When I'd first been reacquainted with the Circuit, it had been through Slim, Henry's supposed friend. He'd brought Henry and me to the underground hideout in San Judo, and Mr. Clean (Slim's name for him--I supposed now that his real name was Grant) had been the first person we'd seen on the inside. He'd been the doorman, so to speak. He'd been at a desk, and when he'd seen Henry, he'd been just as frightened as he appeared to have been this time. But Henry hadn't understood why, before; I supposed he understood, now.

Why had he killed him? Or hurt him? I couldn't be sure the guy was dead--but he certainly hadn't been moving. And the blood . . .

Why was Henry so murderous? Why such cold-bloodedness? Why? I tried to rationalize it. The Hineses had been a job. It was reprehensible, what he'd done, but I supposed if he needed to get away from the Circuit and they would've suspected him if he hadn't carried out their orders . . . I hated it, but part of me excused him for what he'd done to them. And Coach Allen? Well, as Henry had said, it was either him or Allen; it was self-defense. But Mr. Clean? Or Grant? Whoever he was? Why? Clearly the guy hadn't been a threat. And even more disturbing than the growing body count (which I sensed was just a portion of what he'd been doing for months) was the utter lack of remorse Henry had. Shouldn't he have at least felt some guilt for having to hurt these people?

It was that absence of conscience that made me leave him in that moment. I couldn't be with him if he was going to keep doing this.

These were my overwhelming thoughts as I slipped out the front door of the duplex and just began running. The neighborhood was dismal at best and dangerous at worst, but none of that mattered in the moment. Henry was more unsettling than anything I'd see on the street. Those first minutes were just about putting distance between us, distance and complexity. I darted through strange alleys and made turns wherever I thought they'd add confusion. I went up and down various stairwells and crossed overgrown fields by hopping fences. It was a blind run, wild and thoughtless, and whether or not anybody saw me or whatever anyone might think of me, I kept on. It felt like ages, but I was sure Henry was right behind me, so I kept on. I wished more than once that I'd managed to get a hoverboard, but getting into a car would be the next best thing.

I skipped bus stops where people were actively waiting; I didn't want to stand still--I wanted to keep moving for fear standing still would give Henry an opportunity to catch up. But at length, as night came on, I came to a stop where a bus was just pulling up, so I hopped on, paid with a little of the money I had, and moved all the way to the back, where I could keep an eye on anyone who boarded. At last, I could rest.

Opening my bag, I sifted through some of the items in there. As we'd left the mountains and moved toward civilization, Henry had stopped once at a convenience store and picked up water and some food. I was grateful, now that he'd given some to me. I was so thirsty and gulped down almost a whole bottle of water. Then I stared out the window and slowly ate some pretzels, watching scenery pass by. I didn't pay much attention to anyone on the bus except to notice at one point that no one sat near me. I wondered if it was because I looked and smelled like I was homeless, and then I was actually grateful for that, because I didn't have to try to make conversation with anyone.

With no destination in mind, I just sat on that bus. And sat . . . and sat . . . and sat. I fell asleep for a while--a dead sleep--and when I finally woke up, darkness had fallen. I had no idea what time it was or how long I'd been on that bus, and the only reason I'd awakened was because the driver was nudging me. The bus had come to a stop, and she--a heavy black woman with a face that looked friendly enough--was gently pressing my shoulder.

"Honey, you've got to get off. I've run my route. I'm taking this bus back."

I sat up, disoriented, but then I remembered. "Where are we?"

She stood straight and gave me a sort of pitying look. "Dear, I took the liberty of stopping here before I make my way back to the depot. I've seen enough to know when a person needs help." She nodded toward the window.

Following her nod, I looked out to see a building with a bright white rectangular sign with the image of a dove on it, reading Peace Haven Shelter.

"It's for homeless youth. You don't have to stay there for good, now, honey, but they will give you a place to stay and wash up tonight. Come on now, let's go."

I didn't resist her in the least. I was tired and confused, having half-forgotten why I was on a bus at all. But as I got off it and she led me to the door, Henry rushed back into my mind, and I realized that there was no better place to go than into a youth shelter. I'd be safe from him around all the other people, and I'd be safe from anyone on the streets. I'd be as anonymous as ever, and I'd have time to think over all that had happened and what to do with myself, now. And I'd have a shower--some food--a bed. Yes, this was a great idea. I thanked the bus driver meaningfully and entered the building.

