⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ escape ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

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【 SEASON 1 EPISODE 9 】

Clara felt paralyzed, her entire body locked in place as her wide, tear-filled eyes fixated on the sight before her. Sheriff Peterkin lay sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the earth like ink spreading in water. The dark stain grew too quickly, the sharp, coppery scent of blood thick in the air, making Clara's stomach twist painfully.

The world had gone deathly silent except for the ragged, wet sound of Peterkin's breathing-labored, shallow, desperate.

And then, like a nightmare dragging itself into reality, Rafe stepped into view.

He was clutching the gun.

The barrel was still pointed downward, the metal catching the dim light, his knuckles pale with tension. His chest heaved as he stared at the sheriff, lips parted, face pale and damp with sweat. There was no relief in his eyes. Only shock, wide and trembling like he hadn't fully processed what he'd just done.

But Clara had.

"Rafe?" Her voice broke as it left her lips, hoarse and barely audible, as if saying his name might snap him out of whatever dark spiral had consumed him.

John B's arm tightened around her shoulders, keeping her back, his own face pale with horror. But she couldn't stay frozen. She wouldn't.

"Clara, wait-"

She tore free from her brother's grip with a sob, stumbling forward and dropping to her knees beside Peterkin. Her hands hovered over the sheriff's trembling form, trembling as she took in the spreading wound at her side. So much blood. Too much. It coated her shirt, her hands, sticky and warm.

"Hey-hey, hold still! Hold still, it's-it's okay. You're gonna be okay," Clara stammered, panic making her voice shake uncontrollably. She pressed her trembling hands over the wound, applying pressure the way she'd seen in movies, but the blood kept flowing through her fingers. "Where-where is it? Where's the bullet?"

Peterkin coughed, blood flecking her lips, her hand twitching weakly to clutch at Clara's wrist as her body spasmed with pain.

"Call... Call for help-" the sheriff wheezed, her voice barely more than a whisper, the words strained and fragile.

Clara's blood-soaked hands fumbled for the radio clipped to Peterkin's chest, fingers slick as she grasped it, pressing down on the button-

"Hey!"

Rafe's voice snapped through the chaos, sharp and shaking.

Clara's head whipped around, her heart slamming into her ribcage.

The gun was raised again.

He was pointing it at her.

"Rafe, put the gun down!" John B shouted, voice raw with desperation.

But Rafe's attention was locked on Clara. His face twisted, his breathing ragged, the same wild, unstable look in his eyes-the same one she remembered from before, but so much worse now. His hand was trembling, the gun unsteady but still aimed directly at her.

Clara froze, her breath catching, her blood-slick fingers hovering just inches from the radio as she stared at him.

"Don't try it, Clare Bear," Rafe said, his voice a harsh whisper, the nickname like a cruel echo of their childhood. "Don't make me shoot you too."

Too.

The word hit her like a punch to the gut.

Peterkin's shallow breaths rattled behind her. Dying. She was dying.

Tears blurred Clara's vision, but her gaze remained locked on Rafe.

"Rafe, please," she whispered, voice cracking as she felt her whole body start to shake. "You-this isn't you. You don't have to-"

"Stop talking!" His voice broke, high and unsteady as his grip on the gun tightened. "Just-just stop, okay? Don't make this harder than it has to be!"

Behind them, Sarah's broken sob echoed through the night as she clung to John B, burying her face into his shoulder, trembling in his arms.

Ward's voice finally cut through the madness, desperate and panicked.

"Rafe! No! Son, put the gun down!"

Rafe flinched, blinking rapidly, his expression flickering with something like regret-but the gun didn't lower.

Clara's gaze snapped to her brother.

John B's expression shifted, a steely determination settling over the fear in his eyes. His voice dropped, calm but commanding as he met her stare.

"Run."

Clara didn't hesitate.

She let go of Peterkin, the radio slipping from her fingers as she shot to her feet, heart pounding against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

"Clara-wait!" Rafe's voice cracked.

