Fugitives Read online

  Fugitives

  Jes Drew

  Copyright © 2017 Jes Drew

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1985210177

  ISBN-13: 978-1985210172

  Praise for Castaways:

  Emily (our narrator) came across as a perfectly real, perfectly flawed character whose random changes of focus were all the funnier because she realized just how random they were… Jes Drew has an amazing sense of comedic timing... I thought of making a list of my favorite lines, but I'd have ended up with probably a quarter of the book.

  - Angie Thompson, author of Bridgers

  Sweet, funny, and romantic; this isn’t a read you want to miss (or something cliché like that)

  - Nicki Chapelway, author of A Week of Werewolves, Faeries, and Fancy Dresses

  Read this book!!! Definitely read it

  - Pause for Tales reviews

  Patience- has a quiet Outer-

  Patience- Look within-

  Is an Insect's futile forces

  Infinities- between-

  'Scraping one- against the other

  Fruitlesser to fling-

  Patience- is the Smile's exertion

  Through the quivering-

  -Emily Dickinson

  DEDICATION

  First of all, to Jesus, Who gives me the strength to persevere. Also, to my grandparents: Close-by Mama, Close-by Papa, Faraway Mama, Faraway Papa, and Grandma Ruth.

  Prologue

  I tiptoe down the stairs since it’s late and I don’t want to wake anyone. What I do want is a glass of milk- something all the doctors and especially the dentist that I visited today told me to drink as much as possible. I didn’t get enough dairy on the Island.

  “What do you think of Emily and the others’ story about the secret society on the remote Island they were castaway on, Neva?” I hear Dad ask in the living room.

  I freeze.

  “It’s definitely… creative,” Mom admits. “A people enslaved by three taskmasters- by the name of Masters, no less. I’d dismiss that they were even on an island at all if it weren’t for their raft.”

  “And the two kids. Let’s not forget Oto and Ata, who apparently have no backgrounds whatsoever. I mean, I've searched all the databases... There is likely to be some truth in their story, as incredible as it is.”

  “Some truth. But the rest of it…”

  How can they not see? The evidence is right in front of them!

  A mental list of all the things I wish my parents would just believe me about:

  (1) That I didn’t mean to throw away Chase’s toy after he knocked my geranium over- I can’t help it if boy toys resemble trash these days;

  (2) That I didn’t slap Derek; I only pushed him away, and he had it coming;

  (3) That I didn’t kiss Christopher when we were castaways on that Island together (his administrating mouth-to-mouth doesn’t count, but they still listen to Mary-Ann instead of me);

  (4) And above all: that I didn’t make up the story about the Masters. They. Are. Real. And they aren’t particularly happy with me.

  “I don’t think Emily and the rest made it up for fun,” Dad says. “I think it was a story to get through the drudgery and discomfort of being castaway-ed on a miniscule island, but when they went back to sea in their raft, it became real to them.”

  I bite my lip as my eyes begin to tear up.

  “You’re probably right,” Mom agrees. “You know how fragile she is.”

  Clenching my fist, I have to bite my lip harder just to keep from yelling down at them. So what if I have a little PTSD from my last traumatic moment? So what if I might have some issues from the Island? I'm not so fragile as to escape into my own little world!

  Mom sighs below me, oblivious to the anger of her poor, 'fragile' daughter. “So, what do we do about it?”

  “I guess we go along with it to a degree. Emily will come to terms with reality when she’s ready.”

  Me come to terms with reality? They are the ones who need to come to terms with reality.

  “The sooner, the better.”

  “Though…”

  “What?”

  “What if it is true? What would that mean for us?”

  “Then so what? I doubt it would affect us. Those 'Masters' are kind of isolated.”

  My heart begins to pound. Mom’s words eerily mirror my own when Christopher and I were talking about Oto’s secretive behavior.

  So he’s got a secret. So what? I had said. I doubt it can affect us on this island. We’re kind of isolated.

  Of course, I was wrong. His secret could affect us. His secret did affect is.

  And it still can.

  I climb back up the stairs, my thirst un-quenched. I guess I’ll just have to keep persevering in insisting that I’m not making this up. But not tonight… tonight, I’m too tired.

  But more important than convincing my parents of the truth is staying out of the Masters’ way. Because they are out there, and they are angry and they are powerful- I so hope they don't find us.

  But it’s going to take a lot more than just hope to avoid them.

  Chapter One

  Christopher turns to me. “Run!” he says. “They’re coming!”

  I wake up in cold sweat. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. It’s definitely not the giant weeping willow I slept underneath when I was on the Island. I’m in a small room- my room. The walls are a mint green, my favorite color. Unpacked boxes are strewn across the room.

  I roll over and check my alarm clock. It’s midnight. If I were still on the Island, I’d have to get up and keep watch. So not going to miss that.

  Despite the fact that it’s summer, I pull my nice, new sheets up to my chin. It’s so nice sleeping in a bed instead of the ground.

  I close my eyes, but sleep eludes me.

