A/N: Oh my goodness. I apologize for the wait! First I was really sick for a while, so between doctors and hospitals I didn't have much time to write. Then the holidays came, so most of my holiday break from school was spent with family (which was awesome, by the way), then I had a wedding to attend, and a ridiculous amount of homework to get caught up on. (In fact, I'm still a little backlogged.) I literally went a couple weeks without even thinking about this story! But I'm back now, hopefully with some fresh motivation, and ready to get the story finished. I estimate it has about five chapters to go… give or take. I haven't really decided. I appreciate your patience! I can't thank you guys enough for all for the reviews you have been leaving. They really made my day, especially when I was sick :)

This chapter, for some reason, was really hard to write. So I broke it off a little earlier than I intentioned, and as a result this one is a little short compared to the others. Chapter 26 will be even shorter, I believe. Oh, but I just can't resist cliffhangers! Bwahaha!

Warnings: Violence.

Chapter 25
Better Days

"I'm sorry," Kendall repeated, tugging harder on the woman's arm.

He had only experienced true terror once before. He'd felt the frostbite effect on his body back at the warehouse, when James had been murdered.

Murdered.

Kendall chanted the word silently, hoping it would motivate himself to move a little quicker. Every second that ticked by was time that could be used for Chris to pull the trigger. Kendall had witnessed a fired shot. He'd heard the crack of a bullet blasting from the barrel of a gun, hard and cold, like an icy cut slashing the air. He didn't know much about guns. He knew sometimes pistols let out wisps of smoke once fired—the insides were hot, the outside was cold.

It was sort of how panic felt.

His body shivered and his skin broke out in goose bumps. Even so, his cheeks flushed hot and sweat rolled down his neck and back. The two conflicting sensations sent nausea to flood him as he continued to yank the woman from her seat. In the mere seconds it took for her to comply, the only thoughts occupying Kendall's head were how she was taking forever, and Chris was surely getting an incredible head start, and Kendall still didn't have any idea where he was or how to get home.

The woman screamed as Kendall pushed her to the side. She clutched her hands protectively around her stomach, breathing hard and panting with fear. Then she froze, nearly mindless in her state of panic, and stared at Kendall as he hopped in the driver's seat. He pulled the door shut and chanced a quick glance back. It was then he noticed the bulge of her belly.

She was pregnant.

He had forced a pregnant woman from her car.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, suddenly feeling like a villain. Chris speeding away to kill Kendall's friends and most likely anyone who stood in the way was a perfectly good reason to steal a car, right? By the time the police located Kendall and he explained the situation, it would be too late.

He buried the guilt for now and concentrated on the mechanics of the vehicle. He'd seen his mother and Logan drive before; surely it couldn't be too difficult. Not daring to waste precious seconds fumbling for a seatbelt, Kendall's slippery hands found the gear stick. He shifted the car from park to drive, then slammed his foot on the gas pedal before even bothering to check if he was heading in the right direction.

The tires screamed against the pavement. Kendall gritted his teeth together as the inertial force pinned him to his seat. With a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, he drifted around the first corner, leaving the dumbstruck woman standing unaided in the middle of the street.

A straight road laid ahead, with buildings lining each side and no car in sight. Kendall accelerated to fifty miles per hour in the residential area, heart pumping blood to his ears as he desperately searched for signs of Chris's car. As chaotic as the functions of his body were, his thoughts remained clear. His concentration was like a sea of glass, flat and smooth with utmost focus.

His friends and family were at home. And they weren't going to die today.

He approached the end of the street before he decided which way to turn. Kendall reluctantly eased down on the brakes as he cranked the wheel to the right, ignoring his turning signal altogether. Traffic lights were visible up ahead, as well as several cars. There was a small ripple in his pool of thoughts as he briefly contemplated how to maneuver around the pickup in front of him and the oncoming car in the left lane. He had only a second to make a decision, but only needed half. Jerking the wheel left, the vehicle was tossed in the opposite lane. The truck ahead of him braked, allowing Kendall to pass. He swerved back when the driver of the oncoming car pounded on her horn and nearly popped the curb in a clumsy attempt to move out of the way. Now ahead of the pickup, Kendall couldn't suppress a gasp of alarm from flying out of his mouth.