The gunshot ripped through the night.

Clara ducked with a cry, feeling the heat of the bullet as it missed her-barely. The air felt too thick, her pulse roaring in her ears as she sprinted blindly into the field, the tall grass whipping against her skin. Another shot echoed.

But she didn't stop. Couldn't.

The only thing she could hear now was the sound of her own ragged breathing as she ran, the shouts growing fainter behind her.

And still, she didn't dare look back.

Clara's lungs burned, each ragged breath scraping her throat raw as she sprinted deeper into the overgrown field. The sharp scent of damp earth mixed with the bitter tang of adrenaline, but she hardly noticed. All she could hear was the echo of the gunshot, a terrible ringing in her ears that drowned out everything else-the sound of Sheriff Peterkin's pained gasps, the panicked shouts, the crack of Ward's voice, and Rafe's shaking hands holding the gun.

Peterkin's blood was still on her hands.

The image wouldn't leave her mind-the dark, seeping stain pooling beneath the sheriff's body as her pulse had weakened. Clara had tried, pressing her trembling hands against the wound, her voice cracking as she begged Peterkin to hold on. But there had been too much blood. Too much slipping between her fingers as the life drained from her eyes.

Clara's legs ached as she stumbled through patches of tall grass and thick brush, branches whipping her skin. She barely felt it. Her body was moving on instinct, driven by pure survival, but her mind kept replaying the same awful moment-Rafe's voice calling her name. The barrel of the gun swinging toward her. The wild, frantic look in his eyes when he'd said, Don't make me shoot you, Clare Bear.

The nickname twisted painfully in her chest.
She had known Rafe her whole life. Known him as the reckless, cocky kid who teased her at cookouts. The one who used to pester her and Sarah when they were younger, calling them Pogues like it was some childish joke. But tonight-tonight-he hadn't been teasing.

He had killed someone.

And he would've shot her too.

A sob tore from her throat, but she didn't stop running. The field stretched endlessly ahead, wild and empty, the horizon blurred under the soft purples and oranges of the setting sun. She had no idea how long she had been running, but her body was beginning to give out. Her legs felt heavy, burning with every step, her lungs heaving for air.

Finally, through the tangled mess of overgrown brush, she saw it-a crumbling, abandoned shed just ahead, half-hidden by thick vines that had twisted around the structure. The wood was gray and weathered, the roof sagging under years of neglect, but it didn't matter. It was shelter. A place to disappear.

Clara staggered forward, practically collapsing against the rotting door as she shoved it open. The hinges groaned in protest, and the scent of mildew and damp wood hit her all at once. The inside was small and cramped, littered with old wooden crates and rusted tools. Dust clung to the air, thick and heavy, but she didn't care. She stumbled inside, pressing her back against the wall as the door creaked shut behind her.

The moment the door closed, the adrenaline that had kept her going finally snapped. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the dirt-covered floor, arms wrapping around herself as she finally broke. A sharp, broken sob escaped her, her body trembling uncontrollably as the weight of everything crashed over her all at once.

Peterkin was dead.

Sarah was back there-probably in shock, probably crying.

Rafe was a killer.

And Clara was alone.

Her hands shook as she stared down at her palms, the dark, drying blood still staining her skin. Peterkin's blood. The sight made her stomach churn violently, and she scrubbed her palms against the damp fabric of her jeans, desperate to get it off. It didn't work. The stains remained, seared into her skin like some horrible reminder that she had failed.

Failed to save her.

Failed to stop Rafe.

The ache in her chest only worsened as she buried her face against her knees, muffling her sobs in the fabric of her torn shirt. She tried to be quiet, but the gasping breaths kept breaking free, no matter how hard she tried to hold them back. Her entire body felt like it was caving in, crushed under the weight of everything that had happened.

The silence of the shed was unbearable. The only sound was the wind outside, whispering through cracks in the warped wood, but it felt too quiet-too heavy. The echoes of her own heartbeat pounded louder than anything else, the ringing in her ears refusing to fade.

