelling our caretaker's name like a maniac.

"Mrs. Hall!" I shout, throwing the bags on the couch and taking off my cardigan and scarf.

"Mrs. Ha.." I stop when I see her running towards me from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Foster." She apologizes.

"No, it's fine, Mrs. Hall." I try to pretend normal because I don't like it when she apologizes to me. I mean she is quite older than me.

"Is Mr. Foster home?" I ask her, behaving as if I am not at all excited to know the answer.

"Amm.." She thinks. "I don't think so because I've been in the stable from quite a few hours." She replies making me even more worried.

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Foster?" She asks, maybe noticing the nervousness on my predictable face.

"Yeah, it is," I reply half-heartedly and walk upstairs to my bedroom to change. All this time of thinking, I realize that I forgot Hannah.

"Shit." I immediately rush to her room and find her sleeping peacefully on her bed. I step cautiously to her bed and gently check her forehead.

Thankfully, she is out of fever now.

I curtain off the windows and pick her books up from the floor before piling them up on her study table, when my eyes land at the drawing sheets scattered on the table.

Wow! She is an amazing artist, I must say. I scan them one by one when one of the drawing, catches my eyes.

It is a picture of...of a familiar lady- blonde, short hair and straight, lean figure, with a heart-shaped face and blue eyes.

Disturbed by the drawing, I walk out of the room, restraining my emotions. She is a kid and misses her actual Mom. And that's obvious for a 6-year-old, isn't it? 

Hannah is Adam's daughter from his first wife and I love her as much as her father does. She misses her Mom and think that's okay. But I have given up so much for this family and it feels bad when you realize you still don't fit into this family.

I console myself against my afflicted heart and stride into the kitchen, before taking out the butter from the refrigerator. 

"I guess I should cook something for her, maybe that will cheer up her.

After an hour or so, I hear the sound of the back door opening up. I feel relaxed inside and soon a smile covers my face.