Viggo's Break - Chapter 6.1 - I never knew you lied, Nyssa Malik

Viggo, a disgraced cop, has just escaped from jail. He is holed up in a hotel room with Nyssa, an old friend. But a manhunt is underway right outside their door.

To know more, read Chapter 5.

Nyssa turned on the TV and watched the news anchor’s painted lips flap together for a while, waiting anxiously for Viggo to emerge from the bathroom. A steamer reading, Earthquake turned prison break, scrolled across the screen, and she turned up the volume.

“Officials from the correctional administration have confirmed the identity of the three convicts who escaped Saint-Paul penitentiary during yesterday afternoon's earthquake.”

The same three mug-shots filled the screen. The one on the left was a burly, curly-haired man in his mid-thirties, with a slopping eyelid and a look of bewilderment in his dark eyes. Axel Bernard. In the center, was a handsome man in his early to mid-forties, a clean-cut redhead with a charming, if not handsome, face, looking like a lawyer even in his orange polyester uniform. Charlie Linred.

That one, Nyssa thought, would give the authorities a run for their money. Bernard was just a violent thug. Linred sounded like a cunning manipulator. Russ had taught Nyssa what evil looked like, and she recognized it in that man. She hated those new-found instincts of hers, hated everything she could see now, that she couldn't take anyone at face-value anymore. Still, she forced herself to look through Linred’s smiling façade. He had to weigh in on her plans, smoothness and all.

Having pondered him again, she moved on to the third man, to the last escapee.

Peter Carlsen.

Lord, did he look scary in that mug-shot…That aura of danger now presented a risk to them. He was extremely recognizable. His stature stood out. His ice-cold blue eyes stood out. The harsh beauty of his face stood out.

“…was better known as 'Viggo'.” Hearing his nickname in the news anchor's shrill voice startled Nyssa. “Carlsen was eventually sentenced to four consecutive life sentences for slaughtering the Defoe family.”

The foul woman fell quiet as a short video clip of Viggo leaving the tribunal in cuffs played out. Blaring lights, reporters screaming questions at him. He looked dazed. At the time, Nyssa had taken vicious delight in that fact, in that look in his eyes. Now, it made her sick.

“Officials admit that he has most likely made it to the mainland. Inhabitants of the region need to be on the lookout for him. If you see him, don't approach. Call the authorities and stay away. Carlsen could be armed and dangerous.”

Not armed, no. Nyssa had made sure he wasn't.

Carlsen is in the shower, she thought, and she smiled to herself. She could still hear him running water in the bathroom. She had to restrain herself from going and seeing for herself that he was really there. Viggo, real and there…She shook her head. Damn, she had to get a handle on herself.

“No mention of an accomplice yet,” Viggo's voice said in her ear. “Good for you, Malik.”

She jumped about a mile high and turned her head sharply. Viggo didn't acknowledge her glare. He just stood behind her, buttoning up his fresh shirt and watching the news. How long had he been there, looking over her shoulder? He was staring at the TV like he was weighing pros and cons. He seemed to reach a conclusion, at long last, and an almost-smile lit up his face – just a quiver of his lips, an upward movement of his eyebrows. Maybe it was the most he was capable of anymore, this wry amusement, slash sarcastic surprise.

“They've got one hell of a search party out there,” he remarked.

“They've got lots of ground to cover,” she reminded him. “And there are three of you out there.” His gaze traveled a short way down to her face, colored with surprise at the helpful comment. She couldn't decide whether to be amused or offended. She settled for amused. For now. “The press is making the biggest deal of your escape – and of Linred's.”

His face went taut and a little scary. He mumbled, “Kindly don't mention us both in the same breath.”

She bit back a smile. “I guess people are spooked that a serial killer and a multi-murderer got away at the same time.”

“What about this Bernard?” he asked.

“Don't you know him?”

He scowled at her, seemingly unwilling to answer, then he grumbled, “He wasn't in max sec. I wonder how he got away. He wasn't in the courtyard.”

“Well…” Her eyes cut to the screen as she called back to mind everything she had heard about the other escapees. “Violent guy. A third-striker.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. He wasn't getting out. Which was probably for the best. Started out with a drug offence, then it was B and E and, last time, rape. A botched burglary, apparently. The owner was home, and Bernard helped himself to her before going through her drawers.”

Viggo swore. She made a brave effort not to smile. Once a cop…

“It's good news for us, though.”

