Muffin

Author’s Note: I just realized I haven’t been eating anything except bread for the last four days… No sleep and limited food intake make Mahsa a sick girl. ;( So I apologize if this chapter’s a bit… bleh. It was hard to do. Ending things always is! But I hope it’s not a total, heaping pile of disappointment.

 

The faster I ran, the slower I felt.



It got to the point that no matter how much I pushed myself, my muscles seemed to be working backwards against me. The bag felt heavy, my feet heavier, and sure enough the heaviness spread throughout my limbs until my bones felt like obstacles instead of enablers. Slowing down seemed my best option, but the desperate need to right my wrong drove me forward. I needed to warn Asher, to help him run away.



The problem remained in the fact that I had no idea where I was, or how to get to my destination. Although the location given to me might have been enough for the police to find their way, I only found myself lost in the maze of storage containers lining the area.



“Vincenzo!” I yelled out into the emptiness. Calling for him probably wasn’t a good idea, considering my voice could draw unwanted attention, but I was steadily running out of ideas. I didn’t know what else to do. Every turn I took brought me face-to-face to another container, another dead end, another wall destined to box me in. The maze only opened up for the echo of my voice, seeping like solder into the cracks. “Vincenzo! Vincenzo!”



I skidded to a diffident stop when the water came into view, a horrific sight of bright blue that seemed endless from my perspective. The wind that swayed the surface of the water set my nerves aflame, sending a sense of revulsion through my gullet and down to my gut. My arms moved up to protectively wrap around my core, hugging my chest tight as the queasiness hit me. I could already see the car hitting the water. I could already hear the blare of the sirens.



But the second part wasn’t just my imagination; that sound blasted out through my memories and straight into reality. The echo of the screeching alarm signaling authorities peeked from a distance, inching closer by the second, growing louder and louder.



“This way!” someone yelled.



I whipped my head up, following the sound of the voice to an opening between two blue metal boxes to my right. The quick pitter-patter of footsteps whizzed by, a quick thunk thunk thunk that matched the beating of my heart. I unwound myself to bolt after the sound, leaving one trauma behind to chase after the next. Three men I recognized from Mr. Charles’ restaurant raced across a clearing and hopped onto the pier, quickly boarding a boat tied to a damaged post.



Was Asher there? Was he safe?



“Muffin!” his voice came like a warm breeze, washing over me, quenching the fire in my skin. Had he heard my thoughts? Did he know I needed to find him? I turned to see Asher skid to a stop, his grey eyes shamelessly displaying worry the moment he confirmed my identity. “What are you doing here?”



Betraying you.



The sound of the sirens grew louder, drawing closer, reminding us of the grains of time running out of the hourglass. From behind a mound of containers, Alrick came dashing out, initially blazing right past us. He too came to an unsure stop when he saw me, but he did not hold the same concern Asher’s eyes reflected. From the conflicted expression on his face, I had a feeling Vincenzo already informed him of what I’d done. “Asher, let’s go!” he yelled to his friend. “We have to go!”



“Come on Muffin,” Asher called calmly, extending his hand out toward me. “The police are on their way. We need to go.”



Tell him. Tell him to run, my conscience ordered, while the sirens assured it was already too late. I slowly shook my head, my eyes darting from his hand to his face. Why did it feel like my lungs were collapsing? Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? Asher might have been a bad guy, but he was my bad guy. He had tried so hard to keep me safe. And what had I done in return? I’d damned us all to hell. “I’m—,” I gasped, my throat tightening up.



I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.



“We can discuss this later. Hurry now, we need to leave,” he urged, running toward me. I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know, but no matter how hard I tried my tongue refused to be cooperative. Asher reached out to grab at my wrist, ready to rescue me again, to whisk me to safety, but I instinctively pulled away from him.



“I’m s—,” I choked again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please, Asher. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.



“Muffin?” he questioned, his forehead wrinkling with bewilderment.



“ASHER!” Alrick shouted in warning, taking a hesitant step towards us. “LEAVE HIM! COME ON!”



The sirens continued to boom, creeping up on us, ticking down the seconds left before the sky crumbled and caved in on me. I wished I could tell him to run. I wished he would listen to Alrick and run. But my hero didn’t heed his friend’s warning, didn’t turn away from me; he only outstretched his hand out once again to reach for mine. “Muffin, we need to go before—“



Tell him. Tell him. Tell him to run! my brain screamed.