Eventually, the exhaustion overtook her.

Her head felt heavy, the trembling of her body slowing as the sobs quieted. The ache in her muscles dulled to a numb throb, and the chill in the air wrapped around her like a blanket.

She didn't even realize she was slipping into unconsciousness until everything faded into darkness.

When Clara woke, the world felt disjointed, like she had been ripped too suddenly from sleep. Her head pounded, her throat dry and aching, as her senses returned in fragments.

The shed was dim, shadows stretching long across the cracked wooden walls. Outside, the sky had deepened into shades of purple and orange, the sun sinking low on the horizon. Twilight was settling in, casting a warm, fading glow through the gaps in the planks.

And then she heard them.

Voices.

Distant but unmistakable.

Clara's breath caught as she strained to listen, her body immediately tensing. The words were too far away to make out clearly, but the tone was sharp, urgent-someone giving orders, someone searching.

For her.

She shifted carefully, pressing her back tighter against the wall, every muscle rigid with tension. Maybe they wouldn't find her.

Maybe if she stayed perfectly still-A shadow moved just outside the shed.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to stay silent. Through a small crack in the wood, she could see someone approaching-a man, middle-aged with graying hair, his face pinched with concern as he scanned the overgrown field.
Clara barely breathed.

But then his eyes landed on the shed.

On her.

For a split second, their gazes locked through the gap in the wood. The man's eyes widened. His mouth opened-

"Over here! I found her!"

Clara's heart stopped.

Panic ignited like a fire in her chest, burning away the fog of exhaustion as her body moved before her mind could catch up. She shoved herself off the floor, ignoring the numb ache in her legs as she stumbled toward the door.

It burst open with a sharp crack, the wood splintering as she shoved it aside.

"Hey! Stop!" the man shouted, reaching toward her, but Clara was already running- fueled by nothing but pure, desperate fear.

The shouts behind her grew louder, voices echoing as searchers began converging on the shed.

She couldn't stop.

Couldn't look back.

The sun had almost disappeared now, the field bathed in the last streaks of twilight as she sprinted toward the trees in the distance. Her heart pounded violently, each breath ragged and uneven. The branches tore at her clothes as she pushed deeper into the brush, feet pounding against damp earth.

She didn't know where she was going.

She just knew she couldn't be caught.

Clara's heart pounded in her chest as she tore through the streets, the unmistakable sound of police sirens wailing in the distance. Her mind was a jumbled mess of fear and adrenaline, her every step fueled by the overwhelming need to escape. The sirens seemed to get louder with each passing second, an unrelenting reminder that there was no time to waste. She glanced over her shoulder, her breath coming in short gasps, but she couldn't risk stopping. She had to keep moving.

Ahead, she spotted a high fence-just tall enough to provide a temporary escape. Without a second thought, she propelled herself forward, her legs burning from the effort as she ran toward it. She reached the base of the fence, her fingers grabbing the rough wood, her body already springing upward. With a grunt, she launched herself over the top, her stomach scraping against the splintered wood as she landed on the other side with a soft thud. The familiar sting of pain lanced through her legs, but she forced it down, ignoring the ache that spread up her calves.

Clara didn't even slow down as she sprinted towards the nearest building-an imposing, well-kept Kook house. The thought of being inside a Kook's territory didn't even cross her mind; it was just a house, and right now, it was a place she could hide. She reached the back door, her hand trembling slightly as she grasped the cool doorknob. It was unlocked.

She pushed the door open with a soft creak and slipped inside, moving quickly to avoid making noise. The scent of fresh paint and leather filled her senses as she entered the dimly lit kitchen. Her heart was still racing, but now, inside the unfamiliar space, her mind shifted into survival mode. She had to think. Had to figure out what to do next.

But before she could take another step, a voice cut through the silence.

"Clara?"

