Runaway Pt. 01

"Why?" I asked.

She shook her head.

Instead of defending him, instead of demanding they let him come back, I ate the sandwich, stayed with my parents, and let nearly ten years pass without trying to find my brother. Too scared to rebel, too cowardly to stand up to them, too complacent to change.

The point is, I had a reason to be nervous. A week before we were set to leave, I finally mustered the courage to tell my parents about it.

It was Sunday, and that meant my father was tired and Mom was serving roast for dinner. Aside from the sounds of forks scraping against our plates, it was quiet, and it was only when I could barely stand the silence that I finally spoke.

"Mom? Daddy? I wanted to get your blessing on something."

My father glanced up.

"Yes, Lacey?" he said.

I squirmed a bit in my chair, staring down at the plate of beef and peas in front of me. "Well, I... I wanted to go on a trip."

"To where?"

"M-Montreal."

"When?"

"For the long weekend."

"With who?"

I tried to answer quickly, but made the mistake of glancing up at my father. The words stuck in my throat as his eyes pierced through me. Taking a hurried sip of water, I looked back down at my plate.

"Um... with Roger. Roger Swift."

The scraping of utensils stopped, a deafening silence stretching across the room.

"Let me make sure I understand this," my father finally said. "You want my blessing to take a trip to Montreal with Roger Swift, a boy who I've had to counsel multiple young women about?

"Not alone," I rushed. "We'd be taking the train. Th-Then we'd be staying with his grandma. His mother's mom. There's t-two spare rooms. B-But I could stay at a hotel instead if you think that's a better idea."

My father put his fork down, then entwined his fingers as he laid his hands on the table.

"I'm quite surprised, Lacey." His voice was steady, his eyes cold. "Roger Swift has a... reputation."

"He's changed, Daddy." My voice was squeaky, and my fingers unconsciously went to the cross I wore on a gold chain at all times. "H-He's different now."

"I thought you were smarter than that."

"Dennis!"

My mom's shocked exclamation covered my wince. Even my father looked surprised at her interruption. Shaken, she cleared her throat.

"Lacey has always been a good girl. I trust her to do the right thing, and I believe the Lord would admire her willingness to forgive and see the best in people."

I was as shocked as I had ever been when my father gave me permission to go to Montreal with Roger, albeit with a final warning.

"God is always watching. He will know if you sin, and so will I."

His words echoed in my mind as I sat on the bench, backpack hugged to my chest, as I tried to decide what to do.

Going home would mean facing my father's judgement. It would mean my mother spoke in my defence for nothing.

I would have to face Kristen's fake pity. And if Roger and his friends were laughing about me at Timmy's, it meant the whole town would know how stupid I had been soon enough. Everyone would laugh about that stupid Lacey Stephens, so gullible she went all the way to Winnipeg, so desperate that she believed Roger Swift actually liked her.

This time, when everyone made fun of me, Sean wouldn't be there. My protector. My brother.

Sean.

The idea hit me out of nowhere.

I had money saved up from teaching piano lessons and working at the library while at college. A pretty good amount of money, actually. I was already in Winnipeg, already at the train station. What was stopping me from finding Sean?

I had nearly jumped off the bench before considering the fact that I had no idea where Sean was.

He had never called, never written. If he used social media, he didn't use his real name, because I had never been able to find him. Nothing came up when I Googled him, either. I had nearly given up on the idea when something stirred deep in my memories.

Vancouver.

"The ocean is right there," Sean had said, pointing at a map. We must have been so young. Sean couldn't have been more than ten.

"And then you can go to the mountains, right there. You can go skiing and then to the beach, all in one day!"

"You're lying!" I had giggled.

"Nope. I'm gonna live there one day, you'll see."

"Can I visit you there?"

"Of course. I'll have a big penthouse apartment. You'll have your own room when you come to visit. I'll paint it pink, just for you."

The train went two ways: East to Toronto, or west to Vancouver.

I closed my eyes and said a brief prayer to Saint Christopher, asking his help for a safe journey. I stood up, slung my backpack onto my shoulder, and walked up to the ticket counter.

**

The dining car was crowded when I entered.

