I wake to the sound of children's laughter and am disoriented before remembering I had driven to a park in the middle of the city and crashed for the night. The painful process of checking into another motel too imposing.

Children run around the lush emerald trees playing tag, their young mother's eyes watchful. The sun shines high in the clear sky and I check the time.

11:34 a.m.

I rub my eyes as I kick myself for having slept so long. Still not fully awake my inner voice takes over.

What are you doing, Reagan? You're in an unknown city. Not to mention Chicago of all places,trying to play detective. That's real smart.

Annoyed, I push the voice to the corner of my mind before I can actually start listening to it.

Starting up the car, I purse my lips as I ponder where to go now. Home isn't an option, I'm not about to give up, even if I am feeling a bit shaken and discouraged after last night. I've hit a dead end, but I'm definitely not going back to the police station, especially after my last "Oh so helpful" trip.

Wait!

Mention of the police station jolts my sleep ridden brain into remembering the newspaper I'd found on the way out. Digging through the glove box, I find the wrinkled newspaper which I'd unceremoniously shoved there.

Scanning the article again, the name of the accused football player catches my attention. Mitchell Hendricks.

Why does it sound so familiar? Maybe Amanda's mentioned him before?

Pulling out my phone I send Amanda a quick text.

Know any Mitchell Hendricks?

Her reply is almost instant.

Not personally, but I do know his sister. Cassidy Hendricks. She was in my English class, we used to hang out. Any reason as to why you're asking?

My fingers hover over the keypad as I contemplate how much to reveal. After typing up what I hope is an agreeable response, I hit send.

I was just wondering, someone mentioned Mitchell and I thought his name sounded familiar. Would you happen to know Cassidy's address?

This time Amanda's reply takes a few minutes, and I begin to fidget, but finally my phone chimes with the arrival of her text.

It's Apartment 9, building 206 on Leiter Road. I don't know why you want to know but I trust you...

I chew my lip as I look at Amanda's text guiltily. She trusts me...and I'm about to go on a little interrogation mission. Sending Amanda a quick thanks, I head towards Cassidy Hendrick's apartment before my conscience can catch up with me.

********************************

Too soon I'm staring at Apartment building 206 and trying to get up enough nerve to go inside. The street itself seems calm enough, with decent looking apartments on either side.

Finally, taking a deep breath, I sidle up the apartment's steps and straighten out my clothes before knocking on Apartment #9's door. I wring out my hands, nervous, and take a step back as the door opens to omit a girl in her early twenties. Her hair is a curly red mess, nose is splattered with freckles, and green eyes narrow slightly as she takes me in.

"Can I help you?"

I flinch at her cool tone but put on what I hope is an innocent smile. "Are you Cassidy Hendricks?"

Her eyes narrow even more as she answers. "Depends on who's asking."

"I'm Reagan," I offer as though that means anything. "Amanda's cousin."

I'm relieved as recognition flares in Cassidy's eyes.

"Well Reagan, what can I do for you?" She crosses her arms, still not letting her guard down. I shift on my feet and decide to get straight to the point.

"I heard about your brother-."

Cassidy's expression turns to ice as she starts to shut the door in my face, but before it can shut fully I place a palm against it, slightly desperate now.

Damn it! She's my only lead!

"Please my brother, he's in the same place, he-."

I'm cut off as I stumble, thrown off balance. The door swings open again suddenly and I'm yanked inside. I only have a moment to take in the small, but tidy apartment before Cassidy is in front of me, her hands propped on her wide hips .

"You have five minutes." She states. "What did your brother do?"

I launch right into the story not willing to waste one second of those precious five minutes.

"He was accused, and tried. They found him guilty. I know he wouldn't do anything like that though! Not to mention there was something really off about his trial. I'm trying to prove his innocence and I hoped speaking to you would help lead me somewhere..."

Cassidy stares at me, suspicion shining clearly and I meet her gaze confidently. After what feels like hours she finally nods satisfied by what she sees and motions for me to take a seat on the worn leather sofa. Sinking into the cushions, I fidget as Cassidy situates herself into an armchair across from me. She leans forward, stiff as a board but I'm astonished to find tears in her eyes.

Where has the cold girl from just seconds ago disappeared to?

Before I can contemplate the sudden attitude change Cassidy swallows and opens her mouth to speak.

"You have to understand, Mitch, h-he didn't always run with the best crowd. After he started college and football he got so much better! He was able to do what he loved and everything was finally going great."

