I was still in my apartment.

There was nothing I could do.

I started crying again, despite the fact that I thought I was all cried out.

Ritchie came back in a few minutes later to find me sobbing on the couch. I'd given him some of Joe's clothes - an old, faded t-shirt and plaid, blue pajama pants.

They smelled like Joe.

Not drugs and cigarettes. Not disgusting alley dumpsters. Like his cologne he got when he was teenager that he still had. Like his weird, pomegranate scented shampoo that I always teased him for. Like the chocolate chip pancakes he made every Saturday morning.

Ritchie hugged me, which only made me think of my brother, so I sobbed even more.

He sat me in his lap and hugged me as tight as possible, as if I would die if he let go.

I probably would've.

Eventually, I fell asleep with my head on his chest.
The next morning, I woke up laying down next to him on the couch. I was against his chest and he had his arms around me, but he was still asleep. I didn't want to wake him up, so I just lay there.

What was I going to do? He told me he loved me - more or less - the day before. He couldn't stay here; he had Darrel and Jack and who knows who else.

Me? I had nobody. Nobody but Ritchie.

My brother was dead - stabbed like he was nothing. He was something. He always will be. Sure, his life was going nowhere, but he didn't care. He loved the way things were, and he was always happy, no matter what.

Charlie was dead - my best friend, taken away. He may have been a drama queen, but he had his whole life ahead of him. He hadn't gotten a chance to fall in love or go all the places he talked about going to. He was gonna go somewhere someday and make a difference. He made a difference in my life. I hope that's enough.

Frank was dead - sure, we liked to get on each other's nerves, but he was... he was special. Besides Charlie, he was my closest friend. Still, I knew almost nothing about him. He could talk for hours and not tell you a thing. I miss that.

Anthony was probably dead - he hit on me, but I still couldn't imagine life without him. He was arrogant and sometimes rude, but I could tell he still cared. A lot. About select people. Bernie, the most, probably. Who was gonna care about him now? His mom. That's it.

I didn't trust or really care about my parents anymore; they lied to me and Joe, never told us a thing. They hadn't called since I first moved to New Orleans. They never visited. They didn't care about me anymore and I was just fine with that.

If Ritchie's okay with it, I'm staying in 1957. I can't stay here; too much pain. I've been in pain since middle school, but I stayed because of Joe.

When he moved, I wanted to. I couldn't leave him - he was the only one I had. At least until Anna was born, but she was younger. She didn't understand life like Joe did.

Then, I moved and I never felt happier.

Henry took that away from me.

My train of thought crashed when Ritchie woke up.

"I want to live in 1957 with you," I said immediately.

"What about Bernie?" he asked

"He's got his mom."

"What about the funerals?"

"Joe didn't want a funeral. He couldn't stand the thought of everyone he loves crying in the same place - especially over him.

"Nobody's gonna pay for Frank's or Anthony's funerals because anyone that cares enough doesn't have the money.

"Charlie... Charlie is worth more than any funeral the freaking Queen of England could buy. His mother's dead, and his father's an alcoholic. Who's gonna pay for it?"

"The trial?"

"Everyone knows Henry did it; he practically confessed to Anthony's murder. They'll win the case without my testimony."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Of course, Claire."

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

We went to the Alley, but no one was there.

I saw the caution tape in the corner. There was tape in the shape of a body on the ground, and blood stains to accompany it. The one on the dumpsters looked more recent. Anthony.

Bernie wasn't there, so I called him. To my relief, he answered. "Where are you?" I asked.

"Gone," he said. I looked at Ritchie, worried. "I can't take it," Bernie continued, "I left when I... when I found Anthony.

"Everyone was looking for you, Claire, and because you were gone, they thought you killed Joe, Frank, and Charlie. But we said you left a day before it happened. They still thought you were involved, but suspected Henry more than anything."

"Bernie," I said, "They know it's him now. He confessed." I heard him sigh, but I continued, "Bernie, you have to come back. Your mom... Bernie, please."

"No. I found Anthony dead. I saw Henry running away... I can't, Clarie. I'm sorry," he replied, then immediately hung up.

Bernie was gone - I never knew much about him, but he was so sweet. He just ran away... If you saw him on the street, you'd never guess he was an addict. You'd never guess he hung around my brother. I'll miss him.

"Claire Montana!" a police officer called. One stepped out of the car when I put my hands up, "Come with us for questioning. You too." He pointed at Ritchie.

Once we arrived at the police station, many officers ran up to us, asking, "Why did you leave last night?" and "Where did you go?"

Before I could answer, someone yelled, "Enough! Don't bombard the girl! Ma'am -" he addressed me "- if you could come with me please."

I immediately recognized him as the police chief, and followed him. Ritchie was sat on a bench to wait.

He led me into an interrogation room.

"Hello, Claire," he said, sitting across from me.

I sat as well. "Hi."

"Where exactly have you been, Claire? Before last night?" he asked.

"I went to visit somebody," I replied, "I told Joe where I was going."

He raised his eyebrows, "Who did you go visit, and why?"

I looked him dead in the eyes, "Xavier Fredrick in Colorado. I met him online." My gaze never faltered and he noticed.

"What happened in Colorado?"

I sighed, "I found out he wasn't the real deal. I don't know what his real name is and he deleted his profile. I've got nothing. No screenshots or anything."

"When did you leave?" he asked.

"About four days ago."

"When did you get back?"

"Yesterday."

"How did you lead Henry to the station?"

"When I got back, he saw me, so I ran here."

"Do you know why he killed those people?"

"Me."

"What do you mean you?" he asked.

"I had something of Joe's that he wanted, and Joe specifically told me not to give it to him. It was my fault."

I'd been dealing with Henry for years. I knew exactly why he'd kill somebody close to me, and I knew he'd come for me next.

"What did you have?" he questioned.

"This... substance my brother invented. Some new drug. He gave it to me to hide from Henry and wouldn't tell me why or what it was. He just handed me his laptop and some stuff in a plastic baggy and told me to hide it, so I took it with me to Colorado. I guess he killed them because they wouldn't say where I was."

"Where is it?"

"I lost it running away from that Xavier dude."

He sat for a moment, staring at the wood. My fear increased the longer we sat.

He sighed. "Who's the guy outside?"

"Family friend. His name is Ritchie... He went with me to Colorado."

Again, he didn't say anything for a while.

Finally, he spoke. "You're free to go, Claire."

I waited for Ritchie to be interrogated. It didn't take long for him to walk back out.

"We're free to go, apparently," he said.

So we left.