//EDITED//

The heavy footsteps and shouting decrease as I run for my life down the empty streets of New York. I take crazy turns and routes to throw them off my trail, and I guess it's working.

The perks of living in NYC for most my life.

I stop near a bus station to catch my breath and come up with a plan. Walker knows who I am, where I live, and where I work. I can't go back to the apartment nor can I go back to the office. Going to the police is my best option, but I don't want to—not tonight at least. I will go tomorrow morning and tell the officers everything, but that still leaves another question unanswered.

************

I raise my hand and knock on the cold wooden door.

I hope he's here.

He better be here.

Before I enter the apartment complex, I debate whether I should go in or not. I mean, I look like I have been a part of some kind of war. My hair and my clothes are not in good condition. I have cuts and bruises all over my body, and blood stains. Finally, I get over it and walk inside. Thankfully, the only person there is the receptionist and security guard, and they are fast asleep.

Now, here I am, looking for the only person I can ask for help. After a few minutes, the door swings open. In front of me stands my colleague and best friend, Mike. From the messy hair, dazed eyes, crumpled sweats, and lack of shirt, I can tell I woke him from his beauty sleep.

"Look, kids, I already told you I didn't run over your darn cat. It was simply in the way of—"

He stops talking and looks at me with squinted eyes.

"Oh shit, I totally forgot!"

He runs back inside and leaves the door open with me still standing here, confused.

Okay then?

Mike comes back with half a chocolate bar and an apple. He hands it to me and I accept it, still confused.

I think he's lost it.

"Okay, well, nice costume and Happy Halloween." He says, and shuts the door in my face.

Firstly, Halloween isn't for a couple of weeks.

And secondly, who the fuck gives a half-eaten chocolate bar and an apple to a kid?!

Pissed off, I knock the door again, this time using more force. Once again, Mike opens the door but he now has a pissed off expression just like mine.

"What the hell do you want dude?!"

"The last time I checked, I was not a dude—and who the hell gives this shit to little kids?!"

Mike stares at me for a long time, and then his eyes dilate with recognition. Guess the idiot has figured it out. He continues to stare at me, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Then he slowly walks forward and pokes me in the face once, then starts poking my sides.

"What the hell Mike?! Have you gone insane?"

"Thea!" Mike yelles.

His arms fly around me and he hugs me like his life depends on it. I awkwardly pat his back.

"You're alive!!"

"Eh, that could change at any moment if you don't release me" I say, struggling to breathe.

Blood is pouring out of my new wounds, and my head is spinning, making everything a blur.

"Oh my God Thea! You're bleeding!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

My vision is completely blurry now, and I think I'm slowly starting to lose consciousness.

"Thea! Thea! Please stay with me! Thea!"

Mike's yelling is the last thing I hear before the world goes completely dark.

Dammit, not again!!

******

I feel like I have a terrible hangover. My head is pounding and my body feels like I have run a marathon. Groaning, I slowly open my eyes and get up from my bed. For some reason, my surroundings feel weird. As I looked around the room, none of my stuff is here.

Was I robbed?

Then the smell of food hits my nose and it is delicious. Wait—Jake never cooks this early in the morning. Heck, he never really makes food that smells this good.

Where the hell am I?

Slowly getting up, I walk over to the door. My muscles protest in pain and my head feels like it is having a mini party in there.

God, what did I do last night?

Before I reach the door, I see something sitting on the desk that looks familiar. Steering my feet towards the object I recognize it as a camera. But it isn't just any camera, it is my best friend Mike's special camera.

I'm in Mike's apartment?

And slowly the events start to return to my memory. The illegal trade, Claudia, and my boss dying, getting kidnapped, Jake getting kidnapped—Jake dying.

I let out a sob as I remember Jake's death.

My brother is dead. I will never see his smile again. Never hear his laugh, and roll my eyes at his stupid jokes. I will never have a person to run to for help. I will never have someone to argue with over silly things. I will never have another older brother. Tears start to form and fall down my face, and I let them.

"Thea," Mike's soft voice and knock break me out of my thoughts.

I wipe away all the tears and face him with a small smile, but I am greeted with a concerned look from him.

"You're awake."

"Yeah," I croak out.

"Oh Thea!" Mike runs up to me and gathers me into a small hug. "You were out for about a day, and I was so worried."

"Wow, I slept for a day?"

"Yeah, and I was so worried because I couldn't do anything. I mean, I can't even take you outside much less to the hospital."

I looked at him, confused.

"Why couldn't you take me to the hospital?"

Mike looked at me and scratched his neck.

"Um...Thea you just woke up, maybe you should get something to eat and, you know, to try to gain some energy."

I stare at Mike, suspicious. He is lying, I can tell. Mike will always scratch his neck and fidget around when he gets nervous or is hiding something.

"Mike, what's going on?" I ask.

He lets out a breath and walks out of the room.

Rude much?

I follow him into the living room and he picks up the daily newspaper. He turns around and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Read this, Thea," he says, holding the newspaper out to me.

"What's going on?" I repeat.

"Just read the paper."

I take it from him and read the heading that is printed in big, bold, letters. My heart stops and my breathing becomes uneven.

How?

This can't be real.

I re-read the words and they haven't changed.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I ask Mike, waving the paper.

"No—no, it isn't Thea,"

But it can't be—this can't be me!

"You're a wanted criminal Thea. For murder."