Escorting an alleged murderer home was not an easy task as Alan had thought. It demanded camouflaging materials like masks and caps, meticulous planning to avoid suspicion and most importantly, proper execution – something he considered more strenuous than researching articles for his Mass Communication thesis. But he decided to go for the run, laying trust on the odds.

Pristine walked furtively behind her newly discovered human shield and intently gazed at the blank footpath. Clasping his sinewy arms tighter, Pristine inclined her complete dependency on the boy whom she thought to be a rival hours ago.

Alan wanted to appear casual, and his meagre attempt failed as his eyes kept squinting and surveying the whole street for possible threats. Walking hand-in-hand with a murderer on a beautiful weekday under the broad daylight should have been an absurd story, unless he was the protagonist.

Covered in black surgical marks – a voguish trend the COVID-19 era had birthed – and black baseball caps that hung low enough to hide their salient identities, the duo aptly resembled an aesthetic black-themed couple walking straight out of Pinterest.

The Pinterest couple had reached Honour Boulevard – the street of elites – that housed a murderer and a recently-turned-useless superpowered family. Pristine's head deep-dived in the direction of the road, her long neck arching in aid.

"Lift your head, Pristine!", Alan hissed faintly as passers-by passed past the mentally passed-out pair. "You are making us look suspicious!"

"Okay," Pristine responded warily, slowly raising her forehead to look at the sparsely crowded street. The scorching heat aided in concealing the criminal and her accomplice from the prying citizens.

Marvin Mansion and Alteiners Abode were two houses perched at the centre of the alley – but neither of them was willing to welcome the approaching couple. So there is nothing wrong in choosing crooked ways when the actual path is blocked; thoughts resonated through the manipulator's brain.

Clutching the presumed criminal's hand firmer, Alan scurried towards his backyard discreetly, dragging the dreading woman along. Confidence rolled out it's carmine carpet after successfully reaching the backyard unnoticed and Alan began executing the next steps of his plan – jump.

Yes, jump.

All the superhero did was jump like a normal human; and there he was defying all gravity, hanging in the sill of his window with his lean fingers tightly grasping the metal ridge.

Pristine blinked at the confusing scene that took place. After all, confusion was the only thing her eyes showed for the past few days.

Pristine tried to hide her perplexion, because what else could you expect from a superhero?

Sometimes, you need to realize you are just human.

She stared blankly at the manipulator, who now stood on the ridge of the window and leaped into his room.

Did he forget that I can't jump that high? Pristine worried.

Alan looked down at the unhinged woman from his window and air-palmed as a sign to wait. He had to assure her that he wasn't crazy to leave her all alone after risking his entire life in bringing her home.

"Is there a rope?" he questioned the air in his room and began a rampant forage.

Rummaging through piles of dirty clothes, scattered chocolate wrappers, heaps of old books and cartons containing metallic spare parts, Alan found a coarse sisal rope beneath a box of pliers and screwdrivers.

Eyes sparkling with luck upon luck, Alan let down his long golden rope through the length of his house for Princess Flynn to climb, without the Caperwood Gothels noticing.

"Hold tight!" he beckoned inaudibly.

Pristine looked at the rope being rolled down, her hands resting in her hips and eyes squinting , tired of all the trauma and drama. She had experienced all sorts of things she wouldn't have even dreamed about. Murdered an innocent human, absconded from home, been undercover for two days, stole a packet of chips to end the grumbling noise from her stomach and what not? Climbing a rope and intruding her neighbour's house should be one of the basic things mentioned in her 'bucket list to be a criminal'.

Pristine grasped the rope firmly, curling her legs around it's axis and looked  at her Prince Rapunzel to announce approval. Alan fixated his legs one behind the other and hauled the rope vigorously. His veins struggled to prevent itself from exploding from the engulfing skin.

Pristine was smoothly dragged like water from a well. As her torso kept ascending bit by bit, she kept glancing at her reserved neighborhood, scrutinizing for any possible threats.

On reaching the metal ridge of the window, Alan extended his calloused hands to grab that of the awaiting recipient. Pristine clasped the invitation firmer, slowly releasing her grip from the rope as Alan effortlessly pulled her sweaty palms.

Alan helped the intruder climb down his room and asked in concern ,"You okay?"

"That's the last thing I would be."

***

"I froze upon seeing his — his body," Pristine trembled, " My body was — was paralyzed and — and my brain couldn't comprehend all the things that happened!"

