I sobbed for hours, clinging on to Isaac's dead body, refusing to let go. Dad and Mom tried to get me to explain what happened, but I didn't answer. I couldn't. My parents' faces were heartbroken and confused, but I knew they were trying to hold up for Charlie and I. Charlie didn't really know what was going on, but he knew it wasn't good and had cried with me.

Finally, I was drained of tears and was left with a hollow sadness that enveloped me like a cocoon. I stared at Isaac's corpse with empty eyes. I killed him. I killed my own brother. I killed my own brother to save my other brother who was being attacked by the brother I murdered. Despite the circumstances, I felt the odd urge to laugh at the irony of it.

Shaking my head to get rid of the thought, a level a determination started to rise inside of me. I couldn't do this to my family - I have to leave them. It's the only way to protect them. Because now I know it's a fact.

I have the Flare.

Like Dad said, first came the delusions. I saw Gally even though he was supposed to be dead. I had that dream about killing someone. What was Gally talking about when he said I killed him? And then…I murdered Isaac. Stabbed him in the back with a knife; that's the lowest way to kill somebody. After that, I had seen Gally again, telling me he had used Isaac as a human host for his spirit or whatever. I must have been hallucinating that.

As for my fight with Imposter-Isaac, I believe that actually happened. Not matter how much I want it to just be a consequence of me going insane, here I was, with pieces of glass sticking out of my back, kneeling over Isaac's dead body.

Mom and Dad had to haul Charlie downstairs to get him away from this room of tragedy. When they had been outside the doorframe, Dad had said with a stern tone to his voice, "You're explaining later." But what could I say?

Oh, I'm sorry, but Isaac kind of attacked with a knife and I fought back and accidentally killed my little brother but I promise I'll make it up to you?

I couldn't stay and explain. My parents would hate me forever. I couldn't live in this world and infect everyone else, no matter how immune they say they are. I was born from two Immune parents and I still succumbed to the Flare. Which meant I only had one choice. Run away.

Wobbling, I stood up. Carefully walking towards the window, I saw that there was no light coming from outside. Instead, the sky was dark and scattered with bright stars. It was nighttime, a perfect time to run away, hidden from the shadows. And I knew exactly how I would go about escaping.

I quickly ran to my backpack and pulled out a black composition notebook. I tore off a lined page from it and grabbed a pen, swiftly writing a note to my family. Or what's left of my family, anyway.

I'm sorry, but this is good-bye. Thank you for everything.

-Terry

I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I refused to give in.

Straightening up, I filed through my closet to find a suitable outfit. I came out with a pair of skinny jeans, black converses, and a black shirt that Minho had given to me on my birthday. It said:

Yeah, I fight like a girl. You got a problem with that?

I smiled slightly. It was just something to hold on to from home.

After slipping the clothes on, I dropped to the floor and started knocking gently on the wood. Finally, I heard a hollow sound echo below my fist. I pressed my thumb onto the panel of wood, which recognized my fingerprint and activated a small holographic touch-screen in front of me, displaying a blank space asking for a password and a keyboard.

My fingers darted across the screen, swiftly typing in a password that had 30 letters/numbers in it. There was a small beep as the screen accepted my password and vanished into empty air. The panel of wood slid open, revealing a storage space that contained a black briefcase.

I hauled the briefcase out of the secret storage space and tried to lay it on the floor with as little noise as possible.

In case anybody was wondering, I created the whole secret storage thing when I was 10 years old. That's a really young age, I know. But hey, I have an impressively high IQ that was extremely rare. Total tech prodigy. At least, that's what the teachers who had me take the IQ test said. I can't say I deny it though. Humble me.

It was actually simple technology; fingerprint activated doors were quite popular. Our house even had one. All I had to do was implant some technology in the wood that was able to recognize my own thumbprint and bring out a holographic screen once the security check was over. I had decided that wasn't enough and created a special passcode that could mobilize the wooden panel to move.

Of course, I wasn't genius enough to be able to make all of that technology by myself, especially as a 10 year old. I kind of…broke our door to see the inside of it and find out the details of fingerprint activated technology. Mom and Dad grounded me for two weeks after that incident…

The holographic screen came from hacking into the school security system all the time. I dissected the school's technology for that one time when I was ditching school again. The school claimed to be "vandalized" after that event, so I guess I became a criminal when I was very small. They didn't figure out that it was me though.

And they never will know it was me, because I am leaving this place. For good.

I created the storage space by breaking the floor and hollowing out the material that supported it…with a hammer…and a hatchet…that I stole borrowed without asking from the supposedly hidden weapons room in the gym. Minho's the only one who has the key to get in the weapons room, but a professional hacker won't be stopped by a simple mechanic lock.

My parents were at work when I carved out the space, so they didn't know about it. I managed to cover it up by the time they came back.

My knuckles tightened around the handle of the briefcase. The thing inside the briefcase: that was much more complicated and essential to my escape plan.

I deactivated the technology and the wooden panel slid shut again. Pausing for a second as I got to my feet, I wondered if I'd need food. I decided against it; I would just slowly go crazy anyway with or without food. To die faster would be much easier; if I had food to help me along, it would take so much longer.

To be honest, it has occurred to me that I could just kill myself here and now. And I have to admit…I'm afraid to. I don't want to die right away. From the many stories that my mother and father have told, I know it's better to just die and get it over with.

"The process of going crazy is much worse," Dad would say.

But I just couldn't…I wanted to put myself through torture so I would feel Isaac's pain. Isaac died fighting me, and I killed him. I felt so guilty… I didn't deserve a fast death. A slow, agonizing death would serve better. What better way than to go crazy bit by bit until I was a suffering, miserable mess that wasn't even close to being human?

I loved my family. My pride was something that kept me denying it for years. But I really did. This was for them.

With hands that were fighting to be steady, I pulled the briefcase up with me as I stood. Unhooking a black leather jacket from the coatrack in my room, I quietly opened the window. Poking my head out, I felt a gush of wind dancing through the air, blowing my hair back.

I gazed down. The grass below me looked soft and welcoming, but I wasn't fooled. The dirt underneath the tiny blades of green must be hard packed soil. Crouching on the windowsill, I ducked my head under the upper window frame.

Not bothering to close the window, I made sure I had a firm grip on the briefcase handle.

Then, without a second of hesitation, I leapt off the windowsill, as if to escape the tendrils of fear that threatened to envelope me.

I mean, it was only 2 stories up.

A/N: Wow. Yes, I haven't updated in like, a year. All I can say is...oops? Life really, really sucks. But anyway, more updates coming soon!