"Why did he kill himself?" Michael inquired.

Mr. and Mrs. Dallas sat together in the plane. Michael was sitting right behind them. His head was stuck between his parents' seats. Mr. Dallas had his computer on and opened on the small tray in front of him. He was reading documents and files about anything that had to do with the stolen project, even people, whilst Michael and Mrs. Dallas argued. Mrs. Dallas had her coffee stand on her small tray. She wore jeans, a long-sleeved green shirt, a black vest, and brown slippers. Her honey color hair was knotted in a bun. If you looked at her, she would appear as any other mother. Mr. Dallas on the other hand, liked to be well dressed. His dark hair was perfectly brushed; he looked like Superman in disguise. Michael always thought it was because he wore glasses. He had his blue shirt tucked in his creamy brown dress pants, a belt, and a blue striped tie around his neck. Even though he liked looking nice, when he's sitting down and working on a case, he prefers to be barefoot, with or without socks. Luckily, he had his socks on. 

"But the question remains: Why did he kill himself?" Michael inquired. 

"I did not raise you to be some eavesdropper." Mrs. Dallas scolded her son. 

 "You raised me to be an agent like you guys, eavesdropping was included in the package. Besides everyone heard the gunshot." Michael admitted while having his face squished between the seats.

"Michael please, it has been an exhausting week." His mother told him. 

"What did they ask you in the interrogation?" He questioned his parents.

"Michael." His father turned to look at him. "Not now." He returned to typing in his computer. He was writing a letter to Connor.

"Will you guys ever tell me anything?" He queried. 

"Shawn, sit down correctly." His mother ordered avoiding the question.

"I'm an agent and nineteen years old!" He pointed out. At first he raised his voice but then lowered it down for the passengers could've heard what they were talking about. "I'm an agent just like you guys."

"No, you are an agent assigned on lower cases. You don't get involved with ours." His mother stared at him very motherly and demanding. "That was the agreement. Don't change it."

"Then you shouldn't have brought me with you. Ican take care of myself. Though, now being here, I'm old enough to kno-" He began.

"No you're not-" She cut him off. 

"You let me before-"He cut her off.

"Before is before." Mrs. Dallas said. The look in her eyes showed fear and worries. She didn't want her son to be out in the field; fighting off things he wasn't ready yet. Before, Frederick and Helen thought he was ready. He could become like them and live the dream. That is until the explosions and bombs began. He was assigned that case. Frederick and Helen believed in their son. He can do it. They always said that to each other. Unfortunately, things didn't turn out as they should have. She remembered that day perfectly. They both did. Michael stared at his mother and knew she was remembering Oliver. "Now is now." She said.

Michael gazed at his mother. He knew she didn't want him to be like her. But he did. "Mom, I know-"

"End of discussion. Get yourself ready, you're going to school tomorrow." His father intervened. He shot a look at Michael and pierced his ebony eyes into his son's. His stiff body turned to exchange glances with his wife then back to his computer. Michael remarked, "No, I'm not. I hate school. End of discussion." 

His parents stayed silent, unwilling to argue. He slumped back in his seat and stared for some time at the window. They were still hundreds of feet in the air. He looked down to see the birds soar down below, extending their wings to be lifted in the air. They could do whatever they wanted, go wherever they wanted. He wished he could do that. As stubborn as he was, he couldn't help but want to relive the old days. The running, the chase, the exhilaration, the adventure was unforgettable. That adrenaline he felt every time... Michael threw his arm over his head, covering his eyes. Shut up. He ordered himself, Shut up. Michael had felt guilty repeatedly every time he recalled those memories. The ones that fascinated yet sadden him. His last day of feeling that adrenaline was also Oliver's. "You didn't deserve it." He muttered, conveying a silent message to his dear friend.

Michael pondered over and over again in his mind about Oliver. He imagined the million possibilities he could've done to help him, but he didn't. Michael would always ask himself: Why do you want this life? Why don't you want to have a safe life? Look what happened to Oliver, is that how you want it to end? So much thinking took him deep into the depths of his mind. Not only did he fall asleep, but also, soundlessly, he drifted to unlock the memory he held dear and lived through it once more.

Keep running. Keep running.

Don't stop. Michael, stuck in a crossroads, didn't know where he could've gone. He spun and twirled around deciding where to go. Decide, decide! There's not much time left!

He dashed into the first path. Keep running.

Where to go? Where to go? Every corner he found opened a door but built a wall. He took turns, entered paths, exit paths.

The rain fell upon his skin as ice and shivered his entire body. He wasn't sure if to move forward to find what he thinks is there. Silently and softly, he paced towards it. He paced towards...

The once grey sky to a red dawn. His pulled his hand away.

The body burned in front of him.

A circle of fire.

Michael did nothing but face the body presented in front of him.

The body bellowed loudly. It twisted its body backwards and brought back towards Michael, splashing drops of blood on him for its arms were motionless and uncontrollable.

The body gave away a sinister smile as he began to stroll around Michael.

"I thought I had it under control!" Michael revealed.

The body grabbed Michael with his bloody calloused hands and shook until the world spun around him.

"Make it stop!" It bellowed. "You stupid boy! You did this! Now make it stop!"

The place shifted and trembled. Michael, caught off guard, fell to the ground. Pitch black, nothing else could be seen.

Michael breathed heavily as he jolted upright in his seat. Sweat coming down his cheek, his throat dried and empty. He fluttered his eyes whilst getting his bearings back.

"We will be landing in a few minutes."

Michael jerked his head at the ceiling when he heard the pilot's voice inform them about their landing. Michael, unsteady of what he had dreamt, heard murmurs in the seat in front of him. He turned his head at them and tried to listen to what they were saying.

"Sir, could you please sit correctly and buckle your seat belt? We will be landing shortly." A flight attendant requested him.

Michael obediently did as told. He sat unusually straight and stiff. The flight attendant stared at him strangely but then walked away without asking if he was okay. As the lady left, Michael buried his face in his hands and found himself listening to his parents: "Her, we need to find her." He only caught a name: Veronica.