|I've made choices that has driven me to become a wanted fugitive|

~***~

I'm moved into a holding cell, all by myself, and not a single person nearby. The guards are outside of the room filled with empty cells, and I pace back and forth, contemplating that entire conversation. The door to the jail room opens, and I see Clyde approach my cell. He looks over his shoulder as the guard locks him in the hallway. Clyde glances over his shoulder one last time while whispering, "I think we're actually alone now."

"What the f***, Clyde?"

"Hey, you started revealing too much and burying yourself deeper into the grave. I had to stop you from ruining your chances of ever getting out of here," Clyde explains as he searches around the room. He looks back to me and simply whispers, "why didn't you kill me?"

"I - uhh... what?"

"I'm not blind. I saw the gun in your bag back at the motel. I wanted to believe it wasn't for me," he lets out a deep breath, "I saw you in the reflection of one of the windows surrounding the pool that night."

"Sh!t."

"Yeah, no kidding," he doesn't roll his eyes, but he goes through the motion as if he's doing so, "now tell me, why didn't you pull the trigger?"

I shrug, "I dunno."

"No more bull****, Mona," he raises an eyebrow and keeps his hands in his pockets as he stares at me like a dog waiting for its treat.

"I didn't shoot you because..." I look down at my shoes. The same boots he put on for me after he chased me in the field, and then we pushed his truck to a gas station right after. All the advice he's given me, and the memories we share; it causes a warm fuzzy feeling to build up inside of me. I don't feel like I need to scratch at my skin with him, "because you allow me to feel."

I look up into his eyes, "you make me feel free. Like I can finally do things for myself, and nobody else but me." Clyde smiles. It's subtle and filled with multiple emotions, but it's an honest smile. One filled with gratitude.

"I need to save him," I mumble as the epiphany strikes.

"Save who?" Clyde's hands slip out of his pockets.

"That boy," I gesture my handcuffed arms, "the little boy that recently went missing --" I pause, "-- my parents, they're trying to invite him into our family as we speak. I need to stop it."

"What? Where are they?" Clyde's voice is loud as he grips the rusty bars, "we have to tell someone --"

"-- The police will slow us down Clyde, and you know it," I blink, hoping he sees what I can see. His grip loosens up ever so slightly, "I need to get out and stop this little boy from ruining his life."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think children become part of the family? They have to share the same parents, and do as they ask," I grab the bars, "all this time, did you think my parents killed those couples?" I lean close, awaiting his response. He doesn't say anything and just gulps.

"Clyde, the children kill their own parents."

"Did you kill your parents?"

"No," I sigh, "they did. A long time ago," a tear escapes my eye, and I wipe it away quickly, "and they killed my sister too, I think..."

"Who's your sister?"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is they convinced me that we were searching for her, and many children to become one big happy family. As I grew older, I started to see how f***ed up this whole thing was. I was the unfortunately lucky one that they liked - that they kept."

Clyde steps back, "what do you mean, kept?"

"The other kids, they're brought somewhere," I wave my hand, closing my eyes as I speak, "somewhere horrible. It's like a camp of sorts," I explain, causing Clyde to come close again. He rests his hand on mine, and it instantly calms me down.

"We need to tell my sister this information, Mona."

"No! None of these people can handle the truth," I feel myself trembling, "my parents aren't the leaders. They're children to the real 'parents' of this whole thing. I'm just like the gifted grandchild that's kept to help lure children in and become the new generation to this family. If it weren't for me, nobody would've known about the family," I'm rambling now, and Clyde tightens his grip on my hand.

"You're not making any sense, Mona."

"The family has existed for generations. Hiding in the shadows of this entire country. Only now are they in the spotlight."

"Wha-" Clyde cuts himself off as he stares, completely baffled at me.

"This boy, he's supposed to be the key to our messiah," Clyde's stare is vacant and focused, so I pout, trying to explain it to him. "They're using the boy as bait. They want his father to become a member. They need an invention of his that's rumored to completely cover our tracks..." I pause, "with it, they'll probably find out that it's me. I'm the one who's been cleaning up my parent's messes," I look into his eyes, "and I'm the one who chose not to clean up the last mess, Walter and Mary Sue Forest...they will find me and kill me, Clyde. The police are too small to catch them all. I have to stop them myself, before it's too late."

Clyde stares at me, sinking in this new-found information I just splurged out onto him. He stares at the floor, gripping the bars tightly and probably contemplating everything.

"So, will you help me, or not?" Clyde looks back at me, his face deformed into an intense focus.

"Always."

~***~

I pace back and forth, trying to find a loose bar, a twig, a spoon, anything that can get me out. Unfortunately, Clyde can't unlock the cage and have us just walk out of the police station all willy-nilly. If only things were that easy.

I sit down on the spring mattress, and wiggle to find comfort, but I fail. I slouch over, staring at the cement floor, wondering what I could do to get out of here. If only Clyde had something on him that I could use.

I look to the sides and notice my hair is falling with gravity, but the top part of my hair isn't falling forward like it usually does. That's why I always have a bobby pin or a hair elastic on me, so I can hold my hair out of my face.

Holy s***, I'm such an idiot.

I sit up and reach my hands to the top of my head, and pat it until I feel the bobby pin wedged in my hair. I pull it out, allowing my hair to fall forward as I start to jiggle the pin in the lock of my handcuffs. I stop as I hear a very loud conversation outside of the jail. I unroll my sleeves and slip the bobby pin on the left sleeve of my flannel shirt.

