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.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

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 — 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 — 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.