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After he couldn't breathe anymore, James stopped and looked back. He was on a quiet, neighborhood street. Away and safe. James' chest was tight with grief and he was out of breath. He picked his phone out of his pocket a dialed Logan immediately. He didn't pick up, though. And so, he left a message.

"Logan. I need help. Please, I was just shot. I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere. Please, please, please call me back, Logan. I don't know…what to do."

God, he wanted Logan to pick up.

What had happened back there he wanted to keep far out of his mind, however it kept sneaking up through all the good thoughts he tried to dust over them. Focusing on Kendall, Logan, and Carlos didn't work. Killing your friends. Focusing on sex didn't work. Paula was killed. And his mom, he felt sad thinking about her.

Everything piled up and it was frightening to think that perhaps Chris was only steps behind him, ready with new bullets and a new focus.

"Sir?"

James jumped and shouted some garbled auxiliary commands before turning to see there was a police officer standing in front of him, one with broad shoulders, taller than James, but also exuding a calm demeanor.

"Are you alright?" the policeman came closer, looking at the bloody wound that trailed across James's back.

James flinched back, "No. There was a man—and he—well—everything just kinda—" He was stuttering through his words, confused and incoherent.

Finally, the policeman was able to get some portion of the story out of him, enough to help James retreat to the police car and be driven to the hospital where they were met with a few squad cars and several investigators. There were murmurs of the words murder and the name of the club which he couldn't quite remember. Cigarettes and a dead girl. Words now just poured from James' mouth and he almost cried. His wound was examined and sewed up quickly, a minor injury, but nonetheless, painful. He relayed Chris' words, which garnered a few exchanged looks between the investigators and even the doctors who managed to flit through the room unnoticed.

"Look, can I go home now?" James asked, the wound stitched and the story told. "I'd really just like to not think about this."

"I think you'd be safer here, for now…" one of the investigators trailed off with a sullen smile.

"I was just with my friend. Logan. Logan Mitchell, you know the smart one. We're part of Big Time Rush," he croaked. "I can call him. He can pick me up if you think—"

"This situation is more dire than you think it is, Mr. Diamond," the investigator continued.

"Big Time Rush…the famous band? You know," he cleared his throat. "If you want it all, lay it on the line. It's the only life you got so you gotta live it big time…" He swore he tasted blood in his mouth as he sang the lyrics. He lurched forward, "Please, just let me—"

The investigator bent forward and put his hand on James's shoulder, "Mr. Diamond, you must remain here until we get the entire story and the background checks."

James didn't reply, melting into his chair and waiting. He stayed put for three hours. Waiting, a doctor near him monitoring his condition and also keeping him still. And thinking. Each moment he thought about the blood and the sweat. Two dead bodies and a deep gash in his shoulder.

It was horrifying.

He didn't even have the sanity to examine the female doctor who was flirting every once and awhile with him.

Someone opened his door in the wee hours of the morning as he sat dumbstruck.

"Mr. Diamond," a man in a suit approached James with a grim gaze.

Another suited figure, a woman, appeared with a calmer demeanor. She straightened our her skirt, "You are Mr. Diamond, correct?" she asked.

"Yes," James sat up. He didn't even care that they didn't recognize him. He was just glad that suddenly there was a breakthrough or something.

The two suited characters exchanged a look and the man murmured to the doctor attending him, "Will you please give us some time alone?"

The doctor nervously exited the room, holding onto a clipboard of charts and tests. James watched the man leave, feeling his last sort of shield disappear before the suits attacked with questions.

They both ogled him for a moment before the woman slowly said, "I'm agent Brensaw and this is agent Parker," she gestured to her companion and then looked back at James, "Mr. Diamond, we have good reason to believe that your life is in danger."

"Yeah, really," he scoffed, recalling the threats of the thug.

"This isn't a light matter, Mr. Diamond," the man went on. "The man who you've described is a notorious leader is notorious for distributing arms to Colombia and interacts often in tandem with their drug cartels. He is not a nice guy, to put it lightly. You're lucky that you didn't end up like your friends."

"They weren't my friends! I barely knew the girl and I just saw it all happen!" James defensively launched into his argument.

"That's the problem," the man continued. "You saw everything. You are a witness as well as a victim. And knowing the habits of Christopher Alexi, you are also on his hit list. Which means that being in the public eye does not suit your best interests."

James frowned, "I get that. So, what do I do?"

The woman glared at her colleague and cleared her throat, "What
Agent Parker is trying to say is that…we are recommending that you go on a permanent hiatus from your public life?"

"Meaning?"

