Nina walked the streets of Wenthouse Avenue, a black, cotton mask shielding her notorious face from her beloved neighbourhood. She walked consciously, following the path her transient feet did ten years ago. A lot had changed, and a lot hadn't. 

The New Year celebrations continued, as they always did, although the lights and ornaments on the streets were limited. Here, people preferred to host debaucheries and festivities indoors, rather than revealing their less elegant nature that they wished to let loose. 

The garbage bins and unkempt trees that once used to block her path no longer posed an issue. Her angular structure passed by the obstacles like a slight breeze of winter cold. The path behind the row of houses was one she was nothing but familiar with; ten years ago, it was her path to sneak out. 

Today, it was her path to sneak in. 

She placed her knee on the bin, pulling the rest of her body up with the support of her hands. The wall that barricaded the street from her ex-house stood at an even level with her, allowing her to scan the place. The lights inside were off,  just as she had expected. Despite being part of the rich community for almost all their lives, her parents had never indulged in the New Year scandals. 

Her feet silently landed on the other side, the tall grass, caked with snow, muffling the sounds of her break-in. She glided towards her home, her feet firmly placed on the ground but not making a sound. Everything was going according to plan; when she was within reach of the building, she extended her arm, searching for the bricks that protruded from the building's structure. 

The days leading up to her release had been simple - find a quiet place and remember. She recalled the first step, the lowest rung of her makeshift ladder - the ground floor window sill. From there, the first protrusion was three bricks from the right of the building, followed by another step five steps high. From there, she should be able to grab the window sill with her arms to pull herself up. At nights, when her father forbade her from going to particularly sordid parties, her friends would whisper from the fallen trees, urging her to quicken. 

"Hurry up," one would say, itching * his neck in worry. 

"Be careful! You're going to slip!" another would hiss as she dangled in the air, holding the window sill with no insurance if she fell. 

But Nina never fell. Even on her first attempt, she didn't walk in blind. She had surveyed the entire layout, searching for the perfect place to climb down from. Once she realised that her father's office offered the easiest escape route, she surveyed his every move, creating a schedule in her mind. The schedule had timestamps that revealed when the office would be empty. 

Nina glanced at her watch; it was precisely 12:49 a.m. Her parents should be sound asleep. She was on schedule. 

The glass window wobbled slightly as she stepped onto the first window sill. She placed her arm firmly on it, disabling the window's ability to produce sound. As she placed her right foot on the ledge, the drumming in her heart silenced. Her racing heartbeat was the only indication of human presence and that too was gone. Nina was in her element. 

She pushed herself up, her left arm searching for the second ledge that was right above her head. Grabbing it, she let herself hang in the air as she released her right foot from the first ledge. Her breath slowed down and she inserted her nimble fingers into the tiny crevices on the wall. The protrusions wouldn't be enough to lift her up. 

She inserted the pointed end of her boots into another crack, finding her footing and balancing herself. She resembled a lizard, climbing its way up houses without ever losing balance. Nina bent her left forearm in an upward motion, her body slowly rising while her legs subconsciously searched for another crevice to attack itself. The office window sill was within reach. 

Her right hand held onto the flat surface that curved towards the end. Soon, her left hand followed, freeing the second ledge, enabling her to steady her legs. She was at the last stage of her plan. 

Nina's hand grasped the windowsill, her fingers drumming against the glass. She targeted a small, circular hole in the right corner, a deliberate imperfection her father had tolerated for the sake of ventilation. His obsession with security had led him to seal every other opening, but this tiny breach remained, a calculated risk. Nina's eyes locked onto the hole, her gaze intensifying as she exploited the vulnerability. With a gentle yet insistent pressure, she coaxed the window open, the creaking hinge echoing through the stillness. As the aperture widened, a sliver of moonlight sliced into the darkness, illuminating the wooden desk that remained unchanged, even after ten years. She had found her way in. 

Nina didn't wait to soak in the memories that filled the room. Instead, she raced to the cupboard beside the desk, pulling the bundle of keys attached to a single keychain that mirrored the yellow dreamcatcher she used to have in her room. 

She dashed to the wooden desk, kneeling on the ground as she inserted the right key. Every key in her house had a number engraved at its wide end, a form of identification. Nina's fingers traced the end, her eyes focused on the bottom drawer. Her eyes darted away the moment she traced the number 0954. 

Change was constant. But when the key clicked, unravelling the lock that stood before her, she knew that time hadn't changed her father. He was still the same man, ironically apprehensive towards change. And Nina was still the little girl who found comfort in the object that lay dormant in the drawer that was now open. 

