- STEVEN -

"Sir, honestly, it's no trouble to get the doctor in here to have a look at you as well."

"I'm fine; I swear," I said to a nurse draped in white as the two of us stood in the hallway outside Dylan's room. "Look, please just make sure he's okay."

On the ride to the hospital, I'd swathed the stab wound on my inner thigh with my gray sweatshirt, and the nurse wouldn't quit asking me if I was alright. I appreciated it—really, I did. But I was so scared that Dylan might be hurt...or worse.

"Well, your friend is stabilized," the nurse assured me. "We were able to stop the bleeding, and he should be conscious any moment. We'll notify you as soon as he wakes." She smiled gently, flipped several pages folded over her clipboard, and strode down the hall.

I stared after her for a moment, then stuffed my hands into my pockets with a sigh. I leaned back against the wall, cocked my head upward. This had been one crazy day.

Who were they? I couldn't get my mind off that blond I'd seen—or the devil-faced creep who'd tried to kill me. The wound on my inner thigh began throbbing again just at the thought of the two of them.

"Breathe, Steven," I whispered to myself. "Just breathe."

"S...Steven?" a low moan escaped Dylan's hospital room. "Steven, is that you?"

"Dylan?" I exhaled, my eyes growing wide. I spun around and ran inside the room. "Dylan, you're awake!?" I ran to the bed, grasped his shoulder and stared down at him. "H—how are you feeling? Are you hurt? Can I get you something? I..." My mind was racing. Was he okay? Was he scared? Had he seen something before he was attacked? Had he seen someone?

"Whoa, dude, slow down," Dylan's groggy voice begged as he raised his palms to rub his eyes. "Steven, what's going on?"

"Dylan, it's...you were attacked, and...I found you there, lying on the floor, and—I thought you were dead, or, or dying, or—" I paused, my voice trailing off as sporadic thoughts were punctuated with throaty gasps; I must have sounded like a lunatic. "Dylan, please, just tell me you're alright."

I stood, silent, unable to move. In hindsight, I guess it was stupid for me to be freaking out so much. The nurse said Dylan was stable, that they'd stopped the bleeding and everything was fine. But being there, staring at my best friend as he looked weaker than ever, I was scared—I was terrified.

He nodded his head after a few seconds. "I'm...I'm okay, bud," he managed.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. "Thank God," I breathed, smiling for the first time since I'd made it to the emergency room.

The soft beat of footsteps sounded outside the door, the twist of the knob clicking through the air.

I turned, watched as the door crept open, faced our visitor. "Ahmed?" My fists clenched instinctively. "What're you doing here?"

He held up his phone. "I got the group message you sent the team about Dylan," he answered lowly. "Just wanted to make sure he was okay."

I crossed my arms.

Ahmed reached inside his backpack and pulled out a white paper bag splotched through with grease. "I swung by Steak 'N' Shake and got you this," he addressed Dylan only, refusing to even glance my way. "I figured you could use a bite to eat."

I watched Dylan's eyes grow wide.

"Dude, no way!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Steak 'N' Shake's my favorite!"

Ahmed smiled and walked closer to the bed, food in hand.

I grabbed his arm the moment he got within three feet of me and shoved him back before he could make it to Dylan. "Back up," I spat. "The doctor said no food until all the tests are done."

"What? Steven!?" Dylan protested. "The doctor never said that..."

"You were out cold!" I shot back, thinking quickly. "The doctor came in here and said—"

"You're so full of it, Steven," Ahmed said to me, "Honestly." He dropped the bag of Steak 'N' Shake in a chair next to the room's handwashing station, then turned to Dylan. "I hope you feel better, man."

Ahmed turned to go, slammed the door behind him.

"He's a prick," I said matter-of-factly. "What's his problem anyway?"

Dylan huffed. "Well, it may've had something to do with the fact that you basically slammed him into a wall when he was just trying to bring me food."

"Dylan, Ahmed's a creep. What if that food was poisoned? He coulda been trying to kill you."

Dylan shook his head, his face scrunching into an angry frown. "Well, if that was the plan, he should've taken tips from you."

I froze. "What? Dylan, the heck did you just say!?"

Dylan looked away, his voice suddenly falling silent. "Nothing," he whispered.

"Didn't sound like nothing to me," I pressed.

"Steven, I was just...it was nothing."

"So what, you think this was my fault?"

"No, that's not—"

"I was the one who called the cops—I saved your life! You'd still be bleeding out if it wasn't for me!" Seething, I felt my face flush with anger.

"Steven, wait," he pleaded. "I didn't mean that; I was just..."

"Screw you," I spat, staring him coldly in the eye, then turned and stormed out of the room.

Slamming the door amid Dylan's hoarse protests and preparing to exit the hospital in a rage, I was greeted by an unfamiliar face the moment I stomped into the hallway.

"Mr. Hall," the man spoke, his body draped in a long brown trench coat. "Just the kid I was hoping to see."

I was so over dealing with people's crap. "Who are you?" I demanded of the mysterious stranger, noticing seconds later that Ahmed was standing uncomfortably beside him.

