"Hey, hun, you really need to get up." Rocco looks even better today. His color is good, his hair is silky and styled, and even his beard is neatly trimmed. But he's worried, his body radiating tension as fidgets in the chair across from me. I frown at him, having just stabbed my fork into a choice piece of pastry.

"I just got here. You get up."

He huffs, a long-suffering sound of someone who regularly has to deal with idiots. I guess the tables have turned now.

"They're coming for you, and you need to get up now while you still have time."

I glance around; the normally busy little bistro is deserted, except for the two of us. A dense fog presses against the windows, rendering almost everything beyond the cafe invisible. When I stare hard, though, I can barely make out shadowy silhouettes lurking just beyond the point of clear sight. In the way of dreams, I know I can't go out there, but I can't stay here, either. They (whatever or whoever they are) will be coming in soon, and I need to be gone before they do.

But this is the last time I'm ever going to have my date night with Rocco; what if I never see him again?

"But I just got here, Roc, and we've got this whole pignolata-"

"I swear to God in Heaven, I am not done haunting your stubborn ass yet! Now, seriously, Grace, go now!"

...

I shoot bolt upright in bed, startling Connor awake next to me. My heart hammers a painful staccato in my chest, and a thin sheen of cold sweat makes me shiver.

"What, love? What is it?"

"Something's wrong." I don't know why I'm whispering, but in the dim light filtering through the curtains, everything in the room seems alien and just...off. Something isn't right, someone is…Rocco said...I can't think member!

I scramble out of bed and into my jeans, slipping shoes on even before I have my jeans fully zipped.

"Didja hear somethin', lass? Another dream?"

"No, Connor…I mean, yes, but I don't remember...I just...I can't remember, and I can't explain, but we have to leave."

As testament to exactly how fucked up our lives have become, Connor leaves off further questioning and immediately readies himself, as well. We're dressed in a matter of moments, and I decide to use whatever time I have left before this unknown shit hits the fan to consolidate my belongings.

The suitcase holds mostly movies, with a couple of keepsakes from our date at the carnival and a couple of extra pairs of shoes. I extract the shoes and t-shirt, but the movies and stuffed animals get shut back up in the case and shoved as far under the bed as I can reach. This earns a raised eyebrow from Connor, but also a quick nod of approval.

I drop the shoes and shirt on the dresser and open my duffel and backpack to run a quick eye over the contents. The backpack holds essentials like plain shirts and jeans, some underwear, and my toiletries. The duffel holds my jewelry box, more clothes, and the manila envelope I noticed last night with Murphy. After a few moments consideration, I pull the bulky bottles shampoo and conditioner out, leaving soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. I shove my extra shoes and t-shirt in the backpack, as well as my wallet, the envelope of cash, and a couple of small things from my purse, which promptly joins the suitcase under the bed.

"Can this be folded?" I ask Connor, clutching the envelope. He looks up from his own bag, where he's efficiently packing both clothing and guns alike. He gives me a swift nod before extracting a small pocket knife from the side of his bag. He raises his eyebrows at me, waiting for my assenting nod before tossing the knife to me. It folds open easily enough before the blade locks in place. Both handle and blade are an unassuming black, although the blade has obviously been sharpened a few times.

"Press dat tab dere below th'blade to close it back. Mind yer fingers; Murphy just sharpened it yesterday. Use th'clip t'keep it on ye at all times, ye understand? 'Tis small, but it's better dan nothin', an' y'can hide it easy enough."

Instead of answering aloud, I follow his instructions and slide the knife into my right hip pocket, making sure the clip catches and holds it in place. My hands are shaking as I fold the envelope and slide it into a front pocket of my backpack. I take a couple more shirts and some underwear from the duffel, stuffing my backpack almost to the breaking point. I glance at my jewelry box, mentally reviewing the contents, before reluctantly shoving the entire sports bag under the bed to join my other things.

A thought occurs to me just as I'm about to zip my backpack, and I pull out the envelope of cash. I grab three hundred dollar bills from the packet, and then shove the rest as far down into my bag as I can before burying it under clothes and zipping every open pocket I can find.

I'm searching the room for anything I might've forgotten when a pounding on the door makes me yelp and nearly stumble. I don't need Connor's frantic signal to stuff my hands over my mouth and duck down behind the foot of the bed.

"Con! Lemme in, now!"

A wave of ice rolls through my stomach as Connor sprints to the door, opening the locks and letting his brother duck inside the room. Murphy is already explaining before Connor has time to finish bolting the door.

