𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 52.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 on Figure Eight, with the presence of small stars poking through the night clouds, and the soft swaying of a breeze between the perfectly carved landscapes. My legs ached, and my stomach groaned as it cramped, arms clutching over my clothing as if it would help anything. The stray branches and prickly leaves between houses scratched at my ankles and calves as they pounded on the ground, the trees around us swirling into vast blurs— smears of different shapes and colours from the quick whipping of my head in every direction.

Ears, listened in to an equivalency of heavy breathing, and wailing sirens in the distance. They were after him, everyone was. With his hand always staying locked with mine, no matter how many sharp turns of abrupt stops, our fingers stayed intertwined, as we ducked and tumbled between shrubs, crouching behind front-porch bushes, all on the grounds of the rich side. Skid marks from stopping and shuffling, caused indents on their perfectly cut lawns out front and in backyards, and my shoes newly stained with a dark brown, mixed with a green, from running in the dirt paths and gardens.

Clothes, were soiled and covered with everything we fell, slid, and jumped on, barely visible in the darkness that cascaded over the island. The only thing on me that remained untouched, were the bracelets around my wrist. They slid and collided with each push of a fence, but stayed put on my arm, moving with me. My heart was beating through the t-shirt I was wearing, the same t-shirt I had put on the morning of Sarah's abrupt vacation to the Bahamas, only a few days before. The baby-blue colour of it was tinted and stained.

By the time the sun had fully gone down over the water, we were running through Church street on Figure Eight— one of the streets I had explored on my first few days. I wasn't quite sure how exactly we had made it to the complete other side of the island, and why, why were were sprinting between the most marvellous modernized homes I had ever seen in all my life. The Cut was far gone, only postcard-perfect mansions surrounding every angle of us.

It was daunting to look around in every direction and see residences taller than every tree, but nearly refreshing to know that any one of them could serve as a hideout for the night. Except, that was the demoralizing effect of it all— everyone on the island was looking for John B, and there was no safe place to stay the night.

The sun was down and the streetlights were off, but the whole island wasn't sleeping. And just like how every Kook had power in their houses, every islander had a reason to be up. I didn't know what time it was, and although there were stars forming in the sky, every mansion had lights on— eyes on the lookout, on the search for a teenage boy. At some point in our running, our sprinting through beach houses, homeowners had glanced out their open windows to see two kids zooming past their properties, and even stuck their heads outside to get a glimpse at their possible twenty-five thousand dollar reward, if they called the cops fast enough. That was undeniably the reason why the sirens increasingly got louder and louder by the second— they were onto us.

"Shit!" John B cursed under his breath, as he pulled me to stop behind a perfectly-cut shrub.

We had just been running through another backyard of someone unknown, hopping over their fence and ducking between the ferns in their garden. He pulled me down to crouch behind a shrub on their front yard, as a flash of headlights illuminated the leaves surrounding us, causing my eyes to close shut tightly. The sirens pierced my ears.

We stayed put, my heart beating out of my chest, while the cop car came into view. It felt as though my body paused for a moment, thinking they seen us hiding. But when the car didn't stop, and kept its steady pace along the street, I let out a long breath of air.

"Come on," John B stood up, keeping his head ducked down to cover his face, his hand squeezing mine tighter.

Those were the only words that he'd been saying since we hopped out of Kiara's car. A muffled series of "come on" and "this way", or mutters of swear words, all mixed between heavy pants. I hadn't really said much at all, only cussed under my breath as well, not having the energy, or, the air, to muster up anything else.

As if it wasn't on the floor already, my jaw fell open when he ran us into the vacant street, in plain sight beneath the lights spilling out from the houses around us. I hadn't gotten the energy to ask him if he knew where we were going, or if he had any destination in mind, but that wasn't an issue. What was an issue, was the distant beam of headlights, again, far down the street ahead of us. There was another cop car, it's sirens approaching slowly, but surely, far down the road.

I let out a gasp as John B's sneakers ceased against the paved street, abruptly stopping to pivot in the next direction. He nearly fell against me, tripping on his own feet, which caused me to stumble back, my eyes growing wide.

"This way," he huffed, jerking his head towards a beach house not far from where we were.

I could barely nod my head, but I tried to, and in a jumbled motion, we were hopping over the ferns and tall grass plants that barricaded the mansion's perimeter. I looked ahead to see an open garage. We jogged side-by-side, right into the large garage without an extra thought. I simply prayed that no one was hiding in there.