Clara froze. Her blood ran cold, and for a moment, she felt like time itself had stopped. She turned slowly, eyes wide in shock, only to see Kelce standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief. He was only a few feet away, and Clara could feel her breath hitching in her chest. She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or scream, but there was no time to process it.

Her mouth went dry. She couldn't let him call the police.

"Kelce..." she whispered, her voice trembling. Her mind scrambled for the right words, but nothing made sense in the panic that flooded her veins. She raised her hands instinctively, as if to show she wasn't a threat, but her heart was still pounding in her ears. "It's not true. I know you won't believe me, but-But I didn't kill her, man. Please."

Kelce's eyes flickered with uncertainty, but his expression quickly hardened as he took a step back, his body tensing. He didn't believe her. Not after everything that had happened.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low, his face shadowed with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

Clara's body felt heavy, like she was trapped in quicksand. She couldn't let him push her away. She couldn't let him think she had killed anyone.

"Please!" she pleaded again, her voice cracking. "You have to believe me. I didn't do it."

Kelce's eyes narrowed as he took another step back, his hand instinctively hovering near the countertop. "I know what you did." His voice was cold, and Clara's stomach dropped. His words hit her like a physical blow.

"Listen to me!" Clara begged, her hands shaking as she reached out, desperate to bridge the growing distance between them. "I didn't kill her, Kelce. Please, you have to understand! Please, just listen!"

But Kelce wasn't having it. He looked at her with eyes full of anger and betrayal, his face contorting into a mask of hostility. "Get out of my house!" he shouted, his words sharp and filled with disgust.

Clara's breath caught in her throat, panic clawing at her chest. She took a step forward, but Kelce held up his hand, as if warding her off. "No," he snapped. "I don't want to hear it."

"Please," Clara cried, tears threatening to spill. "I didn't do it. I swear."

But Kelce's expression was hardening, and she could see the anger building in his eyes. The silence that followed was deafening, stretching out between them like a chasm, until Kelce's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed a kitchen knife from the cabinet behind him.

Clara's breath caught in her throat. "Put the knife down! Are you crazy?" she shouted, her voice laced with panic. The sight of the blade in his hand made her stomach churn. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"You just invaded the homeland, Liu-Routledge," Kelce spat, his voice filled with bitterness.

Clara's back stiffened as she instinctively took a step back, her heart racing in her chest. Her legs were trembling from the fear that gripped her entire body. "Put it down, Kelce," she whispered, her voice barely more than a desperate plea.

Kelce's eyes locked onto her, his grip tightening on the knife. "I'm warning you," he said, his voice colder than she had ever heard it before. "You need to get the hell out of my house."

Clara knew he wasn't playing around. She couldn't risk staying here. He had the knife now, and she couldn't convince him. She had no other choice.

Without thinking, Clara turned and bolted for the other side of the house, the door leading into the hallway. Her pulse roared in her ears as she dashed through the open door, moving like a blur through the unfamiliar house. The footsteps behind her were fast, too fast, but she didn't dare look back.

She rushed toward the nearest closet-her hands frantic as she fumbled with the handle and slammed it shut behind her. The sound of her breathing was ragged as she sank to the floor, pressing herself into the darkness of the cramped closet, hoping the shadows would swallow her whole.

Kelce's footsteps followed her immediately, the thud of his shoes growing louder as he neared the door. "Clara!" he shouted, his voice filled with fury. "Get out of there!"

Clara held her breath, trying to make herself as small as possible. She could hear the clatter of him moving around, the panic in his footsteps, but she didn't move.

If she moved now, he would find her. She couldn't let him. Not yet. Not until she figured out how to make him believe her.

Clara huddled in the dark, cramped closet, her back pressed against the cold wall as her mind raced with a thousand thoughts. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her heart thudded heavily in her chest. She couldn't stay in here forever. She knew she had to come up with a plan-something, anything to get out of this mess before it was too late. The sirens were still blaring outside, but they were getting closer, and the weight of impending capture hung over her like a suffocating cloud.