“They’re not here for me,” I finally exhaled.



His expression fell, the crease in his brow dissolving as the painful mask of stoicism I never wanted to see again settled into place. He shut himself off to me, hiding both his worry and anxiety while Alrick’s words combined with mine turned on the light bulb in his head. As the sirens came to a deafening level of volume, understanding finally touched his eyes. “You?” he sighed.



I shamefully bowed my head, too mortified to meet his gaze. “I’m so sor—“



His hand lashed out in an instant, grabbing onto my chin and jerking it up, forcing my eyes to his face. His harsh grip reminded me of when we first met, of the carelessness when he first threw me against a wall, the cold forefront of his eyes when he found me in the alleyway. He held no gentleness, no compassion, and as his fingers dug painfully into my bone structure I felt the thin strings binding the two of us finally clip away.



In that moment, I lost him.



Alrick took a few uneasy steps towards us, falling into my line of sight when I winced past the pain in my face to glance over Asher’s arm. The red and blue lights highlighted the containers, flashing morose code onto every surface caught in their way. Suited officers ran out through several cracks and openings, rushing forward to control the scene with their weapons intact. Several shouted warnings, but their words never completely reached us.



“You did this?” Asher whispered. I blinked up to the anger in the grey eyes hovering over me, a rage I’d only rarely seen before on the face I’d grown addicted to, and I felt my heart pathetically ache.



“BACK AWAY FROM THE KID!” a voice yelled. I followed the trajectory of the words to Alrick’s previous spot, only to find him already floored by two officers with a third slapping cuffs onto the German’s thick wrists. The man that had spoken repeated his words, approaching us with his gun pointed straight at my angry mob-boss’s back. “BACK OFF, I’M WARNING YOU PICKETT. PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND BACK AWAY.”



The grip on my face tightened further, commanding my attention onto the source of the pain. Pressure from his fingers made it hard to keep my mouth closed, but at that point grinding my teeth was the least I could do to stabilize my emotions. I reached up then, pressing both hands against Asher’s wrist in a desperate squeeze for support. His fingers trembled with his unstable temperament, sending light quakes down my skin. “I’m sor—“



His hand jerked up, causing me to bite down on my own tongue and putting a sharp end to my useless apology. My fingers fell in a diagonal line from his wrist to his chest, gripping at his coat as I attempted another go at words. But he beat me to it. Leaning down further, his lips parted before my eyes, his gaze tightened, and although beyond the sirens his voice was barely audible it was the loudest thing I heard.



“For your sake, I hope I never find you.”



His touch slipped away like it was never there, allowing blood back into my face as he extended his hands over his head. He took a few deliberate steps away from me, crisscrossed both palms against his scalp and turned toward the sirens. I wanted to call out to him, to beg him to forgive me, but I didn’t have the nerve to utter his name anymore. The shock of his words resonated down through my ears, straight through my heart, and dissolved into my bloodstream.



The pain hit me all at once. The burning in my panting lungs zigzagged down to my stomach, forcing me to double over as my knees buckled. I crashed against the side of a container with only a tilt of my shoulder to soften the blow. My arm snaked out around the oversized jacket on my body, pressing it against the moisture that had gathered on my abdomen. My whole body felt sticky and gross, but it was my chest that radiated enough heat to cripple me.



It’s only the bad ones that leave a scar, he had told me. What kind of scar would this incident leave behind? What kind of scar would I become?



I rocked my weight forward with a groan, hugging my stomach tighter as I pressed my forehead against my knees. A hand firmly grabbed hold of my shoulder and shook me, attempting futilely to tie me down to reality. It was no use. I was too empty of determination to remain functioning. My head reeled with my heart, draining the last inches of adrenaline out of me.



“WE NEED AN EMT OVER HERE!” someone yelled.

















I woke up in the hospital feeling irritably uncomfortable. The thin gown on my body provided no sense of security or relief, the stench of the room itched the back of my throat, and the IV shoved into my arm ached enough for me to want the needle removed. I grew faintly conscious of an outside presence nearby, fluttering from one side of my bed to the other, along with a soft murmuring that flooded unwanted memories to the screen of black covering my eyeballs.



My body tensed up, sudden recollection of the day reawakening my muscles enough to force my eyes open. Fuck. The speed of my upper torso whipping up managed to frighten what I realized to be two nurses checking on me, both of which shrieked and jumped back with my unexpected consciousness.