He focused on her again, not revealing one thing. “How do you figure?”

“They're going to focus on him. The press might go crazy over you and…Well, Linred, but the cops are going to take their sweet time going after you. Linred is an organized psycho. He won't just snap and start killing left and right. The police know that. And they know you’re too smart to go on a spray-killing. They remind everyone that you're ruthless, dangerous. But they don't try to pass you off as a serial killer or…”

“I'm not.”

She looked up, a bit taken aback. Her voice was soft and gentle as an echo, “I know that.”

“No, I mean…” His nape went scarlet with embarrassment. “What they say I did…It's not…Even if I were guilty, I wouldn't make the cut. You’ve got to kill at least three persons on at least two different occasions, separated by a lapse of time, to be a serial killer.”

She blinked. There it was, the cop in Viggo. What a waste of talent…

“Serial-killer or not,” she said quickly before she could get emotional, “they know you aren't impulsive. They know you're going to lay low and they’re going to focus on catching Bernard. He's the wild card.”

“Makes it easier to catch him.”

“Yes, but it’s not like they’re out for a challenge. They want results – and they can’t afford other deaths. The press's been raining shit on them because the prison collapsed. They’re going to focus on Bernard because he's likely to make them look even worse. Second on the priority list is going to be you. You're a former cop. Your being on the run, that's a shitty proposition for the SFPD. Rumors of corruption and of the good old boys in blue closing ranks are going to fly around again. Bad press.”

“Bad for us.”

“Yes. I feel like chickenshit because I’m hoping Linred’s going to start slaying housewives left and right.”

His eyes went dark. “Don’t even joke about it. I had an opportunity to make sure he didn't get away and I didn’t take it. I was too desperate to escape. If he kills again…”

His jaw clenched. She reached for his sleeve and tugged on it, drawing him down on the bed, next to her. He let himself, eyebrows raised. She sagged a little against his side.

“If he kills again”, she told him with deep conviction, “it won’t be your fault. You’re not God, you've got no power over earthquakes. Three of you got away, that’s life. It wasn’t part of the plan, but it happened. It's not our fault.”

“No.” He sighed. “You're right.”

He still listened to her. Maybe it was going to be alright, after all. Nyssa was only just thinking that when she realized something that gave her sinking feeling.

“Viggo?”

“Hm?”

“Did you leave the shower on?”

He didn't answer right away, and she didn't dare to look at him while he thought that through. Better not to rush Viggo right now. “Yeah.”

“Why?” she probed further.

“I don’t know,” he answered tersely. “Feels good not to be where you think.”

It boggled her mind. It was just plain weird – and a waste of hot water. Then, she thought about him in prison, walking when and where he was told to, eating when and where he was told to, sleeping when and where he was told to.

He had been a collected, civilized man, but there had also been a withdrawn quality to him, something wild. He hadn't changed, she realized, he had regressed to feral. She would have to be careful not to infringe on his territory. He would have to come to her. Lucky for her, she had bait: food, medical supplies, fake papers. Ultimately, she held all the keys to his freedom.

“Okay.” She put her hand on his thigh, very lightly, very briefly. “Feel free to leave the shower running anytime.”

Maybe he was having as much trouble adjusting to her presence as she to his because they didn't say anything after that, didn't even glance at one another. They just watched the news together. As images of road-blocks and search-parties wound on, Nyssa's hands tightened in her lap. The net was tightening around them.

Viggo, only speaking her thoughts out loud, remarked, “We shouldn't have stayed here last night.”

She didn't reply. They really hadn't had a choice.

“It wasn’t part of the plan,” he insisted.

There, she had to insert, “Actually…” She sensed his eyes on her face and explained, “I worried that you might get hurt making your escape.”

Viggo had shot down those concerns, but she had been right. Maybe he caught the silent na-na-na-na-boo-booing because there was an ironic, “Insightful.”

She shrugged. “I had the hotel-room picked up. I booked it the minute I heard you had escaped. It's a respectable establishment, shouldn’t get checked out immediately.”

He scratched at his bandages. “That's why you had the medical supplies packed already.”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn't you put some in the cache?”

Unfair. She deserved a medal for packing enough bandages to treat both his arm and face. “I didn’t want you to leave used-up bandages behind, they might realize that you've got outside help.”

He snorted. “I could have stuffed them down a drain along with my uniform and stuff.”

“Well, hindsight is 20/20,” she retorted testily.

