A/N: Hey all! I wrote these next couple chapters while on a plane home after taking my friend back to her university for a summer internship. I wanted to post this chapter on Murdoc's birthday but, obviously, I'm a couple days late. But, still, Happy Birthday to the grumpy lead singer!

Chapter 10

My eyelids flutter open to find it dark. I snuggle closer to the chest I was using as a pillow. "Carter," I whisper as an arm encircles me. When I see a green hand in my periphery, my brain snaps into alertness. What have I done? I think to myself. I carefully disentangle myself from the still sleeping Murdoc and scramble out of the room. I have to get out of here.

I run to my room, and escape is the only thing on my mind. I hurriedly pack a few clothes, my pictures, and my sax. I tuck the Desert Eagles into their holster under a jacket. I bolt out of the house before I'm seen before I realize I have nowhere to go, no way to get off the island.

Thankfully, Murdoc didn't cancel the boat that takes him off the island. I hop in and the driver gives me a weird look, so I flash a Desert Eagle. That does the trick, and he guns the engine. On the way to the main land, I try desperately to collect my thoughts. My training starts to kick in and I begin to make a list of the things I need to do to get out of here. I need papers to get myself out of the country. Murdoc will find me if I stay in England. Unfortunately, the British government, for all intents and purposes, thinks I'm dead. Why did I have to fuck up (literally, I think with a cringe) the one good gig I've had in years? Suddenly, a name pops into my head. Christopher, an old boss and friend, could give me the papers I needed.

As soon as I land, I book it to the nearest phone booth, keenly aware that I don't have time to be as careful as I would like. I punch the number in and pray that Christopher is behind the bar tonight.

"'ello?" His gruff voice is music to my ears.

"Christopher. It's Virginia. You still have that side business? I need papers to get me out of the country."

"Are you packing?"

"Yeah. Two big ones."

"That may complicate things."

"Just get it done."

"Fine. It'll be ready in the morning." I hang up and exit the phone booth.

The next morning, I meet Christopher in his bar. He hands me my information and wishes me well. Thankfully, he gets me clearance for the Desert Eagles, but he's done so by making me an Interpol officer. If anyone questions me, I'm screwed.

I make my way to Heathrow, and I try to think of somewhere I can go. I need to work, wherever I go, and I'm not that familiar with the states. Murdoc would find me in California, I can feel it in my gut. Eventually, I settle on New York City, feeling as though I can be invisible in a large city filled with high-profile Americans.

I pay for my ticket in cash, a longstanding habit that has helped me remain invisible and untraceable. The woman who sells me my ticket gives me a questioning glance as she reviews my Interpol papers, but I keep a calm expression and she shrugs it off. A part of me is relieved that I still look the part.

As the plane starts to take off, I look at the window and take a breath. Something deep inside of me is screaming for me to turn around and go back to Murdoc. He's surely noticed I'm gone by now, as it's almost noon. I can't go back; he's Carter all over again. If I stayed, I wouldn't have the guts to break it off. As it is, I'm in too deep. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes, planning my next move.

A/N: Indiana Jones style ending right there! As always, thank you to those who have favorited or follwed my little story!