"Smecker want d t'go ahead an' meet wit' us, so we went ahead, but we hadn't even sat down when Da spotted a couple o'Yakavetta's guys sniffin' around th'place. Smecker told him t'get Grace an' meet a couple o'dem detectives in a dark blue Caddy a few blocks over in dat alley behind th'tavern on L Street. Da's gonna take her so you an' I can…"

He trails off, taking in my ready appearance and Connor's packed bag.

"Ye knew?"

I shake my head, biting my lip hard to keep the panic from rising any higher. I stand, rubbing my arms to try and shake the cold off. "Just had a feeling, so I went with it. Is this it, then?"

Murphy hesitates a moment, then he's across the room in two strides, crushing me against his chest. His kiss is fierce, desperate, and too short.

"I love ye. I've got no idea when, but I'm gonna see ye again. Gonna find ye someday when all dis mess is over. Now promise me ye won't do any more stupid shit, or I won't be able t'stop worryin' once ye leave me sight."

After everything we've been through, all I can do is agree, and then it's Connor's turn. His kiss is equally overwhelming and inadequate, but neither of us have words. I can see in his eyes he wants to repeat his younger brother's emphatic promise of an eventual reunion, but he no longer believes it quite enough to say aloud.

"Boys, lemme in. Tis time."

I shrug my backpack on, tightening the straps so the overfull bag won't bounce if I have to run. Noah nods in brusque approval, stepping over to the window and raising it. He pulls one of his guns from the holster vest hidden under his coat before sticking his head out over the fire escape. I wait, shaking with nerves, until he finally pulls his head back in and nods to me. He climbs over the sill onto the metal grating and reaches a hand inside the room.

As my fingers slide into his, I glance back at Connor and Murphy one last time. God, everything is...they…

"Come find me when this is over," I say. My voice trembles, but I can't cry. Running and crying are very bad ideas, and I'd very much like to survive the day. "Take care of each other, live through this, and come find me."

"We'll get ye a message through Smecker somehow," Connor says. "Don't care what it takes; we'll send for ye or come get ye ourselves when dis is over."

I want to ask him where this sudden conviction came from when only seconds ago he couldn't even put voice to these thoughts, but Noah's hand tugs me forward, and I have to climb the windowsill or fall. Then we're scrambling as quietly and inconspicuously as possible down metal grating and rungs in the bright afternoon.

Noah stops me once we hit the ground, placing both hands on my shoulders and steadying me.

"We've got t'move quick an' easy, like we've got an appointment somewhere, but not like we're runnin' from somethin'. Look as worried as ye like, but don't let it get to ye as we're movin'. Hold me hand an' don't let go, lest I tell ye t'run on wit'out me. Ye ken where we're goin'?"

"Yeah, I've been to-"

"Good. If we get separated, ye run like fuckin' hell an' just get there, no matter what ye see goin' on wit' me. Promise me if I tell ye t'run dat ye'll go wit'out question."

There's no point in arguing, so I simply swallow as best I can with my sandpaper mouth and throat, and I nod once. He releases my shoulders, taking my left hand with his right. He slips his left hand, still holding his gun, into his coat pocket, and I reach into my right pocket, gripping my tiny, inadequate knife so hard I'm sure the imprint will be in my palm for days.

I can't imagine what kind of couple we must look like as we exit the alley: Noah, in his trench coat, black drivers cap, and blackout sunglasses; me, in my oldest jeans and slip-on shoes, my just-had-sex hair, and my stuffed backpack; the two of us clutching hands like lovers in springtime, late for a mysterious appointment.

But it's Boston, so nobody even spares us a second glance. I know my eyes are shifting around nervously, but it's the only outlet I can give my anxiety right now, and, anyway, I don't know who or what to even keep a lookout for. It's not like Yakavetta's men are going to be wearing name tags or carrying machine guns in the open.

We're about two blocks from the tavern, and I'm just starting to trust our dumb luck, when Noah suddenly squeezes my hand hard before yanking me into a bear hug and kissing me full on the lips. I don't have time for the shock to settle before he squeezes me even closer to whisper into my ear.

"Dey're about half a block b'hind us. Run as fast an' straight as ye can, an' don't stop til ye get t'dose d'tectives. Get flat in th'backseat floorboard an' tell dem t'go. I got dis, lass."

