Fugitive 1

By Likegoodwinecopyrighted December 2011 Here's another short story for you. There is almost no sex to speak of in this short one. Sorry, I put no humor in this one. Enjoy! Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow. Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing

They finally caught up with me. I knew this day would come. It was the nightmare that caused so many hours of lost sleep over the years. I have been very good at avoiding detection and living off the grid. But now, after eight-years, my world was collapsing around me. I don't know when they will be here, but it will be soon.

My name is Mark Stewart. I don't use that name anymore , but now that my assumed identity is busted, I might as well use it. You see, eight years ago I left my wife behind, taking my two children with me: Mark Jr., who was eight years old , and Krista, who was six years old. They are now 16 and 14 years old.

My story started with the very common occurrence of a husband discovering his wife in another man's arms. Or discovering his wife with another man's cock in her pussy, to be exact!

I was at my office one morning when I realized I forgot some important papers at home. I needed some figures for an afternoon meeting so I decided to go and fetch them.

I almost rear-ended an unknown car, an old Ford Escort that was parked in our driveway. I assumed it was a friend of my wife, Martha, who stopped by for a coffee. The front door was locked. I let myself in and hurried toward the den. Passing by the kitchen, I looked inside but nobody was there. .

In the den, I retrieved the file folder on my desk when I stopped in my tracks. A familiar sound could be heard from here. You see, the den is on the first floor, just beneath our bedroom upstairs. I could clearly hear the box spring being given a good pounding upstairs, and my wife's voice shrieking loud enough to be heard down here.

I am many things, but certainly not delusional. My wife was upstairs, fucking with somebody.

I dropped the papers on the desk and headed upstairs. The closer I got, the clearer the fucking session could be heard.

I heard Martha yell "Oh God, yes Steve! Fuck me harder!" .

Then Steve replied, "To whom that pussy belongs? Who fills your pussy the best?"

"You Steve! Only you! Fuck harder now, I am almost there."

Steve! My wife's former college boyfriend was banging her. I almost rushed in the bedroom when a split second of sanity hit me.

Knowing my temper and my strength, I would probably kill the guy, or at least do enough damage to end up in jail. I wanted to hurt them, but not by going to jail. I had a quick look in the bedroom, enough to see Steve screwing my wife doggie style. Somehow, I wished that I was wrong but Steve was proving me right with each hard thrust.

I quietly went back downstairs, grabbed my papers and headed back toward my office.

I don't know how I made it there in one piece. One hour ago, no make it 20 minutes ago, my life was fine by all standards. I had it all: a very nice looking and loving wife, two kids and a company I owned. Now I was reliving the ghastly scene of Steve fucking my wife. I had fled the scene, but at each thrust, my mind was pummeling that lowlife.

I didn't want to believe what I just saw. I wished it could all go away, as if my memories of that moment could be swept away. I wished that I could go back with my normal life. But the sight of that asshole thrusting inside my wife was still too vivid.

After a while, I extracted myself from my car and went to my office. I immediately phoned an old friend who was now a lawyer. He took my call right away and I told him what I had seen.

He explained to me what was likely to happen if I wanted a divorce. Canada is a no fault country in term of divorce, even when the motive is adultery. There would be a split of all assets, including the company I had built up from scratch. He explained that Martha could be said to have taken care of the household and the kids while I was burning myself from 7:00AM till late in the evening to make our life better.

He also informed me that she would most likely gain custody of our two kids and receive a generous alimony. Without a wife, I would still have to support her and her lover. I was pretty sure of that, as Steve was never able to keep a job for long.

That didn't fit well with what I believed was right or wrong. My friend urged me not to be too rash and try at least to find support in the adultery charges against Martha.

It wasn't hard at all. I had the house phone tapped and a discreet video camera installed that could cover the whole bedroom. I had all the evidence I needed within a week.

Being around Martha without arousing her suspicion was hard. However, since she was used to my long work hours, it was easy to avoid contact with her. Starting that fateful day, I made a habit to come home late when she was already in bed. I know that she was intrigued by my refusal to have sex with her. But there was no way in hell I could fuck her. Even my kisses were half-hearted, a slight contact of my lips on a cheek.

Over the next week, she gave me a few puzzled looks, but without uttering the questions that were probably eating her. No sex and no kisses were not my usual behavior.

Well, she did open up to somebody: Steve! And I caught it all on tape!

"Hi honey! What's up?"

"I'm worried Steve! I think Mark knows something," answered Martha.

"You're shitting me! That idiot hadn't a clue for the last 5 years and now he would wake up? What makes you say that?"

"It's the way he behaved lately. I've never seen him refuse sex and he has all week long. He doesn't kiss me, doesn't hug me anymore. Oh my God! I'll die if he found out!" said Martha.

"Nah! We talked about it before. If he finds out, you will take him to the cleaner and we will finally have our freedom to fuck without a thought for that loser. Let him work his ass for you for the rest of your life" calmly stated Steve.

"Oh, I don't like that, not one bit. Can you come over? I don't feel like being alone now. Please..."

And he did come, three times, once through the front door and twice in her waiting pussy. I had it all on tape.