Her fingers brushed over the edges of the closet, searching for anything useful. She needed a way out. A window, a back door, anything. But there was nothing. Just walls. Desperation crept up her spine as she ran through her options, her thoughts stumbling over each other like they were fighting for attention.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps outside the door, slow and deliberate. Her breath caught in her throat. She held perfectly still, hoping whoever it was would just leave. But then, a voice broke the silence.

"Clara," Topper's voice called from the other side of the door, low and steady.

Her stomach twisted at the sound of his voice. Of all people, it had to be him. She'd hoped to avoid any confrontation, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

She stood up quickly, pressing her back against the door, her mind spinning with the possible scenarios. There was no way she could let him in. Not now. Not with everything on the line.

Topper spoke again, his tone almost casual, but there was an edge to it. "Clara, I know you're in there. I'm not stupid."

Clara's heart pounded. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself against the situation. She couldn't afford to give him anything. She needed to get out of here.

"What do you want?" Clara shot back, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm.

"I just want to talk. We both know that things have been... complicated, haven't they?" Topper's voice was sharp, but there was an underlying frustration simmering beneath it.

Clara didn't respond immediately. She couldn't risk saying something that might make him more suspicious. She just had to keep quiet and hope he'd go away. But that wasn't Topper's style. Of course, he'd have more to say.

"Why'd you have to do it, Clara?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but full of accusation. "Why'd you have to mess things up like this?"

"I didn't mess anything up," Clara shot back, her pulse quickening. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Topper let out a frustrated sigh, like he was trying to keep his cool. "You didn't do anything wrong?" he repeated, almost disbelieving. "You've been running around with Sarah like everything's fine, but you know what? It's not. So tell me-did you actually love her? Did you really love Sarah?"

Clara's stomach twisted, and for a moment, she couldn't find her voice. She wasn't sure what hurt more-the question itself or the way it seemed to cut through the air like a knife. But she couldn't let him win. Not now. She couldn't afford to let him see her falter.

"Of course I do," Clara said firmly, though her voice betrayed her inner turmoil. "I love her."

Topper's silence on the other side of the door was heavy, like he was processing her words, trying to come to terms with something. Clara pressed her ear to the door, listening for his response, but it wasn't until a long pause that he spoke again.

"Did you... did you two have sex?" His words were sharper now, biting, as though they were meant to cut deep.

Clara recoiled at the question, the harshness of it hitting her like a slap. She had never imagined Topper would ask her something like that, but she didn't have time to be shocked. She couldn't back down now, not when the truth was the only thing that could protect her.

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "Yes, we did."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Clara could practically hear the anger radiating off Topper from the other side of the door. It made her blood run cold. She braced herself, knowing that this was the moment when everything would spiral.

Then, Topper's voice broke through, trembling with rage. "I knew it," he spat. "I knew you were just using her. You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you, Clara? You never did."

Clara's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn't find the words. The anger in Topper's voice was overwhelming, but she couldn't let it distract her. She had to get out of here. She had no choice now.

"Clara," Topper said, his tone shifting suddenly, dangerously calm. "I'm not going to let you get away with this."

His words were like a threat, a warning, and Clara's heart skipped a beat. She needed to move. Now.

The sound of police voices echoed from outside the house. Clara could hear them shouting for her. "Clara Liu-Routledge! Come out with your hands where we can see them!"

Her pulse raced as she heard the command. It was too close. She couldn't let them catch her. She couldn't go to jail.

Clara's eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape. That's when she saw it-a vent in the far corner of the room, just large enough for her to squeeze through. Her mind raced, but there was no time for second-guessing. She had to take the risk.

Without hesitation, Clara lunged toward the vent, her heart thumping in her chest as she grabbed the metal cover and wrenched it off. She could hear Topper's footsteps approaching the door, his voice a harsh whisper through the wood.

"You better not try it, Clara," he warned, but she didn't wait to see if he would follow through. She slid into the vent, her body twisting and contorting as she moved through the narrow, cramped space. The sound of police officers shouting grew fainter as she crawled, her breath heavy with the effort.