He let that go. He had been wrong, she had been wrong. He was done. At least, he didn't rub salt in the wound. Since he was completely engrossed in watching TV, she dug clean clothes and toiletries out of her bag. “I'm taking a shower. Then, I'll take a look at your arm. Looks like your face's better left alone for now.”

His face was set in an expression that made it clear he wanted to get moving. That’s what she had decided to leave alone. He would have to learn to trust her, or they were doomed.

“I threw away the bottles,” he said.

She froze, licked her lips. Did she look that shaky and unreliable?

“I’m fine.” Then, because his silence sounded like an accusation, she added, “Judith, my sponsor, says that every day you don’t drink is a day to celebrate. If you keep trying to hurry us along, it might be our only cause for celebration today. I’m not going to relapse.”

She slammed the bathroom door behind her. When she came out again, the bedroom was empty. Her heart almost stopped beating. Then, she spied a movement out of the corner of her eyes and she jumped. The next second, Viggo's huge body was clearly outlined against the white net drapes.

“What the hell?!” she cried out.

“I was just watching the parking-lot.”

But, no, that’s not all he had been doing. “You've been going through my stuff!” Then, she caught up. “You took that gun back!”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he was backlit, and she couldn't make out his expression. His arms were crossed over his chest, though. She sighed, defeated. She wasn't going to fight him on this. “Is there anything I can say that would change your mind about carrying?”

He shook his head no.

“I don't like it. If we've got a gun, chances are we won't make it out alive if…”

“If we're caught, I'm not making it out alive,” he said right over her. “I'd rather die than go back. As for you, you're an unarmed civilian. Just surrender.”

“An unarmed civilian, my ass!” she burst out. “If I'm not killed in the shoot-out, I'll still have aided and abetted a fugitive. While you get the easy way out and the bloody, glorious round of honor, I'm the one who's going to die in prison!”

“You knew the risks from the start. Don't start whining on me now.”

True, she had known the risks, but the gun made them impossible to ignore. She hated firearms, they had never been part of the plan, but Viggo clearly had his own plans.

“Let's just not get caught,” she said.

He finally stepped away from the window and she saw she had been right: his face was granite. She was glad she had dropped the pointless argument. “I can get on board with that. You're the one with the unplanned stops. How do we get out of this mess?”

'Unplanned stops'…Like she had been catching up on her beauty sleep. God, he could be a bastard. She took all her anger, she rolled it into a tight little ball and she put it in the mental drawer where she had put her guilt and everything.

“We've got a clean car and IDs. Damn, I forgot.”

She went over to her tiny, tacky purse and rummaged through it in search of “his” wallet. She threw it to him. He caught it and flipped through it. He found the wedding ring in the last compartment and slipped it on, no comment. Then, he read the name in the driving license, “Ron Ridgeway. And you are?”

“Flora Ridgeway. Your wife.”

She lifted her hand, showing him her own wedding ring. His cold blue held her frozen for a couple of seconds, then abruptly released her, and he squinted down at his picture. “Don't I look puffy?”

She had brought her hand down and was furious to realize that she hid it behind her back. He made her nervous. She put a lot of spite in her answer, “Part of the plan.”

Petty, maybe, but it did wonders for her mood. A distrustful expression came over his face. “What plan?”

“I ordered eggs and broccoli for breakfast.” When he stared, uncomprehending, she smiled innocently. “And I packed an EpiPen.” He finally caught on and looked resolutely…horrified. She grinned. “I haven't forgotten that you get the cutest, most impressive Quincke's edema I've ever seen.”

He mumbled something she pretended not to hear.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Damn you, Malik,” he burst out, “it burns like hell.”

She batted her eyes prettily, still beaming. “That’s a real shame.”

Payback sure was sweet. He couldn’t be bothered about her reluctance to use firepower. Well, she didn’t have to care that his allergies were a bitch.

Still, her smile went soft with memories. Viggo normally avoided broccoli like the Plague. The day Angela had introduced him to her parents, he had been so eager to please that he had gobbled up the vegetable canapes without thinking. The allergy had taken hold slowly over lunch, with Viggo going from uncomfortable to simply burning up. He had hightailed it out of there after coffee.

His eyes had been too watery to drive, and he had been too embarrassed to call Russ. By the time Nyssa had made it to the Four Seasons, he had looked like a vampire in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She had done her best not to laugh.

To know whether Nyssa and Viggo will manage to make a clean escape, read Chapter 6.2.