Milan sprinted to the left. His legs worked so fast he almost tripped more than once. The adrenaline rushing through his arteries was the only thing that kept him going. If it weren’t for the fact he was running for his life, he’d collapse to the ground.

Feet thumped behind him. He glanced back. The detective and two other officers were right on his trail. That meant one had to be following Eli and another Amica. Good. They stood a chance, Milan hoped.

“Stop right there!” Detective Knight yelled after him. “Do not make this worse for yourself.”

Worse? Milan chuckled. It was already so bad it couldn’t possibly get worse. Dying didn’t sound so bad, after all. At least, he’d avoid prison. But no. He didn’t want any of those things. He didn’t want to die and let the mystery remain a mystery, and he didn’t want to go to prison and waste his life away. He wanted to win at life. He had to. Even if he’d never get his parents back, if he could just live without being accused of murdering them or being mentally ill or anything. He didn’t want to die, either. The thought of it made his blood run cold. But at this moment, as he was running for his life, he knew anything could happen. He was lucky they weren’t shooting at him. Why, he had no idea.

He veered right, the solid asphalt shooting bolts of pain through his feet. The thumping of their feet got louder. They were closing in on him. Milan couldn’t run faster than this. It was a miracle he was running at all.

“I’m warning you, Milan Whitfield,” Leonia Knight said, her voice clear as if she hadn’t been running. “If you do not cease running, I will shoot.”

Milan didn’t cease running. Instead, his legs moved in zigzag in hope that she’d miss. If he was shot, it was over.

This was when Milan found out the detective meant what she said. A gunshot ricocheted off the asphalt, inches away from his foot. Milan’s legs flew out from under him, trying to avoid the shot. His palms slid across the asphalt, and the grit shredded into his skin. He tried to stand, but his knees burned from the pain. A metallic, bitter taste filled his mouth. He’d bit his tongue.

They loomed over him in an instant, pinning his arms behind his back. The familiar metal clicked shut against his wrists. He wrung his arms, but it was no use. He couldn’t escape. He’d never be able to again.

Another shot rang out, this time from a distance. Milan stopped breathing and he swallowed a lump in his throat. Was it Eli… or Amica? He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Code one,” one of the officers said over the radio. “We need a car quickly.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“You two, follow the others,” Leonia Knight said. “I’m keeping an eye on Milan Whitfield.”

“Yessir!” They dashed off.

“They have nothing to do with this,” Milan said. “I forced them.”

“I suggest you keep silent. You don’t want to make this worse than it is.” She narrowed her eyes, looking down at him with a twisted facial expression. “Even if there’s a slight chance you did not murder your parents, what you did to the correctional officer in the electrical room is enough to convict you.”

Milan’s stomach flipped. “Is he dead?” The words escaped through a strained voice.

“No. He’s in a coma and suffers from permanent brain damage. It’s worse than death.”

Milan’s breathing came out ragged. He didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. No, it was a bad thing. Both dying and coma were terrible. But Milan had defended himself at that moment. That officer had tried to kill him. Strangle him to death. Was Milan supposed to let that happen? No way. It was simply Newton’s third law of motion. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. He tried to kill him, so Milan tried to kill him back. It wasn’t his fault.

Scratch that. It was definitely Milan’s fault. Forget Newton’s third law of motion. Milan didn’t have to strangulate him, and especially not for that long. Just enough for him to lose consciousness. There was no way Milan could justify his actions.

A third shot banged out from afar, shortly followed by a fourth, and Milan knew that it was too late. He buried his face in the ground, biting his lower lip so hard he drew blood. Everything had gone wrong. Even his attempt to save Eli and Amica from his own actions. How did things end up this way? He never should’ve escaped in the first place. Because of him…

Four shots. Four shots in total. One for Milan, one for Eli and one for Amica. And another one for… wait. What was Milan thinking? He never once considered if Eli and Amica’s situation looked like Milan’s. After all, Milan wasn’t dead, he wasn’t even shot, just shot at.

He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. If he was right, and they’d found a way out of the mess he’d put them in, he needed to be prepared. He needed to kill time until they showed up.

“Then why didn’t you shoot me?” he asked. This topic, the topic of killing, would get most detectives and officers boast about their moral values. “Your aim can’t be that bad. You could’ve easily killed me.”

“I don’t want to dirty my hands with your blood,” Leonia said curtly. “My job is catching criminals. Not killing them.”

Her answers were short and precise, but Milan had to get the conversation going. “Then you’re terrible at your job.” He tried to provoke her. “You caught the wrong guy.”

Knight pushed up her glasses. “I doubt that. All the evidence points to you.”

“I was framed!” Milan’s body jolted as if trying to break free from the impossible cuffs.

That was all he could say before a figure jumped out of the shadows.