The door opens, and I look up to see a few men dressed differently than regular police entering my line of sight. I stand at attention as they stop in front of my cell, and the man in the centre of the small crowd approaches closer. This man has soft flowing platinum hair, and he scans me with a stare as cold as his icy blue eyes. His beard is rather extravagant, making him look like a pirate. He waves his hand for a file, opens it with delicacy, and looks over the documents with a disinterested expression. It causes my skin to crawl with nervous anticipation.

"Desdemona Pasco, I'm Agent Benedict," he says it like a statement as he passes the file back to the man beside him, "you will no longer be in custody of the Pasco County Police Department."

"Are you the one escorting me to the local juvenile facility?" I ask with a wobbling voice.

"I'm afraid we have new arrangements for you, Miss Pasco," he adjusts his blood toned tie, "you will be taken to our own facility."

I raise an eyebrow, "I don't think I understand, sir."

Benedict reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a black leather wallet, flipping it open, "you are now in the custody of the FBI, Miss Pasco."

I gulp down needles as I soak up this new information. How the hell am I going to break free now? I'm sure Clyde found out about this while I was pacing in here. Is he going to back out of our plan? I mean, I'm considering it now since neither of us planned around this possible scenario. I should have expected this, however, since I'm a part of a mass murdering cult. They're probably going to do whatever it takes to get information from me. Is it even worth it to protect them anymore? I could be locked up for life either way since I'm now with the FBI.

Agent Benedict puts his badge in his coat pocket as a man opens my cage. Two other men walk in on cue of Benedict's waving hand, and they each grab one of my elbows. I don't struggle against them as they yank me out of the cage, and we follow Benedict out of the jail. We silently walk through the hallway that connects to the police station, and I take a quick glance at the men around me before slipping the bobby pin back in my hand. I try to pick the lock while keeping my features unreadable.

As we enter the offices with cubicles, there's employees and officers standing out of our way to leave a clear path to exit the building. Donna is held back by a man, and she's standing with her hands on her hips while her eyes silently burn into everyone. I stare at her for a long moment, and her gaze doesn't unlock from Agent Benedict as she shoots him daggers. Her nose crunches up like Clyde's when he's pissed. A few officers with Frank are also blocked by agents; they all seem to share the same pissed off demeanor as Donna.

Then I see Clyde.

My eyes stop at him as he turns around after I scan the small crowd. Our eyes lock, and it causes me to hesitate. Clyde's the only one who doesn't look pissed. In fact, he's the person blocking Donna. Is he trying to keep her civil and calm by holding her back so they don't have to? I could have sworn that was an FBI agent when I took the first glance at the back of his head.

I'm suddenly lead into the front foyer of the police station, and my breath hitches in my throat as flashes of light blinded me momentarily. I look around in a haze as I approach a wave of people, having cameras and microphones shoved into my face. FBI agents wade us through the reporters as my eyes dart around the overwhelming crowd, causing everything to become a fuzzy blur of colour. We walk outside, and the crowd out there is even bigger, spreading all along the street with people holding signs; they're all calling me a murderer and a psychopath.

Then they all go silent, staring at me with wide eyes as I come into their lines of sight. All I hear is the whistling of the wind, and I stare vacantly at the crowd.

"She's...just a child...?" I look to my right at two young woman as they judge me with whispers. My eyes slowly pan across the crowd as they all whisper among themselves, lowering their signs with baffled features.

Everyone was probably notified that a member of The Pasco Family Cult has been caught, but no one was prepared to see a kid walk out of the police station. It's unheard of to publicly hear through the media or whispers about a child committing a crime. All of these cases were kept confidential; until now.

I'm suddenly nudged forward to continue walking, not realizing that I froze at the sight of the large crowd. I look at Agent Benedict as he gently leads us through the surprisingly calm mob of civilians and reporters.

"The first known member of The Pasco Family has been caught by local police, and is now in FBI custody --" I stare at the male reporter as he speaks to a camera, "-- and we just found out that it is a child. Allegedly one of the kidnapped children of the cult who may have accepted membership."

I stop, and look at the people with a heavy anchor in my gut. The agents tug my arm, and I slip the bobby pin back on my sleeve.

They're whispering is so loud, but I can't make out what any of them are saying. It just sounds like I'm walking through a bee's nest as the noise buzzes in my head, causing me to look anxiously at the eyeballs staring me down. I reach my arms up to scratch my collar-bone, gulping nervously as the buzzing grows louder.

I stop again as a camera is shoved into my face, and the reporter's question drowns in the confused and frustrated white noise. A coke bottle is abruptly thrown at me, and I grab my head with a loud groan. Agent Benedict curls me close to him, and I feel a false sense of security in his arms. I clutch to him, however, as he shoves us through the rest of the crowd, and into the black car waiting for us. After they close the door, we drive away slowly as agents and police try to back the crowd away from us. Agent Benedict reaches into a hidden compartment, and pulls out a baby blue ice bag. He closes the hidden cooler, and holds the ice pack on my head where the bottle hit it.

"It seems you're a famous child criminal now, Miss Pasco," he mumbles with an animated eyebrow lift. I stare out the window at the mob flooding the streets; I feel like a witch about to be burned to the stake.

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My computer decided to stop working, so now I'm trying to post these authors notes on the app. I don't like writing on my phone, haha ^^;