It was dinner time, so it was naturally busy. After placing my order at the bar, I looked around. There were a few empty seats, but they were all at occupied tables. At the closest one, a stooped old lady was thumbing through a well-worn Bible as she ate. She reminded me of my Nana, a severe old woman with permanent crease lines around her lips from pursing them so often.

A few tables away from her was a rough-looking man. His jean jacket looked like it had seen better days and his dark hair was long and messy. He was the kind of person that would have made my mom clutch her purse just a little more tightly, though something about his serious face was intriguing. There was no food in front of him, but he sipped a cup of coffee.

Directly across from him was a man even more handsome than Roger Swift was before that puck broke his nose. His chin was covered with a light scruff that only added to his attractiveness, and his blonde hair was neatly trimmed. He was tipping a bottle of beer to his lips when his eyes caught mine, startlingly blue irises drawing me in, even from across the car.

I should have sat with the old lady. That would have been the safe, responsible thing to do.

But I was feeling rebellious.

Not rebellious enough to sit with the man in the jean jacket, mind you, though it wouldn't have mattered. The moment those blue eyes met mine, my feet started moving towards them.

"Anyone sitting here?" I asked.

"Nope. All yours."

"Thanks."

He grinned at me as I sat down. "What's a pretty girl like you doing travelling all alone?"

Despite my best efforts, I giggled. "Just visiting family."

"First time away from home?"

"How could you tell?"

He leaned across the table, eyes sparkling wickedly. "I'm a little bit psychic."

"Oh really? What's my name then?"

Squinting, he stroked his chin as he looked intently at me. "I'm getting a sense that it starts with an A..."

I raised my eyebrow.

"...or a B... C? D? EFGHIJKL—"

"L! You got it!"

"I knew it! Your name is... Leanne. Lindsay? Loretta!"

I was shaking my head as I laughed.

"Lacey," I said. "Lacey Stephens."

"That was my next guess." He extended his hand. "I'm Brody."

"Nice to meet you."

We talked for a bit. Brody was a personal trainer for part of the year, which explained the chiselled body, and was on the train to Jasper, where he worked as a trail guide during the summer. He had grown up in Ottawa, gone to school in B.C., and seemed far too experienced to be bothering with a girl like me.

I said as much to him, and he laughed.

"You're sweet," he said. "Let me buy you a drink."

"Oh, I don't—"

"I'll be right back."

He was gone before I could even say that I wasn't much of a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't some teetotaler. Even my father wouldn't have gone so far as to say drinking was a sin. I just didn't drink often, and I didn't drink when I was alone with a man I'd only just met.

At least, I hadn't up until that point in my life.

Really, though, what was the worst that could happen? Brody was sweet enough, and unreasonably good-looking. There was no reason for him to be interested in a girl like me, and yet, we were having a great conversation. Why shouldn't I have a little fun?

Before I knew it, Brody was back at the table with another beer for himself and a fancy cocktail glass filled with a light-pink liquid for me. He sat down and slid the cocktail glass across the table to me.

"I hope you don't mind, but I picked something for you. I think you'll like this. It's sweet and bubbly, just like you."

I blushed as I glanced down, taking the glass from him. "Thanks."

It smelled like lemon and grapefruit, and whatever was bubbly in it splashed lightly against my nose as I lifted it to my lips.

"Don't drink that."

I hadn't noticed that the man in the jean jacket had stood up, and neither had Brody, apparently. He jumped slightly, a splash of beer jumping out of the bottle as he turned towards the other man.

The glass was nearly resting against my lips, but I froze, looking up at him.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Yeah bro, what the fuck?"

I cringed at the curse, not used to hearing people swear.

The man in the jean jacket glared at Brody. "I saw you put something in it."

I nearly spilled the drink as I brought the glass back down to the table, my eyes wide as I processed the accusation. Brody laughed awkwardly.

"W-what? Are you serious, bro?"

"I saw you put a pill in it."

"That's some pretty serious shit you're accusing me of, bro."

"That's some pretty serious shit that you did, bro."

"I didn't do anything! Maybe you need to back off."

"Maybe you need to stop trying to drug girls."

"You tried to drug me?" I gasped.

Brody whirled towards me. "I didn't! God damn, this dickhead is just trying to stir shit up."

I looked back and forth between the two men, my lips parted. I had no idea who to believe. The man in the jean jacket looked back at me, his dark eyes softening as he saw my confusion.

