Chapter Thirty-Three: Faster

Taran plodded upstairs. Why on earth he was still putting up with all of this was quickly becoming lost after eating yet another unsatisfying meal of salad. Holding one hand on his stomach and the other on the slippery wooden bannister, he looked up the stairs and exhaled heavily. Climbing all these steps was so tiring. With each touch of his foot to the staircase, his stomach grumbled. Glancing over his shoulder, he lamented that he would much rather slide down the bannister and steal some food but, sadly, he had promised to be good.

“You used to love that painting when you were young.”
Taran snapped his head towards the voice, scanning around the dimly lit staircase. In a dark alcove between the two floors, he was sure he could see something. A hand grabbed his wrist firmly, tugging him into the shadows, with another hand clamping over his mouth as he tried to yell out. Screaming and kick into the darkness, he clenched his eyes shut hoping they would let him go. And then they did.

Retreating back until he banged into the wall, Taran looked around for his attacker as his eyes adjusted. His heart pounded against his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins and his legs nearly buckled. “Blergh!” Taran stuck out his tongue, the taste of the hand still in his mouth. He flinched as he felt something touch him and then realised the white gloved hands were gently brushing him down. Was that the butler?

“I apologise for my informality, but I must speak with you, Master Taran.” He looked around uneasily, his eyes darting back and forth like a game of tennis. Checking his watch, he quickly looked back at Taran. “I just wish it had been under.” The butler ran his finger along the side of the staircase and inspected it. Flicking the dust off his fingertip, he continued, “More pleasant circumstances.”
Taran eased up, his chest becoming less tight and his heart beat slowing down. “What’s wrong?” He pouted, the tone made him concerned enough to forget about his own problems for a little while.
“Your parents gave you up willingly, Taran.” The butler seemed uneasy, continually looking around them and speaking in hushed tones. “In order to further their lifestyle, they didn’t have time to care for a young child and, at that point, they didn’t have the funds for childcare.” He touched his large hand to Taran’s shoulder, glancing at the watch briefly. “I’m afraid to say that they do not want you.”

Taran had already gathered they didn’t like him, but to know they didn’t even want him felt like a blow to his ego. Was he really that bad? “Why don’t they want me?”
He snarled briefly. “Egomaniacs, Selfish, Narcissistic ignoramuses. You can take your pick.”
Taran didn’t know what those meant, but there were more important things. “Why am I here?”
“Your father—”
“He isn’t my dad.” Involuntarily, Taran recoiled. The very mention of the word in respect to someone other than his actual dad, especially that man annoyed him so much.
The butler sighed. “Fine.” He lowered his voice. “Mr Adené is about to declare bankruptcy. His public image is bad due to some bad decisions.” Getting closer, he whispered, “and there was also a scandal of infidelity.” He sighed, standing back up. “Basically, he needs good press.”

Taran pondered the statement for a while. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “What’s bankruptcy?”
The butler looked up from his watch, narrowed his eyes and then nodded. “Fundamentally, it means he doesn’t have much money.”
Taran looked around. That couldn’t be right. He had all these nice things and offered to buy Taran anything he wanted. “But he has all this.”
“This.” The butler looked around them then back at Taran. “Will soon disappear if his problems aren’t resolved. With you here, they look like parents who were troubled about the kidnapping of their son after all these years. Saving you will likely bring them everything they desire. Stock will rise and their problems will resolve.”
“They didn’t save me.” Taran crossed his arms. “I don’t like them.”
The butler glanced around. “I don’t have long left before I have to check on Mr Adené.” He looked at his shiny silver watch yet again and then gripped both of Taran’s shoulders. “Stay safe, stay strong and don’t trust them.” He stepped out into the light, checking his watch for the millionth time.
Taran grabbed his sleeve. “My mum.” He grimaced as he thought of Mrs Adené. “The one I love…” he remembered making masks out of paper plates with her on a rainy afternoon a few months ago. “Well, she taught me to always be polite and ask someone’s name.”
The man laughed a little. “Dominic, Dominic Devon.” He left without another word, disappearing into the vast house.