Oh, man. Saving friends or not, he was so going to jail.

The traffic light ahead thankfully turned green. As he sped through the intersection with ease, he turned his head left and right, searching for the car. What color was it again? Silver? Or more tan? He hadn't paid attention to the model, so he was out of luck in that department. But if Chris was experiencing a spell of rage, he was probably driving as fast and as reckless as Kendall. A driver like that would leave an easy trail to follow.

Kendall calmed his mind and regained his composure. He kept his thoughts like a taut plane pointing to one goal: get home.

Get out, get help—easy.

Get home. He had to get home.

Buildings whirled by as colorless blurs. The road was as straight as his focus. Nothing could stop him. He passed cars and trucks effortlessly, leaving them as tiny dots in his rearview mirror. He barely registered the chorus of horns which seemed to sing to him in a constant, sharp blast. The smart drivers who noticed him approaching either pulled over or slowed to a stop in order to prevent a collision.

He cranked on the wheel to avoid an oblivious limousine turning onto the road. Crying out in surprise, Kendall was nearly tossed from his seat as his fender was clipped. The car lost control for only a moment, but with a hard jerk to the steering wheel, Kendall managed to free himself from being sandwiched between two vehicles. The close call shook his focus, but he didn't slow down. Instead, the teen accelerated to his highest speed yet, leaving angry drivers and his guilt behind him.

Breathing hard and trembling beyond belief, Kendall continued straight, weaving in and out of traffic, whizzing past unfamiliar streets and stores. There was no sign of the Palm Woods, or even a recognizable neighborhood. Everything was strange to his eyes.

A red octagon made itself visible at the next turn. Knowing he had absolutely no time to stop, he pressed his hand into the horn and prepared for his riskiest move yet. A taxi that had been turning noticed Kendall a second too late and slammed on its brakes in the middle of the four-way. Kendall zoomed past, heart leaping up his throat at the windy feel of sideswiping the vehicle. A loud crack made him wince. The side view mirror was gone.

More car horns echoed in his ears. But they didn't understand. He had to get home. He had to get home.

Something ahead grabbed his attention. Black streaks on the road, long and fresh. Two cars were pulled over, both with their emergency flashers blinking brightly. One had hit the other's bumper, and both drivers stood outside examining the damage. Somehow Kendall knew it was evidence Chris had been past. Some sort of spark lit within him, and Kendall increased speed while murmuring a quick prayer that he was going in the right direction.

Traffic grew thicker the farther he drove. He was surprised he hadn't passed a cop by now. Trying to avoid a crash, he turned into a parking lot and crossed it to get to a main road crowded with cars. Horns warned him to watch out, to slow down, but he had no time to obey them. The air seemed to be losing its oxygen, forcing Kendall to pant to catch his breath.

Get home.

A slow-moving truck next to a Hummer blocked him from making a pass. Growling under his breath, Kendall bopped his horn and tried to maneuver around. He had no choice but to apply his brakes and slow the car to the actual speed limit. He couldn't drive in the opposite lane, as traffic was too heavy and would surely cause certain death.

"Hurry up!" Kendall shouted, though knew the drivers couldn't hear him. He pounded the horn angrily, wondering why it was taking so long for the Hummer to make a simple pass. The large vehicle finally did what Kendall hoped, instantly moving out of the way for the impatient driver. Kendall accelerated and did a quick scan for road signs. He still failed to recognize the street names, but he surely had to be making progress towards his goal.

He felt the engine rumble, and it made his panicky body quake even harder. His mind remained as clam as a glassy sea, almost as though he was on an autopilot mode.

Something caught his gaze.

Ahead a ways, turning right, a speeding car glided around a corner and drove off accompanied by more angry bleeps and honks.

It was Chris. It had to be.

Kendall tried to keep his eyes on the mysterious car, but it disappeared behind a building. But he saw the street, just one road beyond the next intersection—

The approaching traffic light turned red.

Two options struck his mind:

One: Brakes. Now.

Two: Floor it.

Option two seemed as though it would accomplish more, so Kendall took the chance. Time seemed to slow as he comprehended a half-second too late what was about to happen. The green-lit cars had already begun to proceed, it was too late to revert to option one, and Kendall wasn't about to make it home.

