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NIGHTMARE IN HAWAII
"The Escape"
*Missing scene*
This scene takes up immediately after the point where J.R. jumps from the roof of the prison.
J.R. crouched behind the cluster of 55 gallon drums, and watched as the guard who had escorted him to the medical ward rushed into the open grassy area just outside the walls and paused to stare into the darkness, searching for the fugitive.
Over the sound of the sirens that signaled the escape of a prisoner, J.R. could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and felt his heart hammering loudly, pumping the adrenaline through his veins, but he remained still, his eyes riveted upon the guard and muscles tensed, ready to spring if necessary.
The guard was looking too high, focusing on the cluster of trees behind him instead of the barrels, apparently believing that he had immediately dashed for the cover of the tree line. Raising his two-way radio to his mouth, he spoke into it, then finally turned back toward the prison door.
J.R. continued to watch until the guard had disappeared through the door. Then, still crouched low, he turned and sprinted down an embankment and into the trees which offered him protection from the flashlights of the guards that he knew would be following as soon as additional search personnel could be summoned.
He did not dare stop to check direction or get his bearings. Prison officials would surely focus their search on the wooded areas, knowing that he would seek the shelter of the tropical foliage, so he ran blindly through the jungle, slapping aside the fronds and limbs that leaned across his path. The ground was uneven and crawling with vines that snagged his ankles, and he stumbled several times, catching himself by placing a hand against the rough bark of trees as he recovered and continued his flight. Exhaustion forced him to slow to a walk several times, before running again. Alternately walking and running, he outdistanced his pursuers, and covered a great deal of ground.
As he emerged into a residential area an undeterminable amount of time later, he sank to his knees behind a cluster of hibiscus for several moments to catch his breath as he observed the neighborhood for threats.
The street was quiet and most of the houses were dark, indicating that, with the exception of a few night-owls, the residents were in bed asleep. There were two street lights burning brightly on each end of the block, and yard lamps near the driveways of several homes. Light shown from the windows of only two homes, and the flickering pattern of one revealed that someone was watching a late movie on television.
Wearing the shirt Sid had left for him on the rooftop instead of the numbered prison shirt, J.R. knew he should be able to walk casually through the neighborhood without attracting too much attention as long as he did not appear suspicious; he must look casual, like he belonged there. But as he placed one foot in front of him and started to rise, he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching the intersection on his right. He shrank back, and alarm caused his already pounding heart to leap with apprehension when he recognized the car as a police cruiser. It turned onto the street that ran directly in front of J.R.’s hiding place, and he instantly saw that the officer’s hand was on the spotlight, directing the bright beam toward the foliated area in which he was kneeling.
He dropped on his belly on the cool ground, and peered beneath the hibiscus limbs as the cruiser rolled slowly toward him. The spotlight flashed over his head, penetrating deep into the foliated area behind him, then it flashed back, lower to the ground, illuminating the hibiscus. He grimaced, but dared not move as the light paused briefly on the flowering shrub, then moved on.
J.R. exhaled a sigh of relief, and rested his forehead on his wrist for several moments, waiting for the cruiser to leave the neighborhood. He could hear the car as it proceeded down the block, and finally turned the corner. Raising his head again, he watched the vehicle until it disappeared behind the foliage and the sound of the motor faded away.
Determining that he was safe at last, J.R. slowly rose to his feet and crept from his hiding place, looking warily up and down the street for additional police cruisers as he brushed the dirt and leaves from his shirt. He was alone on the street, so he straightened his posture and walked confidently across the street and stepped up onto the sidewalk. At the end of the block, he turned and proceeded to the next block, glancing nervously over his shoulder at intervals.
So far, so good.
Gradually, his pulse and breathing returned to normal as he walked, but his eyes remained active, continuing to closely monitor his surroundings.
Suddenly, a small dark shape darted from beneath a bush and crossed his path. He gasped and leaped backward, tripped over the sidewalk seam, and sat down hard. Still seated, he watched as the shape scurried across the street and under a parked car. A moment later, he saw a pair of yellow eyes catch and reflect the light from the street lamp as it gazed at him through the darkness.