Walking back up to his room, he stepped inside, leaving the light off. Without it on, maybe they would leave him alone. His fingers touched the cold metal doorknob, flicking the lock closed as he leant back against the door and listened to his thoughts. If all this was true then he had to do something, go somewhere. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he walked over to the bed and sat down, the springs bouncing him back up slightly. He ran his fingers through the soft bright duvet, the fabric comforting as he glanced out of the window at the darkening sky. Seeing that sunset reminded him of back home. Something touched his leg and then he realised he was crying. Touching the tear on his cheek with his hand in disbelief, he looked at his damp fingers. Would he ever get home? His stomach began to churn and then he climbed into the bed, slamming his face into the pillow to try and stem the flow of tears.

Stretching his arms out, he felt something touch his hands. Frowning, he pulled his face away from the pillow, wiping it clean with his arm and then lifted the pillow to see the two buttons and the Digivice. He picked up the buttons, holding them gently in his hand and wishing someone would come save him soon. Shaking his head, he put them back down and got up off the bed to change into a set of BunBoy pyjamas that were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. If he just went to sleep then he could forget about all of this and then he would be one day closer to someone coming and taking him back home.

As he zipped up the front of the pyjamas, the fuzzy material warming him up, he looked back over at the window. Walking over to it, he pushed the window open and looked out onto the grounds. They were so vast that he couldn’t see another house anywhere; it was so removed from anything he knew back home. The maze down below, with all the flowers, pathways and other stuff he couldn’t make out in the darkness was so confusing. A gust of wind threw the BunBoy hood off his head, the ears flapping about behind him before falling flat on his back. The icy wind bit into his skin and he took a sharp inhale through his nose, the cold piercing his nostrils and turning him into an icicle, inside and out. Firmly holding onto the windowsill, he peered over the edge to see how far the drop was. At this height, he knew that would be it for sure. However, if he even went near the front door then someone would definitely spot him.

“What’s wrong Taran?”
Taran jumped and hurriedly looked for a source. He scanned his eyes across the dark furniture for anyone but there was no one. Did they have a camera or something in here?
“I’m in your Digivice, silly!”
Taran frowned. Was this a trick? “In that?” He pointed shakily at the object on his bed.
“Maybe,” the voice teased, giggling.
Taran stepped across the floor slowly, the padded feet of his pyjamas slapping quietly against the flooring, until he reached the bed.  
“Right here,” the little voice chimed.

Taran sat down on the bed and picked up the Digivice, looking at the little creature that was finally awake. The name flooded back into his head and he exclaimed elatedly, “Pumon.” The corners of his mouth slid up into a grin and his brown eyes lit up. “I almost forgot about you! I’m so sorry!”
“That’s me; I’m your Digimon partner!” The little Digimon cheered, bouncing around the screen. “You can let me out, you know!? It’s too small in here for me to bounce!”
Taran lifted the Digivice and looked underneath. Out where? He looked back at the screen sceptically, raising one eyebrow. “I can?”
“Yeah, just press that one on the side!” Pumon bounced against the side of the Digivice. “I know cause I’m smart, you see! The best Digimon around!”
Taran got close and whispered, “You’re also super loud, I don’t want to get caught, Pumon.”
“SORRY!” Pumon giggled. “I’ll fight whoever catches you so let me out!”
Taran gingerly placed his finger on the button. “This one?”
Pumon nodded eagerly. “Yup!”
Pressing the button down, Taran was astounded as a green light flew out from the Digivice and encompassed his hand. “What’s happening?” Taran yelled, trying to shake the warm light off his hand. Flinging his arm outwards and jumping back, he saw the green light fly off but fell off the bed in the process.

