Page 105 of Runner 13
‘Jason had all that information?’ I scrabble in the bottom of my backpack as I ask the question.
‘He didn’t think my father’s death was natural either. I could never understand how the police could just accept that he had a heart attack. Not when he was so healthy.’
I pull out the paper I’d torn from Jason’s notebook and show Matt. ‘Is this the licence plate?’
‘That’s the one. I couldn’t forget it.’
The car had been at Glenn’s house that day. The same day my son was almost run over by it. Whoever had visited Glenn must also have tried to hurt Ethan. It was all connected.
‘And this.’ I point to the words that had given me such fear.STILL WANTSREVENGE. ‘Is this you?’
He nods, but then his head drops into his hands. ‘I wanted you to be wrong.’
‘I wanted to be wrong too,’ I say.
I still can’t believe that Glenn’s son is sitting in front of me. Why did Glenn never mention him in the months – years – we spent together? And he’s obviously an excellent runner.
He lifts his head up. ‘It was Jason who told me about Hot & Sandy. That Boones – the man my father was obsessed with – was organizing another race. I knew I had to come, even if it meant breaking the conditions of my licence. For my dad. I had access to a treadmill and I used it every day, running for as long as they would let me. Guess I’ll be doing that again once this is over.’
I swallow. ‘So you’ll be sent back to prison when you return?’
‘I don’t care. I’ll serve it for him. Some justice for Yasmin. I wanted to know. Meeting you both means I’ve learned more than I ever thought I would. I hated living in this limbo, the question looming over me about whether my dad was a hero or a villain. I have certainty now.’
Mariam reaches up and pulls the young man into her arms. He sobs against her shoulder, as she stoically endures the pain, patting him on the back. Emotions collide insideme as well, my mind pinballing between fear and sadness and the still overwhelming guilt for what happened to Yasmin. But at least I wasn’t related to Glenn. Matt was. And he’d put his body – and his mind – through literal hell to find answers.
‘I think Boones expected you to come,’ says Mariam, as she releases him from her embrace. He collapses back against the wall of the shelter. ‘Why else would it be timed so perfectly for your release? He wanted us all here together in his impossible race. Now none of us has a chance at winning.’
‘One of us does,’ says Matt. He stands up, staring through the doorway. It might just be wishful thinking, but it does seem like the storm is dying down, ever so slightly. He’s come so far; he deserves to see it to the end. His last hours of freedom.
But to my surprise he turns to me. ‘If you go now, you could do it. I’m done.’ Then he reaches up and turns on his own emergency beacon, depressing the two buttons.
‘What? No! I can’t leave you here,’ I say to Mariam, even though she is nodding along to what Matt is saying.
‘You can. You must. I’m not alone. And you need to show Boones that he might have made us pawns in his game, but we won’t give up.’
‘I don’t think he wants anyone to win,’ says Matt. ‘But you should.’
‘Go,’ Mariam says again. ‘Go and win.’
There are a little over eighty miles left – and an enormous jebel to cross. If I keep a good pace, I could be finished with six hours of buffer to make Boones’s cut-off.
You just have to finish, and then you’ll get answers.If Boonesgives me the unblurred photograph, I can find out not only who tried to hurt my son but who killed Glenn too. Maybe that will help Matt rest.
‘OK,’ I say. I kneel next to Mariam. ‘Don’t take any risks with your leg. Get to a hospital as soon as you can.’
‘I will,’ she says.
Matt stares at the ground and I can almost hear the cogs of his mind working. Processing what he’s learned. Knowing he’ll soon be back in prison. Atoning for his father’s sins. I don’t know how I would cope in the same situation. Not well. It doesn’t feel like justice to me. Another life Glenn has ruined.
I lift my buff back over my face, fixing my sunglasses over the top. The wind is still strong outside, but not as fierce as it was before.
Giving my shoulders one final shake to make sure my backpack is on comfortably, I take my first step. My muscles scream at me; they’ve stiffened so much during the break and now they threaten not to play ball. But I force myself to take another step, then another. And then I’m back out on the course. Back on the heading for another eighty miles, towards the next water cache, and the next, and so on until … the finishing line.
If I ever make it.
But my why has never been so clear. It’s for me – but also for Mariam. For Matt. For Yasmin. And for all Glenn’s victims who lost their voice when I lied. I know there are more out there.
And by running maybe I can give them a voice.