"I'm Detective Stapleman," the tall and imposing man answered. "And you and your friend here have some explaining to do." He motioned to Ahmed.

"He's not my friend," I barked. "Now screw off. There's no way I'm sticking around this stupid hospital any longer." I rolled my eyes and kept walking forward, brushing past him as I trekked toward the exit.

The detective caught me by the shoulder and spun me around, shoving me against the bricked wall next to where Ahmed stood. "It wasn't a request." He chuckled, then glared into my eyes. "Now, this can go one of two ways: either you and Mr. Heavenstate can follow me outside, or I can take both of you down to the station."

"Look, I just got attacked tonight," I raged, "Are you seriously telling me that—"

"No," the detective cut me off, "Dylan was attacked. You're just the boy who called it in. For all we know, you could have tried to kill him yourself."

I don't believe this.

"But there're more pressing questions at hand here," he continued. "Like what you and Ahmed were doing at EdgeWay Academy on the night of Glenn Clather's death."

I felt my heart thud out a terrified beat. "Wh...what are you talking ab—?"

"This morning," he pressed, "we acquired footage from an anonymous source taken on the night Mr. Clather's body was found, footage that shows the two of you walking down the school's hallway along with two as-of-yet unidentified females." His prying eyes narrowed, darting back and forth between me and the scrawny freshman to my right.

There's no way.

"That's gotta be fake," I tried. "They don't even have cameras in that hallway."

"Well," he started chuckling again, "someone had a camera, and that someone placed you at the scene of the crime." He drew closer to me and Ahmed. "So, I'm gonna say this one more time. You two can either step outside, or the three of us can take a nice little road trip down to the Department Headquarters."

I had no words, and neither did Ahmed.

No, I was screaming inside my brain. No, no, no, NO! This isn't—this can't be happening!

Out of nowhere, the alternating click and clack of high-heeled shoes snapped in the distance. "Such lovely weather outside," came a smooth and feminine voice. "What a shame that I had to walk into this storm of stupidity."

Ahmed, the detective, and I turned in unison. Before us, a woman with a slim figure and light-brown skin stood, one hand resting on her hips and the other grasping the strap of a dark purse. She wore a petite satin blouse that covered her arms but left her bare shoulder and upper chest exposed, stopping just above her breasts.

"Who—who are you?" Ahmed asked, his voice quivering.

"Prudence," the woman answered. She paused, placed her purse on an empty nurse's desk, then strode forward and stopped directly in front of Detective Stapleman, staring him in the eyes.

"Prudence Clearden." He grinned. "It's been a long time."

My jaw dropped. That's her—the roommate Charity talked about in her diary!

"Clearden?" Her hand rose to her throat as she spoke her next sarcastic words. "Why, what on earth would give you the impression that I'm still a Clearden?" She laughed. "I'm married now, Jeremy. And to a Deputy Commissioner, no less. But that's not why I'm here, not today."

"Then why?" Stapleman grunted, crossing his arms.

"I'm here for them," she announced, pointing to me and Ahmed. "Let them go, Jeremy. Now."

His face hardened. "I'm not sure you grasp the concept of police work, Prudence. But officers don't take orders from civilians."

It was her turn to grin. "And I'm not sure you grasp the concept of improperly questioning minors." She swiveled her head from left to right for emphasis. "Do you see a parent or guardian? Because I certainly don't." Her eyes thinned. "But you know what I do see? A disgruntled detective who still hasn't gotten over the death of a career he was too scared to pursue."

Rage erupted on Detective Stapleman's face. His right hand shot out and gripped Prudence's arm. "Listen, you pathetic whore! Two people are dead, and these 'minors' are on video in the same building where we found Glenn Clather's chopped up corpse! So unless you want more bodies to drop—"

"Save it, Jeremy." Prudence pursed her lips. "You were jealous then, and you're jealous now. And if you're really so interested in solving this case, you might want to focus less on the kids and more on the reason they're embroiled in all of this in the first place: their parents." She yanked her arm from his grasp and replaced it on her hip.

Detective Stapleman grimaced.

"What's the matter?" She raised a single eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're still scared of Marcus after all these years. He's hardly the same golden boy he was back in seminary." She ran her hand through her hair, flipping it nonchalantly. "And I hope you've managed to upgrade from the doddering doormat who jumped at his every beck and call."

His eyes widened with rage. I thought he might strike her, knock her to the ground; but as quickly as ire had flushed across his face, it refrained, began to dissipate. He exhaled slowly, then stared back at Prudence with an unforgiving glare.

"Joke all you want," he finally spoke. "But I'm making a difference." With narrowed eyes, he raised a single finger to point at Prudence. "And while you religious kooks race back to your country clubs and raise your hands to fearless leaders with dirty secrets, just know that I will get to the bottom of this. I don't care how many kids you try to protect or jokes you make at my expense; you're only delaying the inevitable."

He stepped to the side and strode past her, casting only a single backward glance as he pushed open the double doors separating the plastered white hallway from a pitch black night. The rattle of his cop car sounded moments later, the crunch of rubber tires over asphalt signaling his departure as Prudence flipped her hair once more.