  Back on the island, I was almost always surrounded by Chase and Mary-Ann, my two cousins; Christopher, the boy who, like us, was left behind by the life boats; and Oto, who we had met on the island. I kind of miss the closeness. I mean, I enjoy having my own room and even enjoy being alone- most of the time. But, at least when you’re together, you know everyone is safe.

  I climb out of bed and slip my feet into my new slippers (my old slippers were lost when the cruise ship my cousins, Christopher, and I were on sank). Then I pull on my new robe over my pajamas (my old robe had the same fate as my slippers) and run my hand through my long, straight brown hair, which is usually all I need to do to untangle it.

  Quietly, I open my bedroom door and tiptoe over to the next room, Mary-Ann’s bedroom. I open the door a crack and peek in.

  Mary-Ann is lying in her bed. Her golden hair that I’ve always been jealous of is splayed out on her pillow. Her six-year old face looks so serene that you wouldn’t believe her to be capable of any sort of mischief (which is completely misleading, believe me).

  I shut the door and tiptoe over to Chase’s room, which is connected to Mary-Ann’s by a Jack and Jill bathroom. Peeking into his room, I find that Chase is slightly harder to see since he’s in a loft bed, but I can still make out his nine-year old frame. Unlike Mary-Ann though, I can’t see his face or hair, but I know his features well. He has brown hair like I do, and like both Mary-Ann and me, he has freckles and large, green eyes.

  After shutting his door, I creep across the hallway to where the two master bedrooms are situated.

  First, I check on my uncle and aunt- Chase and Mary-Ann’s parents. They’re both there. Then I check on my parents. My heart clenches when I see them. A month ago, they along with Uncle Gerald and Aunt Donna, came here to Leeds, England to get everything ready for the rest of us. We thought we’d see them again in two weeks.

  We were wrong. On the way over, our cruise ship was torpedoed. Everyon
e else, including Grandmother, made it to the life boats. However, Christopher, Chase, Mary-Ann, and I did not. We ended up spending almost two weeks on that horrid Island. In fact, we were only rescued two- no three days ago. That’s not long enough to get used to being with people after a month apart. Especially when half that month is spent on an isolated Island.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I go around the stairs to the opposite side to the third floor of out town house where the guest room and in-law suite are situated.

  I don’t peek into the guest room where I know Oto and his sister Ata are sleeping. After all, they aren’t related to me, so it would be rather awkward. Especially since Oto is kind of a young man. An attractive, eccentric young man…

  Instead, I press my ear against the door. Sure enough, I hear two people breathing. Well, I hear one person breathing and one person snoring. Weird, I never noticed Oto snoring before… Wait, that couldn’t be Ata could it?

  Stifling a giggle, I creep over to the door to Grandmother’s in-law suite. It isn’t very big since it only consists of a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchenette, and an office (the room didn’t start off as an office, but Grandmother needed an office more than a living room). Like with the guest room, I can only press my ear to the door. Grandmother is a very light sleeper and big on privacy.

  After I hear her breathing, I creep back to my room.

  Back in Alabama, we lived in two separate houses on the same street, but I think it’s nice having all my loved ones in the same house. Well, all of them except Christopher who is at his own house in nearby Sheffield. I saw him just yesterday and I’m already missing him. I wonder if he thinks about me as often as I think about him. Because if he does, than we should seriously go to an obsession support group together.

