TOMMY HAD CHECKED all the exits. He checked all the windows and their locks, all the doors — then double and triple checked it all over again. The house itself was a small but modern, one-bedroom place on the beachfront. It had a front door that lead out onto a small porch and a back door that lead to a backyard and garden. The section was locked in by a white picket fence and shrubbery that lined along the boundary. There wasn't a lot of furniture in the place, the lounge held two aged couches a coffee table and a tv unit with a small flat screen. There was a two-seater table in the small area that lead onto the kitchen. The bedroom had a king bed and a dresser that matched the two bedside tables.
Tommy went ahead and pushed his duffle into the top draw of the dresser almost as soon as he made it into the house, locking it shut with the lock he always carried with him. Everything he owned — he carried in one over the shoulder duffle bag. The only thing precious to him was the list of contacts, his money, the folder at the very bottom, and the small photo Tommy never took out of the front pocket. He wouldn't get too comfortable here, as far as he was concerned this was just like every other place, we would stay for a short while and then flee. He didn't care if his uncle was here, Christian had left him once, he knew it was just a matter of time before it happened again and he refused to let his family hurt him any more than they already had.
Tommy spent the next three days alone, only going into the town once for groceries. He always hated the first few days of not moving, his mind fell into a pit of restlessness, as if he was stuck in a constant panic attack of violent flashbacks that he always struggled to pull himself back from. This happened almost every time Tommy stopped running, and he never knew how long it would take him to get out of it again. He moved one of the couches to face the large ceiling to floor window so he could watch the days pass just outside the glass — curled up on the cushions with a blanket tightly wrapped around him. He hated this feeling, the one that slowly took over from the initial panic — this emptiness that bottomed out into apathy, but it was a lot better than the anxiety of fleeing.
He forced himself to run over the story he and his uncle formulated since it was apparent to the people in his workshop that they knew each other. Since he already told Sasha that his parents were going through a rough divorce, so they built it around him. Turns out that the Hartford family had been connected to the Sinclair's, hence why Christian was so close to them. Tommy didn't recognize the name nor was it on his list; therefore, he wasn't prepared to trust them just because his Uncle seemed too.
They knew who 'Howard' really was, and they protected him, it was their family who owned the mines, they used to use the mines for money laundering — the Sinclair syndicate used to traffic through them. Though almost nine years ago the Hartford's cut a deal and got released from the business. Tommy knew for sure that just because they were no longer working for criminals — that didn't make them safe company to be around.
Fortunately for Tommy, he had never been in the media's eyes, nor was his full name — His father had always wanted the attention on Jonathan, and 'Tomas/Tommy' was only used by family and now the contacts on the list. To everyone else he went by his first name 'Hughe' Tomas was his middle name. It made it exceptionally easier for Tommy to disappear in the way that he did due to being out of the media eye, and a lot harder for his brother to pick up leads on him because nobody knew what the youngest Sinclair actually looked like.
Christian said that the Hartford's could be trusted with his true identity, could protect him even, but that seemed like too much of a risk. Tommy was not that naive to think that all of this could be fixed by putting his trust in one family, if that had been the case, he would've been dead two years ago when he scouted out the first name of the list of contacts.
The story that they accumulated filled in any room for questioning. Tommy would go by the fake name he gave Sasha — Tomas Wilson. His friend Ben had given him his place for a few months to escape his parent's rough divorce. Christian had known Tomas' parents because they had small connections to the Sinclair's and had been friends with his 'parents'.
Christian was initially mad at seeing Tommy back at the shop because Ben had called ahead saying that Tommy was coming to Winchester, that his parents didn't know where he was and that he had run away from home, 'again' and that this time he had stolen money from his parents. He was meant to play the part of a troubled kid, which wouldn't be that hard and Christian would play the role of the family friend that smoothed over the chaos and promised his family to look out for him.
Tommy thought that the story would hold out for long enough until someone in the town grew too suspicious and tried probing, Christian who had been living here for the last 5 years said that it was highly unlikely, but the ones that Tommy would have to really try and convince were the Hartford kids, especially Mason. Their father had died three years ago, a year before Tommy's from a stroke, it was only their mother and the three siblings now, plus Nicky who was always hanging around.
Christian said that Mason, especially, was overly cautious, that he had been around his fathers work more than the other two and that he could smell bullshit from a mile away. Christian warned Tommy that if he really wanted to keep who he was a secret from the Hartford's, then it was Mason who he needed to convince.
On the fourth morning at around 8 am a few hard knocks sounded at his door. It was enough to have him off the couch and rushing around the living room, locking all the windows before going to the door. He pulled back the curtain slightly to check who it was before opening the door; first, it was Sasha's older brother Mason.
Tommy for a moment thought about just ignoring him and going back to the couch, but a few seconds later, Mason pounded on the door again impatiently. Tommy wished the door opened outwards so he could hit that look off of Mason's face as he looked back through the window at Tommy — is fist hovering over the door, about to knock again.
He kept the chain lock on as he opened the door to the full width it could go with the chain still holding. Mason had a few inches on Tommy, but it felt even more as he looked down through the crack in the door. Tommy squared his shoulders out of instinct, his feet parted slightly in anticipation, as if expecting Mason to charge the door, slamming it off its hinges. Mason wore his red Mechanics top and was holding a brown paper bag at his side, it smelt like pancakes, and it made Tommy's stomach churn painfully. Despite going grocery shopping on the first day, he hardly had much of an appetite to eat any of it.
"Let's go, Christian wants you at the shop," mason said, unmoving from his position in front of the door.
"Why?"
"He said he taught you how to fix engines when you were younger, he told me to pick you up on the way," Mason said as though it was apparent.
