I was sprinting. I didn't have much endurance, but my life literally depended on it. I must've looked like a lunatic; my neon orange backpack was bouncing against my back, and my auburn hair was blowing in my face, obscuring my vision.

"MONTANA!" I heard an angry voice behind me. I ran faster somehow, almost falling in the process.

The generic thing for me to do was knock over a fruit stand, like in the movies, but I didn't see a fruit stand. I didn't have time to knock one over, either.

I didn't even bump into some random dude that would sweep me off my feet. Tough luck, I guess.

By this time, my lungs were practically on fire. I didn't know if I could yell, but I tried anyway.

And I failed.

I sounded too hoarse and frantic to say anything coherent, so I just kept running. I couldn't flag down a police officer, and flagging down someone might not be the best idea because they might talk to the police. The reason I was running wasn't exactly legal.

The only hope I saw was the trashy, dirt-covered bike shop I passed everyday on my walk to the Alley.

When I first moved in, I started waving at Charlie (the guy who ran it) every morning. Then, we started speaking to each other. Next thing you know, we were best friends. I hung out in that asbestos-ridden building every day.

I crashed straight into the door at top speed, and slammed it shut the second I entered. Charlie stared at me, wide-eyed. "Claire? Are you okay?" he asked. I shook my head, still out of breath. Then, Henry (the guy chasing me) slammed into the door.

I put all my weight on it. "Help me!" I managed. Poor, confused Charlie leaned against the door and we held off Henry.

Fortunately, Henry was struggling, which was surprising; Charlie and I put together didn't equal too much - he was skinnier than me, and I walked a mile and a half everyday. "What's going on?" Charlie asked, terrified.

"I may have taken something from him," I replied, still out of breath.

"Then give it back! He's gonna break my door down!"

"It wasn't his in the first place!" I argued. "He stole it from Joe!"

He shook his head. "That guy is a freaking drug-lord!"

"He took something important! What else was I supposed to do?!"

Charlie sighed, "Maybe - I don't know - let Joe handle it?!"

"Hey," I said. "I'm getting paid to do this."

"Well, I'm not!" Charlie turned and locked the door. "You know, I probably should've thought of that before," he mused. I sighed, then leaned against the counter and slung off my backpack. Charlie picked it up. "What's in this thing?" he asked, opening it. He pulled out a laptop and a small plastic bag filled with a weird, green substance. "I don't wanna know," he said, immediately putting it back in.

As Henry continued to bang on the door, I looked around for an escape. I saw the brightest thing in the entire shop: a blue door, placed just inside the back room.

"There," I said, speed-walking over.

"What?" Charlie asked.

I gestured, "We'll hide in here until the cops come."

"Claire," Charlie looked at me, worried, "that's just a wall... Are you high?" I shook my head. I had no interest in doing that, unlike my older brother. So, I opened the door - that was there - and almost fainted.

Inside was the most surprising thing I'd ever expect to be in Charlie's one-story bike shop.

Stairs.

It was the tiniest spiral staircase I'd ever seen. I estimated it to be a two-foot by two-foot square column. There were thin, wooden squares half as big as the space itself placed around the wall like... well, stairs.

I looked up, and the staircase seemed to be endless. I looked down, and it went just as deep. Surprisingly, I'd never seen a tower of stairs sprouting from the roof.

I'd noticed the door before, but I thought it was just storage or something. I'd never even been in the back where he actually worked on the bikes; we always stayed around the counter in case somebody came in (which nobody ever did, but Charlie was pretty optimistic most of the time). He didn't open the door to the back room often, so I never really cared about or noticed or it.

"How did you do that?" he asked, a terrified look in his eye.

"What are you talking about? I opened the door."

"You opened a section of the wall into a black abyss, Claire."

"You don't see the staircase right now?"

"No!"

"Where does it lead?"

"I can't freaking see it! How would I know?!"

"This seems to be our only escape, unless you have a back exit." He shook his head. I took a deep breath, then started walking up. "Just step where I do," I instructed.

"You're levitating," he said, amazed.

I sighed, "No, I'm on stairs that you can't see, dingbat."

He stepped where I was standing and fell forward. I caught him, nearly falling down the staircase myself. "There's nothing there," he states.

I helped him back into the shop, "Well, no dip, Sherlock."