《Time Crack》


 CHAPTER 1 - The Letter

    Milan had no idea what was in there.


    He gripped the envelope, sliding his hesitant fingers between the pointed flap. It was glued shut, with no bends or creases, and Milan thought it was from a professional institution if it weren¡¯t for his name written in red with crooked letters on it as if the person who wrote this was in a hurry. Or angry.


    Should he open it? He didn¡¯t know anyone who would send letters. Distant family? Possible, but unlikely. Even they knew how to send messages from the internet. They were just terrible at it. Friends? Yeah, no way. Could it be someone he didn¡¯t know?


    He flicked the letter in his hand.


    ¡°Did you open it yet?¡± Milan¡¯s mother caught a glimpse of him as she forked the food in the corner of her plate. Steak with mashed potatoes and peas. Nothing unusual. ¡°Come on, Mil, dinner¡¯s getting cold.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we wanna know what it is.¡± Dad¡¯s lips curved into a crooked smile, the smile when he was excited about something but didn¡¯t want to show it. ¡°Perhaps from a crush? A love interest?¡±


    Milan scoffed. ¡°As if. No one writes letters anymore.¡± He pulled the flap off and his eyes scanned the letter¡¯s contents.


    Dear, dear Milan. I suspect you¡¯ll receive this letter today.


    Meet me at Hope Park at 9 p.m., or I wouldn¡¯t sleep tonight if I were you.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    No one knows what could happen.


    Till we meet.


    The letter was about to slip out of Milan¡¯s hand, and his stomach clenched. His eyes darted nonstop back and forth between the words, pushing the note closer to his face. He¡¯d gone over it ten times by now, but the more he read it, the less he understood.


    He let out a steady breath. He had to think about this rationally. What could this letter mean? Was it a prank letter? Someone trying to mess with him? But then it had to be from someone who knew him relatively well. It wasn¡¯t that the person writing this knew his name; it was Hope Park. It was close to where he lived.


    Wow, so kind, he thought. They picked somewhere close. So considerate. Or not.


    He eyed his not-so-special watch. The black bracelet encircled his wrist, and the navy crystal showed the date and year, along with the hands indicating the time.


    A few minutes to eight. If he went now, he¡¯d have plenty of time.


    ¡°What is it?¡± His mother¡¯s body tilted forward. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Milan stood from the table. ¡°Got to go. I have plans with friends.¡±


    ¡°Suuure, with friends!¡± Dad¡¯s laugh resounded throughout the house as he rapped his fist against the table, bouncing everything on it.


    ¡°Darling, I¡¯ve told you time and time again not to do that! You¡¯re ruining the dinner table!¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry.¡±


    ¡°You always say that!¡±


    ¡°Sorry!¡±


    Milan didn¡¯t hear the rest of their bickering. He was already out the door.

 CHAPTER 2 - Hope Park

    With the letter firm in his hand, Milan kept running his eyes down the page, as if something would change, that the letters and words would rearrange themselves into something that wasn¡¯t so unfathomable, but they didn¡¯t move. What was this letter all about? Should he stay awake if he decided not to go? Milan would only need a second to reach a conclusion; scratch that. He had an exam tomorrow morning. He¡¯d been putting all his hard work in studying the entire semester, so flunking it wasn¡¯t an option. But then should he go? Something dangerous could happen to him. He¡¯d still fail if he got hurt somehow and wouldn¡¯t be able to show up for the exam tomorrow. So going wasn¡¯t an option either.


    Milan shrugged. Whatever. Empty threats weren¡¯t enough to scare him. Whoever wrote this didn¡¯t know him well enough.


    But something was off-putting about the letter, other than that. Dear, dear Milan. Could Dad be right? That it was from someone admiring him, considering the two ¡®dears¡¯? It didn¡¯t make sense. No one would write in such a way to someone they admired, except if they were crazy. And obsessed enough to see him to the point where they would threaten him¡­


    Milan didn¡¯t realize how long he¡¯d been walking until he stood in front of a wooden door, too familiar for him to keep going. His phone buzzed.


    Door¡¯s open.


    He turned the doorknob. The smell of old socks mixed with pizza trash whiffed in the air, making him gag. What met his eyes was worse. Oily card boxes were thrown on the faded green sofa and month-old dirty dishes in the sink had stacked up one after another, a sour smell erupting from the pile.


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t done your dishes?¡± Milan¡¯s face twisted.


    ¡°Nah.¡± Damien lounged on the sofa, his head in a video game and fingers flicking between the controller buttons. ¡°Finals, ya know?¡±


    Milan waited, observing him. Nothing seemed off about him. Not that he suspected him. Damien was one of his close¡­ acquaintances. But he had to consider everything to find the culprit. He couldn¡¯t leave it be, after all. No matter how many times his brain would tell him not to worry about it or it was a stupid joke, something in the pit of his stomach overturned. He couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling.


    Deep in thought, he trudged inside the open-plan kitchen and opened the refrigerator. And what was there? Cans of soda sitting on every row, as far as the eye could see. Only soda. With sugar.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even have bottled water?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°Nah, bro. Tap water.¡±


    Milan cast a fixed glance at the sink again. ¡®Nah¡¯ thanks. He wouldn¡¯t be able to fit a glass between the water tap and the sink.


    Milan shook his head, heading into the living room. He threw the pizza boxes off the sofa and plumped his body beside Damien.


    ¡°Why are you even gaming? We were supposed to look over our notes.¡± Study books, notes, and papers were scattered all over the table. How were they supposed to study like this?


    ¡°Ya, I know, ya know. Waiting on Travis.¡±


    Milan gazed at his watch. Twenty minutes past eight. Could Travis be the culprit? Was he waiting for him in the park right now? He¡¯d be alibi-less if he failed to show up at Damien¡¯s house. Was he dumb enough to do that? Milan thought about it for a moment. Yes. He was.


    Snatching a physics study book from the table, Milan flipped through the pages. He wasn¡¯t going to waste his time doing nothing when he had a test coming up. Astrophysics, kinematics, electromagnetism, they were all subjects that wouldn¡¯t hurt reexamining again. That was what Milan told himself. But as the minutes passed by, he glanced at his watch more and more, and his focus slipped. At some point, he was reading the words without them committing to his memory. It could¡¯ve been a prank letter from Travis. But Travis wasn¡¯t that kind of guy to pull pranks. Could Damien and Travis have planned it together?


    Milan rubbed his eyebrow. Before he reached a conclusion, the door clicked open, and Travis came into sight in the doorway. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m technically a little late!¡±


    Milan snapped the book shut. Late. Again. But at least that meant he wasn¡¯t the one who¡¯d written the letter.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find my game console.¡± Travis stepped into the living room. ¡°But technically¡­¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Milan said. ¡°What do you need your game console for?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s this quest in Lord of the Universes. We gotta collect a million sacred tree branches by tonight, bro,¡± Damien said.


    ¡°Technically, we¡¯ll be appointed a scarce award. The Time Wand!¡±


    Milan rubbed his temples as Travis slumped on the sofa beside him. He was caught right in the middle of their rambling about this stupid game.


    ¡°And technically, did you see my ultimate teleportation card?¡± Travis shoved his arm in front of Milan¡¯s face to show Damien.


    ¡°Yah, bro, see my time score in this last quest!¡±


    Here we go again, Milan thought and checked his watch. 8:40. It would take ten minutes to get there. He should go early in case.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡± Milan stood.


    Damien and Travis stared at Milan, vacant-eyed, as if he had said something wrong.


    ¡°Bro, we¡¯ll start studying now,¡± Damien said in a soft voice as he threw away his console.


    Travis nodded with gleaming eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Milan said. ¡°Just got something to do.¡±


    He walked out the door, leaving behind his idiot friends. Now that he was sure it wasn¡¯t Damien or Travis playing tricks on him, he didn¡¯t feel like sharing the letter he had received this evening. There was no point. They didn¡¯t need to know.


    With those thoughts in mind, he trudged his way to Hope Park.


    His wristwatch showed ten minutes to nine when he arrived. Nothing was out of place. Insects flew around the lampposts, as their lights threw ugly pools of yellow on the road. A few kids screamed and ran after each other. Someone was walking their dog. The usual. But anything could happen in a second. He could be ambushed or threatened with a weapon. Good thing he¡¯d snatched a knife from Damien¡¯s kitchen, just in case. The tip was chipped off, but it should still work. If someone tried to assault him, he wouldn¡¯t think twice before defending himself. He thought about calling the police, but that would mean overdoing it. He still wasn¡¯t sure whether someone had been too bored or if they had beef with him and wanted to make him look stupid.


    The opposite could also be the case. That someone out there had written this and meant every word.


    Milan¡¯s fingers gripped the knife in his pocket. It wasn¡¯t like him to act irrationally like this. There was something about that letter¡­


    It was nine now. He pricked up his ears for the most insignificant sounds. Cheeps of sparrows, rattling sounds from the bush, weird cat noises in the distance. He turned his head in multiple directions. Milan expected it anytime. Crunching feet against the earth, a figure in the distance approaching.


    But nothing.


    Why? Milan remained in the center of Hope Park, so anyone should be able to see him. Could it be they were late for their own arrangement?


    Milan loosened his grasp around the knife. He was willing to wait a few minutes. It wasn¡¯t over. Yet, his muscles relaxed, and his body slouched, losing its rigid posture.


    Still nothing.


    Time went on, and before he knew it, an additional ten minutes had passed, and no one had shown.


    Milan plunged his hands into his pocket pants and scurried out of the park. He couldn¡¯t believe how stupid he had been for taking the letter seriously. What a waste of time. All this for what? Nothing.


    Well, yeah. No one smart enough would show up and reveal themselves. They wouldn¡¯t want Milan to find out who wrote the letter. Or it could¡¯ve been a lame joke. He could think of a few people that didn¡¯t like him. Not that it mattered.


    Milan snapped the door open to his house. ¡°I¡¯m home.¡±


    The house was dead silent, only the empty living room welcomed him. The shiny leather couch was overspread with pillows, facing the TV mounted to the wall. Milan stepped further inside, the silky material of the rug brushing against the soles of his feet. Had his parents gone to bed? His family were early risers, including him, so it wouldn¡¯t be unusual for them to go to bed early. But the lights were on. Mom never forgot to turn off all the lights before going to bed.


    Whatever. Waking up at five in the morning to study had drained Milan of energy. He was too tired to think about it. He darted the stairs to his room and set the alarm to the same time he woke up today. He couldn¡¯t waste time sleeping when he had an exam. Tomorrow was his last chance.


    Milan unfastened his wristwatch and placed it on his study table. His body slumped against the bed, and he fell into a deep sleep.

 CHAPTER 3 - The Nightmare Begins

    Milan¡¯s body froze when he awoke the following day. He gawked at his phone. Seven forty-five.


    Seven forty-five?!


    He sprang from the bed and rushed to get ready. It would take him a quarter just to get there. The exam started at eight. He could¡¯ve sworn he¡¯d set that damn alarm. He knew he had. But when he searched through his phone, it was as if the alarm had been deleted. All of them had.


    Milan clicked his tongue. By the time he left the house, it was already fifty past. He hadn¡¯t brushed his teeth, taken a shower, or even gotten to eat breakfast. But none of those things were important now. He hopped on his bike and blitzed past the road. The Spring sun caught him in its heat, and his breaths came out in short, pained gasps. Shrubs rattled by the force of the wind as he blasted past them, his legs pumping faster and faster.


    It wasn¡¯t right. Milan couldn¡¯t think of one time when he¡¯d been late for school, let alone an exam. Out of all the days he could show up late¡­


    Milan pushed faster. The handlebars wobbled, threatening to throw him off the bike. His thoughts flashed back to last night. He couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d taken the bait. That letter had been what he initially thought; a lame joke. Someone had had a lot of time to kill.


    Wind rushed through his dark-brown hair and prickled his face. Fluffy clouds hung over the school building as it came into sight. Golden rays glinted off the metal letters, making up the words ¡®Pine Hill High School¡¯, a private high school specializing in science and mathematics. Enrolling in this high school had made him realize that physics was the subject he was going to study at the university. The laws of nature all made perfect sense logically. That was all he had to use to makes sense of his life (except the mystery of the missing alarm). His parents had insisted on enrolling him in a private high school, even though the cost was triple the cost of public high schools. Milan didn¡¯t mind. They had the money, so he could go to the best high school there was around town. He didn¡¯t mind, not at all.


    He fit his bike in the bike stand and dashed through the entrance. His hand clasped around the handrail, heaving himself up the stairs.


    A shooting pain hit his shoulder as someone bumped into him.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going, klutz!¡± Milan said in a sharp tone. He barely made out a head of shiny, black hair before continuing up.


    There it was. His classroom. He pulled the door handle and stepped in. He slumped on the chair, chest burning as he gasped for air. Two minutes left. He¡¯d made it on a whim. Mrs. Mallory, their teacher, walked around the room, handing out the exam paper.


    ¡°Hey, did you hear?¡± Two of his classmates were gossiping. ¡°The transfer student starting in our class next year got caught up in something and was arrested.¡±


    ¡°What? No way!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s being held at a detention center.¡± A third classmate chipped in.


    ¡°No talking before the exam,¡± Mrs. Mallory said. She neared Milan¡¯s table. Turned out, she liked anyone who got top scores in her class ¡ª Physics. Milan was one of them. Then again, he got top scores in all his classes. She always greeted him with a grin, revealing the space in her front teeth and exposing him to her coffee breath. But today, as she handed out the exam paper to Milan, her eyes were cold and narrowed.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯ll at least do well in this one,¡± she said before moving on to the next student.


    Milan rounded his lips. ¡®At least do well in this one¡¯? What the hell did that mean? He was about to ask when the clock struck eight, and the exam began. All he needed to take was one look. One look, and he knew he was screwed.


    This topic wasn¡¯t on the syllabus. Quantum mechanics ¡ª yeah, he knew of the term and the basics, and they¡¯d gone over it shortly once in class, but to apply the formula in the assignment without a book or the internet was impossible. He had studied the whole damn syllabus, so he knew it wasn¡¯t in their study book. This exam question couldn¡¯t exist. It was wrong.


    His eyes darted between the students, but their heads were in their computer screens and fingers tapped away on their keyboards. All of them, without exception. Then, he thought he was in the wrong classroom and taking the wrong exam, but that couldn¡¯t be. The exam was held in classroom 104, their usual classroom. That was what Mrs. Mallory had said. He had noted it down on his phone¡­ which he couldn¡¯t check right now. And if there was a one percent chance he was mistaken, wouldn¡¯t Mrs. Mallory tell him? Nothing made sense. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Milan raised his hand. Mrs. Mallory¡¯s high heels clattered against the floor as she neared him.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t on the syllabus, Mrs. Mallory,¡± Milan said.


    Mrs. Mallory lifted her head, looking down on him. ¡°Didn¡¯t you study? Or listen in class? It¡¯s the first topic on the syllabus.¡±


    ¡°No, the first topic is¡­.¡±


    ¡°Just try not to fail,¡± Mrs. Mallory said, and her high heels clattered away.


    Milan¡¯s mouth was left open. His gaze intensified at the exam question, and he wrung his brain out trying to remember something, anything, about this stupid topic, but it was no use. He knew he was right about it not being in the syllabus. But if he was, then how, and why, did everyone seem to know about it? The tapping on the keyboards filled the classroom to the ceiling. It was all Milan could hear.


    He straightened his back. Milan knew he¡¯d fail anyway, but it couldn¡¯t hurt to at least try to write something.


    And those were the worst four hours of his life. Scratch that. It was the worst day of his life. After handing in the exam, he scanned the classroom for Damien and Travis. They could confirm he was right about the topic not being on the syllabus. And there they stood in the corner of the classroom, talking to each other. Like they always did.


    At least something¡¯s the same, he thought.


    Milan called out to them. ¡°Did you guys notice the first exam question wasn¡¯t on the syllabus?¡±


    They both stared at him, then at each other.


    ¡°Nah, that was deffo on the syllabus, bro,¡± Damien said.


    ¡°Why do you ask us?¡± Travis said. ¡°You could technically ask Mrs. Mallory.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Milan said. ¡°What would you know? You were both gaming that Lord of the Bullshit last night.¡±


    They shared a look again and burst into laughter.


    ¡°It is technically called Lord of the Universes. And it comes out next week, technically.¡±


    ¡°Yah.¡±


    Milan staggered backward. Next week? He could¡¯ve sworn they played that stupid game last night. What the hell was going on? Why was everything wrong, even though he did everything right?!


    Milan left the school building without looking back. He had to ask his parents. Maybe they knew something. He hadn¡¯t seen them since yesterday, and they should still be at work. But he¡¯d wait for them. Whatever was going on, it wasn¡¯t normal. He¡¯d worked his finger to the bone this semester. He knew the syllabus like the palm of his hand. He knew he¡¯d set that alarm at five o¡¯clock. And he was certain Travis and Damien had played that game yesterday. Had it all been a dream?


    He racked his brain to find the answer to all this nonsense, but Milan didn¡¯t have a clue. Not even as he trudged inside his house. All thoughts vanished from his mind when a constant ringing blared in his ears. An alarm clock buzzed from his parents¡¯ room. Milan hadn¡¯t heard any clocks ringing before leaving the house, and his parents left before him for work. Why on earth was it ringing?


    As he slipped toward his parent¡¯s bedroom, a pungent smell, like rotten meat, wafted into his nose. His internals somersaulted, threatening to empty his stomach.


    ¡°Mom?¡±


    The door was ajar, creaking, as Milan slid it open. The antique alarm clock danced on the bedside table and dropped to the floor with a clank, continuing its ringing. The duvet had curled up on the corner on the bed, and the pillows were spread out all over.


    Weird, Milan thought. His parents always made sure to make the bed before leaving. They had pestered Milan about it for a long time, too, but he hadn¡¯t done his bed this morning because of¡­ priorities.


    Aside from that, nothing else was there. Everything was normal. The lamp on the nightstand. The TV his father had bolted on the wall to watch action movies in peace when his mother was in the living room. The frame with the red and white flower painting, which Mom insisted on buying because she loved flowers, and Dad disagreed because it was too expensive but had gotten it anyway. The bifold closet in the corner of the room¡­


    Wait, that wasn¡¯t normal. Milan blinked.


    No way. This couldn¡¯t be right.


    Dark, red liquid dripped from the cracks between the closet doors, forming a puddle of crimson on the ground.


    Milan clasped his shaking hand around the handle, holding his breath. The metal felt cold against his sweaty palms. He gulped, wrenching the door open.


    Before his feet, his parents¡¯ lifeless bodies heaped against the hard, wooden floor. Their mouths twisted into a silent scream, and their eyeballs bulged out, staring blankly into the void.


    Their eyes were empty.

 CHAPTER 4 - Blood in the Closet

    In a bout of panic, Milan jerked backward. Nothing could¡¯ve prepared him for this sight. His parents. Dead before him.


    He pulled up his phone, about to slip out of his hand. His vision blackened, and his arm reached out, searching for anything nearby to maintain his balance.


    He called the police. How he managed to do that, he had no idea. The phone was shaking. No, not the phone. His hands were shaking.


    He didn¡¯t know what he told them. A deafening silence spread in his ears. He couldn¡¯t hear himself. Or anything anymore. Not the screeching ringing of the alarm clock or his own heartbeat or breathing. One moment he was on the phone. The next, his insides flipped, and he threw up. He clung to the thick wall at the doorway, his fluttering fingers gliding across. He had to get out of here. For a second, he thought if he should check if they were really dead, but thinking about it made his stomach churn. Besides, it was obvious they had been dead for a while. Patches of purple and gray all over their bodies, their clothes drenched in dark blood, and their eyes. Their eyes were devoid of light. Plain dead.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Milan flumped on the floor, his arms swathing around his knees. His legs felt like lead. He tried to calm his breathing, but they came out short and heavy. His mind went blank as he waited. What was he waiting for?


    The thoughts in his mind collapsed, plunging into the void one after another. The world whirled around. What should he do now? What could he do?


    He couldn¡¯t make out a single thing. He¡¯d lost his perception of everything.


    ¡°Police, coming through!¡± A voice from the outside hit his ears. How long had he been sitting here for? The front door cracked open, and they pushed in.


    Milan tried to move, but his body felt numb. His vision faded, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, falling unconscious.

 CHAPTER 5 - Rockwood Detention Facility

    When Milan opened his eyes, he didn¡¯t know if he had opened them. He blinked. The room was dark, only lit by a jaundiced, pendant light flinging yellow on the table. A chair sat on the opposite side, and behind it was a small door in the wall.


    Milan tried to move his arms, but a rustling sound struck his ears. Metal clung tight around his wrists. He wrung his hands. A burning sting shot through his body as the cuffs chafed his skin.


    Shit! He thought. What was going on? Where was he? A sour, acidic taste reached his mouth. The space was confined as if the dull, gray walls closed in on one another. The light, although faint, stung his eyes.


    He took a breath and exhaled. He had to calm down. What had happened, and how did he end up here, in chains like a criminal?


    The cold spread throughout his body to the end of his fingertips, as the options rolled into his brain. Could it be he was abducted or something¡­ by his parent¡¯s murderer? What were they going to do to him? Torture him? Kill him?


    No, wait, he was chained up like a criminal. That was it. The police had broken through the front door to his house. Had they arrested him? Now when he thought about it, everything in this room, the light, the table, the chairs, it was all arranged like an¡­ interrogation room.


    His heart hammered, and goosebumps tickled his forearms. Could it be they suspected him¡­ for killing his own parents?


    Milan shook his head. That was dumb. Him? Killing his parents? As if. Evidence would be lacking. He had no motive either. He also had an alibi for the entire day. They would realize it soon enough. He couldn¡¯t have killed them.


    Killed them?