I let out a long sigh, almost a refreshed breath, but there was really nothing to be refreshed about— they were still looking for him.

His hand tore away from mine as he lunged towards the light switch, placed along the wall. With a flick of his finger, the space around us blackened, enveloping us into a darkness. I could see the outline of John B's facial features as he rushed passed me, his hand placing on the side of my arm for a sense of reassurance, before urgently pressing on the controls to close the garage door. I looked back at the garage door slowly reeling shut, its volume loud.

"Come— under here," he suggested, breathing heavily as he crouched down onto his knees. I quickly rushed over to where he was sliding himself underneath a work table.

Careful not to be seen, I kept my eyes on the closing door, not watching my own feet. They tripped over one another, and before I knew it, my head was coming in contact with the sharp edge of the table.

"Charlie!" John B gasped, hardly taking notice in the volume of his words.

I fell down to my knees as a sharp and searing pain ricocheted through my whole head and down my neck, immediately sending me into an instant headache. I felt a sense of relief for a split second, almost zoning out completely.

But I still knew where we were, I still knew why we had been running, and I still knew why we were hiding in a random Kook's garage. It just all became a bit fuzzy.

"Oh my, god—" John B grabbed both of my arms as he sat up straight, pulling me towards him gently.

"I'm fine," I huffed out, sitting down on the hard floor. My voice came out low and raspy, as I tried to catch my breath. Our voices were low whispers.

"No you're not fine—" he urged quietly, turning his body towards mine as I leant my back against the wall. He had his hands wandering over my head and arms, searching for anything else.

I felt a warm substance run down from my hairline to my temple, causing me to reach up and feel for it. "Oh shit," A tiny giggle, if not, just a breath of air, fell past my lips when I brought my fingers back down. In the darkness of the garage, I could see a small and thin coating of dark red blood on my fingertips. "Yeah, maybe I'm not—" my words came out between heavy breaths, my chest heaving in and out unsteadily.

"You're bleeding," John B muttered with a worried tone, his own hand reaching up to see the wound. It wasn't that big of an injury, but when he touched the small gash, I flinched, hard. "Oh my god— Charlotte, you're bleedi—"

Suddenly there was a knock on the garage door, causing it to ruffle stiffly. There were more sirens wailing in the distance.

I shot my head in the direction of it, my breath hitching. John B pushed himself closer to me.

There was a static noise, and then a female voice came on over a radio, "All units, reports if a white male running through backyards in the one-hundred block of Church Street,"

"Oh my god," I closed my eyes shut in a hard blink. My head was pounding, and so was my chest.

The radio repeated the same message. Then, we heard slow steps from heavy shoes walking along the garage door. And finally, another knock, this time louder.

"We have to go—" John B could barely finish his sentence as he crawled out from underneath the table, his hand clasping with mine. He stopped and turned, making sure I got out okay, before pulling us towards the door in a rush, the door that lead to the inside of the home.

My legs were close to giving out, and despite having a bleeding head, I was enjoying— as much as I could in the situation— sitting down after hours of profuse running, jumping, and crouching. But I raced to stand up, anyways, and let him pull me through the door.

His hands on my back, John B carefully shoved me into the warm house first, and slowly closed the door behind him. He paused, catching his breath. Meanwhile, I stood, gawking at the huge paintings along the walls of the hallway, all while keeping one hand over the injury on my forehead. My chest was heaving. The ringing in my head increased tremendously from the bright light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, causing my eyes to squint shut.

John B grabbed my hand again, newly leading us around the bend. I didn't know where we were going, but we were profusely stepping on the perfectly glossed hardwood floors of this modernized house— until we weren't. I was looking around with squinted eyes for other people, fingers on my bleeding cut when John suddenly stopped mid-walk, ending with me running into his back. There was a new blood stain just below his shoulder, from my hand.

"John B?" A boy's voice spoke out, and for a second, my mind couldn't focus on who it belonged to, partly from the ringing in my ears.

I winced, and took a step to the side, landing eyes on Kelce, one of Topper's friends. I had only seen him twice, first at the Kook party Sarah had dragged me to, and then at midsummers. My lips departed with a shock, at the first interaction with another person— after the island got sent into lockdown.

Kelce was sitting at his kitchen island, on the barstool, with a jug of milk and a cereal box in front of him. He dropped the spoon, causing it to clatter against the porcelain bowl.