"And you were drunk on top of that," Alan reminded.

Pristine nodded miserably. The bright burgundy walls that usually appeared brighter dwindled a dull tone to match that of the forlorn victim.

The brunette girl kept shedding vain tears even after being lucidly aware that no amount of lament would reverse the crime under her name. Her hands still contained the debris of the gruesome murder; it wouldn't stop quivering. The inflicted misfortune had disfigured her bright personality and damaged her mental composure. Even after being assured of support, she nervously fidgeted among the cascading tears that fell on the clean wooden floor.

"It's okay, we'll make this alright ," Alan assured feebly. After undertaking a huge risk of housing a criminal, lying was his last resort to convince the overwhelming emotions that deluged them. And sometimes, lying was the only way to yield solace.

Alan watched the miserable woman weep in silence and immediately handed over the cookies and biscuits he had in his study table. He almost forgot that she hadn't eaten for days, had he not noticed her haggard eyes that protruded from her lean face and her pallid skin that spoke tales of deprivation.

Pristine was not in the state of mind to begin a habitual guest sequence of a humble decline until the host persuades, or literally feeds you. She grabbed the packet and nibbled its wrapper to tear open the lost world of love – food. Barely managing to escape a faint 'Thank you' to the provider, Pristine voluntarily fell into the world of eating, dimming all her other senses.

Alan couldn't get more sympathetic. He had to use a mental split-view feature to contrast the girl he had known in college and the girl before him, munching cookies like she had never seen something akin. 'Poor thing' were the only words that he wanted to utter but was scared to, thinking of how she would reciprocate.

You never know how you will end up, a quick lesson flew across his thoughts.

The chewing sounds echoed through the room and Alan turned more and more disturbed.

How was he going to hide a five-feet two-inched woman within the premises of his wary neighbourhood, let alone his house?

The most disturbing part of undertaking risks was answering such practical questions before they could happen, and Alan despised that.

The weary tension in his eyes met that of the instigator, and Alan immediately disfigured the strain into a smile.

"You don't have to hide your tension, Alan," Pristine assured, her hands mechanically reaching for the bottle. Alan watched her gulp water and felt extremely terrible that he wasn't even capable of hiding his anxiety for even a minute.

"I am glad that I have someone who trusts me," Pristine watched her classmate filled with guilt, his eyes stooping the ground.

"I don't want to bother you like a parasite, moreover, I don't think it's safe for me to stay here."

Alan responded with a guilty silence.

"Is there any of your friend out of Caperwood? Or some hotel in Ariston, Carlisle or even Melvindale? I will pay you –"

"No," Alan deflected.

"I have no one trustworthy at the moment, and all nearby cities are hunting for you Pristine. Things are even worser than you think."

Tears brimmed the sterling eyes as she pondered on her hopelessness.

Does fate have to be this cruel?

"What are we going to do then?" Pristine helplessly questioned.

Alan had to respond. He had earned her trust and convinced her to come home so it was his full responsibility to safeguard her. And the word 'responsibility' seemed heavier for the town-saving hero's shoulder to endure. His sagacity jotted all ways possible to ensure protection to Pristine, while simultaneously solving the mystery. Hopping streets of ideas one by one, his brain paused at one such familiar alley.

Pristine perceived Alan's widening orbs and discerned the forthcoming of some solution.

"What?"

"There is one way to hide you," his eyes sparkled, initiating happiness in Pristine. However, his tone gradually plummeted, indicating the arrival of the irksome 'but'.

"But," he ran his slender fingers through his tousled hair; his hesitation vividly painted the atmosphere.

"It's a bit confidential, I mean, I am not allowed to say or do this."

"Chuck it, then," Pristine responded irritably.

"No!" Alan had a hard time deciding whether he should reveal his family secret or not.

"What now?" the brunette raised her brows in resentment.

"We have no choice at the moment, so it's better to say it. But, I hope you won't share it to anyone after this whole chaos is over."

"Listen, Alan. If you want to tell me something you have to trust me. If you hesitate, then better not to tell. I will find my way." Pristine got up to her feet, irritation peaking levels. Mistrust is no more a new concept to her. The last thing she would expect from this ruthless world would be trust, so she decided to rely on her self-confidence.

"Wait!" Alan alerted, grabbing her wrist cinematically.

"I trust you."