Read Online Dead or Alive by Trevion Burns - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Trevion Burns
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out. “No, you have to get the hell out of here, Violet.”
The idea of her experiencing even a moment of pain or danger made him more sick to his stomach with every minute that passed. She was the only person in the country who wasn’t family that believed him innocent. She’d just secured him a shower, fresh clothes, antibiotics and even a haircut. He’d have never pulled any of that off without her. It brought alive a need to protect her like nothing he’d ever experienced. He placed his hands on either side of her body, looking down at her sweet face. Against all his good sense, he still yearned to rip that flimsy top off, to see the naked flesh of her heaving chest first hand. “I’m sick of turning every corner and running right into you. I’m sick of you, Violet. You’re free. Just get the hell out of here. Get the hell out of my life.”
I’ll only drag you down.
“Listen to me,” Violet said, frantically, unaffected by his harsh words. “We have to get the hell out of here, right now .”
For the first time, Remy became aware of the sheer panic in Violet’s eyes, and it had nothing to do with the violent way he’d just woken up.
“What is it?” he demanded, his own heart beginning to thunder in his chest.
***
Minutes later, Remy and Violet stood shoulder to shoulder in Barbara’s basement, gaping up at the expansive collage on the wall. A collage that Remy was the star of. He’d never been a big picture taker. Even when he was a child, he always found the fastest exit in the room as soon as a camera came out. If he had to guess, he’d have estimated that there were, at most, 10 pictures of his face in existence-- total . Including the ones he’d taken in prison. Apparently, that guess would be wrong .
His eyes scanned the expansive wall of Barbara’s basement, where hundreds of pictures of his face were pinned up in various sizes, colors and angles. The photos littered the long concrete wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. Excerpts from magazine and newspaper articles chronicling his trial were also scattered amongst the pictures of him with random, illegible scribbling written all over them in red sharpie. He was sure, in the darkness of the room, that he’d even spotted his high school yearbook picture.
How the hell had that old bat gotten her hands on his high school yearbook picture?
“We have to get the hell out of here,” he croaked.
Violet nodded furiously.
They both turned on their heel and Violet gasped out loud, throwing her hand over her mouth.
Barbara stood with a shotgun aimed square at Remy and Violet. She cocked it, and the horrifying sound echoed in the dark, muggy basement.
Remy brought a protective hand to Violet’s stomach, immediately pushing her behind him.
“You’re not going anywhere, Archibald.” Barbara sneered.
5
“I’m so sick and tired of having guns pointed at me,” Violet murmured.
Barbara motioned to Violet with the shotgun. “Shut your mouth. In fact, get the hell out of my house. This has nothing to do with you.”
Violet went to defend herself.
“She’s not going anywhere.”
She gaped at Remy in disbelief, still vaguely aware of his hand on her stomach, holding her behind him.
“Why don’t you just put the gun down, and we can discuss this like adults.” Remy’s mind swam. He had no idea what they would be discussing. The woman was clearly insane, obsessed with him, and had become unhinged.
“I’m not putting this gun down until she gets the hell out of my house.” Barbara’s voice lowered as she began speaking exclusively to Remy. “Don’t you see, Archibald? We don’t know anything about this one. We can’t trust any of these people. You’re a fugitive on the run. Trust no one!”
Violet looked to Remy in shock, then held her hands up. “You know what, you’re right. I believe Remy is innocent, too, Barbara. I really do.
The idea of her experiencing even a moment of pain or danger made him more sick to his stomach with every minute that passed. She was the only person in the country who wasn’t family that believed him innocent. She’d just secured him a shower, fresh clothes, antibiotics and even a haircut. He’d have never pulled any of that off without her. It brought alive a need to protect her like nothing he’d ever experienced. He placed his hands on either side of her body, looking down at her sweet face. Against all his good sense, he still yearned to rip that flimsy top off, to see the naked flesh of her heaving chest first hand. “I’m sick of turning every corner and running right into you. I’m sick of you, Violet. You’re free. Just get the hell out of here. Get the hell out of my life.”
I’ll only drag you down.
“Listen to me,” Violet said, frantically, unaffected by his harsh words. “We have to get the hell out of here, right now .”
For the first time, Remy became aware of the sheer panic in Violet’s eyes, and it had nothing to do with the violent way he’d just woken up.
“What is it?” he demanded, his own heart beginning to thunder in his chest.
***
Minutes later, Remy and Violet stood shoulder to shoulder in Barbara’s basement, gaping up at the expansive collage on the wall. A collage that Remy was the star of. He’d never been a big picture taker. Even when he was a child, he always found the fastest exit in the room as soon as a camera came out. If he had to guess, he’d have estimated that there were, at most, 10 pictures of his face in existence-- total . Including the ones he’d taken in prison. Apparently, that guess would be wrong .
His eyes scanned the expansive wall of Barbara’s basement, where hundreds of pictures of his face were pinned up in various sizes, colors and angles. The photos littered the long concrete wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. Excerpts from magazine and newspaper articles chronicling his trial were also scattered amongst the pictures of him with random, illegible scribbling written all over them in red sharpie. He was sure, in the darkness of the room, that he’d even spotted his high school yearbook picture.
How the hell had that old bat gotten her hands on his high school yearbook picture?
“We have to get the hell out of here,” he croaked.
Violet nodded furiously.
They both turned on their heel and Violet gasped out loud, throwing her hand over her mouth.
Barbara stood with a shotgun aimed square at Remy and Violet. She cocked it, and the horrifying sound echoed in the dark, muggy basement.
Remy brought a protective hand to Violet’s stomach, immediately pushing her behind him.
“You’re not going anywhere, Archibald.” Barbara sneered.
5
“I’m so sick and tired of having guns pointed at me,” Violet murmured.
Barbara motioned to Violet with the shotgun. “Shut your mouth. In fact, get the hell out of my house. This has nothing to do with you.”
Violet went to defend herself.
“She’s not going anywhere.”
She gaped at Remy in disbelief, still vaguely aware of his hand on her stomach, holding her behind him.
“Why don’t you just put the gun down, and we can discuss this like adults.” Remy’s mind swam. He had no idea what they would be discussing. The woman was clearly insane, obsessed with him, and had become unhinged.
“I’m not putting this gun down until she gets the hell out of my house.” Barbara’s voice lowered as she began speaking exclusively to Remy. “Don’t you see, Archibald? We don’t know anything about this one. We can’t trust any of these people. You’re a fugitive on the run. Trust no one!”
Violet looked to Remy in shock, then held her hands up. “You know what, you’re right. I believe Remy is innocent, too, Barbara. I really do.
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