His legs in the air and his head throbbing, Taran groaned. What on earth had just happened?
“I’m FREE!” Pumon bounced off the edge of the bed onto Taran’s face and then back onto the bed. “Free, I tell you!”
Taran scrambled to his feet and watched the little green ball bounce. Was this real? Had he hit his head that hard? “P— Pumon?”
“That’s me!” He bounced up onto Taran’s face, kissing him.
Taran wiped his face, knocking Pumon off. “Blergh!” He sat up, sticking out his tongue. “Don’t kiss me!”
“Why not?” Pumon cocked his head, which was also his whole body. “You saved me.”
“So!” Taran blurted, wiping his mouth again. He climbed back onto the bed and crossed his arms angrily.
“I heard humans do it to show love, and I love you!”
Taran furrowed his brows and glared at the little Digimon. “You can’t.” He shook his head exasperatedly. “It’s naughty. Only mummies and daddies can do it.”
“What are mummies and daddies?” Pumon bounced. “Are they friends?” He narrowed his eyes, forming a snarl that showed his sharp little teeth. “Or food?”
Taran gasped in shock. Was Pumon being serious? “You don’t know?” Picking Pumon up, he leapt backwards onto the bed, bouncing up and down while cradling the little Digimon.

“You can jump too? Let’s do it together!” Pumon leapt out of Taran’s arms and began to bounce on the bed, the multi-coloured feather on his head flapping back and forth.
Taran placed a hand on Pumon, holding him still. “Listen!”
Pumon pouted. “I can listen and bounce.”
“Fine.” Taran slid his hand off the excitable Digimon’s head and clasped his hands gently on his belly, looking up at the roof. “They’re just the bestest people ever. He threw his arms into the air, kicking his legs and grinning. “Mine are the most good though.”

Pumon stopped bouncing. “Why?”
“Because they cuddle me when I’m sick, and they kiss me goodnight and make sure the bad men don’t get me while I sleep. Oooh! And, they buy you lots of sweets when you’re good!”
Pumon began to drool. “Sweets are food…” He rolled onto his back, the drool dribbling onto the duvet. “I like sweets.”
Taran grinned, sitting bolt upright. “ME TOO!”

Taran fell backwards onto the bed and sighed tiredly. His parents weren’t around at the moment and he had no idea when he would see them or his brothers and sisters again.
“Can we go see your mummy and daddy?” The words stung. Taran knew Pumon hadn’t intended them to, but it was something he wished for more than anything and yet he couldn’t do.
Something began to tickle his feet. Taran kicked out and covered his mouth to try and hold back the raucous laughter that he could feel building in his belly. Looking down, he saw Pumon using the feather on his head to tickle Taran’s feet with a mischievous grin.
Pumon bounced onto his chest with a gentle bump. “Well?”
Taran calmed down and shook his head. “I want to but Aleena said to stay here.” He lolled his head back looking at the roof. “And Aleena always knows best.”

Pumon began to bounce up and down. “But it’s making you sad. And I like when you’re happy!” He bounded on top of Taran, laughing.
Taran grunted as Pumon knocked the wind out of him, catching the little green ball. “That hurt, Pumon.” He frowned. “You can’t just jump on people without asking.”
“Sorry…” Pumon looked downtrodden and then his face slowly lifted, a grin forming. “Let’s go get some sweeties!”
Taran bit his lip. “I dunno...” It was a hard decision. Leaving this room put him at risk of being shouted at by those people.
“PLEASE!” The little Digimon said, elongating the word.
“Fine.” Taran sighed and sat up. “But you have to be quiet,” he whispered, putting his index finger to his lips. Cautiously, he picked up the Digivice and the two buttons, dropping them all into the saggy front pocket of his pyjamas. He couldn’t be sure if he would need them, especially now he was doing something naughty.  

Carrying Pumon over to the door, he opened it slowly and looked around outside to see if anyone was about. But, luckily, the coast was clear. Slipping out, he pulled the door closed behind him and then peered down the stairs. It was clear. So far so good. He crept down the wooden staircase, afraid to move too fast for fear of being caught and reprimanded.