Out of instinct, he stomped his foot against the brakes. His eyes flew shut as he braced for inevitable impact. The rubber tires squealed against the pavement. He desperately twisted and turned the wheel, but it was useless. An impossibly forceful blow sent him flying out of his seat and colliding against a shattering window. The crunch of metal-on-metal deafened him and sent him spiraling lazily into some sort of weightless dream…

He opened his eyes when a voice broke through his weariness. It ripped through his repose and sent him crashing back to reality. Pain shot down his neck and back, something wet poured in his eye, and a harsh pins and needles feeling irked his right leg.

"Are you okay, kid? Oh, my goodness. Hang on. An ambulance will be here in a few minutes."

A few minutes? No. That would take too long. There was no time. Chris was getting ahead; maybe he was already at the Palm Woods. Kendall groaned and swallowed back a mouthful of bile. His vision focused enough for him to see a woman with a small cut across her eyebrow peering into the smashed driver's window. She was young, with golden hair that flowed around her pretty face.

"Jo?" Kendall murmured.

The lady didn't seem to hear him, and instead turned around and waved her hands in the air as a signal for help. Something between a pained moan and a sob escaped Kendall's bloody mouth as he struggled to sit upright. His stomach churned and twisted into knots, and his head ached infuriatingly. He wiped his hand across his wet face and it came back red.

Two more faces appeared in the window; an older gentleman and a kid perhaps in his early twenties. "Can you move? How bad does it hurt?" one of the guys asked.

No time. Had to get home. Had to move.

Kendall pulled himself upright, muscles in his arms nearly buckling at the strength it took. More blood exuded from his cuts and trailed down his face and neck. It took several seconds for him to comprehend he had been knocked to the opposite end of the vehicle when it had been struck from the side. He resided now in the passenger's seat, with a cracked window supporting his throbbing head.

"The Palm Woods," he slurred. "Where's the Palm Woods?"

"Huh?" The woman was back. It wasn't Jo.

"Palm Woods. Need t'get there."

"Alright, just you hang on. The ambulance will be here soon. You'll be okay."

No. She didn't understand.

Grunting in effort with a newfound surge of energy, Kendall crawled back to the driver's seat with unsteady hands pulling him along.

"Hey, take it easy." One of the men returned. "Kid, seriously. Sit still. You might be really hurt."

"M'fine," Kendall grumbled. The pain diminished as adrenaline trickled in. Successfully upright in the appropriate seat, Kendall reached out the window and grabbed the front of the woman's shirt. She gasped and tried to wiggle out of his grip. At least she wasn't pregnant.

"Hey, man," warned the younger guy, stepping forward to intervene.

"Listen to me," Kendall told the frightened woman. "Listen. My name is Kendall Knight. I was kidnapped a few days ago, maybe you heard about it. Right now my friends are in trouble. They're going to die."

The woman, wide-eyed, tore away from Kendall's trembling fingers and stepped back. The young man wedged himself between the two. "What's your problem?" he asked Kendall.

"What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"Not you. Her." Kendall indicated the blonde. "Ma'am, what's your name?"

She gently pushed aside the man and came back into view, though kept a cautious distance from the window. "Amanda."

"Amanda," Kendall begged. "Please listen. Please help me. Everyone I care about is in danger. I need to stop it. Amanda, you have to tell me where the Palm Woods is. Please."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know."

Kendall shut his eyes and tried to regain his focus. Colors flashed before his closed eyelids—dark colors—wanting to pull him away. There was no time. He had to go. Had to go. But where? How could he possibly find his way before Chris? More blood oozed from the cut on his face. Muscles felt worn, bones were brittle and weak.

"I know where it is," said the older guy, coming back to the window. "Is that where you were heading?"

"Tell me," Kendall demanded. "Sir, please. Tell me where."

The old guy pushed up his glasses. "Uh, well, you just take a right there, and follow the road a couple miles till you see Nineteenth Street. Just turn there and the Palm Woods will be on your right."

Kendall nearly gasped in shock. He was that close?

He sputtered and thank you and something like an apology, then grabbed the wheel.

"Hey, what are you—" Amanda started.

