Run.

Run.

And freaking hide.

That's all that goes through my mind.

I have to go, I have to hide, I can't see the police, I can't let the police see me—

With sheer speed, I dash down the porch and round it to the fence that divides the front yard and backyard.

I need to hide, I need to get out—

I jump up at the fence and grab onto its wooden edge. With adrenaline-fuelled strength, I pull myself up to the edge and swing my legs over. I push myself down, letting go of the fence and hitting the ground with my soles.

I bolt down the concrete pathway and stumble into the backyard. The fence, grass, and the walkway surrounds me. It's all open area—

Until a garage on the other side to my right catches my sight.

With a spring of relief, I sprint to the garage with my eyes locked on the door facing me. I grab the door knob and swing it open before flying inside and slamming the door closed.

The dim room lined with shelves with a four-door car in the middle stares back at me. The air is thick and moist, forcing me to take longer breaths.

I need to hide, I need to hide—

I run around the perimeter of the car, searching for a box or space I can slip myself in to be concealed. But with the sirens taunting my ears, I drop down to my knees and drag myself underneath the back of the car.

One arm at a time, I pull myself toward the middle in hopes of blending myself in the dark. I feel my shirt and pants picking up the dirt as my arms are prickled with pebbles and soil. My fists meet with cold concrete ground with each movement.

THUNK.

I halt at the sound and the sensation of rough wood under my fist. I perk down, spotting a slab of wood sitting on the same level as the ground. With curiosity, I shuffle backward to expose all of it.

The wood is plain except for a round metal handle nailed onto it.

I grab onto the handle and pull it away from me. The wood lifts, its thick edge rising above the concrete. I place my other hand underneath the hovering edge to push up the wooden slate as best as possible. It hits the bottom of the car, only leaving a narrow space in between the ground and what it is underneath.

I stare at my predicament: the darkness below the wooden slate taunts me. My heart slams against my chest. I don't care what's below, I need to get out of here!

I stick my head inside the space and push myself over the edge of the concrete ground. I shuffle deeper, sensing the ground morphing into a hard and cold staircase underneath my torso. My arms shake and strain as they try to hold up the wooden slate at the angle my body is in. I slowly brush my arms away, only to have the slate smack down on my lower back.

"Ow!"

Gritting my teeth to bear the blunt pain, I grip onto the nearest stair below me and pull my legs in between the limp wooden slate and the concrete ground. The weight of the slate disappear as my legs slip into the staircase I am in. The slate above thuds close, enveloping me in complete darkness.

My body stays frozen in trepidation. My eyes dart around the blackness, searching for a light. With a shaky breath, I drag my hand down to the next stair and slowly crawl down.

I stay in place. Run my hand over the cool concrete stair. Sense a bump. Another stair. Drag myself lower. Halt.

My eyes lock ahead. A faint light shines at the bottom of the staircase.

With hope springing within me, I quicken the pace of my crawling. My breathing is loud, my heart is pounding, my body is shaking, but my mind is set on reaching the bottom.

I throw myself onto the dusty, concrete ground. I roll onto my back and lay on the ground. My breathing is the only sound echoing in this mysterious room. The air is thick and musty, filled with moisture. The light is warm and dim.

After taking in a large breath, I slowly sit up and climb onto my feet. I brush the dust and dirt away from my clothes and arms as best as possible. I then turn away from the staircase in front of me to survey the rest of the room.

The walls are rough and chipped, the ceiling is dome shaped; it is like as if someone dug out this room. The light emits from a lightbulb hanging on the domed ceiling.

The walls wrap their way around the room before connecting with the staircase again. They bear many lines and crevices, like the shape of a hanging towel.

I turn my head to the left before turning it back to the right. The walls shift as my vision passes it. I snap my head back to it. The crevice holds the width of a person.

I knit my eyebrows in curiosity. I step up to it, watching it form into a curved opening to my left with my vision.

"Optical illusion," I mutter under my breath.

I turn left and halt dead in my tracks.

Feet from me is Nolan, his wrists and ankles tied to a wooden chair, duct tape over his mouth, his hair disheveled, and his skin covered with bruises, scratches, cuts.