"But then a few weeks ago Mitch got a call from an old friend, he needed Mitch's help. Mitch hesitated, he didn't want to get involved in his past again, but in the end he felt he owed his friend a debt. I begged him not to go, but he wouldn't listen."

"So he left for Chatham and—"

"Wait," I sit up taller, feeling bad for having cut her off, but knowing it's necessary at the same time. "Chatham? I was there last night hoping to find something."

Cassidy's eyes widen upon hearing this. "You went there, alone? At night!"

Judging by her tone she seems to think I'm crazy for doing exactly that. When I don't speak Cassidy continues as if I'd never interrupted her.

"Like I was saying, he went to Chatham and in the morning I got a call from the police. He'd been arrested on charges of double homicide."

I frown, surprised slightly. Double homicide? The article mentioned one murder not two. Clasping my hands together, I wait for Cassidy to go on.

"It was a closed case." She mumbles, a wistful look overtaking her angelic face. I sit back, ready to ask the most important question out of this whole "interrogation".

"Do you think your brother is innocent?"

She gets a fierce look then, and I'm startled slightly by the ferociousness of it.

"Mitch is innocent! He would never murder someone!" I nod but she keeps going. "He's a good person and I know he must have been framed! Something wasn't right about his trial either."

"There's more to the trial than they're letting on," I muse deep in thought. "I'll do everything I can to prove my brother innocent, and your brother too if I can."

Tears flow freely down Cassidy's face now and her voice cracks when she speaks, pleading. "The judge...it was a death sentence...he has t-three weeks. Please, if there's anything you can do!"

I'm startled by the timeline. Only three weeks, that's barely any time. Pulling myself to my feet, I attempt to reassure her.

"I'll do everything I can. Do you know where your brother was supposed to meet up with his friend?"

Cassidy's tears dry up immediately as she reaches for a pen and paper. She scribbles something down and hands the paper to me. I barely glance at it before shoving it in my pocket. Cassidy leads me over to the door, and pulls it open. I walk through before turning around on the threshold awkwardly.

"Thanks," I add hesitantly, hoping she understands how much help she's been. It doesn't mean I trust her info fully, but beggars can't be choosers.

Cassidy gives me a broken smile. "If you need anything you're welcome here."

At this I give her a genuine smile before leaving. Outside the sun is lower in the sky but there's still about three hours of daylight left. Taking out the now crumpled piece of paper, I take a look at the address Cassidy has jotted down. It seems like the address for a private building or something.

Oh gosh, not another bar.

Something else catches my attention on the paper. In the corner is a name.

Travon Cross.

Probably the friend Mitchell had gone to see. Getting in the car, I take out my keys. Twirling them absentmindedly, I let my mind wander.

I'm not ecstatic at the thought of making another trip to Chatham, especially after my last little adventure. I'd need a weapon this time, as even martial arts doesn't do much good against someone highly skilled, as I'd found out last night.

A knife would be useful, nothing too obvious. Not that a knife is subtle or anything, but where does an 18-year-old girl obtain a knife without people asking too many questions?

The engine begins to purr as I turn the key in the ignition. Speeding down the street, a few blocks later I stop at a red light. I frown, placing a hand on my stomach as it grumbles. The light turns green and I hit the gas. I'm ready to go in search of food, when a firearms shop catches my eye.

It's small but the parking lot is filled and I spot movement inside. Parking in front of it, I notice there's a pizza place across the street, claiming to have the best pizza in Chicago.

My stomach grumbles again on cue. If my stomach sounds like a herd of stampeding elephants, it'll probably be impossible to convince anyone to sell me a knife. So I make a beeline for the restaurant, crossing the street.

A bell chimes as I open the door to the diner. The warm air inside hits me as I'm directed to a booth. Taking a seat, I scan the room automatically looking for any signs of danger.

Chill out Reagan!

Ever since coming to Chicago I've been so on edge, and last night has done nothing to calm the bundle of nerves that's currently me.

Something isn't right...

My thoughts flit from my head as the aroma of garlic and cheese hit my nose. A motherly waitress comes to take my order and I'm distracted from my thoughts even more. As I sink back into the rough frayed leather of the booth, I slowly allow myself to relax, even as my senses stay on high alert.

Every second counts if I want to save Rick in time, and right now each moment seems like a ticking time bomb.