A/N: Either this is going to be a collection of random scenes or a slightly AU chronological story. I'm honestly not sure yet. This is based on the video game Indigo Prophecy, or Fahrenheit as it is known outside of the United States. Enjoy!

)O(

It wasn't like I'd walked into the diner that night expecting to become a murderer. I'm not that kind of person, despite the fact that I've been questioning my sanity a lot lately. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, I wasn't really expecting I'd get the chance to walk out of here at all. Someone would find the body any minute now. All I had to do was wait and let it happen, or I could even turn the knife on myself and it would all be over in a second. But I just kept telling myself that I was innocent. If I could just manage to get out of here everything would be okay...

I couldn't bear to touch the poor guy's body again, even though leaving him sprawled out on the restroom floor in a pool of his own blood might not have been the smartest idea. I wasn't thinking clearly. Like I said, I hadn't planned on killing anyone tonight. There were forces at work here I didn't understand. Someone or something had used me to commit a murder.

The least I could do was hide the knife. I knew the cops would find my fingerprints on it and the man's blood as well as mine. The cuts I had made on my wrists and forearms were still bleeding, and I realized I could not go out there looking like this. I examined my reflection in the mirror only to find that there were flecks of blood on my face. His blood.

I turned on the tap and washed off as much of it as I could. Then I splashed cold water on my face a few times, trying to pull myself out of this state of shock. Since escaping through the window was virtually impossible, I took a deep breath and faced my destiny.

Suddenly I had this overwhelming urge to confess. I had to tell someone what I'd done, or better yet scream it to the world. I had to do something. That was when I spotted a payphone just a few feet away. Maybe if I called my apartment Tiffany would pick up and I could warn her or...Oh, that's right, she wouldn't be there now. We broke up almost a month ago; she'd said that she needed to be alone for a while and figure some things out. I didn't know exactly what that meant, I still don't, honestly.

All I knew was that I missed her more and more each day.

The only other person I could think of was my brother, Markus, whom I hadn't seen since he'd become a priest two years ago. It had driven a wedge between us. I think on some level I envied him for being able to have faith in something even after our parents died. But I knew he would believe that I was innocent.

I deposited a quarter into the payphone and dialed his number, hoping I still remembered it. Then I waited and listened for my brother's voice. I don't know what I would have said to him. I'm sure it would have sounded crazy. Looking back, I'm thankful he didn't answer.

But I left a message anyway.

"Markus, it's Lucas, uh...your brother? Please call me back soon."

I quickly hung up the phone and headed for the front door. When I saw a cop sitting at the counter, my heart began to race. There was no time. He knew what a guilty man looked like and was certain I fit the part.

"Sir," the waitress called out, sounding annoyed. "You forgot to pay your bill."

It took a moment for me to realize that she was talking to me. I apologized and returned to my table, as if in a daze. Then I reached into my wallet blindly and tossed some money on the table. I didn't look to see how much it was, maybe twenty dollars or a hundred. It didn't matter anyway.

After that I left the diner as fast as I could without actually running. It wasn't until I got outside that I started running. Unfortunately, I lived too far away to run home, otherwise I probably would have. So instead I ran to the nearest subway station and descended the stairs into the dark underground of New York City. Only then did I allow myself to catch my breath as I waited for the train that would take me back to Brooklyn.

As I sat there on the train I could feel the other passengers' eyes on me. It was like they knew exactly what I'd done. Maybe they did. Part of me was still clinging to the notion that this was all just some terrible nightmare, and I would wake up in the morning and go to work just like any other day.

That notion could not have been further from the truth.