The immediate ambience was one of warmth. The place didn't appear overly-clean and antiseptic; it had more the vibe of a camp dormitory, with random kids' art hung behind the front reception, young people moving around, a fireplace with a quiet flame and mismatched chairs around it. A few tables were covered with magazines and worn books. Smells of food wafted toward me. A woman welcomed me, her voice revealing concern but not condescension. I was quickly checked in (fortunately, I needed only to write down my first name, as they didn't seem to care who I was as much as how they could help) and taken to a large room with multiple partitions in between bunkbeds and dressers. I was told that I could place my belongings on one of the beds there, but I felt uneasy doing so as my bag was all I had, so instead I was led to a large restroom with multiple stalls and showers. There were lockers there, and I was given a dial lock to use as well as offered clean clothing, which I turned down, mentioning my spare outfit in my bag. Then I was left to shower and clean up, the woman saying she'd return with some basic toiletries.

That shower felt like the most luxurious I'd ever taken in my life.

When I'd finished showering, brushing my teeth and hair, looking to basic needs, I ventured back out into the room with the bunks. Other girls were there, wandering around, some getting into beds or already in them, some talking quietly, some reading magazines or heading to the bathroom. All-in-all, I saw around ten other people. I assumed there was a room for boys as well, that we were divided by gender as close as possible, which made sense. But I was hoping to get something to eat, as late as it was, so I made my way into the front hallway and followed the smell of food. There were a lot of people just hanging out, but no one seemed too intense or rowdy. It was just young people, and they looked, for the most part, to be at ease.

I loved that nobody really paid attention to me. I walked around, and no one stopped me or asked who I was. It was as if the people there shared the desire or at least the habit of anonymity. I received a few smiles of acknowledgement, but otherwise, I was completely let be, even in the cafeteria, where I managed to get some leftovers from the dinner that had been served hours earlier. I sat alone at a table and ate slowly, contemplating.

After I'd eaten, I returned to the dormitory and found the bed I'd been offered earlier. The lights had been dimmed, but I could see that there was someone in the lower bunk, so I removed my shoes, stuck them in my bag, and then carried the bag up to the top with me (I was too nervous to leave what little I had somewhere; it might disappear).

If I'd thought I'd be able to sleep, though, I'd been mistaken. I was absolutely wide awake. Though I tried to close my eyes and just let myself be, I struggled. Perhaps it was the quiet but certain noises of all those around me there; maybe it was the racing of my mind. Whatever the case, lying there in a bed when I couldn't sleep became tortuous, so I decided to go take care of my laundry. The place had settled down considerably from when I'd first come in. Most were likely sleeping, though a few people had drifted off on a couch here or there. There were people who presumably worked there, too, kind of walking around and just checking in on people. There was still a woman at the front reception, and she was watching videos on her phone. Everything was calm. The woman directed me to the washing room, and I was shown a sheet of paper where I had to sign up. I hadn't realized it was a process, but there was only one name ahead of mine, and I guessed it was that of the person already in there, sitting in a chair by the washer.

Should I stay, or should I go? I couldn't see whether the person in the chair was a male or female. Their hair was covered by a cap, and they were looking down at something on their lap. Their clothing consisted of baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

Cautiously, I approached the person. There were other chairs nearby, and I figured I'd just wait it out. The washing machine showed a blinking "5," so I guessed there were only a few minutes before it was done. But as I walked by the person, they lifted their gaze.

"I just started. It'll be a while."

I timidly ventured, "The five--"

"Minutes in. Five minutes in. Not five minutes left. It's stupid it does it that way, but it's five in."

They stared at me as I sat down anyway, in a chair about ten feet away. A feminine-shaped face, smooth and small in the eyes and nose, paired with dark slashing hair and an overall boyish affect. The person sized me up, as if trying to figure out whether I was all right, and then tossed the magazine down.

"Come on and give me your stuff. I'll just toss it in with mine. I don't got a lot."

I was taken aback and unsure what to do.