    Milan¡¯s heart plummeted. His parents were dead. Murdered. He would never see them again. His father smashing on the table when he got too excited and annoying his mother, who was still willing to watch action movies with him once in a while. And his mother taking care of everyone before herself, and her obsession with flowers. It didn¡¯t matter if they were dahlias or dandelions, she loved them all equally. Years and years of his childhood flowed through him. When he was born, they were there. On the first day of school. They never missed a single one of his birthdays. Always the same strawberry cake and ice-cream, his favorite flavor. Making sure he was satisfied and happy. They were there when he finished middle school with top grades in his class. When he got accepted into Pine Hill High School. All of that flashed through his mind, and his chest felt heavy, like it was about to burst.


    He closed his eyes. He could still see their faces before him. Hearing their voices in the distance. If they were here, what would they do? What would they say to him right now? To keep moving forward? To be strong?


    His heart wrenched and twisted. The image of their dead bodies had been stamped into his mind. The way they had been thrown out of the closet as he had opened it, stacked upon each other like folded clothes.


    His eyes hardened. What was the point in thinking all that? They were gone. That was the reality of his life. But for now, he had other things to worry about.


    As if on cue, the door slammed open and Milan gave a start. A tall, masculine figure and a petite woman with round glasses and a tie around her neck entered. Her body was tiny compared to the chair she lodged herself on. The man stood with a rigid back in the background.


    ¡°Milan Whitfield, seventeen years old,¡± she said in a high-pitched voice. She organized the block of papers in her hand. ¡°I am Detective Leonia Knight, and this is John Hughes, correctional officer.¡± She motioned her hand at the giant. ¡°Let¡¯s cut to the chase,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re a suspect in the murder of your parents, David and Caty Whitfield.¡±


    Milan¡¯s body froze. His brain couldn¡¯t process the words. Sure, he first thought the same, but for it to be true¡­


    ¡°I want a lawyer.¡± Milan stared dead in her eyes. His voice came out husky as if he hadn¡¯t used it for a long time.


    ¡°Not to worry, we¡¯ll have an attorney at your service. In the meantime, I¡¯d like to ask you...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting a word out of me,¡± Milan said.


    John stretched his neck and cracked his knuckles. Cold sweat ran down Milan¡¯s back. A jolt ran through his body when the giant grabbed his chair.


    ¡°Listen, smartass.¡± The voice was raspy and deep. ¡°Think of this like a video game with different levels. There is an easy mode. And a hard mode.¡± He leaned forward, face inches away from Milan¡¯s, eyes drilled into his. ¡°Now tell us. What the hell you were up to. Nine p.m. last night.¡±


    His breath stank like mackerel fermented for ages. Milan craned his neck backward.


    ¡°I told you. I¡¯m not answering. And I don¡¯t even play video g-¡±


    The man gripped the hair on his head and rammed it against the table. Milan¡¯s vision doubled. The pain shot through his head every second. His nose burned, and a metallic taste hit his tongue. The blood dripped onto his pants.


    ¡°Need another round?¡± he said.


    ¡°Now, now.¡± Leonia pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. ¡°Let¡¯s cut back on the violence, shall we? Or you will have to leave, Hughes.¡±


    The giant grunted.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen a crime this disturbing in a while, which is why we seek to discover the truth, as I suspect you do as well, Whitfield.¡± She bent forward, placing her elbows on the table with interlaced fingers. ¡°Now, for us to do that, we need your cooperation.¡±


    Milan spat out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth. Cooperate? What a joke. They thought he would cooperate after smashing his head onto the table? That just proved they were against him. Were they interested in catching the culprit, or did they just want to make it seem like it was him?


    Milan¡¯s stomach sunk, and he clenched his teeth. She was right, though. He did want to find the murderer. The piece of shit that had dared to lay their hands on his parents. The question was, what should he do? What could he do? If he spoke, he could obtain information about the murderer. But if he said something reckless, they could use it against him if he was tried in court.


    But Milan still didn¡¯t understand something. They suspected him. But they wanted to know what he was doing last night. Up until now, Milan thought they were murdered after he left the house this morning. But what if¡­


    ¡°They were murdered last night?¡± Milan¡¯s throat felt like scratching sandpaper. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±


    The detective¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°You catch on quickly. Yes, the autopsy report revealed they were murdered last night at around nine p.m.¡±


    Milan dropped his head, lines forming on his forehead. He could¡¯ve prevented that from happening had he not gone to Hope Park. How could he be so stupid? The letter had to have been used to distract him and lead him away from the house. Whoever wrote the letter killed his parents. It couldn¡¯t be any other way.


    ¡°If we can establish and confirm your alibi, we have no reason to suspect you,¡± Detective Knight said.


    Establishing Milan¡¯s alibi would be a piece of cake.


    ¡°The letter,¡± he said. ¡°In my jacket.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°We already searched your jacket. There was no such thing.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± Milan¡¯s mind raced back and forth between his memories. ¡°I know I put it there. Search again.¡±


    Leonia gestured at the officer, and he left the room with a mumble.


    ¡°So, what is this so-called letter about?¡± she asked.


    Milan bit his lip. It was too late to turn back now. He had underestimated the situation he found himself in. Nothing had made sense since he woke up. The disappearing phone alarm, Mrs. Mallory acting weird, the exam question, the Lord of the Universes, or whatever game. And now the letter wasn¡¯t in his jacket. What if someone had removed it?


    A sinking feeling ejected in the pit of his stomach. He was in real trouble. If only he had a witness. He should¡¯ve told Damien and Travis about the letter before going to the park. That would¡¯ve been a help right now. Because if the letter was gone and no one could back up what he said, he was screwed.


    ¡°This is the jacket?¡± John set foot in the room. He held Milan¡¯s jacket in front of his face.


    Milan nodded.


    He held a plastic wrap containing Milan¡¯s keys and wallet in his other hand. ¡°This is the only thing we found in the jacket. No letter.¡±


    Milan opened his mouth, but the giant continued. ¡°We searched the schoolbag, too. And the pocket pants. We searched the whole house. No letter.¡±


    What the hell? How was he going to talk this way out of this?


    ¡°Okay, I may not have an alibi.¡± Milan¡¯s voice trembled. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make me the culprit.¡±


    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t,¡± Leonia said. ¡°We have other reasons for suspecting you. Like the murder weapon.¡±


    A knife, Milan thought. That was what he remembered. The knife sticking out from his mother¡¯s chest. Acid pushed through Milan¡¯s internals, and his breathing came out in irregular gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t lose focus.


    ¡°Do you need a break?¡± she asked, eyebrows raised.


    ¡°No,¡± Milan answered. As if they would give him a break. Liars.


    But anyway, a knife. Anyone could get any knife from anywhere. They could¡¯ve grabbed one from the kitchen in Milan¡¯s house. Or from any kitchen. That didn¡¯t mean the culprit was Milan.


    ¡°As I was saying about the murder weapon. Through our investigation, we have found that the knife belongs to your classmate, Damien Cox. He informed us that he, Travis James, and you were studying for an exam at his house before you left at 8:40 p.m. in a hurry. He also noted that you went into his kitchen at some point.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t prove anything.¡±


    ¡°No, but according to his testimony, he saw you take the knife. The same knife used as the murder weapon to kill your parents.¡±


    Dead silence engulfed the room. No way could he talk his way out of this. They had to be lying, either them or Damien. Milan had made sure Damien had not seen him. Hell, his head had been submerged in that video game. Besides, if Damien¡¯s knife was the murder weapon, it only proved it couldn¡¯t have been Milan. Milan¡¯s parents were murdered at nine. But at nine, Milan had been at Hope Park, and he had taken that knife with him. Hell, if only there was a way he could prove he¡¯d been there.


    Could the culprit be Damien? He could¡¯ve sent the letter, snatched a knife from his kitchen, and killed them during the time period when Milan was gone. But Travis was with him that night. No, what if Travis had left shortly after Milan? Or what if Damien and Travis had been working together and used each other as alibis?


    But would they have done it? Why would they kill his parents? He couldn¡¯t think of a reason. Milan¡¯s parents always welcomed them, showering them with good food, smiles, and false compliments whenever they came over.


    Maybe they didn¡¯t do it because of his parents. They did it because of Milan. It was a way of getting back at him for something he did. Maybe he wasn¡¯t the best friend ever, but what could he have done to drive them to commit murder? He couldn¡¯t think of a thing.


    Milan took a deep breath. Did it make sense for them to do it? Would they be smart enough to pull it off? No. Damien once bought a goldfish and a tank, filling half of his room. It died a few days later because Damien forgot to feed it. And Travis once fell asleep on the streets on his way home because he was ¡®technically too tired to walk¡¯. He¡¯d literally been five minutes away from his own house.


    Aside from that, it wouldn¡¯t make sense for Damien to lie about seeing Milan grab the knife if they hadn¡¯t done it. That could mean this woman in front of him was lying about it. Who knew? They could say whatever they wanted to get Milan to speak.


    The detective loosened the tie around her neck and cleared her throat. ¡°We¡¯re having our forensic team look for fingerprints. But I must ask you, Milan.¡± Her eyes struck through Milan¡¯s soul. ¡°Did you do it? Did you murder your parents with that knife?¡±


    He sank the clump in his throat. ¡°No,¡± he said. It came out weak. Too weak. It made him sound like he was lying.


    Leonia tapped her pen on the table, her eyes flicking down the papers. She pursed her lips, fingers pressing against her chin. She glanced at him for a second before dropping her eyes again.


    ¡°That¡¯s it for now.¡± She stood. ¡°Hughes, take him to his holding cell.¡±


    Hughes grunted. He unlocked Milan¡¯s handcuffs from the chair and clasped his beefy hand around Milan¡¯s upper arm, yanking him out of the room.


    Milan squeezed his eyes when they entered the hallway. The light was blinding, and Milan couldn¡¯t even shield his eyes from it. They just had to cuff his hands behind his back. His legs staggered as he plodded along. How much time had passed since his parents died? How long had he been out for?


    No. The question was, how long was he going to stay here? The detective had mentioned a holding cell. Milan. In a cell. For something he didn¡¯t do.


    But this couldn¡¯t be a prison. It had to be a detention center or a jail. Only if he was declared guilty in court he¡¯d go to prison. His life would never be the same. Not that it was the same as before now, but he still had time to make it right and at least fix the things he could. He needed an attorney who knew how to do his job. Milan was innocent, so there was no way he should have the chance to be declared guilty, though the evidence was telling a different story.


    If they¡¯re even telling the truth about the evidence, Milan thought.


    He traced the narrow, dull walls with his eyes. A sanitary smell, like a hospital, invaded his senses. They turned. Numbered steel doors were bolted into the walls. 101, 102, 103¡­


    The place was silent; only their heavy steps echoed in the hallway. Except for an occasional scream flaring from one of the cells. What was wrong with that guy? A mental disorder? It wouldn¡¯t be unusual in these kinds of places.


    ¡°Where is this place?¡± Milan asked.


    John raised an eyebrow. ¡°Rockwood Detention Facility. For adults. Awaiting trial or placement.¡±


    As expected. Milan turned eighteen in a few weeks. He was practically an adult. And he was charged with a serious crime. No wonder they didn¡¯t go easy on him.


    ¡°It¡¯s here.¡± John pressed a card into the electromechanical lock reader, and the metal door, with the number 131, clicked unlocked.


    The inside of the cell wasn¡¯t much better than the outside. Two tiny bedframes sat across from one another, clamped to the walls. A desk was mounted to the wall in one of the corners, and a stool rested beside it. In the other corner, a rectangular, blue pod was positioned. Most likely the bathroom.


    A click resounded as John unlocked the handcuffs surrounding Milan¡¯s wrists.


    Milan snugged his fingers around his sore wrists and exhaled from the pit of his stomach. It was as if he could breathe again.


    ¡°Your cell,¡± John said. ¡°Bed. Desk. Bathroom.¡± He pointed with his sausage finger to each of them because Milan couldn¡¯t have figured it out on his own.


    ¡°Can I get some paper and a pen?¡± Milan asked as Hughes stepped through the doorway.


    The correctional officer narrowed his eyes and nodded. Then, he slid the door shut. Locked.


    Milan plopped himself on the bed. A set of blue clothing had been folded on top of it. Under the mattress pad, the metal bed frame squeaked as if about to break. It looked that way, too. Rust ate its way up the legs, leaving them tarnished.


    Milan gazed at the black mold, creating an odd pattern in the ceiling. This was his life now, in a cramped cell with musty air. Never had he thought he¡¯d find himself in a place like this. But then again, never had he thought he¡¯d fail an exam, seeing his parents¡¯ dead corpses and getting arrested for killing them. It was wrong. Everything about today had been wrong.


    Milan¡¯s eyelids were heavy. The day had been wrong, but it had been long too. He hoped it wouldn¡¯t last longer.


    As Milan occupied himself with these thoughts, the cell door clattered open, and in came two faces. One was an officer, but not John. The other was a short girl with a cap too big for her head, her dirty-blonde hair flowing out. She had to be around the same age as Milan. She wore the same blue clothing he¡¯d found on his bed.


    The officer removed the new girl¡¯s handcuffs and exited, leaving them alone. Her eyes were curious, shining, as she reached her hand forward.


    ¡°I¡¯m Eli Easton! And you?¡± Her voice was light.


    Milan was speechless. This girl grinned, baring her pearly white teeth. Her cheeks were rounded and flushed, her nose crinkling. This girl was beaming with joy.


    Milan didn¡¯t understand. How could anyone be smiling like an idiot in a situation like this?

 CHAPTER 6 - Im Not Insane

    The worst thing in this cell was the lack of ventilation. Milan held his breath, face buried in the pillow, as Eli plodded out of the bathroom pod.


    ¡°Just took a huge dump.¡± Eli flashed a grin. ¡°Wanna see?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Milan said with a pinched expression.


    ¡°Kiddin¡¯, kiddin¡¯. I flushed already.¡±


    Milan groaned. He¡¯d met a lot of people, but Eli was the worst. And that was counting Damien and Travis. Something was off about Eli, but Milan couldn¡¯t point out what. Was it her indifference to her situation? That was what real criminals were like. They felt no remorse for what they¡¯d done.


    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± Eli said. ¡°What¡¯re you in for anyway?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s none of your business.¡±


    ¡°Hey, wanna know what I¡¯m in for?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I started a street fight!¡± Eli¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°Isn¡¯t that radical? There were like five, but I beat them up!¡± She let out a hearty guffaw, slapping her hand on her thigh.


    Milan squinted his eyes. This small shrimp taking on five people at the same time and winning? She had to be lying. Her skin had a slick texture, with no sign of scratches, bruises, or anything indicating she¡¯d been in a fight. She was in for something else. Who knew what?


    Milan slumped on the stool by the desk. He wasn¡¯t used to it. The study desk in his room was four times bigger than this. And it had shelves.


    Well, he wasn¡¯t used to anything in this dump. He¡¯d only spent one and a half days here. The food tasted bland and had no variety. Rice with brown beans and hard, brittle toast. Sometimes undercooked chicken for dinner. What was worse was seeing people gobbling it all up. How could anyone eat that?


    Milan¡¯s pen hovered over the piece of paper on the desk, the one John gave him. He¡¯d already noted down the schedule. Get up, breakfast, attend education, lunch, attend education. Afterward, they could spend an hour in the yard or do whatever they wanted. Then, they¡¯d be confined in the cells for a few hours until ¡®nighttime¡¯.


    Milan clasped the pen between his fingers. He hated this. Everything about it. Being in this ungovernable environment where he wasn¡¯t in control of his own life. He wanted to make his own rules. But would it make a difference? Being here was a waste of time, whether he could make his own rules or not. There was nowhere he could go. He was trapped with crazy people all around him.


    ¡°Hey, hey.¡± Eli peered over Milan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d know if you read it.¡±


    Eli snatched the paper off the table. ¡°Why¡¯d you write this? Borin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°To gain an overview of my wonderful prison days. That¡¯s what normal people do. They have a schedule.¡±


    Eli burst out laughing. ¡°That¡¯s what borin¡¯ people do!¡±


    The cell door swiped open, and John Hughes stepped in.


    ¡°Milan Whitfield. You have a visitor.¡±


    Who could it be? Milan asked himself as the officer led him out. For a split second, he thought it could be his parents. Then, reality washed over him. What was he thinking? They were dead. Murdered. They¡¯d never come back.


    He bowed his head, eyes fixed on his feet, as they walked through the hallway. They didn¡¯t cuff his arms up anymore. There was no need to. If Milan tried to run off or escape, he¡¯d be in bigger trouble than he already was in. He needed to stay low for now.


    They reached an opening in the hallway. Wooden tables were scattered around the area, surrounded by two chairs on each side. The sun cast a yellow hue on the pale walls through the window.


    Scribbling against paper reached Milan¡¯s ears. It was a man wearing a green turtleneck pullover with soft wrinkles forming on his forehead.


    He lifted his head, his eyes stern and unmoving. ¡°Milan Whitfield. I am an attorney at law and will be representing you in court. My name is Aaron Walters.¡± He gestured at the chair in front of him. ¡°Please, take a seat.¡±


    Finally, Milan thought, a lawyer.


    Walters licked his parched lips. ¡°First and foremost, I would like to inform you about my conclusion after analyzing the evidence. Truthfully, under these circumstances, there is zero percent chance that the case will result in your acquittal in court.¡±


    Milan almost choked on his spit. ¡°What?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°I am sorry to inform you of this. But the evidence is decisive.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Aaron Walters scratched his head. ¡°First and foremost, the murder weapon has been analyzed for fingerprints, and it has been found that these belong to you.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I committed the murders. I touched the knife. Big deal.¡±


    ¡°I was not done talking,¡± the attorney said. ¡°In addition to that, an audio recording was discovered in your house. It was not only a detailed explanation of the crime but also a confession.¡±


    Milan¡¯s heart somersaulted. He placed a hand on his chest. Stay calm, he told himself.


    Aaron licked his thump and searched through his notes. His eyes trailed down the paper. ¡°Let me quote a small part: ¡®I plunged that knife right inside their hearts. I wanted to make sure they were dead. It was annoying, though. They kept screaming with bloodshot eyes as if they hadn¡¯t seen it coming. Mom was especially annoying. I killed Dad first in a surprise attack. I wouldn¡¯t want him to overpower me. But then Mom kept screeching like an animal and called his name over and over again, so I killed her too. I mean, what if the neighbor heard? Of course, I had initially planned to kill them both.


    ¡°¡®In any case, after they went silent, I thrust the knife all over their bodies, just to make extra sure they were dead. Then I hid them in the closet. I wiped the blood off the ground and burned my clothes in the backyard. Yes, that¡¯s right. I, Milan Whitfield, am the one who killed my parents.¡¯¡±


    Milan¡¯s blood ran cold, every hair on his body bristling. He stuttered, searching for the right words. ¡°It¡­ it¡¯s a voice recording. Anyone could imitate my voice or edit it to make it sound like it was me.¡±


    ¡°I was not done talking,¡± Walters said. ¡°The forensic team has thoroughly analyzed the recording to confirm the authenticity. A spectrogram has also been used to identify any form of editing. They have concluded that it is completely unedited, and the voice is a perfect match.¡±


    Milan¡¯s muscles tensed and a heaviness spread through his limps. His vision went hazy, and the lawyer¡¯s features became a blend of colors.


    ¡°Mr. Whitfield, are you alright?¡± the lawyer asked. ¡°You look pale.¡±


    Milan shot up from the chair. This wasn¡¯t right. He never recorded himself. Hell, he never killed them, to begin with. Why the hell were these things happening to him, one after another? It had to be someone. Someone was after him and set him up for this crime. But how? How did they mimic his voice? How could it be a perfect match? No editing? Nothing?!


    ¡°Mr. Whitfield-¡±


    ¡°Shut it! I¡¯m thinking!¡± The words ripped his throat raw. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his flesh. His insides burned. What could he do now? What was the fastest way to pose a possibility of his innocence?


    ¡°Okay, so the recording-¡± The words spilled out of Milan¡¯s mouth. ¡°-can it even be used as evidence in court? I mean, even if it matches my voice, how can they prove I was the person speaking in the flesh?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is perhaps the only advantage you may have in court,¡± Aaron said. ¡°However, the forensic team is confident in their findings. It would be rather difficult to prove them wrong. Therefore, I have another strategy that can guarantee a partial win.¡± He gestured at Milan¡¯s chair. ¡°Please, take a seat.¡±


    Milan slipped into the chair.


    ¡°You are going to plead insanity.¡± Aaron Walters said. ¡°That way, even if you are declared guilty, your sentence may be shortened.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not insane.¡±


    ¡°Well, I have spoken with my assistant, who is a psychiatrist. To sum up her conclusion, there could be many reasons you have forgotten that you committed the crime. It could either be that you were in a psychotic mental state at the time, like schizophrenia, or a dissociative identity disorder. When diagnosed, it could serve to be quite relevant as evidence to plead insanity.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m. Not. Insane.¡± Milan put pressure on every word.


    Aaron scratched his neck with his long nails.


    ¡°But let¡¯s assume I¡¯ll plead insanity,¡± Milan said. ¡°How would that influence my future?¡±


    ¡°Well, first and foremost, you would be committed to a psychiatric facility for an indeterminate period. What occurs after would be unclear. In best case scenario, the court may grant you conditional release after your treatment.¡±


    Milan leaned back into the chair. Mental facility? Schizophrenia or dissociative identity disorder? What the hell was this guy talking about? Milan would never agree to throw away his future for something he didn¡¯t do. He wouldn¡¯t be let off the hook if he pleaded insanity, whether he was found innocent or guilty. It didn¡¯t matter if it was prison or a mental facility. They were all the same.


    That was why he told the lawyer about the letter. If the letter was found, it could prove his alibi. Walters nodded, scribbling down Milan¡¯s side of the story.