I decided my revenge: she would get nothing from her betrayal. But it would take me a while to get organized. This meant that I had to fuck her at least once a week, the days I knew she hadn't hook up with Steve. My kisses were a bit more hubby-like too.

Over the next few months, I fucked her on a regular basis. She didn't even notice that I wasn't making love to her anymore. I was simply fucking her like the whore she was without wearing a condom.

But I missed making love. From the first day we met, I had never simply fucked Martha; we made love. We met at a college frat party. I wasn't a student anymore but I had many friends that still were.

My dad died when I was 17, during my last year in high school. Time was tough for mom and me. While still in school, I found a part-time job with a moving company. I had a hard time graduating high school, with all the hours I was putting in that job, but it sure helped Mom and me. But I made it. The first few months after graduation, I worked like crazy. I never refused overtime. I wasn't well paid – just a few dollars over the minimum wage – but it was a lot for a young 18 years old guy fresh out of high school.

Using my dad's old pick up truck, I even started helping friends and family move their stuff when I was not working. The pay was even better. They didn't need a big moving company when they only had a few items to move, but they always paid me well for helping them out.

That's when I first thought about doing a little moving on the side. My motto: "No task is too small." I started to advertise by putting flyers all over town under peoples' car wipers. Soon, all my free time was busy moving small stuff. Nobody else was offering that service and it showed. Within a month, I had more requests than I could handle. Slowly, I started to do less overtime and do more on my own jobs.

Within a couple of months, I had to quit my old job: I was too busy with my new business and making more money.

The following year, I expanded by buying a bigger truck and hiring a couple of guys to help me out. That's when I met Martha. I was at a frat party and minding my own business when a girl came beside me while I was sipping on my beer. She was a cute little thing not much over 5', dark haired and with a killer smile. She started to chat with me. She was very friendly. After half an hour of friendly conversation, a drunken guy barged in.

"There you are, Martha!" Steve slurred when he came by us. "I was looking all over for you."

"Bug off Steve, and go back feeling Lisa's tits," answered Martha. "I met somebody way better than you."

I didn't like the way she was pointing at me. That smelled trouble. Sure enough, Steve turned around and had a hard time focusing on me. Steve was a good two inches taller than me, and a few pounds heavier. However, even if he wasn't drunk, I knew I could take him with one arm tied behind my back.

"Get away from my girl," he said pushing me. Or should I say, trying to push me, as I didn't move an inch.

Unfazed by his failure, he threw a punch at me that I deflected with ease. Using his momentum, I turned him around and pushed him all the way back toward the living room.

"Get lost!" I simply said, and then I turned toward Martha. "What about I give you a ride back before the asshole comes back and I have to kick the shit out of him?"

Martha took hold of my arm and we left the party.

My truck wasn't very roomy but thank God it wasn't a stick shift. I was prepared to only drop her at her parents, but she attacked me on the way there. Soon, we found a secluded parking and we fucked our brains out.

We started to date. Within a year, I moved out of my mom's house and I popped the question. Martha said yes. We were husband and wife six months later.

Life was good. I was still working long hours to make sure my business would provide well for my family – yes, we had our first child, Mark, 16 months later, and another one, Krista, two years later.

As the years passed, my business required less work from me. I was still putting many hours each week, but not as much as before. I still pitched in to help the crew but mostly I was managing, doing more overtime work out of my den – soft tasks such as invoicing and bookkeeping.

Everything was perfect. My little business was bringing in over $100,000 in yearly profits , on top of my $70,000 manager salary. And then, I found my wife fucking her old boy friend.

***

I was determined not to loose everything out of that mess. Everyday, I was taking an hour to monitor my wife and her lover. It didn't look good. The more I learned, the more determined I became. Their pillow talks were getting to a point that I had to speed up my plan.

Within the next two months, I took a line of credit with our equity on the house as collateral for my business. On top of that, I sold my business in complete secrecy - at a bargain price . I was also able to get the children and myself some fake IDs including passports. They were not good enough for close scrutiny, but enough for me to make a clean getaway.

I had been working on Martha to go visit her parents. She did finally accept. Yes, I learned while listening to their pillow talk that Steve made a habit to travel with her when she was visiting her folks. That explained why she always stayed in a motel instead of staying at her parents' place. It also pissed me off because her parents knew about her dalliance with Steve.

The morning she left, I cancelled all of our joint credit cards and emptied the bank accounts. I left just enough to cover the month-end payments. With the sale of my business, I had close to one million dollars in cash.

Leaving my car in the driveway, I walked all the way to fetch an old jalopy. I paid cash for it and licensed it using my false ID a few weeks earlier. Then I went and picked up the kids at school. They were thrilled when I told them we would be going to Disneyland on a surprise trip.

I drove down south, crossed the border, and the rest is history.

***

As young as they were, the kids believed the story I told them later of their mother and grandparents dying in a car accident. They found it harder to accept their name change but believed me when I explained that it was normal for orphans to change names.

For eight years everything went as planned. I was working on a cash only basis and always found employers willing to accept that arrangement. I am strong, I work hard, I am reliable, and I always keep to myself. The perfect employee!

