As we run across the open fields leading away from the school, I stare at my hand in Mark's. A couple of weeks ago, I could have only dreamed of holding his hand. Who would have thought that the reason being is because a bunch of psychotic maniacs have taken over the school and have killed my best friend?

What do they want from me? I can't help but wonder. What is it they so desperately need that they had to drag Anita into all this?

For a split second, Mark's hand is replaced by a different image. Anita's limp hand in mine.

I turn my head away and blink rapidly, holding back the flood of tears that threaten to envelop me. I note that the ground below us is beginning to slope downwards towards the brook as we near the end of the grassy school plains.

"Where are we going?" I huff, already out of breath. Hey, I never said I have an athlete's body. I may not be overweight, but there is a reason I skip sports and swimming carnivals every year.

"Just keep running," Mark says to me, letting go of my hand.

I trail behind him, slightly disappointed at our loss of contact. He glances back once as if to make sure I'm still following, which encourages me to run faster. The warm wind whipping against my face and the burning in my legs is the only thing keeping me from replaying Anita's death in my mind.

Mark suddenly begins to slow down, so I copy. Now at a walking pace, I stop briefly, hands on my knees as I lean forward to catch my breath.

How the hell is he not tired? I think to myself, watching the boy with curiosity as he maintains his brisk pace.

"Mark, please," I pant, forcing my legs to follow suit. "Where are we going?"

He frowns, finally glancing back at me. "To the bus station, of course."

***

I'm now sitting beside Mark on the almost-empty bus. I forgot that there's a pathway for joggers just beside the brook and that if you follow it long enough, it leads under a bridge of passing cars and then up a flight of stairs to where the Brookside bus station is situated. In fact, it's the same bus station I go to every afternoon. I just take a shorter route.

My stomach growls, reminding me it's lunch time, yet after the catastrophic events of this morning, food is the least of my worries.

The quiet bus doesn't help calm my nerves in the least. Anita's death scene just repeats in my head nonstop, the deafening gunshots seeming to increase in volume every time. In the hopes of distracting myself, I observe the elderly lady a few seats in front of me, who has her mouth open and is drooling while she sleeps peacefully. I look down at my dirt-covered school shoes, crossing my legs and then uncrossing them nervously.

"Look," Mark says hesitantly. "About Anita... I'm sorry, Audrey." He touches my shoulder lightly.

I shift in my seat again, smoothing out my grey, school dress before pretending to fix my ponytail so that he'd let go. A few more minutes pass in silence, and I realise that I should probably do something other than fixing my hair.

I don't want to seem weird. Then again, it's not like I didn't just embarrass myself completely when I bawled my eyes out and wet his shirt.

I blush, and glance sideways at Mark, but thankfully he seems to be lost in thought. I fold my bus ticket in half, then in half again, and again, and again. I do that for the rest of the bus ride, trying to block any unwanted thoughts.

When we first arrived at the station, I wondered how we were going to pay for the fare, seeing as our phones and wallets were inside our school bags, which we happened to leave in the girls' bathroom. But then Mark took out five dollars from his uniform pocket.

Smart, I had thought. My dad had always taught me as a child to keep five dollars on you at all times in case of an emergency.

"This is our stop," Mark presses the 'stop' bell before standing up. The bus comes to a stop, the automatic doors swinging open. Mark thanks the driver and the two of us step out into the humid Brisbane air. I glance at Mark curiously, recognising the familiar scent of the gum trees mixed with the polluted air due to the many cars passing on this street.

"My house is like two stops away from here."

"I know," Mark walks briskly towards the main crossing a few metres ahead.

I stare at him in bewilderment, thinking that the heat has finally gotten to me. "What?"

"I said, I know," he called behind him.

I may have thought he were joking, had it not been for his serious tone of voice.

"How do you know where I live?" I jog after him.

He turns towards me, giving me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Audrey. Everything will make sense, I promise."

"Whatever," I mutter. All I want is to crawl into bed and pretend this day never happened.

We cross the road in silence, and I follow Mark down a hidden street I hadn't noticed at first glance. The street is oddly quiet the further we walk into the neighbourhood. It seems a bit like a place elderly folk might live in, away from the noise of honking cars. We round a corner and Mark points at the single, lonesome house in front of us.

"This is the place," he states as if that explains everything. Then he walks past the short driveway and onto the freshly cut lawn.

The small, brick house seems old but well-kept. Nothing special about it. Just a green lawn and a driveway.

"Where exactly is 'here'?" I air quote.

He chooses not to hear me and walks around the side of the house feeling the brick wall. Bemused, I stand next to him silently.

"It's here somewhere..." he mutters under his breath.

"Um, do you want me to knock or something?" I ask, feeling helpless.

He shakes his head. "No point. He won't be home yet."

Well, that rules out my next question: is this your house? Obviously not.