She had reunited with her protector. The gravelly texture of the grip caressed her arm. 

She had her gun back. 

She had the courage to leave Thomas Rutger behind. 

Nina backed away from the leather chair that adorned the wooden desk, leaving behind the eighteen-year-old whose favourite haunt was her father's office. The new adult with cropped black hair and big doe eyes died in the alley with Thomas and only one of them returned to haunt Nina. 

As she turned toward the window, the moonlight enveloped her, making her shine in its spotlight. She revelled in the old vehemence of being the most noticeable girl in the world before she stepped back into the shadows, leaving her past self behind. She brushed the window frame, preparing for her descent when, from the far corner of the room, a man moaned. 

Instinctively, she pulled her gun to her chest, her back to the open window. Her subdued heart began hammering again, a bead of sweat rolling down her angled jaw, the hairs of her braid standing on the edge. 

"Nina Adler," the voice crowed, grovelling towards her. Dread curled up her feet, climbing up her body like vines in a bedraggled house. 

"Who is it," she whispered. She could not afford to get caught by her parents. 

Tremendous thumps filled the room, and the sound of a man dragging his mushy feet across the carpeted floor echoed among the walls. Footsteps grew closer and so did Nina's heartbeat as the tip of her gun searched for her target. Her stomach churned as a nauseating smell consumed her, catapulting her mind into a downward spiral, effectuating dizziness and a blockage in her nose. 

The moonlight traced a silhouette of a man, dressed in the finest blue suit and a white shirt gone red. Under the blazing white light, his black hair appeared grey and his eyes bloodshot as he stood on his boneless legs with muck exuding from his once sophisticated body. 

"Only you can help me," he sputtered, but his lips didn't move. 

"Thomas-" Nina gasped. She grabbed onto the window frame even harder, her heart bursting in her chest, the dissipating shards puncturing her insides as she struggled to breathe. 

"You died ten years ago," she breathed, stepping back to open the space between them. 

Thomas walked closer, "Help me, Nina. Find him. Find her. Help me."

"Step away from me," she hissed, "this is not my house! You are my father's problem, not mine!"

"You will never know freedom. You have to help me," Thomas muttered, his corroding arm searching for the warmth of her body. 

Panic seized Nina, the roots of trepidation coiling around her, restraining her feet together. Her legs grew numb and the searing sensation of fire against her back and thighs seized her, as it always did when she failed to hide. Her fingers trembled, the black gun shaking between the cups of her palms. The roots spared her hands, but they began throttling her neck as she struggled to break free. 

Thomas Rutger was dead. 

Thomas Rutger was alive. 

She did not know which was true. She did not know anything at all. 

A crack filled the room, the burning smell of powder wafted through the air. Nina barely registered the whirring of the bullet before the sound slapped her in the face, followed by propelling backwards at the sudden momentum of pulling the trigger. Her breath caught in her lungs and her heartbeat stopped, just like Thomas' would once the bullet pierced his heart for the second time. 

The paralysis that captured her feet vanished. 

And so did Thomas Rutger. 

"What the fuck," was all Nina could muster. 

The gunpowder coalesced with the scattering smog, prompted by Thomas' grand dispersal. The only proof of the bullet was a burning hole in the office wall.  But the man it was meant for had vanished, leaving behind only the whispers of his existence. Was he ever truly there, or was he just a phantom born of Nina's fevered mind?

But the man in the alleyway saw him too. 

Nina's heart hammered, matching the hurried footsteps that were speeding up the staircase. Her surroundings became a hazy blur, her head light and airy, floating away from the chaos about to ensue. 

Her parents had heard the noise. 

Nina had to pull herself together. Nina had to get back up. 

For that, Nina needed to fall. 

Her feet grazed the window ledge, the chill night breeze easing her burning back. As the lock on the door twisted, her leg lost its footing and her back convulsed just a little bit. And that was enough. 

Her arms flailed in the air as she tripped on the window ledge, her back arched as her body fell into the tall grass, enveloping her with warmth before her last, cold sigh. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

The inanimate objects of the office seemed to have found life within the confines of the four walls. The locked windows flew wide open, the locked drawer unbolted, and the bundle of keys lay dormant beside its lock. Tears soaked important documents that were thrown on the ground by Nikolas Adler, his eyes shuddering away from the hole in the wall that stared into his soul. It mimicked an omnipresent eye, watching his every move. 