    ¡°And what time did you say you were home again?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Around 9:20.¡±


    Walters let out a breath. ¡°Well, the estimated time of death is between eight and eleven o¡¯clock in the evening.¡±


    Milan¡¯s face froze. ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯ve been told.¡±


    ¡°Apparently, that autopsy report was outdated. The bodies were found in a closet, if you remember, and had remained in there for hours. Taking the environmental aspects into consideration, like the temperature fluctuations and restricted airflow, have complicated the estimation of the time of death, is what I have been told. Therefore, the estimation is now more accurate.¡±


    Shit. Could it get worse?


    ¡°What about the recording? Is there a timestamp that shows when it was recorded?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, not. The timestamp only reveals the length of the recording.¡±


    Milan pinched his lips together. His chest tightened, and his breath came out heavy. He tried to speak, to come up with something that would prove his innocence, but he couldn¡¯t. There was nothing. Nothing he could do. He was screwed.


    Now, there were two options for him. Either he¡¯d be found guilty and spend years in prison. Or plead insanity, with the slight chance of being declared innocent, and spend years in a mental facility. After he got out, he¡¯d never be able to pursue his passion. Why? His chances at life would diminish for either committing murder and sitting behind bars or for being insane and declared ¡®mentally unfit¡¯ for any job that wasn¡¯t janitor-related.


    ¡°Mr. Whitfield, I hope you have realized it,¡± the attorney said. ¡°The best course of action, in this case, is to plead insanity.¡±

 CHAPTER 7 - Is Escaping the Only Option?

    This stupid lawyer. He couldn¡¯t do his job right.


    ¡°Whatever.¡± Milan stood from the chair. ¡°I¡¯m done talking.¡± He glared at John.


    John grunted and led him out of the visitor¡¯s area. Milan didn¡¯t look back. He was tired of everything going against him. Tired, there was nothing he could do. All his life, he thought anyone could turn their lives around if they worked for it. That was what Milan had done for all these years. All the effort he¡¯d put into studying and working was going down the drain. All had been for nothing. Why? Because he couldn¡¯t prove his innocence. He couldn¡¯t prove he hadn¡¯t murdered his own parents.


    That recording. Was it the work of the actual murderer? Milan¡¯s blood boiled and heat rose to his face. If he ever found the real culprit, he¡¯d beat him to a pulp for killing them and ruining his life. It was unforgivable.


    Before long, he found himself in the cell again. Eli was gone. Probably being interrogated again.


    Milan plunked himself on the bed and buried his face in his hands. The estimated time of death had been updated. It wasn¡¯t nine p.m. anymore but between eight to eleven. That meant the letter was useless now. It wouldn¡¯t prove anything. And worse, it meant Milan could¡¯ve been the culprit. He could¡¯ve killed them. Logically, there was no way to verify he didn¡¯t. What if they were right? What if he couldn¡¯t remember if he had killed them? If his actions had been because of a mental disorder like a psychosis?


    Milan shook his head. Psychoses were either caused by extreme stress or trauma, abusing drugs, or they could be genetic. Milan¡¯s situation didn¡¯t fall under any of those. Yeah sure, finals were stressful, but not to this extent. What about dissociative identity disorder?


    No. In the recording, the person had said: ¡°I, Milan Whitfield, am the one who killed my own parents.¡± If Milan¡¯s ¡®other personality¡¯ had killed them, he wouldn¡¯t have said he was Milan, would he? Except if his other personality wanted to frame him.


    Milan let out a laugh. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Psychosis? His other personality? As if. He wasn¡¯t mentally ill. He didn¡¯t murder his parents.


    Milan stood. He told himself those words over and over again, pacing up and down the cell. But it was as if the more he whispered those words in the deep silence, the less he believed them. He couldn¡¯t prove he didn¡¯t kill them. He couldn¡¯t prove he wasn¡¯t at home when the murder occurred. Was the letter real to begin with? Or had it all been a dream?


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he screamed. The walls reflected the words right back at him. It was absurd: the thought of him being mentally ill. If he had another personality within his body, or if he was psychotic, wouldn¡¯t it have come through before? Everyone around him would know. His parents would¡¯ve told him, at least. How convenient to be considered mentally unstable during the murder. To pin the murder on him.


    ¡°Hey, hey!¡± Eli¡¯s voice burst forth in the cell as the metal door opened. ¡°Wanna hear a joke?¡±


    Milan was only half-listening. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why did the picture go to jail?¡±


    ¡°I said no.¡±


    ¡°Cuz it was framed!¡± The room submerged in Eli¡¯s laughter.


    It took a few seconds before Milan understood what she had meant. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°The picture! It went to jail ¡®cuz it was framed!¡±


    ¡°What do you know?¡±


    Eli¡¯s features softened. ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°You know something about me, don¡¯t you!¡± Milan stepped forward, face inches away from Eli. ¡°Are you the one? Did you kill my parents and make me out to be the culprit?¡±


    Eli¡¯s eyes went round. ¡°Hey, so that¡¯s what you¡¯re in for! You coulda just told me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb with me.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t help it.¡±


    Milan glared into her eyes. He knew acting reckless would get him nowhere. He couldn¡¯t afford to make mistakes. But that joke Eli had made. Was it just a coincidence?


    Milan had to take a step back and think. He had nothing to base this accusation on. And besides, how would Eli have impersonated his voice? They didn¡¯t even know each other.


    But there was another way to prove if Eli was the culprit or not.


    ¡°When were you arrested?¡± Milan asked. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Eli pressed her lips together. ¡°Around three days ago.¡±


    ¡°Around three days ago could also be two days ago.¡±


    ¡°It could also be a million years ago!¡± Eli poked Milan¡¯s forehead. ¡°You needa chill. It was a joke I heard from one of the dudes.¡±


    A breath left Milan¡¯s mouth. Was he overreacting? If Eli had been arrested three days ago, it couldn¡¯t have been her.


    The murder happened the day after she was arrested.


    ¡°But I guess I¡¯m sorry ¡¯bout your parents,¡± Eli said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your sympathy.¡±


    ¡°Thank God.¡±


    Milan strode to the desk, his eyes falling on the schedule. A heaviness slumped into his chest. What was the matter with him? Why did he overreact? It wasn¡¯t like him. This heaviness reached the pit of his stomach, clamped onto his insides, and wouldn¡¯t let go. But he couldn¡¯t place any word on what it was. His life had turned 180 degrees in a few days, and Milan was powerless in the face of these events. Was this the end? Could he only watch his life go downhill?


    ¡°Dang it!¡± Eli said when the utility lights snapped off and the room immersed in a thick curtain of darkness. ¡°It¡¯s nighttime already. Borin¡¯!¡±


    Milan threw himself on the bed. The blanket was thin, and the rough texture scratched against his body. The bed was even worse. It felt like a haystack pricking through his skin like needles. He¡¯d fall asleep within two minutes on his double bed at home, making his body feel like it melted into the soft mattress. But this was his life now. Stuck in a detention center on an excuse for a bed, awaiting trial for something he didn¡¯t do.


    He lay there with eyes wide open, watching the ceiling obscured by the dark. Regardless of who the culprit was, Milan still had to choose. Be declared guilty or lower the chances a bit by pleading insanity. What should he do?


    ¡°Hey,¡± Eli said. ¡°Let¡¯s break out.¡±


    Milan blinked once, twice in the infinite dark. Break out? As in¡­ escape? Could this be another possibility?


    A deep, mocking laugh escaped Milan¡¯s mouth. ¡°No. If I do that, I¡¯ll diminish my close-to-nonexistent chances of ever being found innocent in the trial.¡±


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯ll be fun!¡± Eli dug her nails into Milan¡¯s skin, shaking his shoulder with vibrancy. ¡°Imagine the thrill of running away from the guards. Imagine the look on their faces when they find out we broke out! It¡¯ll be like an action movie.¡±


    Milan shoved Eli¡¯s arm away. ¡°You¡¯re out of your mind. Now, let me sleep. I¡¯ll need energy for the days ahead.¡±


    Eli dragged her feet, crashing onto her bed. ¡°I¡¯m just sayin¡¯. It¡¯s for your own good.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You said it yourself. You¡¯ll be found guilty.¡±


    ¡°But if I try to escape, they¡¯ll just prolong the sentence. I don¡¯t want to be in jail for longer than necessary.¡±


    Eli chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll be sentenced for two murders. A hundred years in jail¡¯s what you got. It¡¯ll be plus twenty years if you try to break out.¡±


    Milan shot Eli a sharp glance in the dark.


    ¡°I overheard the prosecutor coverin¡¯ your case on my way here after bein¡¯ questioned,¡± Eli said. ¡°He said he had enough evidence to evict you for life.¡±


    ¡°And why should I even believe you? You just want to use me to get your way.¡±


    ¡°Nope. ¡®Cuz it¡¯ll be more fun seeing you getting¡¯ evicted. And when I get my not guilty verdict, I¡¯ll even visit you in prison.¡±


    Milan sat upright. ¡°Why do you want to break out if you¡¯re so sure your trial will end in your acquittal?¡±


    Eli shrugged her shoulders. ¡°¡¯Cuz it¡¯s fun.¡±


    Milan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Eli gazed at him with empty eyes. The dark wasn¡¯t enough to hide the emptiness behind them. Though her lips widened into a smile, those eyes were devoid of emotions.


    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± Milan said. ¡°You should be detained in a psychiatric hospital instead of a detention center.¡±


    Ironic. Perhaps he¡¯d find himself in that situation in the future.


    Laughter erupted from Eli¡¯s mouth. A laugh of lack of concern, of indifference.


    Milan¡¯s stomach twisted. His eyes slid down, focusing on his trembling hands. Why were they shaking? He clenched his fist to stop the shaking, but it wouldn¡¯t stop. What if Eli spoke the truth about the prosecutor? What if Milan was sentenced to life? She wasn¡¯t wrong. He¡¯d get at least a few decades if he was found guilty. And if he got out after several years, he¡¯d probably be old enough for his pension. His life would be ruined. But if he succeeded in breaking out with Eli, he could move to another country far, far away. And, well, if he got caught breaking out, that would make his chances of being found innocent minimal. If they weren¡¯t in the first place.


    Milan unclenched his fists, and the marks of his nails dug deep inside his skin emerged like red rashes. But it worked. His hands weren¡¯t trembling anymore.


    ¡°Let¡¯s assume I¡¯d agree to escape,¡± Milan said. ¡°Do you even have a plan?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Eli said. ¡°I take it as it comes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s confirmed. You really are crazy.¡±


    A crooked smile played on Eli¡¯s lips. ¡°Does that mean you¡¯re in?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why?!¡±


    ¡°For many reasons, but I don¡¯t feel like sharing them. Goodnight.¡±


    The bed creaked as Milan turned his back. He closed his eyes. Even though the bed felt like stone, he should¡¯ve been able to sleep. But he couldn¡¯t. A soft, rattling noise rose from under his bed. Enough for Milan to hear it.


    He pushed himself up from the bed. ¡°You hear that?¡±


    ¡°I hear nothin¡¯,¡± Eli said, also with her back turned against him.


    Milan scooched under his bed. He¡¯d been wrong ¡ª there was ventilation in the cell. A small air vent in the wall greeted his vision.

 CHAPTER 8 - The Inmate Chet

    In the cafeteria, the following day, a big guy with a scar across his eye sat across from Milan while they were eating dry, brittle bread.


    ¡°Fellas, wanna hear a joke?¡± A fusion of spit and food sprang from his mouth as he spoke. ¡°Why did the picture go to jail? Because it was framed!¡±


    Laughter erupted from the row. Fists thumped on the refectory table, food flying up, then back down on the trays. This had to have been the guy Eli heard the joke from.


    Milan¡¯s eye twitched. These people were ten times worse than his father. If his mother saw this, she¡¯d never complain about him again.


    ¡°Wanna hear an even better joke?¡± Eli carried her food tray to the table, squeezing between Milan and the guy beside him. ¡°Why did the prisoner cross the road? To get to the other side. Cuz that¡¯s where the prison was.¡±


    The pin-drop silence lasted one second. One second before all hell broke loose. Screams and yells rose to the ceiling. Trays were hurled across the cafeteria, the food spattering across the table, on the ground and walls. People hopped on the table with their dirty shoes. Someone flew head-down to the floor, and another punched him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to prison! You¡¯re going to prison!¡± he said.


    Out of the corner of Milan¡¯s eye, a tray flitted toward his face. He ducked his head, the tray sailing right over.


    Milan breathed hard through his nose. ¡°What the hell, Eli?¡±


    But Eli wasn¡¯t there. She stood on tiptoe at the top of the table with her fist in the air, screaming: ¡°Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!¡±


    Milan slapped his own forehead. Eli was the worst. One second was all it took for this detention center to turn into a zoo. All because of her stupid jokes.


    With an arched back, Milan crept to the corner. It was a massive horde of brawling men, food, and yelling. A piece of bread landed by Milan¡¯s feet, and that was when his eyes fell on it. A vent hanging low in the wall.


    Milan¡¯s glance darted around the cafeteria. Everyone was busy chucking food, trays, and plastic utensils at each other, jumping on the table, or beating someone up. Milan was lucky they were all idiots.


    He bent over and tugged the grille. The left side opened halfway. His vision caught a glint of something, as Milan squeezed his arm through.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?!¡± The officers rushed into the cafeteria, each with a baton.


    Milan yanked his arm back and bolted upright.


    ¡°Get down from the table!¡± They ordered. The screams subdued as they dragged the inmates off the table, pinning their arms behind their backs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna go to prison!¡± A voice cried.


    An officer rushed toward Milan and cuffed his arms.


    ¡°I¡¯m not involved in this,¡± Milan said.


    ¡°Nice try. But y¡¯all are going to your cells until y¡¯all learn to behave.¡±


    And then, they were back to where they came from. Back in the cell, where the dull, gray walls fit so close, it was as if they curved in on one another.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Eli sat on the bed, with her back leaned against the wall.


    Milan went down on all fours and pressed the palm of his hands against the hardwood flooring.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Trying to find an opportunity,¡± Milan said. ¡°You wanted to escape, right?¡±


    Eli¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°You¡¯re in?!¡±


    ¡°I never said that. I just want to determine if we even have a chance.¡±


    ¡°Go, MW!¡± Eli chuckled, jumping and thumping her feet on the floor. ¡°I¡¯ll help.¡±


    MW? My initials? Milan thought. ¡°Stop it. They¡¯ll hear you.¡±


    But she wasn¡¯t listening. The floor creaked underneath her feet as she sprang back and forth between the floorboards. Milan¡¯s eyes followed them, but the boards remained steady in their places, not moving an inch. Why would they? This was a highly secured detention center. They had to have conducted a hundred security checks in the cells. And even if they did find a way to remove the boards, it wouldn¡¯t mean they¡¯d be able to escape.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on in there?!¡± Sharp knocks hammered on the door.


    Milan leaped to his feet. ¡°Nothing, officer! We were just¡­ uh, exercising. Burning calories and all.¡±


    ¡°We had a lot for breakfast,¡± Eli said.


    ¡°Well, stop that noise! Ya¡¯ll gotta learn to behave, or ya¡¯ll won¡¯t be getting outta there.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Milan said. He faced Eli with his brows knitted together.


    But Eli dumped on the bed, her eyes taking on a far-away look. ¡°Now what?¡±


    Milan tapped his foot softly against the ground. ¡°Our escape depends on two things. One, if we can break through this floor, somehow. And two, it depends on what¡¯s under there.¡±


    ¡°We can dig an underground tunnel.¡±


    ¡°No way,¡± Milan said. ¡°That¡¯ll take too long. I don¡¯t have the patience for that.¡±


    Eli stood, wearing a smug smile. ¡°And you¡¯d have to do it on your own.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Milan asked. But it wasn¡¯t difficult to guess.


    ¡°I¡¯m bein¡¯ transferred. Wasn¡¯t s¡¯posed to be here in the first place. It was a system error or somethin¡¯ like that, they said.¡±


    That made sense. Milan had heard about cases where women had been sent to male detention centers due to systematic failures or administrative mistakes. He¡¯d considered that since he first saw her. Was it her name? Eli Easton wasn¡¯t exactly a feminine-sounding name. Maybe they had failed to correctly assess her identity based on that. If she was even telling the truth about her name.


    Milan ambled around the cell with crossed arms. ¡°Then we have a problem. There¡¯s no way we can dig an underground tunnel, so that¡¯s out of the question. We won¡¯t be able to lift the floorboards without the right materials. And we can¡¯t count on getting lucky and finding a loose one. But ¡ª¡± He pulled up a pocketknife from his ankle, where his sock had kept it pressed against his skin. ¡°We can work with this.¡±


    Eli¡¯s fingers reached for the knife. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡±


    ¡°The vent in the cafeteria. I have no idea why it was there.¡±


    Eli lifted her head high, pointing with a limp finger. ¡°So that¡¯s how it is.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It was smuggled in. You know Chet, the dude that told that lame joke this mornin¡¯? He¡¯s got somethin¡¯ on one of them guards. That guard¡¯ll do anythin¡¯ to protect his secret, so he smuggles stuff here on the bastard¡¯s orders.¡± She pushed her lips forward. ¡°You saw how everyone laughed at that lame joke? That¡¯s ¡®cuz they gotta act nice, so he can get them what they want.¡±


    So, there was already a system going on around here. What kind of secret was the guard willing to protect to such an extent? And besides¡­


    ¡°How does that explain how the knife ended up in the vent?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s easy-peasy. All the vents on the second floor ¡ª this floor ¡ª end up in the cafeteria vent on the first floor. It¡¯s how the smugglin¡¯s not been found out yet.¡± Eli linked her arms together across her chest. ¡°Bastard gets to choose his own cell, too.¡±


    ¡°How do you know all this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called socializin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve gathered that much information in a few days by socializing?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ like that. You should try it sometime.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not socializing with criminals.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re also a criminal, ¡®cuz you¡¯re here.¡±


    Milan¡¯s lips protruded in a pout. ¡°My situation has¡­ special circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Enough borin¡¯ talk,¡± Eli said. ¡°Let¡¯s begin operation break-out.¡±


    ¡°I never agreed to that.¡± Those were the words coming out of Milan¡¯s mouth. But did he mean them? If he stayed, he knew he was screwed. He couldn¡¯t count on getting lucky and being declared innocent. Even if he was, he¡¯d never be able to clear his name. People would still wonder about him.


    Milan wasn¡¯t going to waste time here. His fingers trailed the floorboards, reaching one in the middle of the cell ¡ª the one that had creaked the most when Eli had jumped on it. It wasn¡¯t loose, but it was their best bet.


    ¡°Listen at the door and alarm me if you hear someone approaching,¡± Milan said. Then, he scraped the knife under the nail and wrenched it sideways, first from the left. Then, from the right. Over and over again until it came off. Milan wiped off the sweat trailing down the side of his face.


    The blade left scratches on the floor. He had to be careful. If the scratches became too obvious, the guards would notice.


    Milan continued yanking the nails out, but one floorboard wasn¡¯t enough. He¡¯d have to remove one or two more.


    Crouching, he wrenched the remaining nails with the knife until they were removed. His arms ached, barely able to lift the boards.


    But it was just the beginning. Of course there¡¯d be a subfloor, nailed, just like the floorboards. Milan repeated the process, this time putting in more effort. Drops of sweat gathered on his forehead as he lifted them. A dark hole emerged in the middle of the room. He stuffed his head through the opening, surrounded by joists and crosspieces, but dust slipped its way to his lungs before he could see anything. He coughed, his breath rasping in his throat.


    ¡°Quick!¡± Eli said. ¡°Someone¡¯s comin¡¯.¡±


    Milan sprang. He placed the floorboards over the hole and threw the knife and nails under his bed. With a rigid position, he stood, facing the door. His throat burned from trying to hold in the cough.


    Eli broke into laughter. ¡°Kiddin¡¯, kiddin¡¯. I can¡¯t hear nothin¡¯ when you¡¯re dying from a virus over there.¡± She banged her fist sideways into the door. ¡°You¡¯re takin¡¯ too long. It¡¯s too borin¡¯ trying to listen through this metal door.¡±


    The door slid open, and Eli jumped. Two officers appeared in the doorway.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to attend education,¡± one of them said.


    Milan bit his lip. So close. They were so close to finding out what was below this floor. Milan shook his head as they were led through the hallway. It didn¡¯t matter. After this, he¡¯d find out where that hole led to. And that discovery would either make or break their chances of getting out of here.

 CHAPTER 9 - Elis Gift

    Milan¡¯s mind wandered off during class, while the teacher explained something about solid geometry. Milan already knew all of that. More importantly, what materials would they need to investigate? A map of this place was a must. It could give them information about the room, as well as other places that could be important. A flashlight would also be helpful. They had to wait until nighttime to examine below the floor. If they did it during the day, and the officers went into their cell, they could kiss any chances they had goodbye. But all of it ¡ª their plan to escape revolved around the room under their cell. It depended on how they could use it, if they could at all.


    Milan cast a glimpse toward Eli, who sat with her face on the desk, loose arms hanging by her sides. The whole smuggling situation could change everything. If they befriended Chet, they could get anything they needed. No, Milan couldn¡¯t, but Eli could. That she had gained this much information in a few days was impressive. She had potential.


    Milan lifted his eyebrow, his lips bending up. Somehow, his chest lightened. He needed an idiot like Eli for his plan to work ¡ª too easy-going, fun-loving, and a complete fool. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Milan ripped off a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote: Tell Chet to bring us a map of the building and a flashlight by the end of today. He curled the note and when the lecturer turned her back, he threw it at Eli¡¯s head. Good thing they sat in the back row.


    Eli¡¯s head flew up, swinging around until she saw the paper on her desk. She buried her face in the note and lifted her head in Milan¡¯s direction, tweaking her thump up.


