Red Skull Initiative - Chapter 2

I dragged myself from the floor and into my bedroom. Every inch of me hurt but I had to ignore the pain. Opening my wardrobe doors, I threw loose pieces of clothing over my shoulder to find a large satchel buried at the bottom. I unzipped it and started to fill it with clothing. I grabbed my laptop from the side and pushed it in on top of my clothes. I rummaged in my drawers collecting my passport, old bills – anything that linked me back to this house. It was time for me to disappear.

Limping back into the bathroom I checked my appearance again. The dark bruises under my eyes had darkened, as had the one on my jaw. Blood was now dried onto my lips. I filled the sink with warm water – this was going to sting. I dunked my head into the water letting it wash away the dirt and blood. Water dripped from my now sodden hair back into the grimey, rust coloured water. I wiped my nose and lips again just to ensure there was no blood left.

Sitting on the toilet, I inspected the damage to my leg. In my thigh sat a shard of glass, blood slowly dribbling down the edge of the wound. Grabbing the hairbrush I kept in my bathroom, I clamped it between my teeth – I needed to get it out now. Grasping the jagged edge, I pulled the two inch shard from my leg, biting down hard on the hairbrush handle to muffle my pained cry. I covered it with a towel, trying to apply as much pressure as possible as I limped to retrieve a length of gauze from the bathroom cupboard. I covered the wound with a dressing then tightly wrapped the gauze around my leg. It was painful but I had to just soldier on.

I pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoody. I could feel the hoody sticking to my injured back – it was going to hurt like hell when I took it off. The bottoms were loose enough to avoid rubbing on my injured leg. Scrapping my hair back into a bun, a pulled a baseball cap onto my head. I lowered the peak to cover my eyes. I had no time to mess around with applying make-up.

It was 3.15am and the sun would be rising soon. I thought of Nathan, he would be the one who would find the body. Not only had I taken someone's life but I'd also destroyed a friends business. This day was going from bad, to worse. I knew that if I walked out my front door with a satchel on my back and a cap pulled low, even at 3.15am, I would look out of place. Instead, I swung open my bedroom window.

Pulling the satchel onto my back, I stepped out of the window onto the flat roof that was at the back of my building. I stepped cautiously across it, hoping it wouldn't groan under my weight, waking my neighbours. When I reached the edge, I laid on my chest and slowly lowered my satchel to the ground. With a quiet thump, I hoped it had landed without damaging anything. Moving back into a crouching position, I paused at the edge. This was going to hurt. I jumped down and felt an instant sting run up the back of my legs and through my damaged thigh. A curse slipped through my lips. Swinging the satchel back over my shoulders, I slipped out of the gate into the back alleys. Weaving my way through back roads, I reached the train station. It was deserted except for a bored looking man sitting behind the ticket booth.

“Where to love?” he yawned

“London, as soon as.” I answered, avoiding eye contact.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” I spat at him. I pulled my cap lower. My patience was running thin. I needed to get out of here.

“There's a change in Birmingham.” He said, slightly taken aback from my curt response.

“Fine.” I replied, pushing my debit card into the machine. Punching in my pin code, I realised the change was a blessing in disguise. I needed a new life and if I kept on using my card I could be tracked down. When I reached Birmingham I would empty my bank account and destroy my card. That way I'd easily be able to disappear.

There was still half an hour before my train was due. Sitting on the platform I got more and more edgey. As weary travellers started filling the platform, I knew my train was imminent. As I boarded, I heard sirens wail past. I checked my watch, it was just after sunrise. Nathan would just being going into the café to get ready for opening time. I doubted he'd be opening today. Instead I knew the place would be swarming with cops asking him all sorts of questions.

I slipped into a corner window seat and pulled my knees to my chest. I kept my head low and plugged myself into my music. If I didn't attract any attention to myself, no one would pay any attention to me.

Three hours later, the train pulled into London Paddington station. My debit and credit cards were on the tracks somewhere between Reading and here, hopefully now in multiple pieces. I'd hidden the cash deep in my pockets and scattered in my bag. Trudging from the train station, I settled in a café close by. I weaved my way to the back, slumping down in the corner booth hiding in the shadows. Taking out my laptop, I switched to the deed poll site. Running from Sheffield and destroying my cards were one thing, but to truly disappear I needed to change my name. Abigail Marie Lewis could no longer exist.

