note: no, it's not a typo.

I woke up and the clock on the wall told me that it was a little past three in the morning. I was cold – freezing – and filled with unease. All I wanted was to go back to sleep, but instead I climbed slowly out of the bed and padded over to where my clothes and boots waited. They lay in a hastily discard heap and offered me none of the warmth or comfort that I craved. My hand was on the doorknob when I heard her move. My muscles tensed, locked.

"Michael," she said, as if in a dream. "Michael, you're not leaving already?"

I risked a glance over my shoulder. Her eyes were closed, one hand slung across the place where my head once was. Maybe she was in a dream.

"No… no, Anna, just getting that coffee… remember the coffee?"

She sighed and smiled and her hand relaxed. Her breathing deepened again. I let my head rest against the door for a brief second, then made my escape.

I spent a long time walking, without direction and without thought. I walked until the sun came up, but I refused to watch the beautiful colors, refused to let myself enjoy any aspect of the day. By sunup my fingers were raw and red and my eyes were watering from the wind and still I could not get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth.

Without realizing it, my feet carried me down their familiar path and towards the distribution center. It wasn't that I wanted to see anyone, least of all Race, but at the same time, I didn't think I could bear being alone with my thoughts for a minute longer. I reached the Lodging House just as the tail end of the group was stumbling out. It was the perfect chance to blend in with the crowd and try one more time to get my bearings. To figure out what – if anything – I would do.

"SHIT, Skitts, where the fuck were you last night?!" Racetrack rushed through the crowd and pushed me against the nearest building wall, fire in his eyes. I was almost relieved. I no longer had the choice of keeping a secret; he already knew.

"Race, I-"

"Shit. Shit. What've you… Shit, Skitts, this is bad. Come on, we should get you outta here." He pulled me into an alley and out of sight. Now I was just confused.

"What's going on?" I asked, dazed. Race looked me up and down with careful eyes – soul-searching eyes. He blew out a long, low breath and stepped back.

"What happened?" He asked, quiet now.

"I…" I was lost.

"Come on Skittery, stay with me," he said, suddenly worried, and glanced out to the main road. "Just tell me what happened, it's ok, I can help you hide."

"Hide? Race, slow down, what are you talking about?"

Race paused, searched me again, then sighed in relief and smiled.

"Ok, alright, it wasn't you… I mean, not that I ever thought it was you, but, you know, with you actin' all weird and dazed right now… shit, though, we still gotta hide. Just until it blows over.

"Race," I said, trying one last time. "Please – what's this all about?"

He went to the mouth of the alley and motioned for me to stay, then stepped out. I heard a quick exchange of words, then he ducked back in and returned to my side, clutching the morning's paper.

"Just… well, look." He thrust the paper into my hands. I looked. It was a headline right out of one of our games.

"TOWN HALL MURDER SHOCKS CITY"

"Few at scene agree; local newsboy the slayer!"

I looked up, still puzzled, but Race refused to meet my eyes, so I read further. The deceased was described as one Carl R. Oppenheimer, and an artists depiction revealed him to be almost identical to the man with the monocle and mustache that had tried to talk to me just days before. I looked under the picture, and my blood ran cold. Even through the quick ink sketches of the artist, my face was clear. It was twisted into a sinister expression, but still undeniably… me.

"How…?"

"It's the Town Hall, Skitts," Race said sadly. "We go there all the time, somethin musta been goin on last night, and… well, whatever happened… Skitts…"

"I wasn't there. Race, I swear, I wa-"

"Ok, ya, I know, I believe you." Another sigh. "I don't know why, Skitts, but they needed someone to blame and they blamed you. Shit."

"Shit," I echoed dumbly.

"Everyone's real worried… listen, let's just get ya home and then we'll figure out what to do."

I nodded, feeling more empty than I ever had.

Then we stepped out into the road, into the daylight. I heard a shout, and that was the end of it.

Justice is swift when dealing with street rats and orphans. I stood on the scaffolding and watched my breath crystallize in the cold December air. I willed my eyes to look forward, straight ahead, but before long they drifted down and found Race's gaze. He stared unflinchingly back, his elk brown eyes full of a mixture of fear, confusion, and hurt. The jeers and excitement of the crowd were strangely muted to my ears. Our look held.

"Son, what is your alibi? If you were somewhere else on that night, you won't have to die."

I was not surprised by the judge's kindness. He had acted this way for the past few days as the trial rushed around me. I knew he pitied me and I knew he didn't think me guilty. But half a dozen eyewitnesses had spoke out against me, all of them powerful community figures. Now he was doing his best to give me a last chance.

My friends, who had missed days of selling to do their best to support and defend me, leaned forward and strained to hear words arise from my silence. I did not meet their eyes. I did not meet the judge's eyes. I was not the one to break this silence. That was Race. Seeing that I had no words to say, he stood up, and the scrape of his chair on the floor screamed in my ears.

"Yeah, well fuck you, Skitts," he spat, and left. The others followed hesitantly, uncertainly, backing out. They thought I was giving up. I continued to stare at my hands. The judge sighed. His gavel hit and echoed like thunder.

Almost as if by accident, my gaze slipped away from Race and recognized Anna. She was close to him, wrapped in a sturdy embrace. Dry eyed, she looked straight ahead at the person in front of her. Her lips were pursed and her arms were crossed. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I noticed now that my entire body was tense and my muscles yelled in protest. Suddenly the crowd's taunting and screaming hit me full force and for the first time, I felt panic. The distant indifference I had tried so had to portray in my look turned to pleading, but her own gaze never shifted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Race turn around. My head pounded and my hands strained against their binds. Each footstep behind me was heavy with the unknown. I just wanted