    Now that was out of the way. Milan counted on Eli to get those things. Still, an uneasy feeling blossomed in his chest. What if their schemes were discovered? What if Eli wasn¡¯t to be trusted ¡ª if she didn¡¯t keep her mouth shut?


    Milan rubbed his hands. Even if the risk was high, he couldn¡¯t remain calm in this situation, not knowing the truth about what had happened. Even if Milan was the one who had murdered them, he wouldn¡¯t turn a blind eye to the fact. But he wanted to find the truth in his own way, which involved getting the hell out of here.

 CHAPTER 10 - Can a Promise Be Kept?

    Finally! Eli thought when the teacher put her hands together and said: ¡°It¡¯s time for group work. Get together in two-man groups and discuss the questions in your study book.¡±


    Eli walked in a straight line and slammed the palm of her hands against Chet¡¯s table. ¡°Hey, hey, let¡¯s work together.¡±


    Chet rubbed his scar-crossed eye. ¡°Whatcha want?¡±


    Eli straightened MW¡¯s note and placed it in Chet¡¯s hand.  Chet pushed his other hand¡¯s finger into his nose, twisting it around. It felt like an eternity before he raised his head again. ¡°And whatcha need that for?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t tell.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Chet let out a deep chuckle. ¡°Seems you don¡¯t know my policy, new fella.¡± He dried his finger free of the green bogey on his shirt and leaned forward, grabbing Eli by the collar. ¡°I¡¯ll get anything for anyone so long they tell me what they need it for.¡±


    Eli clenched her fist, about to strike him and add another scar to his eye. She thought about it for a second, but she had better not do it. Sure, it¡¯d be fun, but it was more fun breaking out of here.


    ¡°I had no idea!¡± Eli clasped her hand around Chet¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ll let you in on the secret.¡±


    Then, she leaned in and whispered in Chet¡¯s ear.


    Chet smiled. ¡°This should get interesting.¡±


    ¡°Now you can see why it¡¯s important,¡± Eli said. ¡°Can you get ¡®em tonight?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re underestimating me.¡± Chet glared straight ahead. ¡°Six p.m. sharp.¡±

 CHAPTER 11 - Those to Trust

    Six p.m. sharp. That was what Chet had told Eli, or at least that was what Eli said. Now, Milan¡¯s arm was stuck deep inside the air vent in the cafeteria, while Eli stood with her back against Milan, keeping an eye out.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell him, did you?¡± Milan said. ¡°I saw you whispering to him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be borin¡¯. He¡¯d screw up operation break-out, for sure.¡±


    Of course, that was what she¡¯d say. What if she was lying? What if she¡¯d told him? All their efforts would go down the drain. Chet didn¡¯t seem like someone who¡¯d keep his mouth shut. Then again, neither did Eli.


    He yanked his arm to his body, stuffing the folded paper of the map and the mini flashlight on either side of his sleeves. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    They turned the corner, dashing out of the cafeteria when Milan bumped his head against something soft. His eyes trailed upward and met the last face he wanted to see.


    Chet.


    ¡°Operation break-out, huh?¡± he said.


    Milan¡¯s face turned to Eli. ¡°You had to say it, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Before Eli could answer, Chet clutched Milan and Eli by their collars, each with one hand, and hauled them close.


    ¡°Listen, newbies. I don¡¯t think you fully understand.¡± Spit spluttered out of his mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll get anything for anyone so long they tell me what they need it for.¡±


    He unclenched his hand, shoving them away. ¡°Now, if you don¡¯t tell me what you¡¯re up to, I¡¯ll make you regret it.¡±


    Eli chortled and made a mocking sound. ¡°What¡¯re gonna do? Tell Mommy and Daddy?¡±


    Milan flashed a cutting glance at her. What the hell was wrong with her? She was going to make everything worse!


    ¡°You newbies wouldn¡¯t know,¡± Chet said. ¡°For someone like myself, who¡¯s been in and outta here, there¡¯s a special room for rule-breakers.¡± The light gleamed in his blank eyes. ¡°Solitary confinement. In there, there is no way to break out. You¡¯ll spend twenty-four hours of the day in a dark cell under constant surveillance. You¡¯ll be stuck in there, with only the voices in your head to entertain you. The cries of those already gone crazy will ring in your ears forever. Ramming their heads into the bars, biting their nails until their fingers bleed and gorging their own eyes out, leaving behind hollow black holes with blood twirling down their cheeks.¡± Chet leaned his upper body forward. ¡°And soon, you¡¯ll find yourselves doing that same thing.¡±  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Milan and Eli fluttered a glimpse at each other before Eli burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around her stomach.


    ¡°Wh-what a g-great story!¡± She talked in between gasps, wiping a tear with her finger. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯d be a bestseller if you turned it into a book.¡±


    Milan slapped Eli¡¯s shoulder with the back of his hand. ¡°Stop laughing,¡± he said through his teeth.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see how much you¡¯ll be laughing when it¡¯s your turn.¡± Chet snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve made your choice.¡±


    He turned his back and took his first step when Milan spoke.


    ¡°Wait. We¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    Chet turned his head, and a sly smile twisted his lip upward. Milan had played right into his hands. Yeah, Milan didn¡¯t get it either. Why should he tell Chet about their plan? There was no way to guarantee he wouldn¡¯t inform the guards. But by letting him in on it, he could try to lower the risk. Everyone did things for their own sake. Which was why, if Chet was part of their plan, he might not tell on them.


    Milan told him everything. About the pocketknife, their cell floor, and their plan to escape.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Chet gestured at Eli. ¡°This daredevil over here told me you were going ghost hunting.¡±


    Milan exhaled. Ghost hunting. Could he expect any different from Eli? But at least she hadn¡¯t told him the truth. Maybe Eli could be trusted?


    He shook his head. No, he shouldn¡¯t get ahead of himself. Eli didn¡¯t tell Chet about their plan because she wanted to escape too. She had selfish goals, like Milan. Like Chet. Like everyone.


    ¡°After we¡¯ve searched the place, we¡¯ll come up with a plan and tell you,¡± Milan said.


    ¡°Count me in.¡± Chet clamped his hand around Milan¡¯s shoulder and squeezed. A shooting pain glazed through. ¡°We¡¯re in this together.¡±


    Then, he turned his back and left.


    ¡°You sure ¡®bout this?¡± Eli said.


    ¡°It¡¯d be worse if we didn¡¯t tell him. He¡¯d rat us out.¡±


    Eli murmured in assent. ¡°Now what.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Milan rubbed the shoulder Chet had squeezed, trying to ease the pain. ¡°We wait until nighttime. Then, we investigate.¡±

 CHAPTER 12 - Investigation: Start

    Milan leaned over the desk, his eyes scanning the map. There were six floors, some of them dedicated areas for educational programs, dining facilities, medical units and inmate housing. On this floor ¡ª the second floor ¡ª numbered cells from one hundred to one hundred and thirty-one lined up. Milan and Eli¡¯s cell was the last one on this floor.


    On the first floor, the map showed the cafeteria. Further to the left, a small corridor led to a couple of unnumbered rooms. So, they weren¡¯t cells. The last room was positioned under Milan and Eli¡¯s cell.


    ¡°These rooms aren¡¯t labeled,¡± Milan said. ¡°We¡¯ll need to take a look if we want to know what it is.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we planned from the get-go.¡± Eli stuck her tongue out, sitting amid blankets and sheets, tying the ends together.


    Milan trailed his eyes down the map. The exit was on the right side of the cafeteria, through a corridor leading to the yard. They knew that. That was where they were led through when they were allowed ¡®outdoor activities¡¯.


    Milan tapped his finger against the desk. What was the time? He threw a glance at his wrist. Right. He didn¡¯t have his wristwatch anymore. They had confiscated it. Milan and Eli needed to wait until nighttime to begin their investigation. If they came in now¡­


    Milan¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Hurry up.¡±


    ¡°Chillax.¡± Eli tied the end of the DIY rope to Milan¡¯s bedframe leg, pulling it. ¡°Is it gonna hold our weight?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll go one at a time. When the lights are switched off.¡±


    As if it were a sign, the room submerged in darkness, any source of light vanishing. Milan blinked. He reached for the flashlight on the desk, while Eli removed the floorboards.


    ¡°Imma go first,¡± she said. She dropped the rope of blankets and sheets through the hole and clung onto it, climbing down.


    ¡°Hold your breath,¡± Milan said. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of dust.¡±


    Eli sent a ¡®thumbs up¡¯, as she disappeared between the layer of darkness. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Send a signal when you¡¯re down.¡± Milan craned his neck, shining the flashlight above his head, but the dark was too thick. He counted the seconds in his head, pricking up his ears to any sound, but only silence enveloped his senses.


    ¡°Eli?¡± Milan called.


    The rope wriggled. One, two, three times. That was it.


    Milan held the flashlight between his teeth as he clasped onto the rope and made his way down. The dust flickered around him. Did no one ever clean this room?


    ¡°Come on, slowpoke!¡± Eli gave a flippant remark. ¡°Before it¡¯s mornin¡¯.¡±


    Milan jumped down the last three feet. ¡°It¡¯s not like you were any faster.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Eli said. ¡°I know you¡¯ve got a fear of heights.¡±


    Even in the dark, Milan could sense Eli¡¯s sarcastic smirk. He waved the flashlight around the room. A wooden box rested on the ground. Milan dug a hand inside, and soft fabric touched his skin. Nothing important.


    In the corner, a bucket and a broom leaned against the wall. Further in the middle, a rectangular metal box was fixed to the wall. Milan opened it. Inside, circuit breakers lined along, each one of them labeled. Some were tagged with ¡®security alarms¡¯, ¡®lights¡¯, ¡®locks¡¯, ¡®A/C¡¯, and so on. They were all switched on.


    ¡°A breaker box,¡± Eli said.


    Milan nodded. In other words, this was the electrical room. The room where all power within the building was controlled.


    ¡°Do you realize what we could do with this?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°Take over the whole buildin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Right. With this, we could-¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey, what does this one do?¡± Eli reached her finger to one of the switches.


    ¡°No!¡± Milan reacted subconsciously, seizing her arm. ¡°I have a plan to escape, and I swear, you do not want to mess this up.¡±


    ¡°You got a plan already? Go, MW!¡±


    ¡°It depends. What time are you being transferred tomorrow?¡±


    Eli placed a finger on her lower lip. ¡°¡®Round one p.m. or somethin¡¯.¡±


    Milan crossed his arms. Talk about cutting it close. Their education ended at twelve forty-five p.m. That only gave them a quarter to put their plan into motion. Eli¡¯s contribution was essential. He couldn¡¯t do it without her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head up for now before we¡¯re discovered,¡± Milan said. ¡°Tomorrow, we¡¯ll discuss the plan with Chet.¡±


    That night, Milan couldn¡¯t sleep. His heart fluttered in his chest as he went over and over the plan in his head. If it succeeded, they¡¯d be out of here. If and only it succeeded.

 CHAPTER 13 - Plan Gone Wrong

    As usual in Rockwood Detention Facility, Milan¡¯s power of concentration evaporated during class. This time the teacher talked about the decolonization of Britain, again, something he already knew about. He tapped the pen against the table, counting the seconds as they went by. This was the day.


    Eli sat with a grin plastered on her face, swinging her legs back and forth. She held out her hand with her thump swinging up at Milan.


    Milan turned his head in the opposite direction.


    ¡°Okay, everyone,¡± the educator said. ¡°I want you to get together in two-man teams and discuss the questions in your study book.¡±


    ¡°Teacher!¡± Milan lurched from the chair. He didn¡¯t even know her name. ¡°We¡¯re odd-numbered. Could Chet work with Eli and me?¡±


    The educator¡¯s glance shifted between Chet, Eli, and Milan. ¡°Y-yes, of course.¡±


    Chet¡¯s lips formed into half a smile as he ambled toward Milan¡¯s table. Eli did the same.


    ¡°There¡¯s a breaker room below our cell.¡± Milan lowered his voice as much as he could. ¡°We can use this to our advantage to switch off the security alarm and electric locks. By switching them off, the locks to the doors will open and we should be able to escape. But before we do that, we have to take everything into consideration.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Eli asked.


    ¡°We can¡¯t assume everything¡¯ll work out once we¡¯ve switched off the power. Facilities such as these must have some kind of backup power system, which is a separate device from the breaker box, and I have no idea where it¡¯s placed within this six-floor building.¡± Milan craned his neck, making sure the teacher wasn¡¯t nearby. ¡°We have to turn that device off first before we can put our plan into motion.¡±


    Chet twirled his finger inside his nose. ¡°As someone who¡¯s been in and outta here, I think I know exactly what device you¡¯re talking about. I¡¯m on it.¡±


    Milan frowned. How could he know about this device just because he¡¯d been ¡®in and outta here¡¯? He had to have an ace up his sleeve. Something only Chet could do¡­


    ¡°In any case,¡± Milan continued. ¡°Even with all these measurements, we still can¡¯t walk off like that. Say we turn off all power successfully, but that¡¯s not enough. We¡¯ll be discovered. That¡¯s why we need a diversion.¡± He eyed Eli. ¡°The way you started that mess in the cafeteria yesterday shows your potential for creating a huge distraction. You¡¯ll be in charge of that. While the guards are occupied with the other inmates, we¡¯ll slip out.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t got a lotta time,¡± Eli said. ¡°How¡¯re we gonna make it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s simple. We split up.¡±


    Eli and Chet exchanged looks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send you a message with instructions through the vent system in our cell while you stay in the cafeteria, Eli. Chet, you already know what to do once we¡¯re done here,¡± Milan said. ¡°Meanwhile, I¡¯ll go down to the electrical room, turn off the alarm and lock switches. I¡¯ll climb up to the cell again and leave through the cell door ¡ª that should be possible since I¡¯d have switched off the locks. By the time I reach the cafeteria, the distraction should already be in full swing.¡±


    Chet bumped his fist into Milan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s why you need a genius on your team.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a genius.¡± Milan dusted off his shirt where Chet had touched it.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going over there?¡± The teacher appeared out of nowhere. ¡°Are you done discussing the questions?¡±


    ¡°We still have a couple left.¡± Milan neutralized his facial expression, trying to pretend as if nothing had happened.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay. We¡¯ll continue tomorrow.¡± The teacher clapped her hands. ¡°Alright, everyone. Class is over.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Milan gulped. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes from now, and they¡¯d be free. Those were his thoughts as they were led through the hallway back to the cafeteria by a bunch of officers.


    ¡°Here, fella.¡± Chet spoke in a low voice and glimpsed around the room before handing a folded piece of paper to an officer.


    This had to be the officer Chet had something on. He had cold eyes and an oblong face. He looked like a robot.


    So, that¡¯s him, Milan thought.


    ¡°My last requests,¡± Chet said.


    ¡°Last requests?¡± The officer¡¯s voice was deep, scratching against Milan¡¯s ears. The kind of voice that was hard to forget once you¡¯d heard it. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Milan sent Chet a glare. What a damn idiot.


    ¡°Uh.¡± Chet scratched the back of his neck. ¡°Last requests for today.¡±


    Milan pushed Chet aside before he could give them away. ¡°Officer. I¡¯d like to stay in my cell in my free time.¡±


    He lifted his eyebrow. ¡°This is the only free time you get. Don¡¯t complain later.¡±


    Milan nodded. There was nothing he was more sure of. Before long, the officer locked him inside the same old cell. The same dull walls. The same desk and stool by the corner. The same rusty beds.


    And it was the last time he¡¯d see it.


    He ripped off a piece of paper and wrote, be ready in five. Then, he took out the bun he¡¯d been hiding in his sleeve ever since breakfast and throughout the entire class. He tore it open, curled the paper inside, and slid it through the vent. The grate was sealed shut when he first discovered it, but with Eli¡¯s help, he¡¯d busted it open this morning.


    Milan lifted the floorboards and tied the DIY rope Eli had to remake to the bedframe. And the flashlight. He couldn¡¯t forget the flashlight. He clung his body to the rope, sliding until he reached the ground.


    Milan snorted. That was easy. He swung the breaker box open, trailing his finger down the circuit breakers. There were several for the alarm and locks. Milan switched them off and rushed to the rope. The moment he grabbed it, the other end, tied to the bed frame, slithered down and landed with a thud next to him.


    Milan¡¯s mouth stood agape. How could this happen? Hadn¡¯t he fastened it strong enough? No, that couldn¡¯t be. It should¡¯ve held his weight. Besides, he didn¡¯t tug at it that hard. It was as if it had come off on its own. Or someone had untied it.


    Milan lifted his head to the opening in the ceiling. That someone looked down at him from above.


    Chet.


    ¡°Sorry, genius,¡± he said. ¡°Even if you¡¯re the one who came up with the plan, I can¡¯t let murderers who¡¯ve killed their own kin break out.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Thanks to you, I¡¯ll be free now. I¡¯ll live my life to the fullest while you can rot in here forever.¡±


    Then, his frame vanished from the hole.


    Milan dropped the flashlight. His body went numb. He should¡¯ve seen this coming. A recalcitrant anger blazed inward, like fire. He wanted to grab Chet by the throat and squeeze until he stopped breathing. But he couldn¡¯t move an inch. And even if he could, it was too late. Chet would escape and Milan would be caught.


    His plan was ruined. Why? How did this happen? Someone had to have told Chet about Milan¡¯s ¡®crime¡¯. Was it Eli? Could it be any other than her? No. Eli was the only person who knew.


    And Chet. Chet and his idiotic policy about knowing why someone wanted something smuggled in. Milan had trusted him to cooperate. But he¡¯d been right from the beginning; Chet was not to be trusted. Both him and Eli.


    His eyes followed the wall to the ceiling. It¡¯d be impossible to climb back up. Besides, the hole was in the middle of the ceiling. There was no way he¡¯d reach. Then, his eyes drifted around the room. Of course. Why didn¡¯t he think of using the door like any other person? The lock to this door had to be electronic too. Being in jail had screwed up his sense of normality.


    He twisted the doorknob, but it didn¡¯t open. He did it again. Again, again, again. Made no difference.


    Milan slammed his fist on the doorknob. He bolted back to the breaker box, burying his face in the dead front cover. He had switched off all the lock-labeled circuit breakers. Could it be the lock to the breaker room was non-electric?


    He switched his glance toward the door and took a closer look. Sure enough, there was a keyhole below the doorknob. Damn it. What now?


    His eyes wandered up and down the breaker box, and then they stopped. At the top of the panel, a double pole circuit breaker labeled ¡®main¡¯ was switched on. Main¡­ this small switch maintained all the power in this building. If all power was switched off, someone would have to come and check. And they¡¯d have to open the door.


    Milan didn¡¯t think twice. He switched off the ¡®main¡¯. The small pool of light from the cell above him disappeared and the breaker room drowned in pitch blackness. He switched on the flashlight, slinging the light around. There it was. The wooden box. He turned it upside down, emptying all the contents. Then, he dashed beside the door and clung his back to the wall.


    He turned off the flashlight. There, he stood, in the dark, with only his heartbeat thumping in his ears keeping him company.

 CHAPTER 14 - Riot

    A soft bump struck against the cafeteria air vent. Eli plunged her hand inside and found herself holding a bun, almost black from the dust and dirt in the vent. A bun. Was this MW¡¯s message? Hurry the bun up? Don¡¯t bun it up?


    Eli chuckled. For sure not. She opened the bun, and her face broke into a smile as she trailed the words on the note. She curled it, throwin¡¯ it over her shoulder. Then, she took a bite off the bun, as she neared the cafeteria table.


    Five minutes, huh? That should be easy peasy. Most of ¡¯em prisoners that stayed here sat by the tables, laughin¡¯ at each other¡¯s lame jokes or braggin¡¯ about their crimes. ¡®Cept if they had killed somebody. No one ever bragged ¡¯bout that.


    Eli drew her eyes along each of their faces. Most of ¡¯em were like Chet. Broad bodies, scars, and stitches all over their faces. But Chet wasn¡¯t here. He¡¯d got to do his business. Eli thought Chet would wanna see a riot go down the most out of everyone here. He should¡¯ve been here by now. What was the holdup?


    Eli yawned. How much longer was it gonna be? It had been five minutes now. Or one. But Eli didn¡¯t care anymore.


    She jumped onto the table. ¡°Hey, hey!¡±


    The voices died down, and everyone¡¯s eyes were glued to her. There had to be at least three hundred dudes scattered across the five refectory tables.


    ¡°What came first? The prisoner or the jail?¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Mumbling rose across the area.


    ¡°The prisoner!¡± Eli said. ¡°¡®Cuz what¡¯s the point of a jail without any prisoners?¡±


    Someone across the table screamed. ¡°I-I don¡¯t wanna go to prison!¡± Then, he swung a punch at the person next to him.


    That was all it took for this place to turn into a boxin¡¯ arena. Roars soared to the ceilin¡¯, everyone flingin¡¯ a fist to the nearest person. Someone ripped their shirt off while shouting. Another banged his head against the table. Oh, yeah, that was the I-don¡¯t-wanna-go-to-prison dude. A brawny dude picked him up and threw him across the cafeteria.


    Eli¡¯s skin tightened from beaming. This was the best day of her life. Now, all she¡¯d got to do was wait for Milan to show up.


    But he never did. Instead, the lights snapped off, one after one, until the only light radiated from the sun through the rectangular windows.


    Voices drowned to a soft mumbling. Everyone dropped whatever they held in their hands ¡ª someone else¡¯s collar, hair, or body.


    Eli bit her lower lip. It had been all goin¡¯ so smoothly. Did MW do this? Did somethin¡¯ happen to him? Eli had got to do somethin¡¯ fast before their plan was ruined.


    ¡°The power¡¯s off!¡± Eli said, throwing her arms ¡®round in a desperate attempt to gather everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Alarms, off. Doors, unlocked. We can break out!¡± She had no idea if it was true. But she had to say somethin¡¯.