Ten minutes later, the application was complete. Abigail Lewis was gone. I was now Jacqueline Louise Harrington. I sat there, starring at my new name, committing it to memory. I pulled up the website for the Sheffield Star, scanning the front page for the announcement. There it was, the second headline.

Man Found Dead In Café
In the early hours of this morning, an unknown man was found dead in the the Piece of Cake café. The man was discovered by café owner Nathan Lee at around 5am. It is believed that the unnamed man died of head injuries as well as sustaining multiple bodily wounds...

The article continued but I refused to let my eyes continue to read what I already knew. I slammed the lid of my laptop down much to the surprise of many of the café patrons. I gave a quick apologetic smile to the woman in the table opposite me, who appeared to have spilled her coffee in shock. Tucking my laptop back into my bag, I swung it over my shoulder. I needed to find somewhere to stay. Being near such a big train station helped, within 10 minutes I'd found a small, reasonably priced hotel.

I dumped by bag at the end of my bed and sat down, surveying my new surroundings. My room had everything that I needed, a bed, internet and a bathroom. It was a perfect base while I set up my new life. I reached across to the small desk that sat underneath the window and picked up a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote out a list of things I needed to do:

1. Get a new phone and number
2. Cut and dye hair
3. Coloured Contacts
4. Open new bank account
5. Get a new passport
6. Find a new house
7. Get a new job

There is was, my list to create a new life. I folded the piece of paper and tucked it into my pocket. I walked into the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I let it run over my tired eyes, cooling the ache behind them. I looked up into the mirror. The purple bruises under my eyes looked more like expert make-up but the tenderness I felt reminded me they were very much real. My jaw still had a dull throb which reminded me I needed to get pain killers.

Standing, I rummaged in my bag and pulled out a wad of cash. I flicked through the crisp notes pulling out £100 in a mix of notes and pocketed them. I picked up my sunglasses and cap, covering over most of my bruises. I may be in a new city but they would still attract attention. I stumbled down the stairs and back into the early morning air.

Twenty minutes later I returned to my room. I went straight to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, emptying my purchases into the sink. I opened the pain killers, swallowing them dry, ignoring the feeling of them catch in the back of my throat. There in my sink sat a bottle of bleach, red hair dye and scissors. I pulled off my cap letting my long, dark hair tumble down over my shoulders.

My hair had always been one of my defining features and I cried the day I had to have it cut for the military. Once I left, I grew it again. It's now halfway down my back and is what I consider my safety blanket. But it was my biggest give away. If I kept it long I would be recognised. I stood in front of the mirror and grasp the scissors tight in my hand. I twisted my fingers around the length of my hair, as if to say a final goodbye. I gathered it all together in my free hand, as close to the base of my skull as I could. Setting the blades against it, I closed my eyes and took a breath.

I forced the blades against the wad of hair, hacking at it until the inches fell to the floor. I looked to the floor and saw a sea of brown surrounding my feet. I looked back to the mirror, the rough hacking left jagged ends. Taking the scissors again, I gently teased the ends creating a spikey looking pixie crop.

I unscrewed the cap of the bleach. Following the instructions, I covered my hair and let it seep in. The harsh chemicals stung my eyes. I stared at the brown hair covering the bathroom floor. There it was, my safety blanket, now just rubbish. I didn't feel upset this time, it actually felt like a weight off my shoulders. No one would expect to see me with short hair, guaranteeing I won't be recognised.

I rinsed the bleach from my hair and added the red dye. Once I'd rinsed the colourant out, I couldn't help but stare at myself in the mirror. I barely recognised the person staring back at me. She had the same colour eyes as me but that was it – that was all that was left of Abigail Lewis. The reflection had fire engine red hair and a stupid grin on her face. After a nightmare few hours, was I really smiling?

I walked from the bathroom, settling down on the bed in the middle of the room. Next to me sat my phone. I picked it up and twisted it in my hand. I knew the next thing I had to do was change my number and destroy my sim card. Before I did, I checked my phone one last time. There was a single unread message from Gareth.

“I heard about what happened on your street. Are you ok? Will pop round later to see you.”

With that message my eyes filled with tears. In my rush to escape, I'd forgotten about the people that I'd left behind. How was my sudden disappearance going to be explained? It sure as hell made me look like the guilty party that I am. Maybe this was a good thing, if they all assumed that I killed the guy then they wouldn't come looking for me. It would be better for them in the long run. This would no doubt bring out my past, the last thing I wanted was for them to be wound up in it. It was better for them this way. They always say that clean breaks heal the best.