I wasn’t sure whom I anticipated seeing by my bedside, but it definitely wasn’t them. A more familiar face would have perhaps settled the queasiness in my chest; I’d have even been happy for a delusional flicker of his face, but no matter how much I blinked I only saw the two female faces. I stared at them for a moment, speechless, confused, before extending my hand down to my sore stomach to check for solidity. I half-expected to find a black void of blood. Had my stitches been mended? My skin felt like it was grinded in an inferno.



The touch to my lower abdomen reminded me vaguely of an important object I no longer had in my possession, and as an overwhelming sense of sickness threatened to confine me to the bathroom I pushed my voice free of its box. “Where are my clothes?”



“Sir, you should be resting,” one of the nurses finally managed to speak. She moved forward, gently pushing on my shoulders to coax me back into lying down.



“I need my clothes,” I told her, shrugging the hands off of me.



“Sir, your belongings are safe. Please just try to get some res—“



“I need my clothes,” I repeated stubbornly. Their frowns obligated me to explain further, putting reason to my madness. “There’s something in my pocket, I just want to check that it’s still with me. Then I’ll rest. Where are my clothes?”



“In the closet,” one of them gestured, waving her hand toward the back corner of the room. I followed her fingers to confirm the location, finding a small door wedged just beside another patient’s bed. “No one has touched your belongings, I’m sure the object is still in your pocket. You should rest now. You don’t want to rip your stitches again.”



I nodded at her words, feeling a bit calmer to know my stuff was nearby. With their eyes following me I settled back into the bed, tucking myself in and reclining against the shabby pillows. They watched me a bit longer, perhaps to make sure I wouldn’t bolt for the door, then went on their merry way. The countdown for my escape instantly began; I risked lingering a few minutes before tugging the IV out of my arm, throwing the thin hospital sheet off and hopping from the bed. Other patients in the room watched me curiously, none of them able to understand why I desperately needed to get the hell out.



The closet held my belt along with the rest of my clothes, and to my utter relief I found the diner-keychain still hidden safely inside a pocket. I jerked my pants on, slipped my belt into the designated hoops, and shoved my arms into the extra large jacket I’d borrowed from Alrick. The black backpack Vincenzo had loaned me topped the cake, a heavy burden I was ready to carry for all intents and purposes.



“You should tuck the hospital gown into your pants,” a younger patient observed. “Or else someone might suspect you for a runaway.”



“Ah, thanks,” I whispered. Not like my thoughts developed that far down a certain timeline, but that was a good point. I took a moment to shove the white and blue gown into the waistband of my pants, covering it up by zipping the brown jacket up before heading off to sneak into the hallway.



“Good luck!” he yelled after me.



No matter what, I had to get back to Asher. Was he safe? Was he okay? How much trouble was he in? Could I do anything to help?



I tried to be a bit more careful with my movement this time, now painfully aware of how easily my stomach could be damaged, and calculated my speed after a few trial-and-errors to a brisk walk that didn’t cause too much discomfort. I wanted to leave the premises as quickly as possible—though I barely made it to the elevator when tension on my backpack stopped me. My shoes skidded against the clean floor, squeaking loudly as I stumbled back a few steps. “Hey!” I yelled, twirling around to unwind myself from whatever had halted my escape.



“Hello,” he said, his voice completely foreign to my ears. I frowned at the plain face that stood before me: an ordinary man in an ordinary suit. He beamed at me with relief, his eyes tired but his expression oddly optimistic. His hand gently patted my shoulder, as if he were wiping dirt off the surface, and he leaned in close enough for his whisper to be considered a secret. “Matthew Wildemore, right?”



Matthew Charles Wildemore, don’t play with your food!



Matthew Wildemore, please come to the front of the line.



Wildemore? Don’t you live up on Cherry Hill?



Mr. Wildemore must be so proud of you. Did you show him your report card?



I winced away from the name and the voices in my head that pushed me closer to the cliff of schizophrenia. The cast of my thumb jabbed into the upward arrow of the elevator’s button in hopes of nullifying the memories with the shrewd ding that came with the doors opening; but the metal box lagged behind, deserting me. Despairing for an escape, I curled my hand into a fist and hammered at the button. Why wasn’t it coming?