Taran remembered the Christmas eve where his life had changed. All that had started with creeping down stairs too. The stairs of his family home. He stopped, his feet not willing to move.
“What’re you doing?” Pumon whispered.
Taran felt his lip tremble and an involuntary tear rolled down his cheek, dropping onto Pumon’s head. “I miss mum and dad.” He kept crying like this; like he was a big baby.
The little Digimon looked up. “You’re leaking.” He waved his feather about. “Want to borrow my feather to plug the hole?”
Taran sniffed and took the feather gently, wiping his eye. “Thank you.”

Pumon flicked his feather about. “You’re gunky.” He then looked back down the stairs. “Now, sweeties.”
Taran nodded, trying to forget about his family, if only briefly. “Okay.” Taran slipped down the rest of the stairs quickly, casting a quick glance around as he reached the bottom before he rushed over to the dining room. He had never been in to the kitchen before, but he had seen people come in with food through a door in the dining room so there had to be food through there and that was good enough.

The door squeaked loudly behind Taran as it swung shut. He tensed up, expecting to be caught. The room was dark, with the obscure mahogany wooden furniture inside blending into the shadows. It looked a lot different at night times.
“This isn’t sweeties,” Pumon grumbled.
“The food comes from there,” Taran whispered, pointing at the door on the right. “Come—” The door in question swung open and light spilled into the room, dazzling Taran a little.

Diving onto the floor, he crawled underneath the table as footsteps resounded around the large dining room. His heart thudded against his ribcage, threatening to break free and reveal his hiding spot.
“I coulda sworn ah ‘eard somefink.” Who was that? It didn’t sound like Mr or Mrs Adené.
Taran covered his mouth, trying not to breathe as the black boots continued to walk around the room. A cupboard swung open.
“Hmm.” It slammed shut again.
“What’s he doing?” Pumon whispered.
The feet spun to face them and Taran silently cursed his rotten luck. Pumon would have to be taught to not be so naughty.

Slowly, the feet came towards them. With each thud of the heavy black boots against the wooden flooring, Taran felt his heart rate skyrocket. A chair flew out abruptly. They’d been caught. Taran clenched his eyes shut in fear as the footsteps continued. Then there was nothing but a little rustle. Slowly, he cracked open one eyelid and looked up to see a pair of legs under the table in front of him. The striped blue and white trousers were covered at the top with a white piece of fabric from whatever he was wearing on top.

“Am going batty ‘cause a all ‘em fumes. Berrah tek a brek.” He stretched his legs out, booting Taran in the face.
Taran whimpered, unable to resist but quickly crawled away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Wha’ were tha’?” The chef mumbled. His bearded middle-aged face appeared as he bent over and spotted Taran, his eyes flying wide.
Leaping up, Taran kept low to avoid banging his head and ran for the nearest door he could see.

Heavy footsteps flanked him, quick and close as Taran tore the door open and ran through. Thwack! A mop smacked him in the face and he quickly realised that this was a cleaning cupboard as chemicals flanked him on all sides. Like the kind his mum would use on Sundays. He panicked, and turned back to run for another door but a robust shadowy frame was now taking up his only exit.

“Taran.” He leaned closer, his tired face becoming slightly clearer in the dim light. “‘s it?”
Taran nodded meekly, cowering back into a corner. He squeezed Pumon tightly as the man exhaled heavily. He was in big trouble now.
“I ber et’s sweets yeh beh wantin’.” The chef’s narrow hazel eyes homed in on Taran, fixating him like a deer in headlights.
Taran shook his head vehemently. Admitting something like that would just make the trouble he was in even worse.
“Don’ lie t’ meh, boy. Le’s be havin’ ya.” He moved aside, and held out a large arm towards the kitchen. “Come on. Quick Like.”  