  Shaking my head to myself, I tiptoe back to bed and pull my covers up to my chin. Closing my eyes, I can't help but wonder, what will the day hold?

  ~~~

  When I wake up again, it’s nine o’clock.

  I crawl out of bed and stumble into my small but private bathroom. I feel much more awake after washing my face and brushing my teeth.

  Ahh, the joys of running water.

  I brush my hair and pull it away from my face with a pair of berets. Then I apply eye shadow, mascara, and lip-gloss. Sadly, my parents won’t let me wear foundation or blush. They think my freckles are cute. You’d think that I could make choices (like whether or not my freckles are really cute) at the age of sixteen (especially when I survived almost two weeks with no adult assistance), but no. Not with my parents.

  Back in my bedroom, I put on the outfit I had picked out last night: a simple, blue top; white capris; and blue flats. I accessorize with my blue and white bed necklace, waterproof watch, and genuine pearl ring that my parents got me on our wonderful trip to Florida last year and survived my Island adventure. Then I step out of my room.

  The hallway that had been so quiet last night is now a central of chaos.

  “Has anyone seen my pink jumper?” Mary-Ann asks.

  “Which one?” Chase asks back. “You have millions.”

  Mary-Ann sticks her tongue out at him.

  “Wow,” Oto says, peeking into both my cousins’ rooms, “your house is really fine. Are you sure you’re not in cahoots with the Masters?”

  “Shame, Oto,” Ata scolds. “Be polite. We are their guests. And where are you learning words like cahoots? Are you reading that urban dictionary again?”

  Oto winks at me wolfishly, and I wonder where he picked up that.

  Then again, Oto is neither innocent or a savage. He's got just the right sort of mix of feisty independence and boyish charm that would turn my head if there weren't Christopher.

  Christopher, who isn't here right now, like Oto is...

  Mary-Ann pulls me into her room. “Will you please help me?”

  Well, I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter.

  After I've helped dress Mary-Ann and have braided her hair (she can’t braid at all), we both head downstairs to our spacious kitchen (neither my mom nor my aunt spend much time in the kitchen, but they both insisted that we have a large one).

  Both Mom and Aunt Donna are taking cereal out of the cabinet, searching for their favorites that are lost amongst everyone else’ favorites. Despite not being related by blood, they look similar- though Mom is brunette and Aunt Donna is a blondie- and they act very similar. But they are also are easy to tell apart because Mom is a total drill sergeant and Aunt Donna is a gentle germ phobic. Also, the hair colors.

  Dad and Uncle Gerald are both standing near the coffee maker, waiting for it to finish brewing the substance that they live off of (despite uprooting the whole family from the US to Britain, they refuse to forsake coffee with tea).

  Uncle Gerald is talking animatedly, but my dad has a faraway look in his eyes that means he’s dreaming something up instead of listening. I should know- I’ve gotten that look plenty of times. It’s easy to see that they’re brothers. They both have brown hair, large green eyes, and glasses. However, one might mistake the age difference between the two. While my dad is only three years older than Uncle Gerald, his many gray hairs and serious expression make him look much older than his forty years. Uncle Gerald, however, still has a full head of brown hair and a twinkle in his eyes that make him seem younger than his thirty-seven years.

  I don’t bother looking around for Dad and Uncle Gerald’s mother, my grandmother. She never rises before nine.

  I collect Mary-Ann’s and my favorite cereals and a jug of milk while Mary-Ann collects two bowls and two spoons. Then I put a piece of bread into the toaster. I love toast.

  Chase comes down while I’m pouring Mary-Ann and me each a cup of orange juice.

  “Could you pour me a glass too, please?” he asks.

  “I would,” I answer. Chase is as incompetent at pouring beverages as Mary-Ann is at braiding her hair.

  We kids take our seats on the bar stools lining the counter since our parents always use the breakfast nook. I’m not sure where Grandmother will sit when she finally comes down. She’ll probably sit wherever she wants- that’s how she does things.

  Oto comes running into the kitchen. He grins, revealing white teeth made whiter against his dark skin. He was born on an island located somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean and has the tan to prove it (I, however, can’t tan- I just freckle; it’s one of the great injustices of life).

  Pushing his longish black kinky hair behind his ears, he slows down.

  Mom scowls when she sees him, but only for a moment. Then she pastes her smile back on. She isn’t particularly fond of Oto, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because he’s intruded into her life and now she has to figure out what to do with him and his sister. Or, maybe, because she thinks he’s the one responsible for filling my head with silly notions like a secret society existing on the island we were marooned on. Or perhaps it’s because he’s living proof of such a society.

  Ata walks into the room. She’s both the same age (sixteen) and the same height (five foot ten- I know this because of all the physical tests we had to undergo when we were rescued) as her brother. They have the same complexion, hair (though hers is slightly longer), and almost identical features- though she’s far from boyish; more like tropical beauty. However, while Oto is what might be described as a ‘wild child,’ Ata is the epitome of propriety. Her face hardly exhibits any emotion and even her gait seems controlled.

  Mom smiles genuinely when she sees Ata. Even though Ata poses the same problems as Oto, she’s also been a great help. In the short time Ata’s been here, she’s done many chores. Besides, Ata’s just the sort of person that adults like.

  Personally, I blame the Masters for her personality.

  “When I’m done eating, may I explore the neighborhood?” Chase asks.

  Aunt Donna opens her mouth, probably to say no. “You may explore the neighborhood after you unpack a few of your boxes.”

  Wait, what?

  “I’ll tag a
long,” Uncle Gerald offers. “And Mary-Ann can come too, if she wants.”

  Chase and Mary-Ann grin at each other excitedly.

  Before the shipwreck, I would have thought I’d never seen the day when Uncle Gerald offered to spend time with my cousins on a weekday willingly. But since the shipwreck, everything has changed. It’s one of the few positives of the whole ordeal.

  ~~~

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I jump half out of my skin and drop the shirts I'd been sorting. Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” Grandmother says on the other side of my bedroom door. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Grandmother strides in, but remains near the doorway.

  “You may have a seat if you want,” I offer, gesturing to my bed. Cold courtesy is the only way I know how to communicate with Grandmother.

  Grandmother nods and takes a seat. Then she carefully smooths out her pantsuit, which is casual wear for her. After making sure her French twist is in place, she says, “I’m really sorry about leaving you on the ship like that.” Her normally somber gray eyes fill up with tears.

  “It’s okay. Everything turned out okay.”

  She tucks a silver strand of hair behind her ear and in that moment, regains her composure. “Thank you, Emily, for getting yourself and your cousins off that island alive.”

  “Well, it was mostly Christopher’s doing.”

  “I doubt he could have done it by himself.” She stands up. “Well, I need to go finish unpacking.”

  I watch her leave. What would it have been like to have felt guilty for the disappearances (and possibly even deaths) of your three grandchildren?

  For the first time in the history of the world, I look at my elegant grandmother and think poor, poor Grandma.