𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒. ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳ ᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ¹

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.