    Everyone stared at her, dumbfounded.


    ¡°Riot!¡± Someone yelled across the cafeteria. ¡°Riot! Riot! Riot!¡±


    Soon, everyone followed, screamin¡¯: ¡°Riot,¡± in chorus. They sprinted toward the corridor, narrowin¡¯ down the exit and shoved everyone and everythin¡¯ out of their way.


    Eli found herself in the crowd, pushin¡¯ her way to freedom.

 CHAPTER 15 - Not as Expected

    Milan clammed the wooden box close to his body. His shirt grew wet with sweat. Even at this distance, the screams of the inmates rose inside his ears. The riot was in full swing. And Milan was here, with his back against the cold wall, waiting to strike any moment. He didn¡¯t want to, but he didn¡¯t have a choice.


    The wooden box almost fell out of Milan¡¯s hands, when something on the opposite side of the door jingled. If it was John Hughes, Milan was screwed. A key turned around in the keyhole, and a guard with a flashlight in his hand came in.


    ¡°Why do I have to do this?¡± he mumbled. ¡°It¡¯s always me. There¡¯s a damn riot going on, and I gotta do this.¡±


    Milan breathed through his nose. He was in luck. The officer wasn¡¯t John Hughes; he was a small fry. Milan could take him.


    With those thoughts in mind, he thwacked the wooden box on the officer¡¯s head, splinters of wood flying everywhere.


    The guard stood motionless. He was still standing.


    He gripped Milan¡¯s wrist, digging his nails into his flesh. ¡°You thought that would be enough to take me down?¡±


    He thrust the flashlight into Milan¡¯s stomach, knocking the air out of him. Milan wheezed. Before he could think, the guard struck the flashlight on his head. His body twisted around, dumping on the floor. A ringing screeched in his ears. What the hell? Why was this happening?


    Milan propped himself up on his elbows. He couldn¡¯t let it end this way. If he didn¡¯t escape, he¡¯d get a lifetime in prison. If he wasn¡¯t already.


    Milan panted, his head thumping to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Blood trickled across his eye. It dripped down on a spear-like chunk of wood resting in front of him. He clasped his hand around it. Milan could feel the guard¡¯s figure hovering behind him.


    Milan flew to his feet and rammed the guard into the breaker box panel. Smoke twisted to the ceiling.


    The officer grasped hold of Milan¡¯s neck, squeezing it tight.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill you,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll send you straight to hell, where you belong.¡±


    Milan opened his mouth, but he couldn¡¯t breathe. His tongue felt like it had grown three times its size. The world darkened and a tingly feeling spread throughout his limps.


    He was going to die.


    Not now, he thought. Not like this.


    He thrust the wooden spear into the guard¡¯s hand with all the strength he could muster. Blood splattered everywhere. The guard screamed, yanking his hand to his body. Milan gasped for air. His throat grated for every breath he took.


    Think. What now?


    His eyes stumbled upon the rope of sheets and blankets. He snatched it and whirled it around the guard¡¯s neck. He pulled as tight as his strength allowed him. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The guard flailed his arms, pleading half-words and drool slipping out of his mouth.


    Milan didn¡¯t let go. He didn¡¯t care. Getting out of this hellhole was his first priority. And he could only do that if this guard disappeared.


    His grip tightened. Foam bubbled out in the corner of the guard¡¯s mouth, and his lips turned purple. His arms went limp, and he stopped moving. But Milan didn¡¯t let go. His knuckles turned white as he pulled harder.


    Then, something clicked inside of him. He let his hands drop, hanging loose. The officer fell to his knees, then face down on the ground. Unconscious.


    Or dead.


    Milan didn¡¯t know.


    He took a step toward the door when his eyes fell on the keys by the officer¡¯s body. He seized it and bolted toward the corridor leading to the exit. He¡¯d need it later.


    The chaos hit Milan¡¯s ears from afar. The screams boomed throughout the area; he couldn¡¯t even hear his own breathing. But when he reached the cafeteria, it was a hundred times worse than what he¡¯d imagined. Hundreds of inmates swarmed around, jostling through the hallway like herded sheep. Some grabbed at others¡¯ clothes to surge forward. Others dove into the crowd, knocking people to the ground.


    Eli, what the hell? He told her to create a distraction, not whatever this was.


    Milan groaned as he pushed himself into the crowd and through the corridor. He had a slender frame. Sneaking through this throng of people wouldn¡¯t be impossible for him.


    That was what he thought until he was shoved from behind. The wind was knocked out of him as he plunged to the ground. Shoes trampled all over him. The pain shot through his body, crushed under the weight of a hundred feet. He placed the palm of his hands against the floor, trying to push himself up. It was impossible. Heavy feet smashed against his back. He gasped for air, but it didn¡¯t reach his lungs. He tried screaming for help, but his voice was too weak. It drowned in the chaos. He drowned in the chaos.


    Milan didn¡¯t know what to do. He lifted his head, reaching his hand out to no avail.


    Was this the way he would die? He could think of better ways than being trampled to death or suffocating.


    He saw his life flash before his eyes for the second time today before he felt the warmth of skin against his. He was dragged up with a sudden strength. Milan clutched at his chest, gasping.


    ¡°Get yourself together, MW!¡± Eli said. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She grabbed his wrist, yanking him through the crowd. As the shock of almost dying settled down, Milan bit his lips to keep himself from smiling. He didn¡¯t like to admit it¡­ no, he hated to admit it, but man was he glad Eli was still here. But why would she help him? She could¡¯ve escaped by now. Had she waited for Milan to show up?


    It wasn¡¯t long until the door at the end of the corridor shot open, and a chilly breeze enveloped Milan. He inhaled. The gray clouds scudded across the sky, staring down on him, on everyone.


    Milan and Eli reached the gate, the fence surrounding them from every side. People clambered up in masses.


    Milan stroked a hand through his hair. The keys. They were gone. He had to have lost them when he fell.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡± Eli grabbed onto the fence.


    A gunshot resounded in the air. Milan turned.


    ¡°Come down immediately,¡± an officer said from near the entrance with a gun pointed at them. ¡°I¡¯m warning you.¡±


    It was as if no one had heard the gunshot. Or the officer. They continued up the fence. Some were caught in the barbed wire on top, and others were already climbing down from the other side.


    Another gunshot. Someone plummeted to the ground a few feet away from Milan. Blood oozed out of his head, circling around his body. His brains were scattered on the ground, and his arms and legs bent outward, crookedly.


    It was Chet.

 CHAPTER 16 - Graveyard

    Prisoners jumped off the fence, screaming. Someone clasped his hands around his broken leg, the bone protruding through the flesh.


    Two more gunshots slashed through the prison yard.


    Milan¡¯s glance flicked around. There had to be something they could do. Anything. It would be near-impossible to climb over the fence. The barbed wire was placed there for a reason, and not to mention the psycho who was shooting at them. If only Milan hadn¡¯t lost that key, they could¡¯ve opened the gate.


    Wait. There was something else. Milan pulled out the pocketknife he¡¯d hidden in the same place as before ¡ª his ankle under his sock. He grasped the fence with one hand, and with the other, he sawed the knife back and forth in a vertical line. It was thick, but not impossible to cut through. Under normal circumstances, he¡¯d be caught at once.


    Still, it was taking longer than what he would¡¯ve preferred. Milan¡¯s shoulders shook, and his arm grew numb. He had to continue before it was too late. Before he ended up like Chet.


    Milan panted, sweat forming on his forehead. They still had a chance if the inmates kept up the chaos, but most of them huddled by the fence. Some still made their way up. Milan wasn¡¯t sure how many had escaped, but it couldn¡¯t have been more than a couple.


    ¡°I order you to stop!¡± The officer¡¯s arm pulled straight, gun in his hand. ¡°This is your last warning.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Milan swallowed the lump in his throat as he started cutting in a horizontal line. They didn¡¯t need a big hole. Just anything. Just quick.


    A series of shots rang in the air. One after another.


    Milan¡¯s body jolted. A bullet clanged against the fence, inches away from his hand. Behind him, inmates shrieked and thumped to the ground. Blood colored the ground red.


    This wasn¡¯t a jailyard.


    It was a graveyard.


    Milan worked as fast as his body allowed him. The shots echoed in his ears. The mass of bodies dumped to the ground, one after another, behind him. Alive or dead, Milan didn¡¯t know. But one thing he knew: it would be him if he didn¡¯t hurry.


    Milan gripped through the fence holes with both of his hands, bending the wire along the cut lines. His eyes trailed the yard. Eli. Where was Eli? Could it be¡­ was she dead?


    No. She stood paralyzed with her head bowed, glaring at Chet¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°Eli!¡± Milan called.


    Eli¡¯s eyes widened, and her arms hung loosely by her sides. Milan thought she looked as good as dead, if it wasn¡¯t for the fact that she was standing. A stiffness enveloped Milan¡¯s chest. He could leave on his own. Be free. Logically, that was what made sense ¡ª to save his own life.


    But he couldn¡¯t.


    He snatched his hand around Eli¡¯s wrist, hauling her out of the mess of gunshots and corpses through the hole in the fence. Then, they sprinted. Legs pumped faster and faster. Now, they just needed to do one thing. To get the hell away.

 CHAPTER 17 - Enter the City

    Milan heaved for air. It felt as if sandpaper abrased his throat for every breath he took. His legs gave in, and he fell to his knees on the damp earth.


    ¡°I¡­ need a¡­ break,¡± he said in-between breaths.


    Eli crouched across from Milan. Trees hemmed them in from every direction, and their hundred branches curled toward the sky, the dappled daylight pricking through the leaves.


    Eli buried her face in her knees. She hadn¡¯t said a word since they¡¯d fled. Then again, neither had Milan¡­ except for what he¡¯d just said. But still, something was off about Eli.


    ¡°Are you¡­ okay?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°I lied. I didn¡¯t overhear the prosecutor covering your case.¡±


    Milan¡¯s eyelids dropped, and before he could say anything, a fist raced toward his face. Milan jerked backward. But it never hit. Instead, Eli narrowed her eyes, glaring at Milan, before dropping her arm.


    ¡°Kiddin¡¯, kiddin¡¯,¡± she said in a low voice. ¡°I don¡¯t hit my friends.¡±


    Friends? Milan thought. She considered him a¡­ friend?


    Milan cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight, either. I¡¯m not mad at you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not?¡±


    ¡°No. I had my suspicions you were lying about the prosecutor. But the decision to escape was my own. I knew I¡¯d get a guilty verdict.¡± His brows furrowed. ¡°I was using you.¡±


    Eli laughed, but this time, it was soft, almost gentle. ¡°Nope. ¡®Cuz then you wouldn¡¯t have helped me back in the prison yard.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you helped me, too.¡± Milan scratched the back of his neck.


    He inhaled, taking in the smell of grass and earth. Milan had no clue how much time had passed since they¡¯d left. At least two or three hours. Or more.


    He closed his eyes. The breeze caressed his skin, and birds twittered from afar. He still couldn¡¯t believe it. That they had escaped. Of course, they had. It had been Milan¡¯s plan, after all. Even though it wasn¡¯t followed to the letter.


    And Chet¡­ was dead. But unlike his parents, he got what he deserved after betraying Milan. If Milan hadn¡¯t found a way out of the breaker room, his life was done. Finished.


    But Chet had his reasons. He betrayed Milan because he thought he¡¯d killed his own parents. He called him a murderer. Did everyone think of him that way? A crazy murderer who killed his own kin and should rot in prison or die?If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    No, not Eli. Or did she?


    Their eyes met for a second, before she looked the other way. ¡°I thought it¡¯d be fun to break out.¡± Her voice was weak. It was as if a different person spoke. ¡°But now I know why no one wanna hang out with me. I make a mess outta everythin¡¯. Everyone¡¯s dead ¡®cuz of me.¡±


    A line formed between Milan¡¯s eyebrows. Did he hear right? Eli... felt guilty? She was human, after all. Not everyone could hide behind a mask forever. Milan opened his mouth to speak, to ask her if she realized it had been his plan and not hers, but she shook her head before he got the chance.


    ¡°Forget it. It¡¯s borin¡¯ to talk about. But MW¨C¡± she pushed her body forward, her knees and palms touching the ground. ¡°How''d you know I lied ¡®bout the prosecutor?¡±


    Milan scoffed. ¡°I didn¡¯t know for sure, of course. But a good rule of thumb I follow is: assume everyone¡¯s lying. Don¡¯t trust anyone. If you follow these rules, you¡¯ll never be betrayed.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Eli tilted her head. ¡°I thought trust was a good thing.¡±


    ¡°You learn something new every day.¡± Milan stood, brushing the dirt from his pants. ¡°We¡¯ve wasted enough time. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Eli stared off into the distance. ¡°You hear that?¡±


    Milan pricked up his ears. A continuous gurgle trickled in the distance.


    ¡°A river,¡± Milan said. ¡°Let¡¯s take a look.¡±


    They ambled in the direction of the sound, twisting between the trees until they reached the source. A stream rippled along a twirling path, forming into a pond by their feet.


    ¡°This is a good place to wash up,¡± Milan said. ¡°We should hurry, in case¡­¡±


    Eli kneeled and plunged both hands into the river, wetting her sleeves. Then, she slurped as if she¡¯d never tasted water before.


    Milan sighed. His reflection in the water stared back at him. Half of his face and hair were painted red, washing over his dark-brown eyes. His hand, too. He had to have cut himself with that pocketknife.


    Milan slipped his hands into the water and splashed it onto his face. The liquid felt cold against his skin as it slid down his parched lips. He hadn¡¯t realized how thirsty was. He cupped his hands, ready to drink when a sound arose from a distance.


    ¡°They couldn¡¯t have gone far,¡± a voice said. ¡°You must search every crook and cranny of this place.¡±


    ¡°Yessir!¡±


    Eli leaped upright, ready to break into a run, but Milan grabbed her arm and shook his head. They were too close. They¡¯d hear them if they ran away. And Milan already knew what would happen next. They¡¯d get caught.


    Or worse, they¡¯d end up like Chet.


    Instead, they kneeled behind a thicket, dense enough to keep them hidden, out of sight. Milan wasn¡¯t sure if he was breathing. The seconds felt like minutes as the time dragged on. Scratch that; time stopped moving at all. The rattling sound was nearing.


    Milan squeezed Eli¡¯s arm. Through the stems, a pair of legs came into sight. One more step. If he took one more step toward them, they¡¯d be seen. It would be over.


    A scream rose in the air.


    ¡°Over here! I found one,¡± another voice said.


    ¡°No! I don¡¯t wanna go to prison!¡±


    The legs stood still before jogging in the opposite direction of the stream.


    Milan let out a breath. He didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d been holding it. Or squeezing Eli¡¯s arm. He nodded, meeting her stern gaze. Then, they bolted off into the distance. Into the city.

 CHAPTER 18 - Halloween?

    The road brimmed with cars, whizzing one after another. Honks blasted through the late afternoon air. Footsteps hit the pavement as people walked in throngs on the pedestrian street, their chatter reaching the sky.


    Milan bowed his head. He placed his hand above his eyebrows like a shield, as he scurried through the crowd. He couldn¡¯t afford to be recognized. Their blue prison uniforms were bad enough.


    ¡°You know, you look more suspicious that way,¡± Eli said.


    Milan stopped dead in his tracks. ¡°You¡¯re right. We do look suspicious. And we need to do something about it.¡± He pointed to a clothing store across the street.


    Eli grinned.


    The door parted open, and they entered the shop. Music blasted in Milan¡¯s ears. Clothes hung on every row, as far as the eye could see. Milan coughed. Someone wore too much perfume, and it wasn¡¯t him. And it most definitely wasn¡¯t Eli.


    ¡°Welcome!¡± A woman in a beige coat approached them. ¡°Are you looking for something in particular?¡±


    Milan dropped his head, scratching it. He tried to look as casual as he could. ¡°No, we¡¯re just looking.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wearing matching outfits,¡± she said with a smile plastered on her face and light gleamed in her eyes. ¡°How cute! We¡¯ve just received so many matching outfits in our store-¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Eli said. ¡°We¡¯re dressed up as prisoners for Halloween.¡±


    The shop assistant glanced sideways. ¡°Uh, I¡­ see.¡±


    Milan groaned internally. They were in late Spring. Where did Eli get Halloween from? She had to open her mouth, didn¡¯t she?


    ¡°Excuse us.¡± Milan yanked her away from the assistant, down to a clothing rack.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I have a plan. We split up and find clothes to wear. Clothes that do not match. We put them on in a dressing room and put this uniform we¡¯re wearing on top of it. Then, we get the hell out of here before someone messes everything up.¡± Milan poked Eli¡¯s forehead. ¡°And where¡¯s your cap?¡±


    Eli shrugged. ¡°Probably left it behind when we ran from the cops.¡±


    ¡°Great. You need one that fits you, anyway. I do, too. We don¡¯t want to be recognized.¡±


    Eli pointed her thump up. Then, they went in their respective directions.


    Milan dug through the clothes. The hangers screeched against the rack as he shoved the clothes to the side, one after another. He needed something simple, something that wouldn¡¯t stand out.


    He pulled out a white shirt and a pair of slim-fit pants and found a black, peaked cap lined on a shelf.


    He didn¡¯t look much different from before when he came out of the dressing room. Maybe a bit. He crossed his arms across his stomach. He had hidden the cap under his uniform shirt.


    Where was Eli? Was she fooling around again? Milan tapped his foot against the floor. What was the point of asking questions he already knew the answer to?


    Eli sprang out of the other dressing room. She pointed to the rainbow jester hat on the head, the four spikes peaking down like a hand of bananas.


    Milan snatched the hat and threw it away. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± he said through his teeth. ¡°We¡¯re runaways, dammit. We already look suspicious enough. Just take a normal baseball cap, and let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    But it wasn¡¯t until later Milan realized he never should¡¯ve said that. Not until they rushed out the door, and the alarm boomed in the shop.


    Eli put on her new cap.


    ¡°Wait, isn¡¯t that¡­¡± Milan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You took a designer cap?!¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± she said and waved a fifty-dollar bill between her fingers. ¡°I took this too. From one of ¡®em customers.¡±


    Milan¡¯s mouth stood open. He had so much to say, but the words were stuck. But even if they weren¡¯t, he wouldn¡¯t have the time to tell them.


    ¡°Stop right there!¡± a voice roared inside the shop.


    A man in a guard uniform and at least seven feet tall jogged toward them. His bald head glinted like an egg in the light.


    Milan¡¯s eyes drifted back to Eli. Or where she had once stood. She was gone, replaced by the wind.


    Milan¡¯s shoes bit into the gravel. Damn you, Eli. Damn you. Those were his thoughts as he sprinted through the pedestrian walkway, shouldering past the crowd.

 CHAPTER 19 - The Waitress

    Milan puffed, leaning his hand against the brick wall. The sun beat down on him. He rested his back against the wall where old-fashioned buildings surrounded the alleyway. Waste containers brimmed with garbage, an acrid smell twisting up.


    Great, just great. It was one problem after another. As if the police being after him wasn¡¯t enough.


    He swept the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn¡¯t help he wore two layers of clothing. Before long, he dumped his prison uniform on top of the trash, and his body felt a thousand pounds lighter. He rolled up the sleeves of his new shirt to his elbows and pushed the cap onto his head as he ambled out of the alleyway. This cover should work for now. The uniform had been a huge giveaway.


    Milan ambered through the street. The police could be anywhere, lurking in the shadows and waiting for their chance to capture him. He lowered his head. He couldn¡¯t let them get a glimpse of his face. It wasn¡¯t just the police. Anyone could recognize him. His face had to have been plastered on every news channel, along with the other prisoners who escaped.


    It didn¡¯t matter in the long run, as long as he wasn¡¯t captured. He needed to find the culprit first ¡ª the one who had murdered his parents and make him confess. If that happened, it would turn Milan¡¯s situation around. He just needed a chance.


    Milan frowned. His stomach twisted in hunger, and his throat felt as dry as a desert. Where was Eli? She had the money. He needed to find her before he¡¯d collapse from undernourishment. Okay, that wouldn¡¯t happen. But he needed to fill his stomach to be able to concentrate on their next move.


    He didn¡¯t have to search for long. A scent of meat and oil wafted from nearby. He raised his head, his eyes meeting a fast-food joint. The sign on top said: Burger ¡®nd fries. Yeah, Milan could see that. Pictures of fake burgers and fries advertisements stuck to the window, and a crooked ¡®open¡¯ sign hung from the window door.


    Milan craned his neck. Someone sat inside, stuffing their face into a burger.


    Eli.


    Milan let out a harsh breath. Damn you, Eli, he thought as he opened the door. He was hit by heavy, greasy air. The kind of air in cheap fast-food places. Wooden chairs circled around tables with red and white checkered tablecloths.


    Eli lifted her head. She had gotten rid of her prison uniform, too. Instead, her body was buried in an oversized, blue-and-black striped t-shirt. Her straight hair was exposed from the designer cap with a gold logo. The cap that had gotten them in so much trouble. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Hey hey, MW, over here!¡± She waved her hand, as if Milan had no idea where she could be in this empty fast-food joint. ¡°You gotta try this. It¡¯s radical!¡±


    Milan slipped into the chair. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Eatin¡¯,¡± she said with her mouth full of food.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I¡­¡± Milan sighed. ¡°Listen. We need to keep a low profile.¡±


    ¡°These peeps don¡¯t know us.¡±


    ¡°They could. We must be all over the news by now. Face, name, everything.¡±


    Eli trotted her mouth. ¡°But isn¡¯t it fun? Think ¡¯bout it. We don¡¯t know if they know they know us! What if they do? What if they don¡¯t? No one knows.¡±


    Milan rubbed his temples, considering if it was worth staying with Eli any longer. She¡¯d get him into trouble, for sure. But at least she was back to her old self.