"We're recommending you join the Witness Protection Program, in simpler terms," Agent Parker glared back at Agent Brensaw.

James shook his head, "Isn't that basically like…getting rid of-"

"Erasing you. You disappear from existence as you know it and show up in a different part of the country with a different identity, considering your prevalence in modern culture," Agent Parker spouted off the information as if he were a pamphlet.

James did not know how to respond to this. He was angered, but also dismayed, without a real place to turn to. "Well, how exactly are we supposed to do that?"

"New name, new hair, new place…it won't be easy or perfect, but at least you'll be out. And alive," Agent Parker frowned. "Now, we're going to take you to the agency and we'll have you set up within the next week."

"Can I go…pack or something? Say goodbye, and stuff."

Agent Brensaw looked to Parker who was staring at his shoes, "I'm afraid we can't let you do that."

"Huh?"

"James Diamond has to disappear."

If he weren't in this situation, James would swear she was a mechanical monster out of a horror movie. The way she spoke and her calm demeanor.

"You're dead. In simpler terms. No one can know that you're alive because Chris Alexi and his cohorts will be able to get his hands on you."

Stunned, was the only way James could explain how he felt at that moment. These agents were telling him he would never lay eyes on Logan, Kendall, Carlos, his mother, whoever the hell he was thinking of at the time. He would never actually speak to them again. Because he had been in the wrong place at the exact wrong time. "No, I'm gonna go see my friends and then you can take me wherever the fuck you want, but I'm gonna…" James stood up. He was clearly drunk with tiredness and maybe getting hungover, "Gonna see them. Okay." He started walking toward the doors and both agents stepped in front of him.

However, James suddenly took a turn. He bolted, pushing Brensaw aside and rushing down the hallway. There were two other agents standing at the door and they went after him. It was a high speed chase. James was almost out of energy though and he felt like his limbs were tingling. He could only compare it to feeling like spaghetti.

Parker quickly caught up to him and grabbed the tail of his shirt which was now untucked, "James!"

James tripped over his feet and fell onto the linoleum. Doctors and nurses watched as Parker bent down and helped James up, "They already know, James."

"What?"

"People already know. Consider yourself dead."

Logan wasn't worried about James. He could take care of himself and he had established that over the years. He'd ditch the boys in a split-second if there was a girl starting to hang off his shoulder.

He walked back to James' apartment where he was staying, hoping he could find James in a cloud of smoke with only a few cigarettes left in a pack. At least he'd be there. What he found instead, thought, was frightening. There were two men standing at the door. Not threatening, but dower and looming. "What's going on?" Logan went up to the door with an extra key poised between his fingers.

"Logan Mitchell?" one of them stepped forward.

Logan could now see the door was cracked open and he could hear people walking around the apartment and talking. "Yeah, that's me."

"We…have some bad news for you."

"What?"

The other man pushed the door open and ushered Logan in. James' lush apartment was left almost completely untouched, as they had left it when Logan had arrived that evening with his duffel. "Will you tell me what's going on?" he looked between the others in the apartment who seemed to be looking for something. "How did you get in here?"

"We're law enforcement, Mr. Mitchell. The two of us are part of the CID."

"Mr. Mitchell," the first one spoke again. "Please, sit."

Logan couldn't be completely sure if these people were all who they were made out to be, but at that hour, he wasn't willing to verbally spar with anyone. He did as he was told and sighed, "Please, what's going on?"

"James Diamond was found dead earlier tonight in a back alley off of Hudson."

Logan didn't breathe for a few moments. He didn't know how to react. The processes in his brain were slowing down. The neurons weren't firing properly or the neurotransmitters weren't being…transmitted. He was at a complete loss.

"After interviewing some people who had seen him exit a club on Weber, we found out you were with him at the time."

"What happened?" Logan choked out. His throat was dry.

"He was shot three times in the back and then run over by a car. Definitely a planned attack. We are currently trying to gather more evidence."

Logan shook his head, "No. No, I was with him. He walked out. I saw him go with a woman."

"Yes, she is also dead. This is a most unfortunate situation, I'm so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Mitchell. However, we do need to question you if that's alright."

Standing, Logan nodded, "Just a moment please." He stumbled into the bathroom, where it looked like they had put a few of James' used Q-Tips in a baggie. He closed the door and then picked his phone out of his pocket.

One missed call. One voicemail.

"Logan. I need help. Please, I was just shot. I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere. Please, please, please call me back, Logan. I don't know…what to do."

Logan leaned against the wall and finally cried. He understood now. It was all his fault.

James was dead. At least he was to him.