"Tell him I said no," Tommy replied, he tried to force some conviction into his tone, but all that came from his lips was monotoned words, iced over with husk from not speaking, eating or sleeping in days.
"Enough of the pity party, get out of the house and do as your told, Christian has already had to clean up your family mess," Mason's voice was utterly apathetic and unsympathetic that it actually made Tommy toss his head back and laugh breathlessly.
He knew that Mason was referring to the part of their cover-up story where Christian had to sort it out with Tommy's parents. But he still found the idea of his abandoning uncle fixing up any of Tommy's life mess ridiculously funny. Mason, on the other hand, didn't look as amused, his deep hazel eyes which almost looked golden in the morning sunlight narrowed at him. His hands clenched onto the wood of the door, so much so that a small creak sounded under his fingertips.
"Are we talking about the same Christian? The one I know is useless as hell, selfish too," Tommy mocked, more curious about how far he could push a person like Mason.
"So you are just as stupid as you look then," Mason said in his completely apathetic tone.
Tommy shrugged, "Yeah, seems like it." Mason didn't answer back and instead, settled on a staring contest — something that Tommy's restlessness could not handle at all.
"Tell Christian to leave me the fuck alone, he's done it once before I'm sure he can do it just as easily," Tommy hated how the betrayal seeped into his voice, how the look on Mason's face turned from impatience to a frustrated confusion. Had he let too much slip on his first encounter with the one Hartford Christian said to be the most cautious around?
Tommy began to close the door, but Mason grasped the edge of it, forcing it back open. "And what will you do for your stay in Winchester if not work for the shop? Sit in a dark house? Depressed out of your mind? Or will you instead try to steal some more money like you did to your parents and run when you get bored?" Mason's words were as unexpected as the impact it had on Tommy.
"You think you know everything, but you don't! You think because Christian knew me as a kid and knows my parents that I like him? Why do you think I was tricked by a friend in coming here? All Christian wants is me at the shop so he can keep an eye on me, you tell him that I said no, that I will be right here, scheming to steal all his riches in this little dark house, depressed out of my mind," Tommy spat back, giving the door another hard tug in an attempt to pry it from Mason's grasp. It didn't work.
"I don't care about how hard it must be to be a spoilt little brat like you, Christian told me to come to get you, so, you have 10 minutes to have a shower and get changed but if you are not out at the car by then I will come in and drag you out," Mason finally let some of the frustration seep out into his voice. It was exhilarating, like a wake-up call that Tommy had been waiting for during these past three days of sleepwalking.
Tommy pretended to size Mason up, let himself smirk slightly and this small burst of entertainment. "Hmm, I'm certain that I could outrun you if you tried to come and drag me out," Tommy said, finally looking back up at Mason whose expression had turned placidly dull. The only sign that Tommy was still under his skin was the slight twitch of his right eyebrow and the tension at the corner of his lips.
"Do you want to bet on it?"
"Not particularly, but maybe another time. Possibly when I've had more than 3 hours of sleep and something to eat," Tommy sighed over-dramatically. He'd always had an attitude problem, but he particularly liked how it seemed to annoy Mason, how it had appeared to annoy him the moment Tommy stepped foot through the shop's doors four days ago.
Tommy rolled his eyes at Mason's inability to be an average functioning young adult, apparently too high strung to at least understand sarcasm but opened the door to him anyway. Mason looked hesitant, but when Tommy flicking his hand again in a widespread 'come in' gesture, he took the first step. If Tommy cared enough, if he was really more than the nothing he was — he would definitely feel self-conscious of the state the house was in.
It wasn't messy or dirty by any means. It was the fact that all the lights were off and windows and curtains were closed. The only window that let in any light was the ceiling to floor one that Tommy dragged the couch in front of, the one that faced the sea. The sofa itself was strewn in multiple blankets, a half-full coffee mug on the floor beside it. Tommy hated when he let himself get this way, he knew it looked terrible, Ben had said as much. But it's when he felt the safest believe it or not. Like nothing could touch him in the little dark corner of the room.
He could see the thoughts playing through Mason's mind as he surveyed the room with a grim look on his face. It made Tommy want to punch him. Only moments ago there was no sign of pity, but now, now Mason was looking around at the darkness Tommy had locked himself away in for the past few days like it was completely unexpected. Tommy gritted his teeth together in annoyance, waiting for Mason to gather up his thoughts and look at him first. When he finally turned back to look at Tommy, those hazel eyes looked a lot more dull, dull in a way that Tommy hated because he understood the recognition in his eyes — the understanding.
"I vaguely recall you saying enough of the pity party," Tommy uttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.
"I did. Go shower, you smell like shit and put this on," Mason exclaimed, his mood flickering tight back to asshole. Tommy watched silently as Mason tediously reached into the same brown paper bag that the delicious smell was coming from and pulled out a red mechanics shirt. He tossed it across the space between them, and when Tommy caught it, he held it up in front of his face to see that his name was embroidered into the white oval patch.
"What an asshole," Tommy said under his breath, balling the shirt up in a fist as he turned towards the bedroom to grab a change of clothes.
He knew precisely what Christian was doing. He even expected something like this, but he didn't expect his uncle to be so daft about it. Putting a name on a shirt like this made something appear as permanent. He wanted Tommy to stop running and put up a fight, he wanted him to stay and find a life. Even if he did, even if he wanted to find somewhere and stay there it would never last long, that semblance of life would just make it more painful when it was ripped from him. You'd think Christian Sinclair, the 32-year-old runaway would understand as much.
"If you wanted me to have some sort of life, why didn't you take me with you?" Tommy whispered as he disappeared behind his bedroom door.
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