    Eli flailed her half-eaten burger in front of Milan¡¯s face. ¡°You want?¡±


    ¡°No way am I eating that junk.¡± Milan wrinkled his nose. ¡°A healthy body is a healthy mind.¡±


    ¡°You must be fun at parties.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡±


    ¡°Waiter!¡± Eli shouted as if she¡¯d swallowed a speaker. ¡°Can you bring this borin¡¯ person a salad?¡±


    ¡°Really? Salad isn¡¯t the only healthy food on earth,¡± Milan said.


    ¡°Burgers are healthy!¡± Eli licked her greasy fingers.


    Milan suppressed the urge to ram his head onto the table. Why could he never win an argument against Eli, even when he was right? And out of all things, why a salad?! That would never be enough to satiate him. Not when he hadn¡¯t eaten since breakfast. Which had to be around seven or eight hours ago. Milan¡¯s stomach rumbled at the thought.


    Footsteps neared their table, and he considered gobbling the salad down and order four or five burgers. He didn¡¯t know when he¡¯d get a chance to eat again.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your sal-¡± The waitress tripped over her own feet, dropping the bowl. Limp tomatoes and cucumbers splatted onto the ground. On second thought, he wasn¡¯t eating that. No way.


    The waitress sniffled. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Her voice sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. She picked up the salad pieces and dry tomatoes with her bare hands.


    ¡°No worries,¡± Milan said. ¡°I didn¡¯t want it, anyway.¡±


    In a flash, her eyes met Milan¡¯s. She gasped and dropped everything in her hands. Her face turned ashen, and her gray eyes grew wide. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re¡­¡±


    Milan¡¯s heart dropped. She knew.


    ¡°Eli!¡± Milan said.


    Eli waved at the waitress. ¡°Thanks for the food! Real tasty.¡±


    She didn¡¯t get to say another word as Milan dragged her out of the restaurant.

 CHAPTER 20 - Searching for Milan

    Amica lay sprawled on the floor as Milan, and the girl slipped out of the diner. She wanted to reach her hand out and scream: ¡°Wait!¡± but her body was frozen. She couldn¡¯t move.


    ¡°What have you done?¡± Gerald said, rubbing his gray beard. ¡°This is the fifth time you¡¯ve dropped a customer¡¯s order this week!¡±


    ¡°S-sorry, boss,¡± Amica said. Her senses came back to her. She stood, wiping the remainder of the salad off her apron. ¡°But I must go after him.¡± She cringed internally the second those words escaped from her mouth. She had said her thoughts out loud. Again. ¡°T-to apologize, of course,¡± she added, in an attempt to save the situation.


    ¡°No, you have to take orders.¡± Amica¡¯s uneasiness went unnoticed by Gerald. Instead, he plunked a pen and notepad in her hand.


    ¡°But there aren¡¯t any customers.¡±


    Gerald¡¯s face flushed red. ¡°Do not talk back to me and just do what I say!¡±


    Amica turned her back with a stooped posture. She bit her lip, twirling her hair with a finger. When she first started this job, her boss was a kind man who showed her how everything was done with patience. How to talk to customers, take orders, and radiate happiness even if she was dying inside. He used to smile, too. But not after she kept messing up the orders, spilling food, and never smiled enough at the customers. She couldn¡¯t be the perfect person everyone expected of her. She wasn¡¯t that good at cleaning, either. Or cooking food. Or anything. The only thing she was slightly good at was chemistry. So, she wasn¡¯t cut out for this job, but she had to work. Had to. But¡­ right now, there was something more important. She had to go after Milan. But could she catch up to him now? Her heart did a somersault. She had to tell him that one thing. What if she never got to see him again? This was her only chance. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She took off her apron.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Gerald¡¯s eyebrows knitted together.


    Her hands shook as she held up the apron. ¡°I¡­ I quit.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Gerald¡¯s eyes flashed. Amica had never seen so many lines on one person¡¯s forehead. ¡°Because you¡¯re fired!¡± His tone sliced through the air. ¡°Get out of my restaurant.¡±


    Amica let out a steady breath. She slipped five dollars on the counter. ¡°Before I do that, I want to order two hamburgers, please. For takeaway.¡±


    And that was how Amica found herself scuttling through the busy street with a greasy paper bag fluttering in her hand. She swung her head to the left, to the right. But there was no Milan. What was he wearing again? She tried to think back, but it was no use. She¡¯d only seen him for what felt like a second.


    Her eyes shifted to a cap resting on the ground in front of the opening of an alleyway. Milan had worn something like this, she thought.


    Swinging down the alleyway, she took a sharp turn. She felt a wrench in her body, and someone glued their hand to her mouth.

 CHAPTER 21 - Schoolmates

    Milan curled his hand over her mouth and crossed his other arm horizontally above her chest. Her arms dangled, and her gray eyes were soft. Her warm breaths came out quick, damp against his skin. Wasn¡¯t she going to resist? Scream? Wasn¡¯t she even going to try?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Milan asked. ¡°Why are you following us?¡±


    Her eyes shifted between Milan and his hand on her mouth. He lifted his hand, and she exhaled.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know who I am?¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to know?¡±


    She folded her arms behind her back and cast her eyes downward, kicking a pebble by her feet. ¡°Never mind. I won¡¯t bother you anymore.¡±


    She didn¡¯t get to take a step before Milan shoved her against the wall.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere. You¡¯ll answer my questions. Who are you, and why are you following us?¡±


    Her eyes gleamed as if brimming with tears. She opened her mouth, but only a tiny sound came out, before she closed it again. Milan glared at her and tightened his grip on her. He wouldn¡¯t let her go, if that was what she was thinking.


    ¡°You ¡ª you really don¡¯t remember me?¡± she finally said, as if she¡¯d realized he wasn¡¯t lying. ¡°We go to the same high school. I¡¯m a senior, a year above you.¡±


    Milan pushed his head close to her, examining every detail of her face, but his memory of her was blank.


    ¡°Prove it. Where¡¯s your student card?¡± he asked.


    She probably didn¡¯t even have one. She was lying. At least, that was what he thought until she dug up her student card from her wallet. ¡®Pine Hill High School¡¯ was written on it with capital letters. The same high school as Milan. Underneath it, the words formed into the name ¡®Amica Summers¡¯ along with a picture of her smiling awkwardly.


    Milan pulled his head back. ¡°Fine. But that doesn¡¯t explain why you were following us.¡±


    ¡°I want to apologize.¡± She wrung her hands together. Droplets of sweat glistened on her forehead. ¡°Firstly, for ruining your salad. But mostly for bumping into you that day at school.¡±


    Milan squeezed his hands into fists. How could anyone lie so casually? Running all this way after them to apologize? What a joke.


    ¡°I know what you might be thinking,¡± Amica continued, and Milan wondered how his facial expression looked like for her to know. ¡°What I did was unforgivable. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Eli laughed and slapped her hand on her thigh. ¡°Bumpin¡¯ into someone¡¯s unforgivable?¡± She burst into another fit of laughter.


    ¡°He seemed to be in a hurry. And mad.¡±


    ¡°He always seems mad.¡±


    ¡°That never happened,¡± Milan said, before they had a chance to dive into a conversation of how mad he was or seemed. ¡°I know you¡¯re after me for another reason. Now, spill it.¡± He tilted his upper body downward, eyes locked into hers. ¡°You¡¯re after me to rat me out to the police, right?¡±


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb with me.¡±


    She looked down, and her lips narrowed into a line. Milan could feel her body stiffen, shaking, and her breathing came out jagged. And that was when he realized he¡¯d hit the nail on the head.


    But instead, she shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you did it.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Eli switched her glance from a random place back to Amica. ¡°You know ¡®bout it?¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Amica said. ¡°The rumor that he killed his parents is all everyone talks about at school.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Milan felt a sudden dizziness take over him. Of course, the rumor had reached the school. Why wouldn¡¯t it?


    He¡¯d never be able to return there. Even if he did, his life would never go back to the way it was. If there was a tiny chance his trial would result in his acquittal, people would still wonder about him. They¡¯d still think he did it. They¡¯d whisper about him in the hallways, sending glares his way but avoid him like the plague. He needed to find the real culprit. If he could get him to admit it, most suspicion about him would be erased.


    ¡°But don¡¯t worry.¡± Amica lifted her lips halfway up, probably in an attempt to smile. ¡°Not everyone believes it. Including me.¡±


    Their eyes met for a second. Her facial features were gentle, and Milan realized that his reaction to her last statement had made his mouth fall open. He closed it again.


    ¡°And why is that?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°Because even though you called me klutz, you¡¯re actually a nice person deep inside. I trust you.¡±


    Milan had to take a mental break. What on earth? He didn¡¯t understand a thing.


    ¡°Why do you act like you know me?¡± was the only question he managed to ask.


    ¡°I do know you. We¡¯re friends.¡±


    Milan adjusted his posture, stepping back. If she wasn¡¯t lying before, she had to be lying now. Milan had no clue who she was. But she looked at him with a strict gaze, and her brows knitted together. Her black, wavy hair framed her face. Hadn¡¯t he seen this hair before? Wait, he had.


    She did bump into him on that day when he was late for his exam. And he probably did call her a klutz, but Milan¡¯s memory was hazy. But all of that aside, something still didn¡¯t add up.


    ¡°You ran all this way after me to apologize because you bumped into me? Even after I called you a klutz?¡±


    Amica nodded, her hair fluttering around her face. ¡°I also needed to tell you something else¡­¡±


    Milan¡¯s stomach rumbled. Loudly. He felt the heat rising, and he didn¡¯t need a mirror to know the color of his face.


    ¡°All this talking¡¯s made me hungry, I suppose,¡± he mumbled and scratched the back of his neck. He pointed at the takeaway paper bag dropped on the ground. ¡°Who does this belong to?¡±


    ¡°You guys.¡± Amica¡¯s glance shifted between Milan and Eli.


    Milan¡¯s hands acted on their own, stuffing the burger in his mouth. He ate at such a speed, he could barely breathe, but it didn¡¯t matter. His stomach felt like an endless pit of hunger.


    ¡°I thought a healthy body¡¯s a healthy mind,¡± Eli said.


    ¡°Burgers are healthy. Isn¡¯t that so?¡± Milan threw the other burger to Eli.


    Eli threw it back. ¡°You eat it. I ate already.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± He pointed the burger at Amica. ¡°And, uh, thank you too. For bringing it.¡±


    He opened his mouth to take a bite, but his hand froze. It wasn¡¯t poisoned, was it? He couldn¡¯t trust this girl. But then what? His stomach tightened. It was the pain of going too long without eating. And he¡¯d already eaten the other one without thinking. Being hungry really clouded his rationality.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Amica asked. ¡°Don¡¯t you like it?¡±


    Milan looked at the burger. The grease slipped out of the patty as if drenched in fat, and the vegetables were limp and dry. But the worst was¡­


    ¡°The pickles,¡± Milan blurted out. ¡°I hate pickles.¡±


    Eli let out her typical har-har-har laugh and smacked her fist against Milan¡¯s back. ¡°Better than prison food, right?¡±


    Whatever. The first burger was already deep inside Milan¡¯s stomach, and he didn¡¯t feel anything odd yet. He took the chance and bit into the second burger.


    ¡°I should leave now,¡± Amica said. ¡°I must study for the finals. I still haven¡¯t opened a book, so-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± Milan said. He stood, wiping away the grease around his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re coming with us.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Amica and Eli said at the same time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust you. The moment we let you go, who knows what you¡¯re going to do? Notify the police? Reveal our location?¡± Milan snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not letting that happen. You¡¯ll be under my supervision until I find the shithead who killed my parents.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna kidnap her?¡± Eli said. Milan half-expected she¡¯d follow up with ¡®how fun!¡¯, but the only thing filling his ears was the silence between the three of them.


    Deep inside, Milan knew he was screwed. It wasn¡¯t like he could force her to come along. He didn¡¯t need additional crimes added to his criminal record. Not that it mattered. He was screwed either way.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be abducting if I agree to go, right?¡± Amica broke the silence. ¡°I don¡¯t feel like taking that math exam. I¡¯m not so good at it.¡±


    Milan glared at her, attempting to process her words. Agreeing to be abducted to avoid an exam? In her final year of high school? That was a new kind of lazy. A stupid kind.


    He straightened his shirt. Maybe he wasn¡¯t as screwed as he thought. ¡°Now that it¡¯s settled, it¡¯s time to go back.¡±


    ¡°Back where? Prison?¡± Eli said.


    ¡°Home.¡±

 CHAPTER 22 - Back Again

    His house looked the same as ever. The sunset cast a pink hue on the polished, white building, and the flower bushes danced in the breeze. Mom had always made sure they were as many as possible. But now, their stems bowed down as if they were lonely without her presence.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Eli gasped. ¡°You¡¯re kinda rich, my dude.¡±


    Milan shrugged. Sure, their house was a decent size, but nothing to brag about. He eyed the second-floor window. His room. The drapes were undrawn, and the lights turned off. Good. Hopefully, no one was there.


    ¡°Why are we here, if I may ask?¡± Amica said. ¡°Isn¡¯t it a crime scene? The police must be investigating it, right?¡±


    Milan scuttered the other way around the house with Eli and Amica on his tail. ¡°They¡¯re not here, for now. But it¡¯s still too risky to enter through the front door.¡±


    On the other side, a scraggy, but unvarnished wooden fence came into sight. The planks were newly painted, a glowing white color. Milan knew that for a fact. He and his parents had repainted it together a few months ago. That day, his dad was carrying the tub of paint to the fence. Meanwhile, his mom had worn all white clothes and had painted her face and hands in the same color.


    ¡®Don¡¯t tell Dad,¡¯ she had said to Milan. ¡®This is only for getting back at him for all the pranks he¡¯s pulled on me.¡¯


    Just like that, she had camouflaged herself, becoming one with the fence. And that was how she gave Milan¡¯s dad the biggest shock of his life. He jumped, the paint flying out of the tub, spilling all over his clothes. They had laughed and reminisced that moment for a while afterward.


    Milan¡¯s lips formed into a bittersweet smile. Just this fence held so many memories. Before the day his parents died, he never thought the next time he¡¯d come home it¡¯d only be his recurring memories of them that were left of them.


    He steeled his heart and scrambled the fence, vaulting over it. Eli and Amica followed suit, and they entered the backyard. A couple of chairs were dispersed around a round table. The place seemed distant to him, as if he hadn¡¯t visited for a decade. The grass didn¡¯t feel as soft against the sole of his feet, nor had it kept the same vivid green color. Being back home suffocated him with too many emotions, it was difficult to keep track of them. He just had to keep going. That was all.


    He twisted the doorknob to the backdoor.


    Yes. It was open. They slipped inside, the dark welcoming them.


    ¡°You got any flashlights?¡± Eli said.


    ¡°Not anymore. I lost the one Chet gave us in the detention center.¡±


    ¡°How are we going to search, then?¡± It was Amica¡¯s mellow voice. ¡°Oh, right. I can use my phone¡¯s flashlight.¡± The room lit up in a sharp, white light.


    ¡°We need to split up to save time. Who knows when the police will be back,¡± Milan said. ¡°Eli, you¡¯re with Amica. Search the living room and the kitchen. I¡¯ll search the bedrooms.¡±


    They nodded at each other and scrammed off. Milan stepped into his parents¡¯ bedroom, and the hair on his arms pricked up. The smell of their corpses still lingered in the air.


    Milan closed his eyes. He couldn¡¯t think about that now. Finding clues was his first priority.


    He yanked the drawer open with such a force it nearly bounced out of its place. Digging his hands inside, he reached for a flashlight. The room lit up. Good thing the batteries still worked. It hadn¡¯t been used for a long time.


    He pointed the flashlight at the ground, where his parents had stumbled out of the closet. But their bodies were gone, replaced by an outline, the way Milan had found them.


    He opened the closet, but his eyes were met with¡­ nothing. It was empty. How had the culprit fit them in here, anyway? Sure, it was a big closet, but there had also been a lot of things inside. What had he done to those things? Burned them as he had done with his clothes?


    Milan shook his head. Whatever. There wasn¡¯t time to think about it. He pressed his head against the cold floor, looking under the bed. Nothing.


    Finally, he wrenched all the drawers open, bungling up the contents. A few books on flowers, crime novels, products, papers, and not much more.


    Milan¡¯s breaths came out in bursts, as he slipped upstairs. He needed to get the thought of his parents out of his mind, or he could forget about trying to focus. This place was a literal embodiment of them. Everywhere he looked, another memory would pop up in his mind. He didn¡¯t want to think of them. He couldn¡¯t¡­


    He got what he wished for sooner than expected, when he reached his bedroom. It was a disaster. The contents of his drawers and closet were all spilled out across the room, the mattress laying sideways on the bed. Clothes, papers, and books were scattered around. Had he not known the police had been investigating his house, he¡¯d think there had been an earthquake. How was he going to find anything in this mess? And wouldn¡¯t the police have taken the most vital clues? What if he wouldn¡¯t be able to find anything?


    Milan kneeled, ruffing his hand through the heap on the ground. He had to try.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Nothing.


    Nothing under the bed either.


    His closet and drawers were empty.


    Great. This was a waste of time.


    He leaned back against the wall, as exhaustion came over him. Something glinted in the corner of his eye ¡ª an... SD card? What was it doing here?


    Milan turned it the other way around. No indication of what it contained. He slipped it inside the back pocket of his pants and walked toward the exit. He should meet up with Amica and Eli and leave. It was risky staying here for too long.


    That was when Milan realized they¡¯d already stayed for too long. He opened his mouth in a silent gasp. In the doorway, he eyed the six police officers occupying the living room. The detective ¡ª what was her name again? Knight. Detective Knight stood, her hand resting beneath her chin. She spoke softly, but loud enough for Milan to make it out.


    ¡°We¡¯ve searched all possible places. This is the last place I can think of, although I doubt he¡¯s here. He¡¯s smarter than that.¡±


    Milan¡¯s eyes wandered around, searching for Eli and Amica, but they had disappeared. He hoped, for their sake, they had escaped.


    He felt a head turn in his direction, and Milan withdrew his body. Shit. He had nowhere to hide. They¡¯d notice if he hid under the bed or inside the closet. Or anywhere in the room.


    He rushed toward the window and grabbed the windowsill. The sun dipped down the skyline, and the asphalt road lined horizontally across the house. Milan¡¯s vision doubled. No way. He couldn¡¯t jump out of the window, it was too far down.


    Footsteps hit the stairs. Milan¡¯s heart pounded faster. Did he even have a choice? He opened the window and stepped onto the sill. His legs wobbled, threatening to give out. This was a bad idea. But it was the only one he had.


    Milan inhaled. He eyes scanned his surroundings, in one last attempt to find a better idea. Wait, how hadn¡¯t he noticed it? The rainwater pipe was within arm¡¯s reach, clinging to the outer wall.


    He reached for the pipe, and by the time his legs followed, the door to his room slammed open.


    ¡°Search for any clues you can find.¡± It was the detective. ¡°Even trivial things might be crucial.¡±


    ¡°Yessir!¡±


    Rumbling and scuffing rose from the room. No wonder his room was a mess. They showed no consideration for someone they thought of as a murderer. Who¡¯d show consideration for someone like that?


    Milan¡¯s muscles tensed as he strained to hold onto the pipe. If he went down now, and they cast a single look outside the window, he¡¯d be done for. He needed to wait until they were gone. But Milan didn¡¯t know for how much longer he could hold on.


    ¡°Detective! The window is open.¡±


    Milan¡¯s heart burst in his chest. His palm of his hands grew wet with sweat and his clasp around the pipe was slipping. The detective rested her hands on the windowsill. That was all Milan could see of her. But if she moved her head an inch forward, he was screwed.


    ¡°He must¡¯ve returned here at some point.¡± Milan could barely hear the detective from the heartbeat thumping in his ears. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect that. But I suppose it¡¯s not impossible. Those in the most desperate situations do the most reckless things. Such as purloining conclusive evidence.¡±


    It took a second to process what she¡¯d just said. Stealing evidence? Who¡¯d even think about doing that?


    Whatever. He had bigger problems to deal with.


    ¡°Detective, does that mean he¡¯s not here anymore?¡±


    ¡°I suspect so.¡± She removed her hands from the windowsill, and her voice faded. ¡°You two keep guard. He might return. The rest of you come with me and search the surrounding area. If he¡¯s just left, he might still be nearby.¡±


    Milan climbed down. This was his only chance to escape. He rushed through the street, trying to hit the ground as noiselessly as he could. But just as he thought he was safe, two figures appeared before him.


    ¡°What took you so long, slowpoke?¡± Eli said.


    ¡°The police,¡± Milan gasped. ¡°They¡¯re here. We¡¯ve got to run now.¡±


    It was too late. A sharp voice cut through the air.


    ¡°Freeze!¡± It was Leonia Knight, surrounded by four armed officers by her side. Her arms were stretched out, gun in her hand. ¡°Do not make me shoot, Milan Whitfield.¡±


    Milan¡¯s legs felt like stone. He couldn¡¯t run. If he did, he knew how it would end. Eli and Amica stood motionless as if paralyzed. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d gotten them involved. Now their lives were in danger. Milan was going to get convicted of murder anyway, so it wouldn¡¯t make a difference if he took the blame. He¡¯d say he abducted Amica and forced Eli to cooperate. This was for the best.


    ¡°Well, leader?¡± Eli whispered without moving. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    No one answered.


    ¡°Are you referring to me?¡± Milan asked.