"Easy way to settle it," he said. He leaned over the table, grabbing the glass in front of me and plunking it in front of Brody. "You drink it, man."

"No way," Brody protested.

"Why not?" I asked.

He stuttered for a moment. "I don't like grapefruit. And besides, I bought it for her!"

"I'll buy you a new one, but you have to drink it first," said the man in the jean jacket.

The two of them stared at each other, Brody glaring defiantly up as the man in the jean jacket towered over him. For a moment, I thought he was going to jump out of the chair and tackle the other man, and I cowered back in my seat.

"Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem here?"

I chose the moment that the conductor stepped in to slide out of my seat. It was only then that I realized the rest of the car had gone quiet and were watching the drama unfolding with rapt attention. My hand flew to the gold cross around my neck, stroking the cold metal for comfort as I caught the eye of the old lady with the Bible. Her brows furrowed in silent judgement, and without thinking I scurried from the dining car back to my seat.

When I sat down, my hands were trembling and my heart was racing faster than I thought possible. The seats beside and across from me were thankfully empty, and I brought my hands to my face as I tried to keep the tears from spilling out of my eyes.

What had I gotten myself into?

Brody had seemed so nice. I hadn't expected him to do something like that at all, and I couldn't understand why. I mean, I knew men tried to make girls... dothings that good girls weren't supposed to do, but I didn't know why he would try to drug me. He hadn't even insinuated he would want to see me again, let alone do... that.

Why hadn't he just asked? I would have said no—well, probably would have said no—but he never even gave me the choice.

I replayed our conversation in my head.

Brody had asked where I was from. I had answered truthfully. Nothing there seemed untoward.

He had asked me what I did for a living. I said I had just graduated college, but I taught piano lessons to make some extra money.

"What did you take in college?"

"Education. I want to be a teacher."

"Nice! What kind?"

"Music, ideally. Oh, and probably religion. And whatever else I can. I just like teaching, really."

"Religion?"

"Yeah, my father is a preacher and—"

That, right there. That was where I had made a mistake.

His next question was about boyfriends. I said I didn't have one.

He asked why not. I said boys didn't like me.

And from that, he would have figured out that I wasn't the kind of girl who would do the things he wanted me to do. He would have thought he'd be better off to drug me, drag me to the sleeper car he had oh-so-casually mentioned, and... well.

There was only one reason why something like this could happen to me. It was a warning.

God was trying to tell me I had made the wrong decision. He wanted me to know that getting on this train was not what He had wanted me to do.

God was telling me to go back home.

I touched the cross around my neck and suppressed a sob at the thought. If He wanted me to go home, why did that make me feel so wrong?

The world passed by outside the window, and I stared at it for a long time. All I could see were wheat fields, broken by the occasional silo or thicket of trees, flat land surrounding us as far as the eye could see. I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn't realize anyone had approached until he was sitting in the seat across from me.

"Forgot your meal."

The man in the jean jacket was holding a box, studying me warily with those serious, dark eyes. I tried with everything in me to smile and thank him kindly, but only managed to stop my chin from trembling for a moment as I reached for the box.

"Thanks."

The box was slightly warm and the scent of food was comforting, but I figured the meal had to have been sitting for a while. Not that it mattered. It was just a plain, boring sandwich for a plain, boring girl.

"You all right?"

I shook my head.

The man looked uncomfortable and I realized he had just been trying to be polite.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Thank you for bringing it to me. And, well, for stepping in. I didn't..."

"It's okay," he said hurriedly. "Just the right thing to do."

"Well, still. Thank you."

I expected him to leave right away, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded his head towards the box I was holding.

"Eat. You might not feel like it, but you should."

I didn't really feel like it, but he was right. The box held a turkey sandwich cut diagonally, wrapped neatly in a piece of wax paper. I looked back at the man, then held the box towards him.

"Split it with me?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled, a tight smile on his lips. He held my gaze as he took half the sandwich. "Promise I didn't fuck with it."

"Yeah, well... so did the last guy."

The chances of him putting something in my sandwich were slim, but I still waited until he took a bite before digging in. We ate quietly, the sound of the train moving along the tracks the only noise for a while.

"I'm Noah," he said when he finished eating.

