Authors Note: I'm tired. I have to get up at five thirty in the morning, then spend the entire day at the pool with my six year old sister. But I'm STILL updating for you. Yes, YOU. That's how much I care. LOVE ME.

Chapter Fourteen:

Danger

For a split second after that, I couldn't figure out whether to blanch in shock . . . or laugh. I mean, obviously Dylan was a lunatic. Jared committed suicide. They had proven that easily. There wasn't any evidence to suggest otherwise.

The deadly serious, overwhelmingly somber look on his face was what held my guffaws back.

"He . . . what?" I asked slowly, blinking just as languidly in the dim light of my bedroom. The only illumination coming in was from the moon through the gaping window, which allowed a cool breeze to blow in as well.

"Jared didn't kill himself. He was murdered," Dylan repeated, sounding impossibly more insistent, as if I was stupid to not see his claim as the truth. My mind was only working at a sluggish pace though. There was too much going on for me to think clearly.

First, Dylan shows up at my bedroom window. Odd? I'd think yes. Especially considering he wasn't even supposed to be in the same state, let alone city. Then he's babbling about Jared's death not being a suicide?

It was too much to comprehend at this late of an hour.

I ran a quaking hand through my hair, jerking the blond strands from where they were previously fluttering in my face. Breathing deeply I started pacing back and forth, wearing a path in the soft carpet. Dylan watched on wordlessly, waiting for me to broach the subject once more.

After a few minutes I turned back to face him, my expression hard. Trying not to betray any emotion in my voice I simply said: "You're crazy."

He sighed, his shoulders dropping. For some reason, the bowed head and utter look of defeat he was wearing made my stomach churn. This wasn't Dylan. I could count on one hand how many times I had seen him back down, most of them lately. What was happening to him? . . . Could it be that he really . . . Was he really changing?

For good?

I shook that thought away quickly, before I allowed it to take root in my mind. I couldn't let something like that set in too much. Dylan was Dylan. He always would be. Despite the facade he put on from time to time, he was too twisted into his own messy game to be untangled. If he was willing to take the time to try to fix his life, then by all means, let him. I wasn't planning on buying into his sainthood anytime soon.

"Max, please," he pleaded suddenly, lifting his head once more. A beautiful mix of blue and green met my dark brown eyes, emotions swimming in the sea of his irises like the billowing sails of tiny individual ships.

"Dylan," I said in resignation, biting my lip to keep from giving him a pitying look. "What you're suggesting . . . It's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible! You of all people should know that," he hissed vehemently, sounding more like himself than he had in a long time. I locked my gaze with his once more, taking in the storm now raging in his eyes as his entire expression darkened.

"I know you don't want to believe Jared killed himself, but you have to accept it. We all do. We all did. You have to move on. Someone else killing him seems like a good excuse, but you've never had to make excuses for Jared before. Now's not the ideal time either," I said softly.

To my surprise, Dylan started laughing. It wasn't a 'oh my, you're so funny!' laugh. It was more of a bitter, 'you're so ignorant' laugh. In further proof of this, he shook his head sadly as his torso shook lightly. I just stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"You think I'm doing this because I can't find closure? You think I'm in denial about this whole thing?" he demanded, become startlingly serious again. I could barely keep up with his drastic mood swings, ever changing and quick.

"Well . . . aren't you?" I asked uncertainly, shuffling my bare feet awkwardly.

"No. I'm not," he stated harshly, his voice low and guttural. "And if I wasn't absolutely sure about this, do you think I would have come running back to you of all people? I know how much you hate me, Max. You should after everything I've done to you. I wouldn't risk this unless I knew there was something more. And you know that, too."

I groaned, walking slowly to my bed. With fatigue and stress washing through me I sank to a sitting position, leaning against my pillow. Dylan stayed where he was, standing rigid and tall, as his shadow cast a long line across the floor.

"So then tell me how you're so sure of it," I said, staring at my hands. It was a few moments before he started speaking, seeming to pick up on a story he had rehearsed multiple times in anticipation of our transaction.

"I first got a few suspicions when I really stopped to think about it. I know I didn't know Jared as well as you at that point, but we had grown up together. We were brothers . . ." he stopped for seemingly no reason here, clearing his throat. I didn't dare look up in the case that he was getting emotional. "He wouldn't have committed suicide, even though he did lose Sarah and Ian. He just wouldn't. He was way too strong for that. He would have pulled through in the end, especially considering he still had you to watch after. Max, you were more of a sibling to him than I was. He loved you. We both know he wouldn't have just left you to fend for yourself."

"That's it?" I inquired, glaring at my lap now, as tears threatened to burn in my eyes at the thought of Jared. "You're basing your entire theory on how well you may or may not have known him?"

"Like I said, that's just what got me thinking. Eventually I started looking into it, you know? Trying to figure out what exactly they found. Basically, the police report labeled it a suicide because there were no signs of struggle or odd behavior displayed in the victim, and because he was holding the gun in his hand when they found him."