“No?” the stranger mumbled to himself. “They told me a kid with black hair and green eyes… let’s see…” he trailed off. I glanced back at him in time to watch the man rummage through his pockets. He pulled out a photograph seconds later, holding it up beside my face to compare my facial features to what I imagined to be a picture of me. Was it a family photo? I felt sick.



“Who are you?” I grunted.



“Agent Millikan, nice to meet you,” he introduced himself, tucking the photograph away after assuring himself he had the correct target. “Good to see you’re feeling better. I’ll be your escort back to the bureau.”



“Oh,” I replied numbly. The cops. Right.



The elevator doors slid open in a soft chime, not at all the sound I was expecting, and we both turned to peer into the empty box lined with fresh posters warning of flu season. The three walls awaiting me suddenly seemed too small for the two of us. My eyes wandered to the door nearby, the one labeled Emergency Stairs, but before I could consider disappearing through it Agent Millikan reached up to pat my shoulder again. “Coming?” he asked.



“Y-yeah.” Why wouldn’t I be? This is how it was all supposed to happen, wasn’t it? This was the part where the cops rescued me, where I was safe, and protected… right? I shuffled into the elevator, retreating to a corner before turning towards the doors. He hit the bottom button, lighting up the black 1 in the midst of the numbers. I glanced up wearily towards the red numbers overhead, watching them decrease as I tried to ignore the sense of claustrophobia that seemed to make the walls breathe.



“Do you have the recording?” he asked offhandedly.



My hand instinctively moved down to my belt, pressing lightly against it as my gaze wandered to the agent’s face. “Yeah,” I confirmed.



“Good. I’m glad I caught you in time,” he sighed. “It would have been inconvenient if you left the hospital without anyone knowing your whereabouts.”



“Why is that?” I questioned.



“You’re a very important witness, of course,” Millikan spoke casually, carelessly, like I was the last E in a game of scrabble needed to finish spelling out another word. “If you were to disappear, our case would go with you.”



The ding in my brain simulated the one of the elevator doors, with answers to all my problems becoming abruptly obvious. I stared blankly at the agent while the ice blocks of tension in my muscles quite unexpectedly melted away into the ozone layer of my skin. The wash of relief was so sudden that the dizziness teetered me off balance on my way out of the elevator.



Agent Millikan must have mistaken my reactions as worry, because when he reached out to help me right myself he offered a sympathetic look. “That’s why we’re here to keep you safe, of course,” he added hastily, frowning at me. “Don’t worry, no one except me and my partner knows you’re here. And Pickett is under lock and key, he can’t get to you now. Once we get you back to the bureau, you’ll be perfectly safe.”



“Oh,” I whispered, “Okay.”



He moved away from me, heading towards the exit with his cell phone in hand. I only heard a faint “Yeah, I found him,” before he moved out of my immediate radius. My hand dipped into my pocket, initially searching for the keychain but my fingers glided against a piece of paper I’d forgotten was still in my possession. I pulled out the business card, scanning the name on the front before turning to read the address on the back.



“This way,” Millikan called, snapping my attention up to him. I nodded, following the sound of his voice away from the elevator. He led me outside where the cold wind greeted me, along with a light mist that burst tiny bubbles of water against my cheeks. It felt nice. Everything suddenly felt so fresh and new. “My partner will be down in a minute. Will you be okay here alone?” I nodded. “I’ll pull the car around,” he said with a faded smile.



I watched him go, his shadow easily vanishing behind a parked ambulance that only recently shut off its lights. After another glance at the card tucked into my palm, I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked off in the opposite direction.



I was good at disappearing.























Before Asher I was just a shell, wandering through life with no path and no motivation. I never cared about anything, never thought about a future, never saw my life as anything more than a spec of existence in an ant farm. But after I met him, I let myself feel again; pain, agony, anger, hate, hope, compassion, warmth, affection. He made me feel again. He made me care.



Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to connect the last power circuit on the board of his electric chair. No, I didn’t forgive my personal hell that he was greatly responsible for but I also accepted that he’d never overlook my betrayal. Witnessing the unabashed devotion Alrick and Vincenzo displayed for their boss day after day, I knew better than anyone that loyalty was a big part of their world. The least I could do was wash my hands clean of it all before walking away.



So I didn’t go to the bureau, I didn’t turn in the recording still in my belt or my personal testimony. I walked two hours across the city to a shady little corner of poverty, tucked away in thin streets striped in clotheslines and drying laundry. The address on the back of the card proved difficult to find when I had no real direction, but after asking a few bystanders I was eventually pointed down the general course. My destination just wasn’t something I expected.