    ¡°Of course she is,¡± Amica said. ¡°We¡¯re waiting for you to come up with a plan to escape.¡±


    ¡°We¡­ can¡¯t.¡± Milan¡¯s breathing came out deep and heavy. ¡°It¡¯s five trained and armed professionals against us three. They¡¯ll shoot if we run. They¡¯ll shoot if we resist. No matter what, we¡¯re screwed.¡±


    Or were they? Wasn¡¯t there something they could do? Milan¡¯s hands shook. The sky darkened the world. He could barely see the figures before him. And the same had to apply to those cops. How well could they see Milan, Eli, and Amica?


    ¡­ How well would they be able to aim in the dark?


    ¡°There¡¯s still one thing,¡± Milan said. ¡°By splitting up into three different directions, they¡¯ll have no choice but to follow each of us. We might just manage individually if we¡¯re up against fewer people.¡±


    ¡°But didn¡¯t you say they¡¯ll shoot us?¡± Amica said.


    Milan didn¡¯t know what to say. At best case scenario, they wouldn¡¯t shoot at Eli and especially Amica, since they were less of a threat. But Milan himself was a different story.


    Leonia Knight and the officers neared with steady footsteps. ¡°I never expected you to escape from Rockwood Detention Facility in that fashion, Whitfield and Easton,¡± she said. ¡°But we¡¯ll make sure it won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    Milan winked at Eli and Amica. ¡°Sure. But first, try to catch us.¡±


    Then, the three of them bolted off into three different directions.

 CHAPTER 23 - Whats Worse than Death?

    Milan sprinted to the left. His legs worked so fast he almost tripped more than once. The adrenaline rushing through his arteries was the only thing that kept him going. If it weren¡¯t for the fact he was running for his life, he¡¯d collapse to the ground.


    Feet thumped behind him. He glanced back. The detective and two other officers were right on his trail. That meant one had to be following Eli and another Amica. Good. They stood a chance, Milan hoped.


    ¡°Stop right there!¡± Detective Knight yelled after him. ¡°Do not make this worse for yourself.¡±


    Worse? Milan chuckled. It was already so bad it couldn¡¯t possibly get worse. Dying didn¡¯t sound so bad, after all. At least, he¡¯d avoid prison. But no. He didn¡¯t want any of those things. He didn¡¯t want to die and let the mystery remain a mystery, and he didn¡¯t want to go to prison and waste his life away. He wanted to win at life. He had to. Even if he¡¯d never get his parents back, if he could just live without being accused of murdering them or being mentally ill or anything. He didn¡¯t want to die, either. The thought of it made his blood run cold. But at this moment, as he was running for his life, he knew anything could happen. He was lucky they weren¡¯t shooting at him. Why, he had no idea.


    He veered right, the solid asphalt shooting bolts of pain through his feet. The thumping of their feet got louder. They were closing in on him. Milan couldn¡¯t run faster than this. It was a miracle he was running at all.


    ¡°I¡¯m warning you, Milan Whitfield,¡± Leonia Knight said, her voice clear as if she hadn¡¯t been running. ¡°If you do not cease running, I will shoot.¡±


    Milan didn¡¯t cease running. Instead, his legs moved in zigzag in hope that she¡¯d miss. If he was shot, it was over.


    This was when Milan found out the detective meant what she said. A gunshot ricocheted off the asphalt, inches away from his foot. Milan¡¯s legs flew out from under him, trying to avoid the shot. His palms slid across the asphalt, and the grit shredded into his skin. He tried to stand, but his knees burned from the pain. A metallic, bitter taste filled his mouth. He¡¯d bit his tongue.


    They loomed over him in an instant, pinning his arms behind his back. The familiar metal clicked shut against his wrists. He wrung his arms, but it was no use. He couldn¡¯t escape. He¡¯d never be able to again.


    Another shot rang out, this time from a distance. Milan stopped breathing and he swallowed a lump in his throat. Was it Eli¡­ or Amica? He felt like he was going to throw up.


    ¡°Code one,¡± one of the officers said over the radio. ¡°We need a car quickly.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°You two, follow the others,¡± Leonia Knight said. ¡°I¡¯m keeping an eye on Milan Whitfield.¡±


    ¡°Yessir!¡± They dashed off.


    ¡°They have nothing to do with this,¡± Milan said. ¡°I forced them.¡±


    ¡°I suggest you keep silent. You don¡¯t want to make this worse than it is.¡± She narrowed her eyes, looking down at him with a twisted facial expression. ¡°Even if there¡¯s a slight chance you did not murder your parents, what you did to the correctional officer in the electrical room is enough to convict you.¡±


    Milan¡¯s stomach flipped. ¡°Is he dead?¡± The words escaped through a strained voice.


    ¡°No. He¡¯s in a coma and suffers from permanent brain damage. It¡¯s worse than death.¡±


    Milan¡¯s breathing came out ragged. He didn¡¯t know if it was a good or bad thing. No, it was a bad thing. Both dying and coma were terrible. But Milan had defended himself at that moment. That officer had tried to kill him. Strangle him to death. Was Milan supposed to let that happen? No way. It was simply Newton¡¯s third law of motion. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. He tried to kill him, so Milan tried to kill him back. It wasn¡¯t his fault.


    Scratch that. It was definitely Milan¡¯s fault. Forget Newton¡¯s third law of motion. Milan didn¡¯t have to strangulate him, and especially not for that long. Just enough for him to lose consciousness. There was no way Milan could justify his actions.


    A third shot banged out from afar, shortly followed by a fourth, and Milan knew that it was too late. He buried his face in the ground, biting his lower lip so hard he drew blood. Everything had gone wrong. Even his attempt to save Eli and Amica from his own actions. How did things end up this way? He never should¡¯ve escaped in the first place. Because of him¡­


    Four shots. Four shots in total. One for Milan, one for Eli and one for Amica. And another one for¡­ wait. What was Milan thinking? He never once considered if Eli and Amica¡¯s situation looked like Milan¡¯s. After all, Milan wasn¡¯t dead, he wasn¡¯t even shot, just shot at.


    He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. If he was right, and they¡¯d found a way out of the mess he¡¯d put them in, he needed to be prepared. He needed to kill time until they showed up.


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you shoot me?¡± he asked. This topic, the topic of killing, would get most detectives and officers boast about their moral values. ¡°Your aim can¡¯t be that bad. You could¡¯ve easily killed me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to dirty my hands with your blood,¡± Leonia said curtly. ¡°My job is catching criminals. Not killing them.¡±


    Her answers were short and precise, but Milan had to get the conversation going. ¡°Then you¡¯re terrible at your job.¡± He tried to provoke her. ¡°You caught the wrong guy.¡±


    Knight pushed up her glasses. ¡°I doubt that. All the evidence points to you.¡±


    ¡°I was framed!¡± Milan¡¯s body jolted as if trying to break free from the impossible cuffs.


    That was all he could say before a figure jumped out of the shadows.

 CHAPTER 24 - A Block Away

    Amica ran in the right direction. Or was it the left direction? She didn¡¯t know. It didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, winding along the road.


    ¡°Stop, little girl!¡± an officer shouted behind her. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    Amica drew her eyebrows together. Did he just say¡­ little girl? She was already eighteen. A year older than Milan. And she was taller than Eli. No one was calling them little girls. Was it her face? Her overalls? Or her wispy bangs?


    Amica swung her arms and curled her hands. Her throat burned as she gasped for air. If only she had her car.


    Oh, wait. Amica¡¯s stare intensified at the road ahead of her. The more she neared, the more she recognized it. The way it twisted, how the stems and bushes weaved upward, gracing the roadway on each side. How the ground felt under her feet. She was horrible at finding her way. But she couldn¡¯t possibly miss the avenue she had lived in for the past two years. She couldn¡¯t believe she lived one block away from Milan.


    Her legs would barely move as she dragged herself through the sloping roadway. The sound of a bullet echoed through the area from nearby, and Amica felt the hairs on her body rise. All sorts of thoughts crammed inside her head, about how Milan was bleeding out, how they were going to get the bullet out and if he would even make it. Gloom overcame her body, and if she wasn¡¯t in this situation, she would sit down and bawl her eyes out. Not Milan. Not her only friend. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Stop, missy!¡± the officer called after her, as if he hadn¡¯t heard a thing.


    Amica turned her head. He was close ¡ª ten feet behind her. She reached her hand out as if it would make her run faster. She pushed her legs, pouncing the last of her strength into them. She wouldn¡¯t make it. She wouldn¡¯t make it. She wouldn¡¯t make it.


    There it was. Her run-down car parked by the sidewalk, no mistake. The green color was fading, replaced with rust, and dents bulged out of its metal frame.


    Amica loved it. It worked perfectly.


    She pushed herself forward, before the sound of a second bullet struck. Closer, this time. It felt as if someone had punched her in her stomach or thrust a knife in her chest. First Milan and now¡­


    Amica steeled her resolve. She was not going to give up on them.


    She stopped dead in her tracks. Something gave out a bang against her car¡¯s front door, as she opened it.


    It was the policeman. His body sprawled on the roadway, knocked out cold.


    This car did come in handy.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amica said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t on purpose.¡±


    She¡¯d check on him if time would¡¯ve allowed her. But she was busy.


    Eli and Milan were first priority.

 CHAPTER 25 - Coward

    Eli bolted straight ahead. The road led into an area hemmed in by trees, standin¡¯ straight and ominous in the dark. They would do Eli a big favor. Not that she needed it.


    Her legs moved fast, twistin¡¯ between the trunks. She felt like a Ninja in an action movie.


    ¡°Not so fast, Elianna Easton,¡± the officer behind her said. ¡°You may think you can hide behind those trees, but I have the advantage. I have a gun.¡±


    Eli cringed. Did he think havin¡¯ a gun would make him win? It wasn¡¯t a fair fight, but that didn¡¯t mean Eli would lose. She didn¡¯t have a plan. Nope, she took things as they came.


    ¡°Freeze, or I¡¯ll shoot,¡± the officer said. ¡°I¡¯m not joking.¡±


    Eli stopped. She turned around with arms raised in the air.


    The officer chuckled, panting, as he reached her. ¡°That always works. You¡¯re all such cowards, you know that? You don¡¯t have the guts to stand up against the law.¡±


    The handcuffs rustled as he pulled them out of his pouch bag clipped around his waist. He grabbed Eli¡¯s hand. The sound of a shot from afar reached her ears.


    The officer snorted, probably in satisfaction. ¡°They got one of them. See, that¡¯s what happens.¡± But before he could continue his monologue, Eli thrust her head against his, clangin¡¯ against each other. Her brain vibrated inside her skull.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± The police officer rubbed his fingers against his blood-streaked forehead. ¡°You little-!¡± He pulled out the gun, a blast ringin¡¯ through the woods.


    Eli moved her head to the side, the bullet missin¡¯ her by an inch. Her legs shot forward, jumping on him. His scream echoed, as she clenched his nose against her teeth.


    She bit into his flesh. Hard.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He flailed with his arms, and another bullet shot out.


    Eli spat out blood. She stretched her neck, readying herself for her ultimate move: kickin¡¯ him between the legs.


    His mouth made a funny sound. He slumped to the ground, crouching.


    Eli laughed. But she wasn¡¯t done.


    She slammed her heel against his wrist, and his fingers let go of the gun.


    Now she was done. That¡¯d teach him not to mess with Eli Easton! She aimed the gun at his forehead with both arms outstretched.


    ¡°Go back and tell your buddies we got away.¡±


    The man¡¯s voice came out raspy. ¡°Come on. You don¡¯t even know how to use-¡±


    Eli pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The force made her muscles stiffen. The shot rang in her ears.


    She pointed the gun back at him. ¡°Do what I told you. Or I¡¯ll shoot.¡±


    The officer raised his arms, his eyebrows parting. His facial expression did a 180. He stepped backward, taking one step at a time before he sprinted away in the direction he came from.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the coward now?¡± Eli yelled. What a pathetic dude. Served him right.


    Eli darted left, in the direction of where Milan was. They wouldn¡¯t hurt Amica if they caught her. She hadn¡¯t done anythin¡¯ wrong. But Milan¡¯s situation was different. He was accused of murderin¡¯ his own parents. He was a wanted man, like in an action movie.


    And it was up to Eli to make the movie interestin¡¯.


    Eli ran, her swift movements barely makin¡¯ any sounds. She knew she had to be close when a familiar voice arose. With an advance, she hid behind a tree trunk.


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you shoot me?¡± It was Milan. ¡°Your aim can¡¯t be that bad. You could¡¯ve easily killed me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to dirty my hands with your blood,¡± a woman said. The same woman as before. ¡°My job is catching criminals. Not killing them.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re terrible at your job. You caught the wrong guy.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that,¡± the woman said. ¡°All the evidence points to you.¡±


    ¡°I was framed!¡±


    Eli¡¯s clutched the gun with her sweaty hands. It was now or never. She jumped out from the shadows, aimin¡¯ the gun at her face.

 CHAPTER 26 - The Second Escape

    Milan¡¯s eyes expanded, and his mouth was left open. This was the last thing he expected. Sure, he had prepared for it, but to see Eli in the flesh, not¡­ dead. But not okay either. Blood twirled down her forehead and cheeks, divided into two streaks on each side of her face. Her hands trembled, along with the gun in her hand.


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± she said. Her voice sounded more confident than she looked. ¡°We¡¯re tryna find the true killer. You needa let him go.¡±


    Leonia¡¯s eyebrows puckered, and her lips pinched together.


    Milan let out a shaky breath. He turned to the detective. ¡°Take your gun out and throw it in Eli¡¯s direction,¡± he said. ¡°Or she¡¯ll shoot. Right, Eli?¡±


    Eli nodded.


    Leonia Knight stood still as if contemplating her life. After what felt like minutes, she let out a ¡°tch¡± and did what she was told. Eli picked up the gun, never taking her eyes off her. Good idea. Leonia was stronger than she looked.


    ¡°Now, unlock these handcuffs,¡± Milan said. ¡°No sudden movements. Or she¡¯ll shoot. Right, Eli?¡±


    Eli nodded again. The detective slid her hand into her pouch. She looked at him with sharp eyes, pulling out a hand-held radio in a rash movement.


    ¡°Code eight-¡±


    Milan lurched up. He kicked the radio out of her hand and smashed it against the ground, splinters of plastic flying around.


    He locked eyes with the detective. ¡°You were wrong.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡± Her eyes seemed to darken.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve shot me when you had the chance. Now look.¡± Milan swayed his head. ¡°I escaped. Again.¡±


    ¡°Do not push your luck,¡± she sneered. ¡°You¡¯ll run out soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Keys,¡± Milan said.


    Leonia flitted her glance around. Was she waiting for someone to show up? They had to act fast before it was too late.


    Eli sent a shot toward the sky as if she¡¯d read Milan¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Unlock his cuffs. Or I¡¯ll shoot.¡±


    The detective¡¯s eyes burned. She yanked Milan¡¯s cuffs to her body. Milan stumbled. Tripping once was more than enough for one day. He didn¡¯t need to trip again.


    The cuffs unlocked, and he wrapped his fingers around his wrists. Words couldn¡¯t express how much hate he harbored for these restraints.


    ¡°See?¡± Milan said. ¡°Always go for the kill.¡±


    Air pushed through the detective¡¯s nose. ¡°Perhaps I will.¡±


    Milan didn¡¯t get to answer. Wheels glided across the asphalt, speeding toward Milan at full speed. Shit, were they already here? The yellow light blinded him, and he froze in his place. The car braked inches away from him. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Get in!¡±


    The tension left Milan¡¯s body when he grasped who it was. No time to hesitate. He jumped into the back seat. Milan¡¯s brain couldn¡¯t comprehend how they were all not only safe, but also about to escape. They had made it. He almost burst out laughing, but realized it was too inappropriate.


    Eli walked backward to the car, still pointing the gun at Knight. She opened the door, with her back turned, and hopped in beside Amica. The wheels bit into the gravel as Amica made a U-turn and drove away.


    Leonia¡¯s frame became smaller and smaller, but her eyes were set aflame, boring into Milan¡¯s soul. Those were the eyes of someone who refused to give up. Milan knew. He was glaring at her with the same eyes.


    He turned his back. Rain lashed against the windows.


    Amica gasped, her eyes shifting between Eli and Milan in the front mirror. ¡°You two look horrible.¡± She paused for a few seconds, and then murmured, ¡°I thought you had died.¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Eli said. ¡°Almost.¡±


    ¡°Close call,¡± Milan admitted.


    Amica nodded with a stiff movement. She steered left and parked her car on the sideway in front of a random house.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Milan snapped.


    Amica tapped her slender index fingers against the steering wheel. ¡°There was something important I never got the chance to say.¡±


    This is it, Milan thought. An icy sensation stabbed his insides. This was where Amica would double-cross them, reveal she was actually working for the police and that her plan was to capture them all along.


    ¡°I wanted to return the chessboard I borrowed from you. Remember we played chess together during the break time and you always won? That¡¯s why you told me to borrow it so I could practice.¡± Amica intertwined her fingers and looked down. ¡°And I did. But I still suck.¡±


    Milan¡¯s head felt dizzy, as if a thousand daggers sliced through his brain. What was she saying? What chessboard? He¡¯d never gotten to know Amica before today, and now she was telling him they played chess together?


    ¡°The thing is-¡± Amica opened the door. ¡°I thought I¡¯d return it since now¡¯s a good chance. What if I never get to return it to you? What if you die before I have the cha-¡±


    Milan¡¯s instincts took over and he seized her upper arm before she could rant further. Too many things didn¡¯t make sense, but none of it mattered if they didn¡¯t escape.


    ¡°Just drive the hell away,¡± he said. ¡°Please.¡±


    Amica took a second before she closed the door. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, as she set the car into gear.


    Maybe she could see the perturbation in Milan¡¯s eyes. Sure, their biggest concern right now was to get away, but the ¡®minor¡¯ problems kept creeping up in the background. And now, another mystery had been added to Milan¡¯s list of things that didn¡¯t make sense. Amica¡¯s words nigged at his mind. He used to play chess as a hobby when he was younger, so she obviously wasn¡¯t completely off the mark. The problem was, he¡¯d never talked to her before in his life (except for when he called her a klutz). There was no way what she¡¯d said fit with the facts logically. Except¡­


    What if all those things, like his teacher acting weird, the exam question not matching with the curriculum, and the release date of Damien and Travis¡¯ stupid game, playing chess with Amica, had all happened?


    If Milan simply didn¡¯t remember?


    They drove for what felt like hours.


    ¡°Where¡¯re we even goin¡¯?¡± Eli asked.


    ¡°I know a place where we can wash up and rest for a few hours.¡± Amica cast a glance in the front mirror. ¡°I don¡¯t think the police will find us there.¡±


    ¡°They will when you¡¯re drivin¡¯ like a snail.¡± Eli slammed her foot on the speeder, and the car pushed forward with a start.


    Milan stared out of the window. The moon lit up the night, enveloped by the stars illuminating the sky. From this distance, they looked like thousands of white dots.

 CHAPTER 27 - Cut from the Same Cloth

    Milan¡¯s eyes shot open when he felt a jolt in his body. His head rammed into the window.


    Amica¡¯s soft voice sang in Milan¡¯s ears. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t drive well when I¡¯m stressed.¡±


    Eli laughed. ¡°The wheel¡¯s gotta be wrecked from drivin¡¯ into that curbstone.¡±


    Milan didn¡¯t remember where he was for a second. Driving? Curbstone?


    Right. They had escaped in Amica¡¯s car.


    He rubbed his eyes. His entire body twinged in pain. Now that the adrenaline was gone, he could feel every burning sensation of his raw flesh scraping off the asphalt. His knees stung, and his palms weren¡¯t much better. And his body reeked of sweat. How long had it been since he¡¯d last showered? He never used to miss a day. Hygiene was essential. But considering his situation¡­ well, he didn¡¯t have a choice, did he?


    Amica turned off the car. ¡°We¡¯re here. I already texted him, so he knows.¡±


    Milan scrambled out of the car. Who was the ¡®he¡¯ Amica talked about? Milan considered the possibilities as they walked toward the front door. The house was small, the ceiling hanging low like a blanket covering the roof. Yellow light leaked through the windows.


    The door flung open, and a man with spiky, black hair appeared in the opening.


    ¡°I told you not to bring them,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re criminals. Murderers.¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± Eli said. ¡°I didn¡¯t kill nobody.¡±


    ¡°Neither did I,¡± Milan said. I almost did, though.


    ¡°We can talk about this inside, Aidan. Look at them.¡± Amica swayed her hands in their direction.


    Milan wondered how bad they had to look. Well, Eli looked pretty bad.


    The man, Aidan, leaned his hand on the doorway. He groaned, shaking his head. ¡°Fine! But not more than a few hours.¡±


    They went inside. It was a cramped living room, occupied by a couch, a TV, a wooden bookcase and a dining table. On the other side of the room, a door led into a corridor. Milan wasn¡¯t used to a living room like this, but it felt cozy, somehow. The couch was a soft navy blue, and there were more pillows on it than space to sit on. A spicy smell wafted in the room. The food was ready and set on the table. The chicken was encased in a creamy curry sauce with vegetables, and the fluffy rice made Milan¡¯s tongue swell in his mouth. His stomach twisted. He felt like he hadn¡¯t eaten in a decade.


    ¡°You¡¯re drooling,¡± Eli said.


    ¡°You¡¯re too.¡±


    ¡°No way.¡± Aidan plumped a stack of clothes and a towel into Milan¡¯s hands. ¡°You¡¯re not eating. Not before you take a shower. You¡¯re not sitting in my precious chairs with¡­ whatever you¡¯re wearing.¡± He gestured up and down Milan¡¯s frame. Milan¡¯s torn clothes were grimed with blood and dirt. It wasn¡¯t like Milan didn¡¯t get it. He was disgusting.


    A few moments later, after the three of them had showered and Eli and Milan had gotten their wounds bandaged, they sat at the table, ready to dig in.