The person hopped up and came over to me, hand outstretched. "It's Andy, all right? I'm Andy." Andy patted her chest. "And you are?"

"Um, Amirah."

"Ok, Amirah. Now we know each other. It's not weird, now. So just throw your stuff in. It saves water and time." She went back to the washer, pressed a button, opened the top, and waited for me.

Hesitantly, I joined her and tossed my few clothes in.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Andy smiled somewhat teasingly.

I smiled in thanks and returned to my ten-feet-away chair, thinking that now I'd have to talk to this person while we sat there, but Andy resumed reading the magazine, and I settled back in my chair.

That machine took a solid forty-five minutes. Though I hadn't been tired enough to sleep in a bed, I found myself dozing in the chair about twenty minutes after sitting down in it. There was another chair next to it, so I pulled them together and sort of laid down awkwardly, but it worked enough. I put my bag under my head and decided to just nap until the machine went off. I had no concern whatsoever for what Andy or anyone else walking around might think of me, and Andy, truthfully, didn't take note of me at all. My cognizance grew misty, and my thoughts scattered. I felt more peaceful in those chairs than I had in the bed.

So I was surprised when I found myself suddenly near the ocean. I couldn't see the water, but I could hear it, and I could smell it. Sense it all around, yet I was not in it. My vision began to clear the white clouds around my eyes, and I saw that I was walking along the sand. This was a place of absolute comfort; I knew this place. I'd been here for so long. And there were others, here, I sensed. People who might have cared about me or, at least, known who I was. The salty warmth of the ocean, the sand grains making way beneath my feet, the soft spray alighting on my cheeks . . . it was all so peaceful, and so right . . . and someone walked behind me. I didn't know who it was; I couldn't see the person, because in this vision I couldn't turn around. But I was certain someone was there. Not a threatening someone but a person who was meant to be there, someone a part of me. Someone . . . Henry? But as quickly as I'd thought it, he--or whoever had been behind me--was gone, and darkness rushed into the vacuum their absence created. The waves, the white, the sand and mist and softness fell into nothing, and I felt the wind, again, torrential around me, and the screams--so loud--so close--and closing in--

"Hey! Wake up!"

I jerked to attention, sitting up so quickly that I pulled something in my neck. Rubbing it in pain, I shook myself awake. I remembered that I was doing laundry, and there was Andy in front of me, looking worried..

"You all right?"

I didn't quite know how to respond. I was still trying to acclimate myself to the laundry room again.

"You were talking in your sleep. You seemed upset."

I sighed, closed and reopened my eyes. "What was I saying?"

"Just 'no,' over and over. Like you were having a nightmare."

"It was a memory," I thought aloud, forgetting anyone was with me. "I--I think it was. It felt like it."

Andy stood up straight. "What do you mean, a memory?"

I looked up. "Oh, nothing. I sometimes . . ." It was no good lying, but that didn't mean I had to entirely tell the truth. "I don't remember everything about my past, that's all."

"That bad, huh?" Andy nodded in sympathy. "There are parts of mine I'd like to block out, myself."

I looked up at her, but I didn't know what to say. She obviously didn't know about the extent of my memory lapses--who would?--and it was best kept that way.

Andy was giving me this mother-hen look. I wasn't sure how to take it. I was used to Henry, who had no emotion except anger, it seemed, and Paolo, who had seemed on level with me, but this look from Andy was somewhat patronizing.

"You ok, really?"

I sighed, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Cause you look like you need a friend."

A bitter half-laugh came from I-didn't-know-where, surprising me. "No," I told her. "Really. I'm all right."

She studied me for a moment. "Never seen you before . . . First time?"

I nodded slowly.

"Word of advice—you come too often, they start tracking you. Try to send you to school, figure out your deal, get you talking to social services. So just change your name every time you come, and keep a low profile. They're so understaffed it'll take a while before they notice you."

I was grateful for the advice and said as much, but I kept myself closed otherwise. It was obvious I didn't want to talk to her.

Andy shrugged and went back to where she'd been sitting when I'd fallen asleep, by the washing machine. For a brief moment, I felt guilty; she was probably hoping I'd jump at the chance to be her friend. But I was in no place to befriend anyone.