I want to argue so badly. Every fiber of my being wants to scream at him to run with me, but I promised both him and Murphy I would be smart. In the end, all I can do is nod and kiss his cheek in farewell. He releases me suddenly and hisses, "Go, now!" before shoving me away and turning to face whoever it is that's following us.

I don't wait to see or hear what erupts behind me. I take off in the direction of the tavern, dodging people as best I can and ignoring the angry curses from the ones I can't. The street is noisy and crowded on the warm afternoon, and what with my frenzied breathing and the general noise of traffic and people, I can't hear any sounds of pursuit. I don't have the focus or energy to panic, putting all my concentration into getting one foot in front of the other as fast as possible without tripping.

Then the tavern looms ahead, and I fly past it, nearly smacking face first into the brick wall as I skid into the alley. I put on an extra burst of speed as I spot the car, praying frantically that the two figures I see inside are some of the detectives I met a few nights ago. I almost cry with relief when I recognize Greenly and Duffy inside, and I pound on the back window frantically, yanking on the handle until the lock pops and the door jerks opens. I throw myself down inside, wrenching the door shut and pulling off my backpack so I can wedge myself into the floorboard.

"I don't know what happened after he told me to run, but Noah said two of them were following us, and to get to you as fast I could. I didn't hear any gunfire, but I don't know what happened!"

At least, that's what I mean to say, but there's a lot of gasping and sobbing (and a little choking) involved on my end, so the words don't come out quite as I meant them to. Luckily, Duffy is behind the wheel and is apparently fluent in panicked speech, because he immediately puts the already-running car in gear, and then we're rolling smoothly out of the other end of the alley and into traffic.

To his credit, instead of questioning me, Greenly simply dumps his jacket casually over the back of his seat, looking over at Duffy like he's making conversation, and says, "Go ahead and cover up. Lotta traffic the way we're going."

The ride is silent and surreal, and more than once I have a hysterical moment where I question if I ever woke up after the incident in the alley way back in December. I mean, real life isn't this fucked up. People get in car wrecks, they get cancer, they break bones; that's the normal kind of fucked up. They don't get drawn into a war with the mafia and get chased down the street in broad daylight. This is a bad dream inspired by head trauma, too much alcohol, and one of Connor's movies, that's all.

I must have I hit my head harder than I realized back in the alley. Maybe this whole thing has been one long, insane coma dream. Maybe Rocco is alive, and everyone is fine, and I'm just lying in a hospital bed, healing. Maybe I'm going to wake up soon, and the boys will be pissed but relieved that I'm awake, and I'll handle everything better this time, I'll understand how stupid I acted and why they're so mad, and then we can-

"You can come out now," Duffy says, interrupting my wishful thinking. "We haven't had any tails for the last fifteen minutes, and we're almost to the bus station."

Bus station?

"Smecker said to go to the counter and ask for the ticket for Teresa Sullivan. He's sending you on a roundabout trip to throw off anyone trying to follow you, so you're gonna be traveling for a few days, and you're gonna have to pick up your next ticket at the end of this route, and another at the end of that one. He's got someone waiting for you at the end. Ya need anything before we drop you off?"

Numb with shock, all I can do is silently shake my head. God, Smecker must have been planning this out since he talked with Connor and Murphy and Noah in the first motel room. For all I know, this is Connor's plan in the first place. It's definitely complicated enough, that's for sure. A few days on the bus? What if I miss one of my transfers or get off at the wrong place or-

"He said to call him if anything goes wrong or if you think you're being followed. Do you still have his number?" Considering I've barely responded to any of his directions or explanations so far, Duffy is being exceptionally kind and patient with me. Maybe I look as stupid as I feel right now. He pulls the car smoothly into the drop-off lane and shifts into park before turning in the driver's seat to look at me.

"You can do this. You're gonna be fine. Your ticket will tell you where you're going to end up, and your next two tickets will do the same. Keep your backpack with you, get as much sleep between stops as you can, and keep a watch while you're awake. Sit near the bus driver. Remember to eat something, and try to go to the bathroom in the terminals. They aren't anywhere close to the best, but they're miles better than the ones on the buses."

When I don't respond, it's Greenly who reaches back and takes my hand, breaking me out of my paralysis.

"Hey, you were strong enough to knock out a Boston Police detective and haul his dumb ass in a closet. You were smart enough to get away from three of Boston's finest that were watching you, and you went after your friends when they needed you. You're smart, you're brave, and you've already handled worse shit than this. You can ride a few buses."