Kendall hit the gas pedal. He sank back in his seat and turned the wheel as far as he could, considering the collision had turned him around. Smoke accompanied the screeching tires as the car spun and did a one-eighty in the center of the intersection, which had come to nearly a stand-still due to the accident. He saw people poke their heads out of their windows, confused pedestrians huddle on the sidewalks, and Amanda and the two guys jump back with yelps of fear. Thankfully the car still worked; the engine hadn't been damaged.

He couldn't focus on his injuries. He couldn't allow anything to disrupt the attention on the goal. Get home. Had to get home.

He didn't hear the horns anymore. The noise was so constant it had become familiar. He took the turn as the man had instructed. Luckily, it was a two-lane street; there was plenty of room to weave through traffic. Chris's car was no where in sight, but perhaps Kendall could catch up. He lowered his foot more and more on the gas pedal and watched the needle on the speedometer move to the right. At the next green-lit intersection, Kendall searched for a street name. Nineteenth. Where was Nineteenth?

He was momentarily blind in his left eye until he removed a hand from the wheel to wipe away the sticky blood. He hissed when he touched a swollen lump on his forehead. Focus. Get home. Drive.

He tore through another red traffic light, but this time the drivers in the front of the line saw him coming and smartly kept their distance.

He continued on, tense with determination, not caring about the newly inflicted aches and pains. A few more intersections passed him by before Kendall finally recognized a building.

It was Rocque Records.

…Which meant he'd missed his turn.

Kendall felt like laughing. He knew his way home from here. It was an enormous relief to see a familiar place, a place he once thought he'd never be able to return to.

But the building distracted him. He couldn't afford to waste any more time longing for better days. He had to focus. Okay. Nineteenth was behind him, so if he simply took the next turn and went around the block, he'd be back on track.

Kendall slowed the stolen car as much as he dared, then turned. Immediately, he saw a problem.

All the cars were coming towards him.

"Oh no," he muttered. He'd mistakenly turned down a one way—the wrong way.

Panic took a grip on his mind and threatened to crumple the straight plane of thoughts he'd managed to form. He felt the icy shivers racking his body and the hot sweat stinging every wound on his flesh. The oncoming headlights glared at him, welcomingly, as though they beckoned him closer. Kendall's fingers curled tighter around the wheel, slick with blood and sweat, as he waited for his mind to produce the options for the situation.

Nothing came to him. So Kendall did the only thing he could do.

He kept going.

The barrier of vehicles grew nearer and nearer. Some cars stopped, some slowed, some pulled over, some changed lanes to allow Kendall more room to drive, because it was clear to anyone that he had no intention of slowing down. Gritting his teeth together, Kendall slammed a fist into the horn and allowed his mind to stray from focus.

And he thought of home.

He thought of Logan and Carlos, all by themselves. He thought of Katie staring at him with those big brown eyes. He thought of Mrs. Knight's embraces, of Jo's kisses, of Camille's unpredictable slaps, of Gustavo's angry roars and Kelly's faithfulness to both the boys and her boss. But in every mental image of the people he loved, one particular friend stuck out significantly from the rest—the one friend Kendall had let down the most.

James.

He thought of James as he dodged various automobiles with a frighteningly calm reserve. There was no time for guilt, no time for remorse. Had to keep moving. Left. Right. Brakes. Left. Gas. More gas. Right. Straight.

The movements were automatic and precise. Around him the scene was a chaotic, frantic mess, with cars swerving and colliding and stopping and going and James James James, all he could think about was James, and he had to get home, had to save them for James…

A hot frisson of excitement jolted through Kendall's body the moment he passed the final car obliviously turning onto the one-way. "Oh, man," he breathed to himself. The most miraculous sight he'd ever seen stood on the opposite side of the block.

The Palm Woods.

He wasn't sure how he made it to the front doors. One moment he'd been admiring the building from a distance, and the next he had crossed four lanes of traffic and half a parking lot. Kendall jerked the wheel to avoid a group of teens strolling by, then swung the damaged vehicle into the nearest parking space he could find. He was in the front of the building, which meant he'd parked in the area where shuttles and taxis arrived and departed.

He'd resided here for quite some time. And the first tip for living at the Palm Woods was simple: Nothing is illegal unless you're caught. Therefore, Kendall figured he was good to go.