The double doors of the video store made no sound when I pushed them open, but the man behind the counter glanced up the moment I stepped inside. He forced on a practiced smile, greeting me with a nod, before resuming his previous activities on a small laptop resting on his legs. I hesitated at the door, holding no confidence what-so-ever about the next course of action. How did one go about this?



With the man ignoring me I scrounged up enough courage to approach the checkout counter. What was I supposed to ask? I had no clue. So skipping the need for vocal justification, I pressed the card onto the countertop and slid it toward him. His gaze moved briefly up to glance at my fingers, showing no real interest, then fell back to the computer screen. Before I had a chance to feel disappointed his head jerked back up, both eyes widening at the information his brain took a few seconds to process.



“Where did you get this?” he asked suddenly, snatching the card out from beneath my touch.



“Vincenzo sent me,” I croaked, my voice a bare necessity. I held no depth or volume.



“Vincenzo who?” he pressed on suspiciously.



“Giordano…” my voice flickered. Vincenzo Giordano. Alrick Schaferun. Asher Pickett. I knew all their names by heart. Their faces were etched into the fabric of my existence. Their voices would never dissipate from my eardrums.



“Wait here,” the man grunted. He shoved his computer off his lap, abandoning it on the counter while he disappeared behind a curtain of beads blocking off a backroom. He took the business card with him.



My lungs emptied a pint of air, gushing through my dry lips as my eyelids fell with the gravity of my exhaustion. I reached up to rub a palm against my face, gliding my fingers from forehead to chin. I felt so tired. But that feeling had little to do with my physical condition—it was all the thoughts in my head that drained my energy.



When I next opened my eyes I found three faces watching me: a young blonde girl, the man from before, and an elderly man that leaned in far too close for comfort. I jerked away from them, my clumsy and hurried actions knocking over a shelf of cavity-inducing candy in the process.



“You’re really one of Vincenzo’s friends?” the girl asked, suddenly grinning from ear to ear.



“Uh… kind of..” I replied unsurely. While the three strangers moved out from behind the counter, I bent down to pick up the candy bars strewn across the floor. My whole body felt like a walking accident zone. It seemed my brain wasn’t far from the same ill-fated conclusion.



“And you need to disappear?” the old man questioned.



I rocked my weight backward, moving from a crouching position to plopping straight onto my butt. That was the perfect word, disappear—but why did it feel so painful to hear? Fuck. “Yes.”



“I don’t suppose he sent you here empty-handed?”



My eyes impulsively moved to my open palms. I was so out of it. I didn’t want to think that far back. I didn’t want to remember Asher’s words, the image of cops arresting Alrick, or the look in Vincenzo’s eyes when he caught me red-handed. I didn’t want to relive those moments. “No,” I choked, using my voice to stop my thought process. Vincenzo had given me the bag. Whatever was inside was meant for these people, so technically I hadn’t been sent empty-handed.



“Great. Veronica, get this boy a change of clothes and some food. He looks like he’s about to pass out,” the old man grumbled. “Lucas, you help me in the back. Let’s try to finish this as quickly as possible.”



“Yes Grandpa,” Lucas responded.



It didn’t bother me that the strangers didn’t set out a welcome mat for me, somehow being treated like a chore felt… relieving. Having had so many people stretch themselves to extremes just to protect me in the past put too much of a burden on my shoulders; I felt like I owed them and I didn’t know how to pay it all back.



“Are you really Vincenzo’s friend?” the girl asked, approaching me once her male counterparts disappeared into the back room. I didn’t answer her—I didn’t know what the answer was. “We haven’t seen him in so long. How’s he doing?”



I closed my eyes with a soft sigh, tilting my head down as the ache of my muscles reverted backward into my veins. “How long is this going to take?”



She frowned, rocking back on her heels as she crouched down to my level. “Grandpa’s really good at what he does… so not too long. Ah.. are you okay?”



No. I was so far from okay. “Just tired.” My voice came out in a sob, a coughed groan of grief that contracted the muscles in my abdomen. I was slowly hollowing out, shedding my innards to turn back into a ghost. It wasn’t hard, just painful.



“I’ll… uh.. I’ll go get you some of Lucas’ clothes,” she replied hesitantly. “Do you need anything else?”



I provided a tentative lick to my lower lip, the anxiety already enough to kick start all my nervous habits. My head felt like it was about to explode. “A screwdriver,” I whispered.