"Hey, man," John B let out a shaky breath. He put two arms up at his chest.

"John B." Kelce was slowly standing up from his stool, eyes wide as he stared at us.

"Ju— just listen to me for a second, relax," John B tried to stay calm.

Kelce shook his head from side-to-side only once, "Man, what are you doin' here," he was slowly growing vile, but nervous, at the same time.

"Please— just listen, man," John urged, his voice soft, "Can she use your bathroom, she- she's bleeding," he motioned down to me.

I took my fingers away from my forehead, staring down at the, now, thicker coat of blood stained on my fingertips.

"I know who you are," Kelce tilted his chin up in my direction. He was taking slow steps back, "Sarah's best friend, huh, he do that to your head?" he glanced to John B, speaking dangerously.

I shook my head slowly, my mouth shut.

"Please, just like a, like, like, a bandaid or something," John B was talking fast. "And then we'll go— I swear, man, I swear!"

"Nah, bro, I know what you did!" Kelce raised his voice, "And you need to get out my damn house! Right no—"

"Look I didn't do it! Just listen to me—" John B was urging.

At this point Kelce was backed up into his cupboards, "Don't talk to me!" He shouted, "I know what you did alright!"

They yelled between one another, and the ringing in my head became so loud which each word thrown, that I nearly fell to the floor. Before I could've, though, I turned on my heel, and rushed for the first room, the first room that could be a bathroom.

Kelce shouted out as John B got the message and followed me, footsteps echoing on the ground behind. He was running after us.

Just as I thought I'd reached a dead end, I felt two hands on the sides of my arms, shoving me into a room at my side. I took notice in a washing machine and dryer, along the far wall.

"No, no, no, no," I winced, feeling the pain in my head grow even larger.

Kelce pounded on the door repeatedly, and then stopped. He let out a gasp, filled with happiness, and his footsteps echoed away from the room, but then soon returned. John B had his ear pinned up on the door.

"Kelce?" He questioned, his tone of voice sounding like he knew something was getting worse.

I leant my body on the washing machine, my legs grew numbed, as something made a thud against the door. Then, a sudden flash of fear plastered over John's face, and he hurried to grab the knob, eagerly twisting it. But it wouldn't twist. It was stuck.

And by the sound of Kelce's laughter vibrating on the walls outside, I knew we were stuck.

Kelce was shouting something, and it was confirmation, that he had us pinned into a corner. He laughed and shouted as his voice trailed away, and his steps made their way down the hall.

John B let out a loud groan, and punched the door a few times, out of anger. I let out a shaky breath, and slid myself down to sit on the floor, back leaning against the machine. John B looked over at me.

"Here— Charlie, here," he shuffled his hands in a basket of clothes sitting on top of the dryer. He pulled out a shirt and handed it to me. "Use this on your head,"

I grabbed the clean t-shirt, and removed my fingers from covering over the gash, replacing it with the cloth material. I closed my eyes, letting my head rest on the washing machine behind me. John B placed a kiss on the part of my forehead that wasn't bloody, before standing up.

While I tried to calm my breathing, John B was ruffling through every possible item in the laundry room, trying to break open the door somehow and in someway. Nothing was working. And he threw each item down after each failed attempt. While he cussed and groaned, and while my head pounding relentlessly, I thought. Never had I pictured myself sitting in some boy's laundry room, trapped by a teenager, while hiding from the cops.

When the waiting became unbearable, and John B had given up entirely, footsteps were heard coming back. But this time— not just Kelce. There was whispering, but the constant ringing in my head made it hard to listen closely.

"Knock Knock!" Kelce shouted through the door.

"Hey— hey, hey, Kelce," John B rushed towards it, "Hey, buddy," he rattled the door handle. "Just— let us out, man,"

"I don't think so, bitch," Kelce shouted back, "Word on the street is that you got a bounty on your head, bro,"

"It's not— no, no," John B tried to deny, but they didn't listen. He looked to me.

"Twenty-five thousand, cash money, dead or alive," Kelce let out a loud laugh, a mocking laugh, "Isn't that right, John B?"

John B put his head in his hands. There was more whispering from outside the door, something about cops. I opened my eyes, wide, as someone ran away from the laundry room.

"Look— Kelce, just, just let us out, man." John B was pacing.