    Aidan¡¯s clothes hung loosely over Milan¡¯s frame, and he had to use a belt for the pants. Not that Aidan was fat or anything, but his build was strong, brawny, in contrast to Milan¡¯s slender frame. Next to him, Eli sat, wearing a white t-shirt with a high V-neck. It fit her almost perfectly. Amica wore an identical one, just in wine-red. She drew her arms close to her body, eyes fluttering between Aidan, Eli and Milan.


    Milan cleared his throat. ¡°You haven¡¯t introduced us yet,¡± he said.


    ¡°O-oh right.¡± Amica¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°Aidan, this is Milan and Eli.¡± She gestured with her hands. ¡°Milan and Eli, this is my older brother, Aidan.¡±


    ¡°Resemble¡¯s uncanny.¡± Eli scratched the bandage around her forehead.


    Milan agreed. He¡¯d only asked to make sure. It looked as if their faces had been copy/pasted, just in a male and female form. The upturned eyes, the long eyelashes, the jet-black hair, the sharp chin. It was all the same.


    ¡°So, that¡¯s the guy from your school?¡± Aidan motioned with his head.


    ¡°The one I played chess with,¡± Amica said. ¡°And the only friend I have.¡±


    Milan rubbed his dry hands. He still hadn¡¯t had time to think things through before this topic was thrown onto him again. The entire thing felt like a big, fat lie. Not a lot of things made sense these past couple of days, but this was the icing on the cake. He was sure he would¡¯ve remembered if he and Amica had played chess together, if they had been friends. But the only¡­ ¡®friends¡¯ Milan had, were Damien and Travis. Not Amica. And yet, there was something in her eyes¡­


    Milan shook his head. He couldn¡¯t fall for it. If it was a lie, which it most likely was, it would unravel itself. All it took were some intruding questions.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have any other friends?¡± Milan asked.


    Amica¡¯s eyebrows drew inwards. ¡°Not really. At all. No one sees me or knows I¡¯m there. I¡¯m not good at small talk, and¡­ you know¡­¡±


    In the corner of Milan¡¯s eye, Eli stuffed her face in the rice, gobbling it up.


    ¡°Let¡¯s eat.¡± Amica chuckled, as if she wanted to escape the conversation.


    Suspicious.


    Milan had never gone hungry for more than a few hours. Never in his life had he starved. When the curry chicken lay in front of him, it was as if he couldn¡¯t control his hands. They acted on their own. Even after he¡¯d filled his stomach to its maximum capacity, he still took bite after bite.


    ¡°Did you make this?¡± Eli garbled, her mouth full of rice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Aidan said.


    ¡°My bro can¡¯t even cook instant noodles,¡± Eli said. ¡°I can¡¯t neither.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s easy,¡± Amica said. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you.¡±


    Milan almost sputtered out his food. He didn¡¯t know what was worse; that Eli didn¡¯t know how to make instant noodles, or Amica thinking it needed to be taught.


    ¡°Come on, Amica.¡± Aidan smiled softly. ¡°Remember last time? I don¡¯t think you should be teaching anyone how to cook.¡±


    Milan forgot for a second the reality of the situation he was in. A gentle warmth blossomed inside him. Here he was, a normal teenager living a normal life surrounded by (relatively) normal people. No jail, no police, no murder¡­ Until the picture of the last dinner, he and his parents ate together, flashed through his mind. His mom asking curios questions and his dad¡¯s excessive excitement. The last time he¡¯d seen them alive. And the first time he saw them dead, their corpses had bounced out of the closet. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, the recording confessing the crime in Milan¡¯s voice made everything worse. His heart dropped. He couldn¡¯t be wasting time like this.


    He stood. ¡°Let¡¯s look at the clues we found at my house. The earlier we get to the bottom of this, the better.¡±


    Amica, Eli, and Aidan shared looks with each other.


    ¡°We¡¯re eating,¡± Aidan said.


    Milan slammed his palms against the table. The plates bounced. ¡°I don¡¯t care! The police could be knocking the door down any second. We won¡¯t get any more chances.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cuz you told her to kill you next time she sees you,¡± Eli said.


    ¡°You did what?¡± Amica bolted upright. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I was just provoking her. But¡­¡± Milan nibbled the inside of his cheek. He couldn¡¯t get himself to say it out loud. That he also meant it. He couldn¡¯t waste his life away in prison for something he didn¡¯t do. If failing meant dying, then so be it.


    ¡°You won¡¯t have to die,¡± Amica said. ¡°Because¡­ well¡­ they won¡¯t have a reason to kill you, if you¡­ surrender yourself.¡± Her voice trailed off, the words hanging in the air. Maybe she realized that no matter what, Milan couldn¡¯t win.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± Milan said. ¡°Surrender myself to the police when I still have no idea who killed my parents and decided to frame me for their crime? No way. But I¡¯ll promise you all one thing.¡± He placed the palm of his hands against the table. ¡°If it turns out I was the culprit all along, I¡¯ll gladly surrender myself. Even I know when to admit defeat.¡±


    A pin-drop silence encased the room. Eli ate in silence, and Aidan had stopped eating at all. His arms were motionless, still holding the flatware. Amica bowed her head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start,¡± Eli pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket. ¡°This¡¯s what I found.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Milan said. ¡°Where¡¯d you get-¡±


    ¡°A jacket hanging in the hallway.¡±


    ¡°I told you to search for evidence, not money.¡± His jaw tightened, as he spoke.


    ¡°Hey, hey, is this the thanks I get for savin¡¯ your life?¡±


    Milan¡¯s blood boiled. It all made sense now. Everything she had done up until this point, the reason she was in jail in the first place, her kleptomaniac tendencies. It all boiled down to one thing. ¡°You were in for stealing, weren¡¯t you? Not for beating up a bunch of people.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°You¡¯re a thief.¡±


    ¡°Right on the money.¡± Eli stuttered out a laugh, her eyes shifting from Milan to Amica. ¡°Get it? Get it?¡±


    Milan ignored the urge to slap himself on his forehead. Out of all people he could team up with, he¡¯d chosen a thief. Now that her secret had been revealed, it was as if the word ¡®dishonest¡¯ was engraved with capital letters on her forehead. That was what thieves were. Dishonest, cunning, and deceitful. Everything Milan detested in humans. He hadn¡¯t forgotten that she¡¯d told Chet about his ¡°crime¡±, and that she lied about the prosecutor. But these actions contradicted with the fact that she had also saved his life, and if it hadn¡¯t been for her, he wouldn¡¯t have escaped jail. But so what? She was motivated by self-interest. If she hadn¡¯t saved Milan¡¯s life, she couldn¡¯t have escaped either.


    He would have to be more cautious about her. And what about Amica? She had to be hiding something under her fa?ade as well. He eyed her, but she grinned awkwardly at Eli¡¯s dumb joke, then turned toward Milan.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t find much. Just this.¡± She pulled out a scrambled piece of paper and drew her arm close to her body, hesitating, as if she didn¡¯t want to hand it to Milan.


    Milan didn¡¯t care. He seized it from her hand. Whatever it was, he had to know.


    56.3404¡ã N, 2.8016¡ã W


    Milan hardened his grasp around the paper.


    ¡°Coordinates,¡± Amica mumbled.


    Anyone could see that. The coordinates weren¡¯t the problem. It was the handwriting.


    It was the same person who had written the letter.


    ¡°Find out where this leads to on Maps.¡± Milan returned the paper to Amica. ¡°I also need a device that can view data on an SD card.¡±


    ¡°My phone,¡± Amica said. ¡°I¡¯ll go get it.¡± She ambled out of the living room into the corridor.


    Milan picked up the SD card from where he had put it earlier before taking a shower ¡ª on the TV stand. The contents of this could be essential. It could solve the mystery. But why did he find it in his room? Shouldn¡¯t the police have taken this in as vital evidence? What if this wasn¡¯t important, then? No. What if this evidence was planted after the police¡¯s investigation? On purpose.


    For Milan to find it.

 CHAPTER 28 - Your Own Worst Enemy

    Milan rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants before inserting the SD card into Amica¡¯s phone. It contained only one file, an MP3. He sat with a rigid back on the sofa, between Amica and Eli. He had to know what this card contained, but he didn¡¯t feel ready. He had a sinking feeling about this entire situation. And he understood why when the audio file started.


    ¡°Hello, future self.¡±


    Milan¡¯s blood ran cold. It was his voice. But it was inimical, void of emotions.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t remember recording this. You probably don¡¯t even believe you did. You don¡¯t believe you killed our parents. And I bet you think everyone¡¯s going insane, thinking it was you. But they¡¯re not insane. You¡¯re insane. We¡¯re insane.¡±


    Milan swallowed the lump in his throat. The killer was playing with Milan. It was a game to him. But the fact stood clear. Milan didn¡¯t remember killing them because he didn¡¯t. Simple.


    The recording rolled on. ¡°But I have proof. Concrete evidence. I will tell you something only you know. The only one in the world. Maybe you¡¯ll then realize it was you recording this. And realize you¡¯re the culprit.¡±


    Milan¡¯s heart pounded in his ears. He could barely hear a thing. He breathed in, trying to calm himself.


    ¡°Ten years ago, on that scorching summer day in July, you bought yourself a chocolate ice cream. You probably remember. It was so hot the ice cream melted down the cone before you could eat it. You were on your way home from Hope Park after spending time with Colin and Silas, two of your friends from elementary school. But you knew something was wrong the moment you stepped inside your house. You hid behind the ajar door to your parents¡¯ bedroom. They had no idea you were there. But you heard everything.¡±


    Milan stretched his collar as if it would make him breathe easier. This couldn¡¯t be what he thought. If it was, it would mean Milan was the one who¡­


    He shook his head.


    ¡°They were fighting. It was your first time witnessing it. They had never fought before. Not in front of you, at least. But their conversation made it clear ¡ª they hated each other.


    ¡°¡®I can¡¯t stand your guts¡¯, Mom said. Her voice was filled with a mix of different emotions. ¡®You¡¯re driving me insane with all your unconcern and carelessness. You either spend time with your friends or watch your horrible action movies. You¡¯re beginning to neglect Milan and forget me.¡¯ She threw her arms up to the air in defeat. ¡®If you didn¡¯t want to take responsibility as a father and as a husband, I never should¡¯ve married you.¡¯


    ¡°Then, the sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering into tiny shards resounded throughout the house. Mom gasped. Upon hearing that, you knew it had to be the vase on the windowsill. Her favorite red vase with her favorite flowers.


    You peeked into the room for one second.


    ¡°Dad said: ¡®You know what? Not a second goes by that I don¡¯t regret marrying you. You¡¯re an annoying bitch, always complaining about this and that. I¡¯m trying to live my life here, but I¡¯m buried under the mountain of responsibilities you put on my shoulders. I¡¯m doing everything I can, why don¡¯t you do anything for a change?!¡¯ He roared and the entire house submerged in his voice. ¡®I¡¯ve had it with you. I¡¯m leaving. For good, this time.¡¯ His voice sent shivers down your spine. You had never heard him so angry. Mad. But for better or for worse, Mom made a proposition. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°¡®Wait. Think about our son.¡¯ Her voice trembled. ¡®Do you not notice him at all? The way he looks at us when we¡¯re all having fun? When we cook together? And every time we¡¯re on vacation, he never wants to leave. If you leave this house now, he¡¯ll find out his entire life was a lie and it¡¯ll crush him,¡¯ she said. ¡®Let¡¯s pretend to be loving parents in front of our son. We won¡¯t ever have to talk when he¡¯s not there. We can get a divorce if that¡¯s what you want. But let¡¯s stay together until he moves out.¡¯


    ¡°Dad gave it some thought but had to agree. Even if they hated each other, they still loved you enough to want to deceive you. They were ready to sacrifice their own happiness, so you could be happy while remaining ignorant. Knowing this, you stormed out of the house and walked around in circles in Hope Park. When the sun was setting, you finally came home. The dinner was on the table. You pretended as if nothing had happened. So did they, and you never told anyone. Ever.


    ¡°Do you see it now? I¡¯m sitting here, Milan Whitfield, in the flesh, telling you a story only you could know. In other words, your past-self recorded this, and that can only lead us to one conclusion: you killed them.


    ¡°But I honestly don¡¯t blame you. No wonder you grew up being so suspicious of other people. Your parents lied to you for years. No wonder you wanted to kill them. We wanted to kill them. And we did.¡±


    The recording ended. Milan¡¯s hands trembled. He felt as if the world blackened before him. The bricks he had placed upon each other to convince himself he was innocent fell even as he clung to them. His thought-out plans to escape jail and find the culprit had gotten him to this point. Everything ignited on fire around him and there was nowhere to escape now. What he had fought so hard to achieve was wasted. All his efforts to prove himself innocent had backfired. He was guilty all along. And the proof was in front of him.


    ¡°That¡¯s not right.¡± Amica was the first to speak. ¡°Your parents didn¡¯t hate each other. Right, Milan?¡±


    Milan lowered his head and threw the phone on the coffee table with a quick motion. He couldn¡¯t look at her. ¡°They did.¡± His voice came out raspy. ¡°What the recording said ¡ª it was all true.¡±


    ¡°All of it?¡± Eli said. ¡°Also, that part where it said you killed them?¡±


    Milan¡¯s throat swelled. He opened his mouth to say ¡®no¡¯, but the word was stuck. Then, he tried to say ¡®yes¡¯, but his heart leaped, and his vision blurred.


    Milan stood. ¡°I need some fresh air.¡± He wandered out of the house, closing the door behind him. Then, he leaned his back against it and let himself slide down until he sat with his knees to his forehead. He looked at his hands. These were the hands that had killed his parents. Murdered them in cold blood. Stabbed them, getting their blood all over him. He wrenched his brain, trying to remember a second of what happened. What did his parents feel as he hovered the knife above them? He wondered about their facial expressions as they took their last breaths.


    He didn¡¯t want to be the one who did it. He¡¯d rather kill someone else. That correctional officer in the breaker room or whatever.


    Milan¡¯s heart wrenched and twisted in his chest. The worst part was not even knowing why he¡¯d done it. What did they do to deserve their own son killing them? So what if they had lied to Milan? They were trying to protect him. They sacrificed their own happiness for Milan, and this was how he repaid them. They didn¡¯t deserve it. They didn¡¯t deserve it. They didn¡¯t¡­


    Liquid dropped to his open palms and a snivel came out of his mouth. He¡¯d kept it together for so long, so why now?


    He clenched his fists and pinched his lips, trying to hold his explosions of emotions in. Soon, Amica or Eli would be looking for him. He didn¡¯t want them to see him like this. And no matter how many times he told himself that, the tears kept coming, and it was as if they never stopped.


    He missed his old life. He missed his parents. Even knowing that they hated each other and pretended to be happy, none of it could be compared to Milan¡¯s current situation. He¡¯d give anything to get it back. His perfect grades, his dream of studying physics at the university, hell, anything.


    Milan buried his face in his knees. He¡¯d finally found the culprit.


    And it was himself.

 CHAPTER 29 - Not Looking Back

    Milan stepped inside after he-didn¡¯t-know-how-long. His skin tightened by the tears that had dried on his face. Amica and Eli sat on the couch in the living room, and Aidan was nowhere to be found.


    Milan walked straight toward Amica.


    ¡°Can I borrow your phone?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Amica took one glance at him. ¡°You¡­ are you¡­ I mean, have you been-¡±


    ¡°Phone.¡±


    She complied. ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to turn myself in.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Amica reached for the phone, but Milan nudged her backward.


    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? I¡¯ll surrender if it turns out I was the culprit all along. And I am.¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t know for sure,¡± Eli said. ¡°What if the dude in the recordin¡¯s lyin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not. What he said¡­ no, what I said in the recording was the truth. My parents hated each other. I was the only one that knew.¡±


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± Amica said. ¡°If it¡¯s true your parents hated each other, wouldn¡¯t there be a chance that they also¡­ killed one another?¡±


    Milan considered the thought before shoving it away. ¡°No. If they had, what was Damien¡¯s knife doing there? Neither my dad nor mom had it. And what about the recording they found later in my house, where I confessed the crime? And now this recording ¡ª my parents couldn¡¯t be recording it, I mean, hell, it¡¯s my voice!¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t remember doin¡¯ it,¡± Eli said.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Sure. But that¡¯s not the only thing I don¡¯t remember. I don¡¯t remember playing chess with Amica, either. Or I remember things differently. And other weird things are going on with me.¡±


    Amica reached for the pleated sofa arm, gliding her finger against the velvet fabric. ¡°It¡¯s not adding up, right? The mystery isn¡¯t solved. Try listening to the recording again. Maybe you¡¯ll remember something.¡±


    He was about to reject ever doing that again, but before he had the chance, Eli spoke.


    ¡°Amica¡¯s right, MW. Someone¡¯s gotta be tryin¡¯ to frame you.¡±


    Milan suppressed a sigh. That reminded him of Eli¡¯s joke back in the detention center. Milan had thought like her initially back then, but how else could the person who recorded the audio know about what had happened that day? Milan¡¯s parents hadn¡¯t told a soul in order to uphold their ¡®happy family¡¯ image. Besides, they weren¡¯t the kind of people who talked with outsiders about their relationship issues. And Milan sure as hell had never told anyone. So, he could only come to one conclusion: he had to be the one who killed his parents.


    ¡°I need to talk with you.¡± Aidan walked into the living room out of nowhere, eyes glaring into Milan¡¯s. ¡°Privately.¡±


    Amica and Eli looked at each other before they left. Milan opened his mouth, but Aidan¡¯s fierce look made him close it again.


    ¡°I only let you in because Amica asked me to,¡± he said. ¡°And the only reason I¡¯m not calling the police as of this moment is because I respect you as her friend. But you need to leave, now.¡±


    Milan narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re kicking me out.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t you realize what¡¯ll happen to us if they find out we helped you? Besides, you said it yourself. The police could be knocking down this door any moment. I worked way too hard in my life to be throwing it away, and I worked hard for Amica so she could have a decent life as well. I won¡¯t let her get into trouble. Ever.¡±


    Milan didn¡¯t need a second to figure out Aidan wasn¡¯t wrong. He couldn¡¯t stay here any longer. He had caused them enough trouble as it was. He remembered Eli¡¯s face as she witnessed Chet¡¯s brain being blown out. Eyes widened, ghostly skin and as motionless as a corpse. She had been horrified. That was what Milan had put her through because of his plan. And if they found out Amica had helped Milan, she could kiss her old life goodbye. She never got to study for the exam she never wanted to attend. This was everything Milan had caused. Not to mention what had caused this mess to begin with ¡ª him killing his parents.


    Aidan handed him a long, gray raincoat that had been draped over the back of the dining chair. ¡°It¡¯s going to rain. Wear this. And don¡¯t show your face here again.¡±


    Milan accepted the offer and thanked him for food and shelter in a soft, low voice. He threw the coat over his frame and left without looking back.

 CHAPTER 30 - The Abandoned Building

    Aidan was right. The first drops of rain fell gently. Not long after, it came down in showers, like needles falling from the sky, pricking his skin. He threw the hood over his head.


    Milan¡¯s heart felt heavy. His mind went back to the other recording the good-for-nothing attorney had mentioned. The description of the crime made him want to throw up. Milan didn¡¯t just ¡®kill¡¯ them. He plunged Damien¡¯s knife inside their abdomens as his mother screamed his father¡¯s name. After they were dead, he continued stabbing them and proceeded to record himself describing how he¡¯d done it. In detail.


    Milan trudged along the road. Growing up, it hadn¡¯t bothered him that much that his parents hated each other. He couldn¡¯t hear them screaming and fighting at night. Or during the day, for that matter. On the outside, everything was great. But Milan knew deep down how they felt. If he hadn¡¯t been born, they would¡¯ve left each other. Their misery was Milan¡¯s fault. But what was worse was them lying to him. For years they had lied to his face, hiding the ugly truth beneath their fake laughter and made-up bliss, trying to pull this ¡®we¡¯re-such-a-happy-family¡¯ bullshit. They¡¯d never been happy. Not truly.


    Milan walked for miles. His socks were drenched, and he felt as if he was walking barefoot through a puddle. What would happen if a police car showed up right now? He¡¯d get arrested, be taken into a detention center, go on trial and get his life sentence. Then, he¡¯d spend the remainder of his life in a cramped prison cell with other criminals like himself. Murderers, thieves, robbers, abductors. He never thought he¡¯d commit murder. But here he was. If there was a tiny chance he didn¡¯t kill his parents, he still almost killed that guard back in the electrical room. He didn¡¯t know what came over him. The only thing he could think of back then was the need to escape. He didn¡¯t want to go to prison for something he didn¡¯t do. He¡¯d been so sure he hadn¡¯t done it. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    A peal of sharp laughter scratched against Milan¡¯s ears. His eyes shifted around, but it was impossible to see through the curtain of darkness. Then, he realized no one was there at all. It was Milan himself.


    He was laughing.


    He glued a hand to his mouth, but he couldn¡¯t stop. Had he officially gone insane? Ambling in the middle of the road, his laughter filled every inch of the way. He gave up trying to hold it in.


    His fingers went numb. So numb, Milan thought they¡¯d fall off, one by one. Why had the temperature dropped? It was late Spring. It shouldn¡¯t be this cold. Something came over him. He wanted to take the coat off and feel every drop of rain on his body. Maybe if his insides went as numb as his fingers, he wouldn¡¯t feel a thing. Not the pain of losing his parents, nor the pain of the thought of him ending their lives.


    But the rain stopped as fast as it had begun. Milan threw his hood down. A gray building perched in the distance, shrouded by tall grass. As he got closer, he realized it hadn¡¯t been used in a while. Graffiti was sprayed all over the dull walls, the grass reached his knees and the air inside was damp and musty.


    Milan eyed the sky, where dappled light seeped through the thick clouds. He¡¯d been walking until dawn. His legs trembled, and his eyelids felt heavy. He trotted inside and fell asleep within a second.