Veronica arched both eyebrows, her face springing into a fit of surprise as she opened her mouth in question. Our eyes met, and my expression must have bared most of my guilt because seconds later she spared a quick shake of her head that assured she didn’t want to know. Her lips pressed back together into a small pout. “I’ll be right back.”



“Take your time,” I told her. I was in no hurry. I had nowhere to go.



What followed moved along in a perfectly abstract blur. In the next few hours the little blonde accommodated me with fresh clothing, a bathroom to wash up in and insisted I bleach my hair. She supplied me with thick-rimmed glasses holding only glass along with a temporary clip that cropped my hair shorter. I didn’t understand her reasoning until she propped me up against a wall to snap a few pictures with a pink digital camera.



“What do you think about Simon Quinn?”



“For what?” I muttered.



“For your new name. Grandpa is finishing up your passport now.”



I blinked up at her in surprise, catching an eyeful of flash that instantly materialized black holes into my field of vision. My new name? I’d never considered the possibility. Only recently did I let Matthew back into my life, to let go of it again felt like blasphemy. No, I didn’t want to lose that name again. For once I wanted to hold onto what my mom gave me.



“Matthew,” I responded quietly. “I want my name to be Matthew.”



“Matthew Quinn? That sounds.. hmm.. doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it… How about Lockwood? Matthew Lockwood?”



I reached up to pull the glasses off the bridge of my nose, replacing the pressure with my index finger and thumb. My headache was getting worse. “It doesn’t matter. As long as my first name is Matthew.”



“Alright…” Veronica agreed uneasily.



When she was done with me I took a screwdriver to my belt, opening up the back metal casing to expose the device inside. Using the blunt end of the tool I smashed the evidence into little tiny pieces, hammering away at my sin until Veronica completely left my side in fear of reasonable insanity. It was rather anticlimactic; everything I’d been stressing over broke so easily beneath the force of the screwdriver. It was all gone in a matter of seconds.



Even so, I felt pounds lighter once it was all destroyed. My chest finally regained the ability to inhale and exhale without a sharp pain shooting down my core. I hadn’t erased all my misgivings, but at least it felt like a step in the right direction.



While the three strangers meant to help me remained out of sight, I retracted to one corner of the video store. The clothes warming my body didn’t exactly fit, though they gave more warmth than the lacking hospital gown. I kept Alrick’s jacket zipped up, the keychain tucked away in a pocket, and hugged Vincenzo’s backpack against my chest as I cowered behind the Porno section like a wet cat. The familiar possessions presented enough comfort to let me momentarily doze off.



It was the girl that shook me awake some time later. I opened my eyes to find her crouching in front of me, holding a steaming cup of what I could smell to be coffee. I subconsciously smiled at the scent, reaching out to take it before she had a chance to offer.



“Your stuff is finished. Grandpa is waiting for you in the front. Drink this and come up when you’re ready,” she whispered cautiously. I followed a glance she threw over her shoulder to find the reason behind her lowered volume: customers. A few teenagers roamed the aisles, sneaking peeks at the covers of the Porn movies when they thought no one was watching. I spared a curt nod, sending Veronica on her way as I cradled the gifted coffee. It’d been ages since I last drank a cup.



Just as I was about to take my first sip, wandering gossip stopped me. “Did you hear about that Pickett guy?” a boy’s voice muttered.



“Yeah, can you believe it?” his friend responded. “My dad’s selling all the stocks he has of Pickett Industries. He says…”



I tore myself away from the corner fast enough to dodge the rest of his sentence. Finding myself undeserving of the coffee, I left it abandoned on the floor as I rushed to the front counter.



Veronica’s grandfather peeked over the rim of his glasses when I approached him, a stern though collected look on his face as he quietly furrowed his eyebrows. Without wasting a word on me, he pulled out a large envelope from behind the counter and slipped it toward me. I followed his example in keeping the silence. Words could no longer do anything to help me.



Inside the envelope I found several papers linking me to a new identity; a new birth certificate, a passport, driver license, school ID, and many other documents I’d never owned even with my real name. To say the least, dear Grandpa was very thorough with his work. I’d officially become Matthew Lockwood in the eyes of the world. According to my new papers, I had blonde hair, green eyes, and a prescription of 2.5 for my glasses. I’d also grown about an inch and gained ten pounds. Talk about surreal.