It was only a cat, and he knew it had probably been more startled by him than he was by it. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have laughed at his jumpiness, but at the moment, he could find no humor in his current situation. Slowly, he got to his feet, rubbing his sore behind, and started walking again.
He had no idea where he was or where he was going, but he knew that he needed to get as far from the prison as possible.
But several blocks later, he saw another police cruiser moving slowing along the street in front of him. The driver was using the car spotlight to scour the yards on one side of the street, while another officer in the passenger seat used a high-powered flashlight through the window to search the yards on the other side.
A casual stroll in the dark was something the police would question, and he could not afford to be stopped. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, he altered course and slipped into an unfenced backyard, hoping that the car’s occupants were so intent on the residences on either side of the street that they had not noticed the man walking directly ahead of them.
Crouching behind the concrete patio steps, J.R. watched as the cruiser moved slowly down the street, and ducked when the spotlight flashed in the back yard. The vehicle rolled slowly past, and he saw the spotlight searching the next yard.
With a heavy sigh, J.R. leaned back against the house siding, and waited until the cruiser had moved out of sight, then he got up again. Deeming it safer to remain in the yards rather than out in the open of the sidewalk, he passed through the next yard, but was stopped by a six foot privacy fence. Turning, he moved up the passage between the houses and jogged across the street. Again, he moved between the houses to avoid detection on the thoroughfares. One back yard was enclosed with a cyclone fence, but the other unfenced, so he started toward the unfenced yard.
A large German shepherd galloped around the edge of the house and skidded to a stop in the corner, snarling and barking, bringing J.R. to an immediate stop. He was quite certain the huge dog could hop over the fence with ease, so he spoke soothingly, “Easy, boy. It’s okay. I’m just passing through.”
The dog barked louder, and a light came on in the window directly over J.R.’s head. He quickly pressed his back against the wall as the owner pressed his face against the window screen and shouted, “Killer! Shut up!”
Killer?! The name resounded in J.R.’s mind, and he sincerely hoped it was only a harmless metaphor. On the other hand, the sharp white teeth that flashed in the dog’s mouth certainly did not look harmless. To the contrary, he suspected it could chew through his leg with little difficulty.
The dog ignored its owner’s command, and the barking and snarling rose in intensity. It crouched down on its forelegs as if to spring, its attention focused entirely on the intruder just outside its yard.
“Killer! Quiet!” the owner shouted, and pounded on the windowsill for emphasis.
The dog leaped at the fence, and J.R. flinched as he saw the chain link bow outward from the animal’s weight.
“What the hell are you doing back there?” demanded a voice, and J.R. spun around to find a very tall, very muscular man standing between the houses not fifteen feet away. He was holding a baseball bat.
Prudently, J.R. did not stick around to try to explain his presence. Shoving himself away from the wall, he rushed into the unfenced yard and sprinted toward the next block. The shepherd ran along the fence beside him, still snarling and snapping, and he knew without looking that the man was pursuing him.
“Call the police!” the man shouted.
“Oh, great!” J.R. muttered as he dodged around an ornamental shrub and ran between the next two houses. The dog was stopped at the fence, and he could still hear the animal’s frantic barks as lights went on in houses all around him.
His pursuer came to a stop in his neighbor’s yard, apparently reluctant to actually catch and confront the intruder, but J.R. did not slow his flight. He entered the front yard on the next block, raced across the street, and between the next two houses. Dogs all over the neighborhood were barking, alerted by the persistent German shepherd. He vaulted over another chain link fence, and noticed that a collie dog was watching curiously from the patio. It seemed startled by his presence, but did not chase him. Instead, it waved its tail in a friendly manner. Ignoring the dog, he raced across the yard vaulted over the other end of the fence, but the gentle collie remained silent.
