Milan’s eyes shot open when he felt a jolt in his body. His head rammed into the window.

Amica’s soft voice sang in Milan’s ears. “I’m sorry. I don’t drive well when I’m stressed.”

Eli laughed. “The wheel’s gotta be wrecked from drivin’ into that curbstone.”

Milan didn’t remember where he was for a second. Driving? Curbstone?

Right. They had escaped in Amica’s car.

He rubbed his eyes. His entire body twinged in pain. Now that the adrenaline was gone, he could feel every burning sensation of his raw flesh scraping off the asphalt. His knees stung, and his palms weren’t much better. And his body reeked of sweat. How long had it been since he’d last showered? He never used to miss a day. Hygiene was essential. But considering his situation… well, he didn’t have a choice, did he?

Amica turned off the car. “We’re here. I already texted him, so he knows.”

Milan scrambled out of the car. Who was the ‘he’ Amica talked about? Milan considered the possibilities as they walked toward the front door. The house was small, the ceiling hanging low like a blanket covering the roof. Yellow light leaked through the windows.

The door flung open, and a man with spiky, black hair appeared in the opening.

“I told you not to bring them,” he said. “They’re criminals. Murderers.”

“Hey, hey,” Eli said. “I didn’t kill nobody.”

“Neither did I,” Milan said. I almost did, though.

“We can talk about this inside, Aidan. Look at them.” Amica swayed her hands in their direction.

Milan wondered how bad they had to look. Well, Eli looked pretty bad.

The man, Aidan, leaned his hand on the doorway. He groaned, shaking his head. “Fine! But not more than a few hours.”

They went inside. It was a cramped living room, occupied by a couch, a TV, a wooden bookcase and a dining table. On the other side of the room, a door led into a corridor. Milan wasn’t used to a living room like this, but it felt cozy, somehow. The couch was a soft navy blue, and there were more pillows on it than space to sit on. A spicy smell wafted in the room. The food was ready and set on the table. The chicken was encased in a creamy curry sauce with vegetables, and the fluffy rice made Milan’s tongue swell in his mouth. His stomach twisted. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a decade.

“You’re drooling,” Eli said.

“You’re too.”

“No way.” Aidan plumped a stack of clothes and a towel into Milan’s hands. “You’re not eating. Not before you take a shower. You’re not sitting in my precious chairs with… whatever you’re wearing.” He gestured up and down Milan’s frame. Milan’s torn clothes were grimed with blood and dirt. It wasn’t like Milan didn’t get it. He was disgusting.

A few moments later, after the three of them had showered and Eli and Milan had gotten their wounds bandaged, they sat at the table, ready to dig in.

Aidan’s clothes hung loosely over Milan’s frame, and he had to use a belt for the pants. Not that Aidan was fat or anything, but his build was strong, brawny, in contrast to Milan’s slender frame. Next to him, Eli sat, wearing a white t-shirt with a high V-neck. It fit her almost perfectly. Amica wore an identical one, just in wine-red. She drew her arms close to her body, eyes fluttering between Aidan, Eli and Milan.

Milan cleared his throat. “You haven’t introduced us yet,” he said.

“O-oh right.” Amica’s voice cracked. “Aidan, this is Milan and Eli.” She gestured with her hands. “Milan and Eli, this is my older brother, Aidan.”

“Resemble’s uncanny.” Eli scratched the bandage around her forehead.

Milan agreed. He’d only asked to make sure. It looked as if their faces had been copy/pasted, just in a male and female form. The upturned eyes, the long eyelashes, the jet-black hair, the sharp chin. It was all the same.

“So, that’s the guy from your school?” Aidan motioned with his head.

“The one I played chess with,” Amica said. “And the only friend I have.”

Milan rubbed his dry hands. He still hadn’t had time to think things through before this topic was thrown onto him again. The entire thing felt like a big, fat lie. Not a lot of things made sense these past couple of days, but this was the icing on the cake. He was sure he would’ve remembered if he and Amica had played chess together, if they had been friends. But the only… ‘friends’ Milan had, were Damien and Travis. Not Amica. And yet, there was something in her eyes…

Milan shook his head. He couldn’t fall for it. If it was a lie, which it most likely was, it would unravel itself. All it took were some intruding questions.

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“Don’t you have any other friends?” Milan asked.

Amica’s eyebrows drew inwards. “Not really. At all. No one sees me or knows I’m there. I’m not good at small talk, and… you know…”

In the corner of Milan’s eye, Eli stuffed her face in the rice, gobbling it up.

“Let’s eat.” Amica chuckled, as if she wanted to escape the conversation.

Suspicious.

Milan had never gone hungry for more than a few hours. Never in his life had he starved. When the curry chicken lay in front of him, it was as if he couldn’t control his hands. They acted on their own. Even after he’d filled his stomach to its maximum capacity, he still took bite after bite.