Topper's voice was still ringing in her ears, but she pushed it out of her mind. She had to focus. She had to escape.

The smell of dust and old metal filled her nose as she crawled deeper into the ventilation system, determined to find her way out. She couldn't afford to let anyone catch her now. Not when the stakes were this high.

Clara's legs burned as she sprinted through the dark streets, the sound of police sirens growing louder in the distance. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she felt the cold night air biting at her skin. Every corner she turned, every alley she dashed through, was just another desperate attempt to stay hidden, to outrun the nightmare that had followed her since the chaos began.

Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts-thoughts of her family, of John B, of Sarah. What would happen now? Where could she go? Who could she trust? There were too many questions, and no good answers.

She barely had time to process the sound of footsteps before she collided with someone. Her heart leaped into her throat, and for a moment, she froze, caught off guard. She stumbled backward, but strong hands caught her shoulders before she could fall.

"Clara?" A voice, breathless with concern, echoed through the night. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. It was Sarah.

Clara's eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively took a step back, ready to keep running. But Sarah grabbed her arm, her grip firm but gentle. "Oh my god, Clara, I've been so worried about you," Sarah said, her voice shaky with emotion.

Clara's pulse spiked, a mix of relief and dread flooding her chest. She had thought she might never see Sarah again. She had no idea what was going on with her-had she been safe? Had Sarah gotten caught up in all of this?

"I-I'm okay," Clara stammered, her mind racing as she looked around nervously. "But John B... What about him? Are the cops after him too?"

Sarah's face twisted with worry, her expression pale in the dim light. "Yes," she said quietly. "They're after him. But... he's fine. He's with the Pogues. They're all sticking together. They've been trying to keep him hidden."

Clara exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her heart slowed, but the relief was short-lived as Sarah continued.

"They're calling him an accomplice to the murder," Sarah added, her voice barely above a whisper, like she didn't want anyone to overhear. "But he didn't do it. I know he didn't."

Clara's mind reeled. The weight of what Sarah was saying was almost too much to process. John B, accused of murder? She shook her head, unable to wrap her mind around it, but one thing was clear-he was innocent, just like her. She wouldn't let them pin anything on him, not without a fight.

Before she could speak, Sarah's eyes flicked down to Clara's lips, then back up to her eyes. The tension between them was palpable. Clara's heart hammered in her chest. In the midst of all the chaos, all the danger, the way Sarah was looking at her made her feel like the world had stopped spinning for a brief moment.

Without thinking, Clara reached up, her fingers brushing Sarah's face as she stepped forward. Sarah didn't pull away, and in that instant, Clara closed the gap between them, kissing her softly. It was desperate and fleeting, the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing any words.

For a brief, stolen second, everything outside of the two of them disappeared. It was just Sarah, just Clara, in the quiet darkness of the night.

As Clara pulled away, her heart was pounding in her ears, and Sarah's lips were still tingling from the kiss. Clara's gaze flickered to the police sirens that were growing closer, their lights flashing through the streets. There was no time to linger.

"We have to go," Clara said, her voice strained. "Now."

Sarah nodded, her hand instantly grabbing Clara's. "Let's go," she said, her voice low but determined.

Without another word, they broke into a run, their footsteps echoing in the night as they dashed through the streets, side by side. The sirens were getting closer, but Clara didn't look back. She couldn't. There was only forward now, only escape. And she had no idea where they were going, but she wasn't alone anymore.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

1 more chapter until s2!!! im so excited <3

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) PLEASE JUST STOP BEING A GHOST READER!! ITS ANNOYING!! PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE. ITS NOT THAT HARD!!! PLEASE! please stop being a ghost reader!!!! us writers work hard on these chapters

im so sorry for all the notifications but please stop being a ghost reader!!!! us writers work hard on these chapters. i know i ask this a lot, but i really don't like ghost readers because i work super hard on these chapters so when i see views going up bt votes not its hard for my motivation!