Taran stared at him, completely unable to process what had just happened. Was it a trick? He looked down at Pumon, but the little Digimon had no words of support and was just salivating at the thought of sweets. Slowly, Taran walked out of the cleaning cupboard. This man seemed nice at least.
Behind him, the man slammed the cleaning cupboard door.
Taran flinched, expecting to be shouted at but he felt a firm, calloused hand in his hair. Looking up, he saw the chef grin and smiled back. It made him feel warm in his belly.
The chef laughed and ruffled his hair. Pushing him gently towards the kitchen door, the man said, “Come on, lad.”

Taran gazed around the large white tiled kitchen from his place atop a stainless steel countertop, that, like the rest of the kitchen, was sparkling. A twang of melancholy confused him as he struggled to find the cause. This was the best thing to happen to him in ages.
The chef was watching him closely. His hazel eyes looked apologetic, hiding something behind that careful gaze. This felt a lot like pity, but why? The chef was making him stay here too so why wasn’t he mean like everyone else?  
Frowning, Taran reached into the tub of chocolate chip ice cream on the counter and spooned a large amount into his mouth. Slowly, he lifted the tub, holding it out to the chef. “Want some?” In his grip, he could feel Pumon struggling to restrain himself for the next bite.
The chef shook his head. “Nah, lad. You ‘av et.” He turned back around and chopped some carrots on a wooden board that had seen better days.

Taran spooned out a chunk of ice cream and rammed it into Pumon’s mouth. “Stay quiet please?,” Taran whispered, pulling the spoon out. He looked at the spoon, which didn’t even have a speck of ice cream on anymore in amazement and then noticed the chef was looking at him again while tossing the carrots into a metal pan. It was that same look. “Have you told them I’m awake?” He glanced at the door nervously, expecting Mr and Mrs Adené to run in any second and shout at him.
The chef shook his head and looked down at the floor while sighing loudly. He looked up slightly, clearly battling inner difficulties by the way he was frowning. “Lad, are yeh gonna leave?”

Really, Taran hadn’t considered it wholeheartedly. Sure, he’d thought about running away. But right now, at this moment, he could just leave and never look back. All of the doors were open for the butlers and other members of staff to come and go as they pleased. Looking at the chef, the metal spoon hanging out of his mouth, he wasn’t sure what to say. The spoon fell from his lips, clattering against the countertop. He shook himself from the daze he was in and managed to stammer, “Leave? What do you mean?”

The chef paused, seeming to find it hard to answer as he opened and closed his mouth more than a few times. He gripped the counter behind him, leaning back on it as he faced Taran. “Run, lad.”
Did he mean to hurry back upstairs before they noticed? Was this a game? Hide and Seek? “… Back upstairs?”
“No, lad.” The chef rubbed his temples with his large fingers. “Don’ yeh see?” He glanced around. “You gotta ge’ while yeh can. They won’ pu’ you wi’ someone, see.” The chef walked over to the kitchen door, pushing it gently open and peering out into the dining room before coming back over. “This… thing they’re doin’. Where they use ya to mek ‘emselves look good?” He shook his head. “Ih won’ last.” Folding his arms, he leaned back. “They’ll drop yeh in a wood or somefink and drive off, lad. Yeh gotta go now. Trust meh.”

Taran was fixated on the chef’s grey-brown moustache. It was so full and thick. Each hair was wiry and individually strong, but together they looked soft and bouncy. This was the perfect distraction from the fear he was feeling but he couldn’t hide forever. His lip trembling, Taran quietly said, “I’m confused.” The world outside was so big and he was so little. He had no idea where he was or where to go and this man wanted him to run out there all alone. How could he?