Finally emerging onto the next street, he could already hear sirens blaring two blocks behind him as they police responded to the intruder call. Spying a city park at the end of the block, he ran toward it. It was a large park, with plenty of playground equipment and a brick building labeled restrooms. He pushed through the door to the men’s room and was immediately enveloped by the darkness inside. There, he paused. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on his knees and panted. The only sounds in the small enclosure were those of his heavy breathing and the dripping of a water facet somewhere in the room.
The drip caught his attention, for it meant water. Rising up again, he cocked his head and listened. It was coming from the corner of the room, so he felt his way along the wall until his hip made contact with the porcelain sink. His hands fumbled with the handles, and turned the cold water on. Cupping his hands beneath the stream, he filled his palms with water and splashed it on his sweating face, then cupped his hands under it again and lifted it to his lips, drinking deeply. He repeated the gesture over and over until his thirst was quenched, and then finally turned it off and leaned his elbows on the edges of the sink, resting.
He knew he couldn’t safely remain there very long. The police would likely spread out over the whole neighborhood searching for him, and the park was one place they would almost certainly investigate.
Returning to the door, he pushed it open and gazed across the picnic tables and see-saws toward the houses he had just passed. The dogs had finally stopped barking, and silence had settled over the area.
Slipping from the building, he remained close to the brick wall as he moved around to the back, and then made his way through another grove of trees. Reemerging from the other side, he crossed a wide street that was probably very busy during daylight hours, and proceeded through the next neighborhood, noticing that the houses were spaced farther apart. Keeping close to the trees and shrubs, he alternately jogged and walked.
As the night progressed, pastures and fields finally opened up before him as he left the city. Horses and cows raised their heads from their grazing to watch with pricked ears as he crossed their pastures, and one friendly horse followed him all the way across the pasture. He paused once to pet it, taking the opportunity rest and share the animal’s companionship. Unfortunately, he couldn’t linger, and slipped through the wire fence into its neighbor’s pasture.
Eventually he found himself at the edge of a huge unharvested pineapple field. Mile after mile of pineapple plants stretched out before him in the moonlight, each one crowned with ripe pineapples.
Pineapples were tasty and healthy, and without hesitation, he pushed his fingers into his pocket to retrieve the small pocket knife that Sid had hidden behind the chair in the medical ward at the prison, and pulled open the blade. The owner of the field would never miss one or two pineapples, so he sawed through the stem that connected the fruit to the plant, and tucked it under his arm. Repeating the process, he secured a second one, then carried them back into the shrubs, and saw down in the grass. Using the small knife, he sawed through the rough exterior of the fruit to reveal the shiny wet yellow flesh inside. Peeling it was a bit problematic because of the size of his knife, but persistence won out, and before long his stomach was not only full, but was feeling a bit queasy from the overload.
Discarding the remnants of his impromptu meal, he got up and resumed his trek across the island,
The adrenalin rush had long since dissipated, and J.R. was beginning to feel the stress of his flight from the law. He was so fatigued that he could barely put one foot in front of the other. The water and the juice from the pineapples had kept him hydrated, but the nausea persisted. He needed to find someplace to rest.
Finally, he heard the soft rushing sound of the waves rolling up on the beach, and realized that he was near the ocean. Eagerly, he picked up his pace until he reached the coast.
The moon hovered above the horizon, illuminating the dark water, and he stood and watched it for several moments, soothed by the sight and sounds of the waves. Nearby was a small beach shed, and he turned toward it, thinking it might be a suitable place to spend the rest of the night.
The door was standing ajar, hanging by one hinge, and he slipped through it and pulled it closed behind him. The shed was empty, with no evidence remaining of what it might have once been used for, so J.R. lay down on the hard dirt floor and tried to get reasonably comfortable.
As he lay quietly, he thought about his family. Barnaby and Betty had most likely been notified of his escape by now. He knew his escape must make him look guilty, but he hoped they would understand that he would not have attempted such a thing if there had been an alternative. Had he not managed to get out of the prison, he probably would be dead by now.
Finally, as the night wore on, lulled by the sounds of the waves, J.R. fell into a sound asleep. |
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