"Yeah, Kelce isn't here, bro, it's Topper," His familiar voice spoke, muffled through the door. "And who's us, who you got in there, huh,"

John B shot his eyes to me immediately, a worried look on his face. I look at him the same, feeling a wave of relief spill over my shoulders.

"Topper—" I exclaimed, standing up. I wasted no time in rushing towards the door, pinning my body against it. "It's me— it's Charlie— Charlotte," I hurried. I dropped the t-shirt on the ground. "Sarah's friend, you remember me, right, from the party and midsum—"

"Charlotte," Topper hummed with a surprise, almost mockingly, "Funny seeing you here—"

"Look— Topper, can you let us out, please, just," my words were quick, through heavy breaths, "Please."

"And you're here, because," he mocked. "Oh shit," he laughed loudly, "Did you help him shoot the sheriff?"

"I just— please, you need to let us out!" I banged my hands on the door. "People are in danger!"

"I thought you knew this guy was bad news, Charlotte," he laughed. "Cmon, you're smarter than tha—"

"Just open the fuckin' door!" I screamed.

"What a fuckin' shame, I mean, you could've joined us Kooks, but nah," he spoke sarcastically, "You guys in love, or what?" He snickered. "On the run together?"

"Let us out, you piece of shit—" I kicked the door with my foot.

"Look what he's done to you," he laughed again, "God damn Pogues—"

"Let us out, Top!" John B yelled from behind me.

"No, I don't think so," he denied, "You trynna talk your way out of thi— just cut the bullshit alright? Like, like, the chickens are roostin', brother, it is over for you, John B," he chuckled. "You are in some deep shit, now."

"Can you— just, can you please get me a bandaid," I said, through the crack of the door, "Please— or like, like a, like a bandage, please, I cut my head, Top,"

"You cut your head," he repeated, not believing it. "Yeah okay, I'm not leaving this fuckin' door."

"She's bleeding, Topper, get her something!" John B hit the door, aggressively.

Topper let out a groan, and I didn't think he'd actually listen, but somehow he agreed. Soon, as the blood trailed down my fingers, a large bandaid was slid under the door, and one tissue.

I let out a sigh of relief, and reached down for it, immediately tearing off the cover.

"I didn't shoot the sheriff," John B defended, as he helped me plaster the bandaid over my wound.

"Oh, so, you didn't shoot the sheriff," Topper repeated, scoffing loudly. "The island's on lockdown because you didn't shoot her."

"It was Rafe," John shouted, "Rafe Cam— Sarah saw the whole thing!"

"Oh, yeah, my bad, it was Rafe," Topper scoffed again, speaking sarcastically.

"Topper— I swear to god," I stood up straight, "Sarah is in danger, Topper, I don't know if she's alive— you have to let us out of this room—"

"Oh, so, now you're telling me Sarah is in danger," he laughed. "And why should I believe you, hm. You're the bitch that corrupted— you know," he was leaning on the door, "She was fine before she met you, yeah— yeah, we were happy, yeah."

"That doesn't matter anymore, let us—"

He hit his hand on the door, causing me to reel back, "And then suddenly," he yelled. "You guys go to Chapel Hill together, and she hates me, right, doesn't wanna talk to me? Does that sound about right, Charlotte!"

John B hit the door, "Don't yell at her—"

"You two," Topper scoffed, "You two did this to her, huh. She tell you about everything, Charlotte?"

"Maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' dick— your girlfriend wouldn't break up with you, Top!" I yelled at the door, "So shut the fuck up— and let us out of this fuckin' room, you son of a bitch—" I cut myself off by kicking the door repeatedly, and hard.

Before Topper could say anything else, sirens began to wail in the distance.

"Yeah, nice try, guys," he chuckled menacingly, "But the cops are here, this is the end for you, man."

I closed my eyes in a blink so hard I began to see stars, my jaw clenched. He continued to chuckle. If I could, I would've broken down the door. But when I turned around, to see John B crouched on the floor, pulling out the dryer machine, I stopped myself.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right," Topper was saying, "This is the end of your little movie, all right? It's over!"

I was too focused on John B, who had succeeded in ripping the dryer away from the wall, revealing a rectangular vent.

"Help," he whispered, as he used his fingers to try and peel the vent off.

Immediately, I fell to my knees beside him, and placed my hands along it as well. With the help of a few items around the room, the vent finally pried off, to reveal a rectangular hole, leading right outside. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

And then, it was only a matter of time before we were crawling out, and running through the backyard.

✰༄✰

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 🙈

𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 !!