13/9/2007 4:52 AM Outskirts of New Orleans.

The harsh, scorching terrain of the Chihuahuan Desert was long behind us now. To avoid capture by the policìa that Aunt Renata would've no doubt of sent for us, we made multiple detours and attempted to steer clear of the bustle of the inner city and main roads. I prepped and stayed up countless nights in preparation for this. As I knew this day would come. But now that we're actually doing it...the idea seemed a lot more easier in my head.

We didn't have much of a plan to start with. There were only two goals: get as far away as possible to start new lives and get out of Mexico. Once we made our way away from Chihuaha, Evelyn and I found ourselves surrounded by cacti, dirt that would stretch for miles and the occasional boulder here and there that we'd sometimes take shelter under from the unrelenting heat of the sun. But we have the necessities. That's right. We have the things we need in that little plastic bag.

'Stay optimistic' I order myself.

And as much as Evelyn would complain whenever we'd come by a quaint, run down service station in the distance for a yummy snack to eat, we'd carry on by. At least I would. Evelyn would always take some reasoning.

That little plastic bag, full of goodies and changes of clothes, has lasted us up to four weeks. I think. It's been difficult to keep track, but I'm certain it's been somewhere around twenty-eight days. We've made four stops since our grand escape. First, it was Del Rio. As soon as we arrived, my eyes landed on a pop-up stand, filled with maps of the surrounding area, the plan and route became a little clearer. The next stop was San Antonio, then the miraculous Wild West of Houston and Beaumont (Texas) and finally Baton Rouge. The capital of Louisiana. We huddled close at a crowded homeless shelter in the city, the place was full to the brim, hectic and noisy but nevertheless we discovered that none of that mattered, since we dozed off in a matter of minutes. We were so close to New Orleans, I could feel it. So the second the sun made its grand appearance in the sky, I got Evelyn up and dressed and left Baton Rouge in the dust for New Orleans.

That bring us to where we are now.

The vegetation of New Orleans differs a lot from that of Mexico's. Something I always used to love about our old family trips across America, was that majority of the states had such stark beautiful, fluorescent green vegetation due to consistent rainfall. New Orleans is a good example, probably since it has a swampy landscape. The weather seems to be at a constantly cool state, the sky above is a light, blue-ish grey, smothered with white fluffy clouds. The sun struggles to break through them overhead.

The consistent but excruciatingly slow pat, pat, pat of Evelyn's worn down sandals against the ground, slows down once again to a snail-like pace.

I tirelessly moan her name, "Eva," my voice dripping of warning.

But the sound of her little feet doesn't pick up, so for the sixth time today, I'm forced to turn around and persuade my little sister on why we have to keep going. The first few times gave me a migraine. 'We don't have time for a nap. No, you can't eat anymore rations. Evelyn, get off the ground. Evelyn, it's too hot for a cuddle. We'll get new shoes somewhere soon.' However, when I look behind me, I notice that she's come to a complete halt and is studying something deflated and sort of shiny lying flat on the ground. As I waddle closer in her direction, ignoring the stinging blisters on my feet, I notice it's actually a balloon. The silver bubble writing on its front is incomprehensible as the balloon seems to be smeared in mud. It's not fully deflated either, but it's not exactly in its prime.

"Balloon!" she shouts and reaches out to grab it.

But the wind plays a cruel trick on her and sweeps the balloon off the ground and into oncoming traffic. Evelyn tries to save her newfound toy from certain death and runs forward, towards the main road but I instantly grab her shoulders and bring her back into the shadows of the trees and bushes.

"No! The balloon!" she cries out.

"Shh! It's okay, you need to stay away from plain sight. Someone might spot your clothes and think you need help. Who knows what would happen then!" I attempt at softly speaking some sense into her, which eventually calms her down a little.

In dismay, she watches the scene unfold. The disheveled heap of plastic kamikazes into a Toyota Camry's wheels and gets carried away into the horizon. With the disgruntled expression she has on her face, she may as well of screamed, "Bloody murder!" Much to my dismay, this destroys her. Her chest begins to heave up and down, her shoulders tense up and I mentally brace myself for what will no doubt be a temper tantrum. In a matter of seconds, the sobs come.

"I wanted that balloon!"

Wiping my hands down my face, I squat down beside her and attempt to reconcile, "Shh, shh! It's okay. It was only a balloon. It didn't look that good anyway, it was really deflated and covered in mud. Okay?" But this doesn't help. The sobs keep coming, her face scrunches up into an emotional mess. "Wouldn't you like a brand new one? I bet that'd be a lot prettier than that old thing."

This finally gets her attention. Her tear-brimmed, blue eyes look up to meet mine as if to ensure I'm not lying.

"I can get you another one. In New Orleans, they'll have plenty of balloons. They hold festivals there all the time in the city."