My breathing grew shallow as I listened to Dylan's account, my hands trembling more and more as he spoke. Hearing about Jared was only making the memory more painful, especially all the tiny details I had neglected to learn. I knew the bare minimum of what I needed to know.

Dylan was bringing back the catastrophic time though, just after I found out Jared was dead. I had been practically catatonic, dazed and unresponsive. Looking at it realistically, Jared was the only reason I was alive today. Without him, I didn't know what could have possibly happened to my family and I. The blow his eternal absence delivered was enough to send me spiralling into a state of downward shock.

And now it seemed just after I was healing from the wound it had delivered, here was Dylan, striking it open once more.

"And?" I prodded vacantly, unsure of if I really wanted to know at all. Maybe not knowing was better in this case. They didn't say ignorance was bliss for nothing. It had its purposes.

"I started asking around, investigating things they didn't feel the need to examine," he continued to explain, sounding as if he was struggling to maintain a calm exterior as well as I was. "At first, not a lot surfaced. Most everybody seemed to prefer sticking solidly to the suicide story. Eventually I talked to some nurses who were stationed the time he was killed. I asked them what I had been asking everybody else: if anything strange had happened anytime close to that, or if anyone had been into see Jared. Just like all the witnesses before them, they said no.

"I was leaving, this time for good, when a woman in the lobby approached me. She said her husband had been in for knee surgery when Jared died, and now he was back because he was having problems. She said a man had come around eight with some kind of uniform on, and got on the same elevator as her. Jared and her husband were on the same floor, so when she got off, so did the man.

"He went into Jared's room, Max. And I bet you anything, when he came out, Jared was dead."

I let his story sink in, mulling it over in my mind as best as I could. A few red flags jumped out at me as I processed his words, and I didn't hesitate to say so.

"There are some problems with that. First of all, why didn't the woman say anything to the police when she found out Jared was dead? And how did this strange guy have enough time to escape after he supposedly shot Jared? It doesn't make any sense."

"The woman was just saying goodbye to her husband. They lived a few hours away, and she had to get back to their kids or something like that. She must have left before Jared was killed, and then by time she came back, the investigation was probably over and done with," Dylan answered automatically, as if he knew I was going to pose such a question.

"Alright . . . Well what about the man getting away? How did he do that?" I inquired insistently, raising an eyebrow as I finally tilted my head up to look at him. He was staring out the window as he spoke, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't know for sure. There are many ways. If I had to guess, I'd say he got out of that room and into another like a bat out of hell right after that, then hung out around the hospital long enough for him to look relatively inconspicuous as he left. Obviously this guy is smart, Max. He knew what he was doing."

"Okay, I get it. But did it ever cross your mind that you're still wrong? There's no way for you to prove this, Dylan. You can believe what you want . . . but let's face it: you have no proof," I insisted, frowning to myself. He was raising doubts within myself that I wasn't comfortable with.

This time he finally turned to look at me, his turquoise colored eyes cloudy, but seemingly sincere. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, holding in the air for me to see clearly.

"Did I forget to mention this?" he inquired, cocking his head to the side as he smirked in triumph at me. It was by a small margin, though.

Lazily he tossed it to me, and I reflexively caught it between two fingers, bringing it down into my lap. Cautiously I unfolded the wrinkled sheet, smoothing out the many creases. The faded words written in jagged black letters were worn, like they had been pored over endlessly for some time. I squinted in the dim light to read the message they formed.

There was no greeting or closing. Just simply a string of words that accumulated into something that forced a lot of my thoughts to click into place . . .

Clever of you to figure me out. But if you think this is the end, you're wrong. I'll be back, but be rest assured that you're not the one I'm coming for this time around. The game has begun.

I let my hands go limp, turning my cheek to the threat laying in my lap. Feeling sick I folded the paper in half, erasing the words from sight. I could practically feel the acidic bile churning in the pit of my stomach.

Because Dylan was right.

"So what does that mean?" I demanded, my hands balling into fists. Carefully Dylan treaded towards me, plucking the paper from where it rested against my hip. He swiftly folded it back into its regular position, stuffing it carelessly into his pocket.

"It means that whoever killed Jared is going to strike again . . . and that's the entire reason I'm here. I mean, under any other circumstances I wouldn't have bothered you. I just would have let you keep believing Jared's death was his own fault. I think you can understand that."

I nodded, rubbing the heels of my palms against my eyes.

"But after I got this, I knew I had to come. I had to warn you . . . You're in danger, Max. Grave danger," Dylan whispered through the quiet that had consumed the room, his words seeming louder and less hushed because of it.

"Why?" I asked in confusion, peering up at him. His silhouette was dark against the white moonlight streaming through the window. With his honey blond hair and green-blue eyes he appeared to be an angel gone bad.

"Because I think he's after you next."

Authors Note: Yeah. So . . . review? (:

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