Over the years, the kids started questioning my fabrication. It wasn't long before I had to come almost clean. That was the name change that got me in the end with the kids. An eight years old child might believe it, but not a street-wise 15 years old. I didn't tell them that their mother was still alive. I simply said that I was fleeing Canadian justice, which was not a lie.

Afterward, I was living a constant teenage crisis with Mark. He took off twice that year, coming back home a week or two later, no explanation given. You don't tell your kid that you are fleeing justice without some difficulties in your parent prerogatives, isn't?

But what gave me away was that darn Facebook. Every kid has to be on Facebook, and soon Mark and Krista were also on it. Then they began to look for childhood friends. They found some and they found something else too: their mother.

One day, after work, I came back home. My two kids were sitting at the kitchen table: the atmosphere was frosty.

"Frigging liar!" was all Mark said.

"I beg your pardon young man! It's not a way to talk to..." I started to say.

"Cut it out Dad and follow me. I want to show you something" interrupted Mark. He then walked toward the computer in the living room . As soon as he touched the mouse, the screen cleared and there it was: the picture of Martha on her Facebook page.

"She looks healthy for a dead mother, doesn't she?" Krista said.

While we had the computer on, I decided to explain everything. I went to my room, opened my small handgun safe and grabbed the DVDs. I had stored all the recordings of their mom cheating and her plans to take them away from me.

"Here! Take that!" I said to Mark.

"Listen to the audio 1, 5 and 7 and if it is not enough watch the video 1 and 2."

Audio 5 was very damning to their mother's case. On that bit of audio, she and Steve were planning their next move to milk as much money of me as they could. The video 2 was a very explicit sex scene between the two lovers and even if the sound wasn't great, their pillow talk was the worst.

"Nothing is sure in a divorce, honey!" said Steve while Martha was still playing with his flaccid cock, trying to put some life back into it.

"I'm thinking that we would be better off if Mark had an accident, you know, like a car accident or a hunting accident. It could be arranged you know. You would have everything, including a good pay-off from the insurance."

I remember well that part. I had been very close to go back home with my rifle and just shoot them. The worst was Martha's lack of indignation when confronted with that idea.

"Don't say that Steve! It is way too dangerous, too risky. And the kids would hurt too much" was all she said.

There was too much unsaid and that was the final straw that had me change my getaway planning eight years ago.

"Oh shit Dad!" Mark finally said. "We have to get away from here."

"Did you tell your Mom where we are?" I asked.

"Worst Dad! Way worst! She's on her way with a bunch of cops. We talked on the phone earlier. She called the RCMP up in Canada and she is flying here this afternoon. Anyway, with that guy talking about 'having an accident', can't you just wait her up and have her arrested?"

"She never agreed to it." I answered. "I don't know how long it would have last, but she refused the offer. And with me taking off with you guys, I am screwed.

The weight of the whole world came crashing on my shoulders. I walked toward the bedroom and looked at the open safe. I still had most of the money I left with. I only used some for extra fake IDs I needed over the years. Would I still be able to run and hide? I doubted that. Eight years ago, I gave myself a week's head start. Now, with two grown up kids and maybe a few hours left, it would be almost impossible.

I didn't want to go to jail or to lose my kids, but it seemed that I was in a dire straits. Leaving the money and the IDs in the safe, I grabbed my .38 and hid it in the small of my back in my pants' waistband. Then I closed the safe. I had feared for years that dreaded moment where the only way out would be a permanent one.

I turned around and Mark was watching me.

"And what do you think you are doing?" Mark asked.

"Er... I will take to the woods. I can't stay here. Stay with your sister and wait for your mother."

"Yeah, right! Take to the wood for what? Escape? Without taking any of that pile of money? Don't take me for a dumbass Dad! I know what you are thinking and I won't let you!" said Mark .

"I don't want to go to jail, to lose you guys or to see your triumphant mother helping the cops nab me. With more time, I could have done something, but I know when I am toast Mark. Just let me be!" I muttered.

Krista was now at the door of the bedroom. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Dad thinks he's fucked and he plans on the easy way out. He plans to shoot himself," replied Mark.

"No...!" yelled Krista. She threw herself at me, grabbing me with despair.

Suddenly Mark rose to the occasion.

"Krista, go to my room, grab my big duffel bag and start filling it up with some clothing, mine, yours and Dad's. Now!"

Krista left the room.

"And you, open that safe, grab all the money and whatever else you need!"

Mark then took a cell phone from his pocket. Since when did he have a cell phone? He punched in a number then looked up at me.

"Hurry, we don't have all day!" he said.

Then his call went through. "Hey Bro! I need a favor. Jump in your truck and come right away to pick me up at the usual... Yeah see you there!"

Well, it finally paid off to have a street-smart kid. With two practice rounds already at running away from home, Mark had us in a vehicle slowly heading east. His friend went back home and is now driving our car west toward LA, plenty of gas money and enough to buy a plane ticket for the return.

Technically, I am the only fugitive in the pick-up truck. But to my amazement, now I am running away with my two kids who follow willingly, knowingly. Who knows now how long we can last? We might even decide to cross back the border and return to Canada. Who knows? Not my ex-wife!