“Did you make this?” Eli garbled, her mouth full of rice.

“Yes,” Aidan said.

“My bro can’t even cook instant noodles,” Eli said. “I can’t neither.”

“That’s easy,” Amica said. “I’ll teach you.”

Milan almost sputtered out his food. He didn’t know what was worse; that Eli didn’t know how to make instant noodles, or Amica thinking it needed to be taught.

“Come on, Amica.” Aidan smiled softly. “Remember last time? I don’t think you should be teaching anyone how to cook.”

Milan forgot for a second the reality of the situation he was in. A gentle warmth blossomed inside him. Here he was, a normal teenager living a normal life surrounded by (relatively) normal people. No jail, no police, no murder… Until the picture of the last dinner, he and his parents ate together, flashed through his mind. His mom asking curios questions and his dad’s excessive excitement. The last time he’d seen them alive. And the first time he saw them dead, their corpses had bounced out of the closet. As if that wasn’t enough, the recording confessing the crime in Milan’s voice made everything worse. His heart dropped. He couldn’t be wasting time like this.

He stood. “Let’s look at the clues we found at my house. The earlier we get to the bottom of this, the better.”

Amica, Eli, and Aidan shared looks with each other.

“We’re eating,” Aidan said.

Milan slammed his palms against the table. The plates bounced. “I don’t care! The police could be knocking the door down any second. We won’t get any more chances.”

“That’s ‘cuz you told her to kill you next time she sees you,” Eli said.

“You did what?” Amica bolted upright. “Why?”

“I was just provoking her. But…” Milan nibbled the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t get himself to say it out loud. That he also meant it. He couldn’t waste his life away in prison for something he didn’t do. If failing meant dying, then so be it.

“You won’t have to die,” Amica said. “Because… well… they won’t have a reason to kill you, if you… surrender yourself.” Her voice trailed off, the words hanging in the air. Maybe she realized that no matter what, Milan couldn’t win.

“You’re joking, right?” Milan said. “Surrender myself to the police when I still have no idea who killed my parents and decided to frame me for their crime? No way. But I’ll promise you all one thing.” He placed the palm of his hands against the table. “If it turns out I was the culprit all along, I’ll gladly surrender myself. Even I know when to admit defeat.”

A pin-drop silence encased the room. Eli ate in silence, and Aidan had stopped eating at all. His arms were motionless, still holding the flatware. Amica bowed her head.

“I’ll start,” Eli pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket. “This’s what I found.”

“What?” Milan said. “Where’d you get-”

“A jacket hanging in the hallway.”

“I told you to search for evidence, not money.” His jaw tightened, as he spoke.

“Hey, hey, is this the thanks I get for savin’ your life?”

Milan’s blood boiled. It all made sense now. Everything she had done up until this point, the reason she was in jail in the first place, her kleptomaniac tendencies. It all boiled down to one thing. “You were in for stealing, weren’t you? Not for beating up a bunch of people.” He crossed his arms. “You’re a thief.”

“Right on the money.” Eli stuttered out a laugh, her eyes shifting from Milan to Amica. “Get it? Get it?”

Milan ignored the urge to slap himself on his forehead. Out of all people he could team up with, he’d chosen a thief. Now that her secret had been revealed, it was as if the word ‘dishonest’ was engraved with capital letters on her forehead. That was what thieves were. Dishonest, cunning, and deceitful. Everything Milan detested in humans. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d told Chet about his “crime”, and that she lied about the prosecutor. But these actions contradicted with the fact that she had also saved his life, and if it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have escaped jail. But so what? She was motivated by self-interest. If she hadn’t saved Milan’s life, she couldn’t have escaped either.

He would have to be more cautious about her. And what about Amica? She had to be hiding something under her façade as well. He eyed her, but she grinned awkwardly at Eli’s dumb joke, then turned toward Milan.

“I didn’t find much. Just this.” She pulled out a scrambled piece of paper and drew her arm close to her body, hesitating, as if she didn’t want to hand it to Milan.

Milan didn’t care. He seized it from her hand. Whatever it was, he had to know.

56.3404° N, 2.8016° W

Milan hardened his grasp around the paper.

“Coordinates,” Amica mumbled.

Anyone could see that. The coordinates weren’t the problem. It was the handwriting.

It was the same person who had written the letter.

“Find out where this leads to on Maps.” Milan returned the paper to Amica. “I also need a device that can view data on an SD card.”

“My phone,” Amica said. “I’ll go get it.” She ambled out of the living room into the corridor.

Milan picked up the SD card from where he had put it earlier before taking a shower — on the TV stand. The contents of this could be essential. It could solve the mystery. But why did he find it in his room? Shouldn’t the police have taken this in as vital evidence? What if this wasn’t important, then? No. What if this evidence was planted after the police’s investigation? On purpose.

For Milan to find it.