He wasn't sure if Chris's car was nearby or not. He didn't bother to look. Kendall shifted the car into park and flung open the door, leaving the engine running and the keys dangling from the ignition. Pain instantly shot down his legs and pressure flooded his head. All Kendall had to do was remind himself of the goal, and everything melted. He was invincible.

A few kids gawked at him as he bolted towards the entrance and yanked open the door. The lobby was bright and sunny and just as busy as usual. It was perfect, yet Kendall couldn't pause to enjoy it. He hurriedly checked both ways for any sign of Chris, saw no one older than twenty, and made a dash for the opposite end of the room.

Palm Woods tip number two: The lobby is short; run to avoid being recognized.

He breezed past groups of teens chatting on the loveseats, pushed aside kids heading towards the pool. He knew the names of a few of them, but hoped they didn't remember him. To a stranger, Kendall knew, he probably came off as a devoted actor practicing in costume for a role in a zombie movie. Random idiots running around the vicinity wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence at the Palm Woods.

He knew he didn't have to worry about the manager, because the third tip for living at the Palm Woods was perhaps the most useful: Bitters resides in his office during his hour-long lunch break.

Kendall panted hard with exertion. His hair was heavy upon his head with wetness, whether from blood or sweat or both, he wasn't sure. His clothes clung to his skin, and his sneakers suddenly seemed a little too tight.

Get home. Get home.

Palm Woods tip number four: The stairs are faster than the elevator.

It occurred to him then, as he emerged in the stairwell and let his foot fall upon the first step, that Chris could be right around the next corner. A strange sound burst from between his lips. Kendall cried out again and stumbled. His feet continued moving regardless, causing him to trip some more. He groped clumsily for the railing to keep himself steady. Blood pounded in his brain, clouded everything, shattered the sea of glass that was his focus. Everything kicked in at once, exhausting him, choking him…

Only it couldn't exhaust him. It couldn't choke him. He had a job to do.

A surge of warmth chased away every cold fear. The sudden rush of adrenaline Kendall felt numbed every physical wound, every cut and bruise and weak muscle. He felt nothing but pure energy and the heavy, solid thump of his heart as if it wanted to burst from his chest. His vision went momentarily blurry as sweat ran into his eyes, but he didn't feel the sting, didn't feel the moisture on his face. Every sensation that could have possibly hindered his progress was blocked, erased, nonexistent to his mind.

Maybe he always knew a situation would occur that would be out of his hands. It was bound to happen one day. And it wouldn't matter if he gave it his all. It wouldn't matter if he pushed himself to his limit and then some, if he never backed down and never, ever gave up. Everything wasn't always good enough. Sometimes bad things just happened, and nothing could be done.

James's death had been one of those situations.

This moment was not.

The stairs didn't wind him, didn't slow him down in the slightest; they were invisible to his feet. He soared up the two flights and struck his shoulder into the heavy door of the second floor so hard that it bounced off the wall and slammed shut behind him. The corridor was bright but empty. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Kendall half-expected to see Chris as he sprinted down the hall to apartment 2J, but the man was no where in sight. Kendall kept on, the name plates on the outside of the doors reading 2N, 2M, 2L, 2K…

Finally, he saw it. Without hesitation he seized the door handle and crossed the threshold from the hall to his home.

But Kendall didn't stop running.

Because, in his adrenaline-sharp mind, he was able to comprehend in a lightning-fast burst of thought what was transpiring around him.

Time slowed down.

Chris stood in the living room area, facing the orange couch. One arm was outstretched, pointing towards the figures before him. A glint of light made his pistol wink at Kendall. Look at what I'm about to do.

There were people on the couch. Carlos, clutching onto Logan's arm. Logan, clutching onto Carlos's. And someone else. Who was that? Someone tall, someone with fantastically groomed brown hair…

But there was no time for that. No time at all. Kendall glided across the room with an animalistic scream, body burning with rage and hate and everything negative he could possibly feel towards the man pointing a gun at his remaining friends.

Chris began to turn at the abrupt interruption behind him, but it was too late. Kendall crashed his body against the man's, grabbed Chris's elbow, and forced the barrel of the gun to the ground.

About halfway through the action, the trigger was pulled.

And Kendall fell to the floor.