Beside him, Nina's mom wept, her fragile body blanketed by the leather chair, soothing her out of her wits. The police had been quick to arrive at Wenthouse Avenue, searching every nook and cranny of the house. The forensic team rubbed cotton tips on the drawer, hoping to find fingerprints of the delinquent who shot at a wall for no apparent reason. 

After stealing a retired officer's gun. 

Beneath the office window, the grass lay rumpled, betraying the recent presence of a human form. Yet, with the stealth of a lizard, the culprit had slithered away, escaping the looming threat. But even the most cunning creatures leave behind telltale signs; the severed tail of a lizard, meant to deceive predators, ultimately reveals its existence. Similarly, Nina's fingerprints remained, a subtle yet incriminating trace of her presence.

She knew damn well her fingerprints were already in the system. She was fucked. 

"From the movements in the room, it is clear that whoever came here knew where your gun would be," a policeman said, jotting down details in his notebook. 

"That's the conclusion I had come to as well, but what was the point of firing the bullet? It was only me and my wife in the house and we were both asleep. Till we heard the gunshot, that is," Nikolas said. 

"Perhaps there were two people in the room," the policeman said, kneeling on the floor to examine the keys. 

"I checked the entire perimeter before your arrival," Nikolas said, "looking at the grass, I think someone was lying down there."

"I assumed that as well," the police mumbled, "there are no signs of breaking in, however. The glass on the window is completely intact, there are no ropes or any other giveaway signs. The robber could have escaped covertly. What prompted them to fire? What prompted them to not even set things back in place?"

"I just can't put my finger on it," Nikolas said. 

Nina's eyes peered from the depths of rubbish, her calves encrusted by the slimy texture of banana peels that poured out of an unfastened garbage bag. Her nose scrunched as the peels wrapped her skin, the confined space blurring her vision, more so than the closed bin already had. Her breath heaved as she touched the edge of the bin, leaving it slightly open to bathe in the chaos that she had emanated. 

The words that escaped from the parted lips were muffled and foreign. But from the angle she was situated in, she discerned the movements of the wretched police as they pranced around the room, locating her every mistake. 

But even they couldn't explain Thomas Rutger or his presence. He vanished, unlike her.

"How many people know of this gun's location?" the police asked. 

"Just me and my wife. It has been in this exact same spot for twenty-five years. Even when I was in service, I used to lock it in here every night and retrieve it the next morning," Nikolas said. 

Nina's mother wept in the leather chair, switching between hitched breaths and loud wails, She rubbed her eyes with her palms aggressively, the motions producing a squeaky sound - so unladylike. She looked at Nikolas, eyes earnest, afraid of the words she was bound to speak. 

"What is wrong, Stephanie?" Nikolas asked, wiping the tears from her cheek. 

"I don't want to say something that might get someone in trouble," she wept. 

"It doesn't matter. They will check the issue thoroughly before charging someone with robbery," Nikolas reassured. 

"You know someone else knows about this. About where you keep the gun. Yesterday was the day of her release," Stephanie choked, "Nina knows."

Nina jerked back, dropping the bin lid as she submitted to the darkness yet again. She wrapped her arms around her body, shielding herself from the walls that seemed closer to her. The heaps of garbage taunted her, like a crowd of women dressed in orange, their faces inches away from hers. She kicked a bag aside, curling up. 

Nina didn't hear a word that was spoken from the crime scene. But in ten years, she had taught herself to do a lot of things. But the greatest of all was to hear the sound of her name even through an earthquake. She would know if she heard Nina or any other name associated with her. 

In her quiescent form, she rubbed her waist where the stolen object lay. She pulled at her braids, afraid once again. 

She was about to lose her freedom again. Anger rose in her chest as she punched a garbage bag, its contents spilling out, burying Nina. Her throat itched, begging her to scream but Nina didn't oblige. She couldn't.  

She was just as dead as Thomas. Whatever that meant. 

Thomas. 

I will never know freedom. I have to find him. I have to find her. 

She tucked her gun away, sitting on her knees. Her gun couldn't protect her in her predicament. She rubbed her temples, attempting to ward off the creeping sense of madness that arrived so easily, threatening to consume her. But she knew one thing - she wasn't hallucinating. She found a glimmer of hope in the man who witnessed Thomas, who believed Nina killed him. 

I have to find the man from the alley. The man with the crutch. 

If I don't, I'll never know freedom. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

A/N: What would you have done if you were Nina? Would you have pulled the trigger or would you have done something else? (also, keep in mind you are afraid lmao) Let me know in the comments :D
WC: 2777