"You promise?"

"Hmm-mm," I murmur back to her.

It takes a few moments for her to reply. I can see it in her eyes, how they stare thoughtfully at her hands, that she's weighing her options. In my palms, I can feel her shoulders un-tense and relax. The shakiness in her breathing stops. Eventually, Evelyn looks up at me once again with the tiniest of smiles and nods her head before wiping away her tears in her tattered, yellow shirt.

I'm not going to lie, the journey from Chihuahua to where we are now has been tiresome. Also, in all honesty, life still won't be easy no matter where we go. If we're seen and taken in by the police, reported by owners of homeless shelters or spotted by passerby's, we'd have to keep moving. Settle down at the next place, until the same thing happens again. Which probably won't stop until I turn sixteen and am deemed able to legally live on my own or somehow grab myself a job. At first, it started off like a little adventure for Evelyn, but I can tell that the cold nights and the constant walking has taken a toll on her. So I can't break my promise.

I turn on my heels only to squat down again. This leaves my little sister a bit confused, I can tell by the amount of time she stands there idly. With a sigh I say, "Come on. You can have a piggy back. Give those little feet a rest."

As I look over my shoulder, her face immediately lights up like a Christmas tree and she excitedly hops on.

Around twenty five minutes later, we arrive at the French Quarter, the heart of urban New Orleans. We could've stopped and settled down somewhere else ages ago, but Evelyn, ever since I made my promise, seems set on ensuring that I keep to my word. There seems to be constant hustle and bustle in the narrow, crowded streets, surrounded by french-styled buildings. Fairy lights and fluorescent signs slowly turn on as we make our way down the street, the night sky getting dimmer and dimmer every second. From what I last remember the time being, its got to be just after five o'clock.

It's almost magical. The second we set foot in the French Quarter, the aroma in the air became a melting pot of various kinds of foods from many different cultures. American, French, Spanish, African. But Evelyn only allowed me a few more minutes of sightseeing before dragging me away further down the street. Families saunter by, holding hands. Eerily reminding me of those times I'd stare out our bedroom window in Mexico. But this, this is much better. Here, we have a little sense of freedom. Straight ahead, nearing the middle of the street, is a colourful, vintage-like balloon stand. Owned and run by a lean male dressed in a slightly washed out clown costume. With an extravagant red and black grin painted on to his face, he gleefully hands balloons to numerous little kids and parents crowding around.

"You want one of these ones?" I ask her, glancing down, receiving a meek nod in reply. "Okay, well stay close to me while I go see how much they are, alright?" Letting go of her tiny, youthful and smooth-like-silk hand, I rummage through the plastic bag I've kept draped over my right shoulder, until I find a violet, linen clip up purse. A gift my mother gave Evelyn as a fourth birthday present, long ago. A few moments later, I return my gaze to the baby blue, wooden stand, a rainbow mushroom of helium-filled balloons forms above. The only thing keeping the wooden contraption from floating to the heavens, are the two large weights on either side. Kids giggle and get their parents to tie their balloons to their tiny wrists which tugs upwards at the corners of my mouth. I take my first step towards the cart.

"Come on." My hand reaches out at nothing in particular beside me, my fingers stretch out in a wide radius in search of Evelyn's hand but to no avail. Her fingers never intertwine with mine. A particular pang of worry shoots through my chest and Anxiety, the monster I've dealt with for so long, returns once again to blur my wits and wrap her ice cold fingers around my neck. I look beside me, no one. Then behind me, to my left, until I end up doing a complete three-sixty, my eyes scanning the crowds around me. She's no where to be seen. The pang in my chest intensifies and Anxiety's grip tightens.

"Evelyn? Evelyn!" I exclaim, cupping my hands around my mouth to intensify the volume. "Eva!?" I scream, earning a few perturbed and concerned expressions from couples out on a romantic date or families passing by. They make sure to keep their distance from the craziness beginning to surround me, at least a descent two meter wide gap. But I don't care of what society thinks, all that matters is that Evelyn is missing.

Perhaps she caught sight of something more interesting, saw an animal of some sort or discovered prettier looking balloons. Whatever the reason, I searched the area high and low. Nothing was left untouched in the whole French Quarter. It wasn't long until I turned to every person in sight for any possible info on her whereabouts. The police being out of question, only adds to the weight building up on my shoulders.

'I can't. She can't be lost. This can't be happening.'

Clearing my throat, I approach another balloon cart, except with this one, the owner is a woman and not smothered in paint and pom poms. The balloons are a shiny arctic blue and sprawled across them are the words 'French Quarter Fest' in large, fancily-written glittery letters. Evelyn would've thought they looked pretty, she loves the colour blue. "Excuse me, but uh, have you seen a little girl around six years old with blonde hair and blue eyes? She was wearing an old yellow singlet?"