“Do you have it?” the old man asked, breaking my concentration on the papers.



“Have what?” I asked dumbly.



From behind the counter materialized another essential item, which he easily slid my way. “This is your plane ticket,” he paused, reaching up with his other hand to quietly adjust his glasses. “I’ll be needing the compensation.”



My brain lagged. I had no idea what he was talking about. Compensation? It took a few seconds for my film reel to tick back far enough to recall the need for payment. Oh right. I hadn’t been sent empty-handed. “Ah, yes, just a second…” I mumbled, more to myself than the stranger. Kneeling down beside the counter, I set my backpack against my thigh and jerked the zipper open.



The extensive amount of green bills inside shocked the logic back into me. Compensation. Money. Vincenzo had told me to give them half after they finished their work. The world made sense again.



As I stood, I zipped the bag up again and rested the whole thing on the countertop beside the old man’s hand. He released his grip on the plane ticket, allowing a brief moment for me to snatch it up. “Thank you,” I told him. “For all your hard work.”



“Wait a minute,” he said quickly, standing up from his seat when I moved to turn away from him. “Your bag.”



“I don’t need it. Take it all,” I retorted.



The old man opened up the bag, stealing a quick look at the content before frowning up at me. “How far do you intend on going without any money?” he said gravely.



“Just far enough,” I replied honestly. I was homeless once. I could do it again.



“Stop,” he growled. “I won’t be responsible for anything happening to a friend of Vincenzo’s. You wait right here. You hear me, boy? Don’t go anywhere.”



My eyebrows rose a bit in surprise, triggering a drop in my lower jaw. Before I had a chance to stop him, he’d snatched my bag and disappeared into the backroom. A few seconds later, his grandson returned to the front to man the cash register. He ignored my existence, obligating me to migrate to a corner where I waited anxiously for the grandfather’s return.



About ten minutes later, when the lingering teenagers left with a newly released action movie, Veronica approached me in my damp corner. She had my bag in hand, along with the fake glasses that she kindly handed off to me. “I packed some more clothes for you,” she informed sweetly. “You be safe, okay? Wherever you’re going.”



The bag felt much lighter when I claimed it back into my possession. Had they taken all the money? I sure hoped so, but I didn’t have the courage to check. “Thanks,” was all I said before bolting out of the video store. Her smile made me uneasy. Nice people made me uneasy. I didn’t see myself worthy of any sort of kindness.



A glance at the plane ticket let me know I had just over an hour to get to the airport. I didn’t spare any time lingering about—I’d have to suffer through a cab ride, but being inside a deathtrap seemed oddly fitting the regiment of self-punishment I was ready to unleash on myself. So I waved down a stray yellow car and set my destination as the airport. I planned on paying him with the clothes in the bag, but when I rummaged through the contents I found that Veronica’s grandfather had only taken half of the cash. The rest remained with me.



If I had a time machine, I don’t know how far back I would go to undo my mistakes. Back to the alleyway, where I never should have entered? To the moment I picked up the bloody cell phone, when I shouldn’t have called the ambulance? Or the moment the grey-eyed monster’s boyish smile stole my heart away? Could I go that far back? Could I stop the time machine at the moment before I walked into the Bureau? Could I just stop before I opened the drawer that held my past, the drawer that drove me to the brink of insanity? Could I stop myself before I goaded Elena into giving Asher’s location away? Could I stop then?



I didn’t know which memories I would be willing to give up. To avoid the pain, I’d have to glaze over the moments of happiness. I’d have to give them up, and I didn’t want to.



So as I got on the plane I tried not to linger on the idea of leaving behind Anna, Zack, and the haven of my diner. I tried not to let myself think of the big blue house or the wilted garden behind it. I tried not to think about the three men that had brought color back into my life, pulling me out of the grey haze I’d walked through as a zombie for years. I tried not to think about turkey sandwiches, Bourbon or cigarettes. The difficulty came in the important detail of my reluctance to forget. I didn’t want to forget them. I didn’t want to let go of any of it. I didn’t want to run away again.



But for once I didn’t run for my own selfish reasons.



For once I ran for someone else.



I ran for Asher Pickett.



I ran for him.































Author’s Note: Tada! The end! … Well, the end of Muffin’s story, anyway. He’s not ‘muffin’ anymore. And I’m out of chapter titles, damnit!

Edit: Part 2 can be found here! ::     http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600103074