"Are we breaking and entering?" I ask nervously.

"No," he replies, his hand lingering on a particular brick before pushing it inwards. I peek over Mark's shoulder and see a small, dark compartment. He pulls out a silver key from the compartment before placing the brick back where it belongs.

"Come on," he beckons, and I follow him back round to the front of the house, where he slides the key easily into the front door. It makes a faint click, and he opens the door for me.

"It's not breaking and entering if we have a key," he says with a smile.

Seeing my hesitation, though, he steps into the house first disappearing down the long, narrow corridor. Left with no other choice, I let out a long sigh before entering the house.

Well, good news is, the day can't get any weirder than this.

***

I'm not sure where Mark had disappeared to – maybe the bathroom or something –but I was happy exploring the place on my own. It didn't take me very long either, despite it being bigger inside than I had initially thought. There isn't much in the house, only the necessities it seems. So far, I've discovered a bathroom, a bedroom, a dining room and a living room, all of which are squeaky clean. I walk into the living room that consists of a three-seater and single-seater white, leather couch, a miniature table and a box-set TV.

I haven't seen those TVs in years! Who on earth owns this house?

"Mark!" I call out.

I walk back towards the corridor and find Mark looking out the window near the entryway as if expecting someone.

"Hm?" he says as if just remembering he isn't the only person in the house. "Sorry, did you want me to give you a tour of the house?"

"I've already had a look around. This place is super neat! I was wondering..."

"Erik's always been a bit of a neat freak," he walks into the adjoining living room, gesturing for me to take a seat, but my stubbornness refuses to give way.

I'm not sitting on a stranger's couch until I know who the stranger is.

"Erik?" I ask, grasping at a chance for answers.

He hesitates, his brown eyes crinkling in concern. I catch myself staring at him a moment too long and I blush, looking away.

"I just want some answers," I murmur, feeling the day's events overwhelm me again.

"And you'll get them," he reassures, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I sit this time, and Mark is just about to do the same when a knock sounds at the door.

"Hide behind the couches," he instructs before slowly moving towards the entrance door. I do as he says and watch as Mark slowly opens the door. From this angle, I'm able to see as the door swings open, and I'm shocked to find the hooded man standing outside. Mark instantly relaxes.

The man chuckles lowly. "Did I scare you?"

Mark grins. "Come on, Erik. Cut me some slack. You're the one always telling me to be careful. I hid Audrey behind the couches."

So that's Erik. The mysterious hooded man is Erik! I can't help feeling triumphant, like a kid who's just figured out the first piece of the jigsaw puzzle. However, that triumph is soon replaced with confusion once again. Who exactly is Erik?

"Yes, you're right to be careful," Erik says, turning towards the umbrella stand I hadn't noticed before. He pulls out a long, black umbrella and swiftly hits Mark on the head with it. Not hard enough for a concussion, but hard enough to make Mark wince.

"Ow!" Mark rubs his head. "What the hell was that for?"

"For not being careful enough! What on earth were you thinking, opening that door without a single weapon of defence?"

"I assumed it was you!" Mark insists.

"What if you had assumed wrong?" Erik counters, returning the umbrella to its stand. "You should know by now that I can let myself in." He takes out a silver key from the pocket of his hoodie, dangling it in the air momentarily before putting it back. "You failed my test as soon as you opened that door."

"Everything is a test with you," Mark mutters, though I see a hint of a smile on his face.

"How many times have I told you? Be prepared for anything! I didn't see you prepared for that blow in the head just then!"

Mark mutters something incoherently and Erik steps into the living room. He takes off his hoodie and his grey eyes meet my green ones. Finally, I'm able to observe the mystery man before me.

His face is thin and cleanly shaven, his posture slender and erect. Erik seems to be around forty, but something about him throws me off. Maybe it's those child-like eyes that seem to burn bright and lively.

"You can come out now," Erik tells me.

I stand up hastily, forgetting that I was still crouched behind the couches. Mark gestures for me to come forward, and I take a hesitant step towards the tall man. Surprisingly, Erik's stern features soften slightly. His gaze isn't as cold as I first suspected. If anything, he seems worried.

For me? Why? I don't even know this guy.

"Audrey, this is Erik," Mark declares, giving me a comforting smile.

Erik stretches out his hand, but I don't take it straight away. I meet his gaze again and automatically relax slightly.

Mark seems to trust him. Plus, if Erik wants to hurt me, he already would've done it, right?

We shake hands and Erik grins at me.

"Hello, Audrey," he says in that same tone of voice he used when we first met. "I believe I owe you some answers."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

| Dedicated to crescent_ |

Yet another Wattpad user that makes me smile with her funny and supportive comments <3

Thanks for reading this far guys Xx Don't be afraid to leave a comment or vote!

EDITED ✔