Duffy stares at his partner in shock, and I'm ashamed to say I must be giving him a similar look, because Greenly flushes a deep maroon and drops my hand like it bit him.

"And if either of you tell anybody I said that shit, I'll fuck you both up. I don't care if one of you is a chick. Now, go on. Security is headed this way."

With that rousing bit of inspiration, I slide from the car and head toward the ticket counter, lugging my bag along with me. I can barely breathe, I can barely think, but somehow I'm supposed to go start a new life, not knowing when - or if - I'll ever see my family again.

I've got this.

…

It's three days later, and I am in a foul mood. I have traveled through more states than I could identify on a map, much less remember. I've had more reflection time than I've ever wanted in my life (though I still have no clue what I want to do with myself once I'm settled...wherever I end up). I've stared at the stars (gorgeous, but I've had my fill), I've counted license plates (does anybody ever see a Hawaii on the mainland?), I've read a of paperback I picked up in one of the bus terminals (Stephen King, while awesome, is not the best choice when one is already on edge and scared shitless), and even though I've managed to keep my teeth brushed and my face washed, I haven't had a shower since the last day at the hotel.

Like Connor said, you can only wipe down from the sink so many times.

We pull into the last stop of my final route, and I find myself in Birmingham, Alabama, of all places. The heat and humidity slap me in the face as I step off the bus (for hopefully the last time in my entire life), and I groan aloud at the thought of how much my body odor is about to magnify.

I'm so far passed being frightened that I've gone right into pissed off and grumpy as all hell. I should be terrified, but I'm so tired and dirty and sore that I just can't find the energy to even be worried. I have no idea who I'm meeting or where I'm meeting them; I assume he (or she) will be here at the terminal somewhere, as I've miraculously made it through all my transfers without messing up. I just want some decent food that isn't on a bun, a shower, and sleep that doesn't involve sitting up or curling into a ball.

I just hope I find the person soon. As glad as I am to set foot on solid land, I really don't need any more downtime alone with my thoughts. I've managed to repress all (most) of my worrying about Noah's fate on the sidewalk or what must have happened with Connor and Murphy by distracting myself with the trivial issues of bus travel. But now that I'm at the end of the road (as far as I know), and I have no idea who or what to look for, I can feel the tendrils of worry begin to creep back in. What if they-

"Teresa? Teresa Sullivan?! Oh, my god, girl, it is you! You look so good!"

I only just recognize the false name that was printed on all my tickets, but it's the blatant lie at the end of the exclamation that catches my attention. I've never looked further from good in my life. I'm covered in road grime, my hair is one solid mass of nastiness, and the bruising that peeks out from under my various bandages is only just starting to fade into a sickly, yellow-brown color. So, of course, the woman who throws her arms around me is radiant and gorgeous, all blond hair and clean smells and a giant, glowing white smile

"It's me, girl, Eunice! What do you think of the blond?" She asks, holding out a long strand. Before I can formulate a response, she's already talking again. "Fun, right?! My mama said no one would take me seriously, but I gotta tell ya, it's been great for gettin' some of the guys down at the Bureau to shut up long enough for me to get a word in. Anyway, enough about me! How are you?! It's been ages!"

God, this girl is good. Anyone sent here by Smecker would have to be a consummate professional, but this girl is giving off the sweet, charming Southern belle vibe in waves, and it's got to be at least a little of a put-on. She pulls back a little, and sure enough there's enough steel in her sharp gaze to rebuild the Titanic.

Grateful for the opening (and to be in the care of someone who so obviously knows what they're doing), I give her my best tired smile and return the hug as well as I can. Human contact is still human contact, and it's the first time I've touched someone in three days. I hope my stink doesn't make her eyes water too hard.

"I didn't recognize you. The blond definitely suits you. I'm just so tired from all this travel, or I would've said right off. I'm dead on my feet, and bless you for not mentioning my odor. I haven't showered since I left...home."

She smiles again, but I can tell she caught my slip. Eunice releases me from the hug and links her arm through mine, guiding me skillfully through the crowd and out of the station. I cringe as both the heat and humidity intensify once we're out in the direct sunlight, but Eunice's steps never falter. "Come on, honey, we'll get you back to my place. You can get a snack and a shower, then a long nap. Tonight, I'll cook you a real dinner, and we can catch up on everything."

Eunice may have just become my new best friend.

...

Author's Note: Epilogues imminent. Muchas gracias to Siarh and Rhanon Brodie.