"Lacey."

"Nice to meet you. Sorry it was like that."

"Yeah. I... I feel really stupid."

Noah shook his head. "That guy was a douche. They're kicking him off in Saskatoon. He's sitting up with Security right now."

"He really put something in the drink?"

He nodded. "There's a camera in the car. Doesn't catch him doing it explicitly, but he's kind of an idiot. Conductor's probably gonna come find you in a bit, make sure you're okay. They were wanting to detain him first."

"Does this kind of thing happen often?"

"Not on the train."

I frowned. "Does it happen in other places?"

Noah looked at me warily. "Well, yeah. Like in bars and stuff."

"Oh."

"You've never heard of it?"

I shook my head. "I've never been to a bar before."

He laughed, though not unkindly. "Jesus, girl. Where're you even from?"

"A small town. Really small, I guess. I didn't know how scary it could be away from home."

"What're you doing away from home by yourself?"

I didn't answer, just glanced back out the window.

"That was smart."

"What was?"

Noah's smile was reserved, his lips tight. "Not answering. You gotta be careful, Miss Lacey. You can't just blindly trust people like you did with that asshole in the dining car."

"So why should I trust you?"

His laugh sounded like a dry bark. "Good, you're learning."

We fell silent, and I studied Noah's face as he gazed out the window. My first impression of him had been that he was kind of scruffy-looking. I had been wrong. While his clothing was threadbare and had seen better days, they were clean, and the messiness of his hair was really only because it needed a trim. It was shiny, almost black, and the ends grazed the collar of his jacket. He was younger than I had initially thought, maybe a couple of years older than me.

He gave off the air of someone who had to work twice as hard to earn half as much as anyone else. I didn't think Noah's life had been particularly easy, and though my instincts so far had proven to be completely flawed, I felt like he was a good person. I had been wrong to blindly trust Brody, but I didn't think I was wrong to trust Noah, at least a little. I offered a silent prayer of thanks that Noah had been in that dining car, and that he had come to find me after.

It was while I was offering my silent prayer that I wondered if I had misread God's sign. Maybe He wasn't telling me to go back home. Maybe He was telling me I should have sat with Noah, and that my lesson was to stop judging books by their covers.

"Something on my face?"

I jumped, flushing as I realized I had been staring at him. "Sorry. I was just... thinking."

"Must've been a pretty deep thought." Noah smirked again, tight and reserved, but the sparkle in his eyes was kind.

"How long until we get to Saskatoon?"

"Couple hours. Is that where you're headed?"

I shook my head.

"Where are you headed, then?"

"Should I really not trust you, like you said?"

Noah looked serious again. "You got no reason to trust me, but I promise I'm not gonna hurt you or anything."

I disagreed about having no reason to trust him. Noah had protected me in the dining car, and that had to be worth at least a bit of trust.

"I left home to find my brother," I said. "He left home a long time ago. My parents... well, they thought he was... he just..."

"They kicked him out?"

"I don't know." I fidgeted with the wrapper that had been around the sandwich, tearing little strips into it. "He's gay. They thought that made him bad. It was almost ten years ago that he left."

"Where does he live?"

"Somewhere in Vancouver."

Noah studied me, frowning. "That's all you've got to go on?"

I bit my lip. "Well, I don't know for sure that he's in Vancouver. I just think that's where he went."

"You think..." He trailed off, his jaw hanging open. "You jumped on a train to Vancouver on the off chance your brother that you haven't seen for ten years might be there?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

Noah laughed again, shaking his head. "Did you ever think of trying to call him first?"

"I don't know his number."

"Facebook?"

"Couldn't find him."

"Do you have literally anything to go off of? What makes you think he's in Vancouver?"

He looked incredulous as I explained my reasoning.

"Damn, Lacey." Noah shook his head. "Look, I hate to... I dunno, burst your bubble. But there's like two million people who live in the Vancouver area."

"Well, I know there's a lot, but I thought maybe someone might know him."

"A lot? Lacey, I'm not exaggerating. There's at least two million people who live there."

I bit my lip again. "It's all I have to go off of."

"Maybe you should head back home," Noah suggested. "Regroup, try to get some info from your parents."

"I can't."

"What about other family? Or friends? Someone must know—"