The short, petite woman lifts her glasses back up on her nose, a French accent evident in her voice. At first she seems sceptical, eyeing me up and down. "Sorry, young man. But quite a few families with their kids. We are getting ready for French Quarter Fest, heaps of people come and go before it becomes chaos."

As soon as she utters those words, I find myself already backing away from the cart, on the lookout, scavenging for another potential witness of my runaway little sister.

"Wait! We are your parents? Do you need help?" She calls out after me at her stand, but I've already tuned out.

I've known and suffered the pain of loosing a loved one to the thing every human being fears at at least one point in their lives. I used to believe there couldn't possibly be anything worse. I stand incorrect. This uncertainty, the fear of what's happened to my baby sister, the lack of knowledge..is torturous. As if someone's placed the tip of an ice cold dagger on my chest, teasingly twirling it around in circles on my skin.

I always got the same answers back. From the family by the gelato store, that elderly woman feeding the ducks by the pond to that group of dolled up girls on the curb beside a french pub. Eventually, I found myself moving out of the French Quarter. The aching feeling in the bridge of my feet, now begins to spread up the calves of my legs. I haven't rested since we had our quick stops on the road Baton Rouge. I find myself nearing a fishing dock. Evelyn likes animals, I revise in my head. I'm really stretching it out here, I find myself realising. But Evelyn and her adventure-seeking mind could literally take her anywhere.

A burly, bearded man, sorting out some crates of some unknown content is my nearest and next target.

"Hello?" I gain his attention, my voice dripping with exhaustion. "I need help. I-I can't find," I stop my blabbering with a sigh. "Look, have you by any chance seen a little girl with blonde hair, blue eyes wearing a yellow shirt and denim shorts?"

"I have, actually." The man says, scratching his beard. "Why? What's the problem, kiddo?"

With those words, I find myself unknowingly holding my breath, I end up forcing myself to exhale. "Here? Why, when, was she with anybody?" I can't help myself but frantically blurt our questions.

"Uh she was with two men, one was her daddy and the other an uncle, or friend? Or maybe they were a couple..I don't know. You can never be certain these days," he chuckles at the last part. "He said they were here to pick up a personal gift from a friend, a guy that works here. I could've sworn I'd seen their faces somewhere, they seemed so familiar. I didn't want to be rude so I let them on their way."

It takes me awhile to absorb this information, my eyes widen and with the look I only presume I have on my face at this moment, it's no surprise when he begins to stare back at me quite concerned. "That little girl is my sister, and our parents are dead."

That's when we both make the connection.

Before we know it, we're sprinting down the docks, to the large factory-like storage sheds located beside the waterfront. "They went in the first one there, the place is empty." He points mid-sprint, slightly slowing down to bring his flip phone to his ear. Probably to call the police. But I dismissed that in under a second. Is Evelyn okay? Is she being hurt? Is she..I stop my thoughts there. Once he'd finished his call, the man discarded of his phone in his pocket and stopped to grab a knife used for filleting or gutting a fish. The more seconds that pass, the more restless I become.

"Hurry up!" I spit at him but he doesn't seem to mind, he's just as restless as me.

When we arrived at the massive sliding doors of the shed, the local police sirens could already be heard speeding their way down to the docks. The fishermen warned me to wait until the cops arrived at the scene. To let them handle it professionally, but the moment my fingers grasped the steel of the shed doors, I couldn't force myself to wait a moment longer. Ferociously, and with a mighty shout I shoved upon the doors with a loud bang. The sight I saw beyond me, would shatter anyone's mindset. And that knife that was being twirled on my chest, has finally punctured straight into my heart. The first thing I saw was all the blood. The second thing I saw was Evelyn's unmoving body. The third thing I saw was the state of the place that my baby sister has been forced to suffer in. In the corner of my eye, I notice two bulk-built males, both styling a buzz cut flee out the back of the shed. My insides swell with hatred, but my little ray of sunshine is more important.

I sprint to her slide, almost sliding on the puddle-speckled, concrete floor. Her clothes lay in shreds and even though it seems inevitable I frantically gather up the remains and place them on her exposed body with shaking hands. She's much too innocent to be in such a state. Her skin is already beginning to turn cold and pale. What really tears me up inside is the steady flow of blood flowing from a long horizontal cut across her throat. They must've slit her throat to either silence her or worse, even things out if they were to ever to be caught. I feel a choke coming on, my lips quiver as I pull her limp body in close to mine. That's when the sobs came, then the screaming.

I can remember so vividly, and I don't think I'll ever forget.

"Stop right there! Put your hands up!" The echo of gunshots jumps off the walls of the massive, empty shed.

I remember praying to God, something I've never done before since our parents died, hoping, begging that those policeman catch and arrest whoever did this to Evelyn.

They didn't.