Twenty:

Unlikely Fugitive

Pete wasn't slow; in gym he could keep a pretty good pace around the track, but he wasn't exactly speedy. However he managed to shock himself at the speed of his feet as they carried him out of Owen Mansfield's front door and down the empty street. He wasn't even aware of himself running. It was like his legs had just decided to take control, carrying the rest of him away from Gary Smith as quick as possible. The guy was insane. Beyond insane. He was a complete psychopath. That look in his eyes when they had heard the front door open... Pete was convinced that he would have gone down and stabbed that girl if she had caused any trouble for them.

Pete refused to deal with anymore death.

The lamp thing had been the most surprising. Running would have been enough, really. Gary probably wouldn't have even noticed he was gone until he was off down the street, but panic had taken over. Pete had felt like he wasn't in his body; he was merely watching from the sidelines as he plucked up a smooth and rather expensive looking lamp and smashed it over Gary's head. He could faintly recall words coming out of his mouth, but he had no idea what they were. All he had been aware of was the dangerous speed of his pounding heart.

He had been running about ten minutes or so when he finally stopped and checked behind him. The street was deserted. The only sounds he could hear was his own laboured breathing and a dog barking faintly in the distance. There was no one else around. There was no sign of Gary.

Had Gary even gotten up? Pete couldn't remember. Maybe he had knocked him out? Maybe he had killed him? No, no Gary had gave him a pretty pissed off look before he had split. He could have passed out, but it was unlikely that he was dead. But if he had passed out then the cops might get him and ship him right back to Happy Volts. Gary would be furious. He hadn't even been free for longer than two hours.

But then again maybe it was for the best. After all Gary was extremely dangerous; he had proved that in Owen's house. Pete guessed he had never believed that his old friend could be so psychotic, but now he had proof. If he wanted to clear his name, the last thing he needed was Gary Smith ruining his reputation.

Pete secured his hood over his head and pulled down his cap. Fortunately he had gotten a belt on before the girl had let herself into Owen's house so they weren't falling down anymore. However he still tripped up on the long trouser legs. He got walking, head down and hands deep in his pockets, and tried to figure out what the hell it was he was going to do now. How on Earth did you go about proving your innocence when you had just busted out of a mental institution and held a fruit delivery guy hostage in his kitchen?

'That wasn't you...' he muttered to himself. 'That was Gary.'

He nodded. Technically he was a hostage too. He hadn't really had a choice in escaping – Gary practically forced him into it. Okay, so maybe he hadn't exactly complained, but it would have been a hard job to disagree with Gary. And now he had escaped his 'kidnapper' what did they expect him to do? Turn himself in? No way. Any half way sane person would look for someone to help. Someone they trusted...

Pete stopped walking and looked up. He hadn't even been aware he had been heading in this direction until he saw the street name. He stood on the sidewalk and looked at his parents' house, a sickly twisting feeling in his stomach. What should he do? Just head in? Would they be pleased to see him?

Of course they would be pleased; he was their only son.

But what if they weren't?

Pete looked up the street at the sound of an approaching engine. His eyes widened at the police car that crawled along the road, heading right towards him. Pete turned, lowered his head, and walked quickly down the sidewalk. He refrained from running, knowing that it would be suicide to do that. He would only attract attention. His heart began to pound again as the police drew closer, closer, then parallel with him...

It seemed to stick by his side for a moment. Pete didn't dare look up at the driver. He was suddenly very aware of the way he was walking; his feet were shaking, his legs trembling. Jesus, why had he gone along with this? He wasn't fugitive material. He wasn't going to last five minutes on the street with everyone out looking for him! What would he do if his parents rejected him? Flee to Mexico? Yeah, great life plan, Petey.

The police car continued away without slowing. Pete risked a glance at it just as it turned around the corner, and then suddenly felt very sick. He dived off the path, towards a mass of shrubbery and foliage, and abruptly threw up. The bile stung his throat and the retching hurt his stomach, but afterwards he felt a little better. He was thinking a little clearer.

His parents were the only option. If he explained about Gary's theory about the bribed doctors (of course he would leave out that it was Gary's theory – no one would believe him if he thought it was the paranoid ramblings of a psycho) then his parents would have no choice but to confront Monroe and bring this whole thing to light. Then everyone would believe that he wasn't crazy and he could go back to his own life.

Pete glanced around the street. There were a few people around now; and a few people he recognised. Well it was bound to be the case, this was his street after all. If someone spotted him that would be it. He needed to keep his head down for a little while. Until it was dark, and then he could move under cover of darkness and there would be less chance of being recognised.

Pete cast one last look towards his family home, ignored the pang in his stomach, and set off to find somewhere quiet to lay low for the next couple of hours.