The chef spun, reaching into the cabinet above his head. He withdrew a green rucksack from behind a sack of potatoes. “I fort this migh’ come in handy when ah ‘eard wha’ they were gonna do.” He held it out, shaking it. “Tek it. Goh everfink ya’ll need.”
Taran looked at the green rucksack worriedly. His brow wrinkled and he felt his fingers digging into the cool metal countertop as he held on for dear life.
“Tek this and run now, lad. Theh kitchen outside door is open. Don’ look back.” He indicated the big metal door to his left with his thumb.
Taran stared at his kind, withering face. Was he serious? He glanced at the metal door. What if this was all a trick? What would Aleena say?
“Taran, ice cream is empty. Let’s go.” Pumon burped loudly as his tongue, which had cleaned the inside of the tub to a sparkling white, rolled back into his mouth.
Taran hissed, “I told you to be quiet.”
“Ah knew et was one of ‘em!” The chef looked closer at Pumon, a smile growing at the corners of his mouth. “Tha’s double tha reason for yeh to scram. So, go on, do et!”

Gingerly, Taran reached out for the bag and pulled it onto his back before hopping down from the counter. He glanced around, confused. “Where?” He furrowed his brow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a trick. His legs wouldn’t listen to him. Would Aleena be okay with this? Would she still be able to find him? His mind was racing with possibilities and questions.
The chef gripped his hand tightly, leading him over to the big red metal door at the back of the kitchen. He shoved it open and kept his hand splayed on the door, allowing the cold night air to blow in. “Out this door an’ keep runnin’. An’ don’ look back, lad.” He smiled, ruffling Taran’s hair with his other hand. “Ah can’ allow a baern t’ beh treated like an object.”

Pumon bounced up into Taran’s arms. “I bet there’s more sweets out there somewhere,” he said, salivating again.
Taran looked out into the darkness and couldn’t see anything, definitely not sweets. “I don’t think so,” he muttered, his voice quavering.
A gentle push on his back forced him forwards down the little wooden steps and onto the solid earth below. “Good luck, lad.”
Taran searched around in the darkness beyond the dim glow of the kitchen light behind but nothing was possible to make out. Gripping Pumon tightly, he turned back to the chef. Maybe this wasn’t the right idea. The door slammed closed and the light vanished. Was this a trick? He was in so much trouble now!

“I’m scared, Pumon.” Taran hadn’t wanted to admit it so readily but it flew out of him like machine gun fire. He was supposed to be brave. Pumon was the younger one.
“What are you waiting for?” Pumon laughed. “RUN!”
Taran nodded and started to run away into the darkness. He didn’t know where he was going so he ran straight forwards, barely able to see just in front of him. Surely, he would find somewhere eventually. Piles of rubbish and food waste littered the area around the kitchen door but beyond that was soft grass, which was easier to run on.

Suddenly, he heard voices and shouting. Then lights began to burst on, flying all over the grass around him. The chef had told on him? So, this really was just a trick? It was all too much too sudden and it left him frozen on the grass in front of the fence. He spun back, his chest heaving up and down as he panted, looking to see what was happening. He was trapped. “Pumon, I’m scared.”
“Keep going!” Pumon cheered.
“Where?” Taran looked up at the fence. It wasn’t exactly the freedom he had imagined.

“Taran!” It was that crazy evil woman. There was no way he would turn back for her so he was going to have to find a way out.
“Pumon!” Taran squeezed his partner, terrified.
“Hurry!” Pumon yelled, struggling free from the grip and bouncing onto the floor. “Up the fence!”
“Get him!” Mrs Adené screamed. Footsteps pounded the ground behind him along with loud barking.

Taran glanced up at the fence. It was so tall. “I’m not sure if—”
“Put me in your bag.” Pumon bounced into Taran’s hands. “Quick.”
Taran nodded. He would need his hands for climbing and he couldn’t carry Pumon at the same time. He pulled the bag off, allowing Pumon to drop in to it. Pulling the cord tight, Taran swung it back over his back. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he whimpered.
From his bag came the muffled reply, “Yes, you can. Now, go!”
Taran reached for the fence, gripping onto the cold metal but his arm flopped back to his side. “I don’t know how!”
“You can do it, just go!”
Taran took a deep breath in and grabbed the fence with both hands. He raised his foot to fit into one of the gaps in the links. With every movement, he felt his mind race with everything that could go wrong.
“Stop right there!”