My daddy always told me that the world is divided into two kinds of people: those that created "Chuck" and those that didn't. I belong to the second group.

Chapter 8

As we stepped outside of the house, Bryce reached into his pocket, pulling out what was clearly not a toy gun. He must have seen my eyes go wide, as he said, "Relax, I'm not going to shoot you."

"But you're going to shoot somebody? The police?"

"It's not the police I'm worried about. Hmm," he studied the gun for a moment. "Stay put!" Bryce commanded as he headed back inside.

As I stood there, the sound of my phone ringing practically sent me flying onto Casey's roof. Shaking, I answered, "Hello?"

"Morgan, what the hell is going on?"

"Oh, hi Anna."

"Dammit Morgan, you know you're all over the TV! What have you done?"

"Anna, I swear none of it is true. C'mon, you know me!"

"The way you've been acting the last few months, I don't know what to think anymore." I heard a sigh on the phone. "If you're not guilty, then just turn yourself in. Let the police sort everything out. Running is just going to make things worse."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Anna. Things have gotten very complicated."

"Morgan, for once in your life, don't be an idiot. Turn yourself in."

"Anna, everything's going to be fine…" I was interrupted by the phone being snatched from my hand.

"Are you trying to get yourself caught?" I tried not to stare at the two guns now in Bryce's hands.

"It's just my, uh, ex-girlfriend."

"Oh yeah, cause that's somebody that would never turn you in. Get in the car!"

"Where are we going?"

The Mustang was headed back down the highway. Bryce was staring silently ahead.

Finally, he said, "I'm taking you to a safehouse."

"A safehouse? You have safehouses? Why do you have safehouses? Who are you people?"

Bryce didn't respond.

"Let me summarize the situation as I see it right now. Here you are, a guy who died two years ago. But rather than looking like an extra in a George Romero movie, you're decked out in a suit that's probably a little too new to be the one you were buried in, driving around in a Mustang nobody with a corpse's salary should every be able to afford."

"Instead, you're working for some shadowy, unknown organization, including a guy that the only thing you seem to have in common with is that he used to sell dishwashers at the place where your former Stanford roommate worked. So that's a coincidence?"

More silence.

"And this same secret, shadowy group also happens to own the land right next to where your former friend and your current, scary friend works. And what happens to be standing on that land is a fast food establishment where the girlfriend of your former friend used to work. Does that pretty much cover it?"

Bryce looked at me during that last part, but otherwise maintained his silence.

"So who are you people? The mob? The Men in Black? Some secret government organization? Shriners?"

"All I can say Morgan, is we aren't your enemy. And we are trying to help you."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Well for one, have you ever had a dead guy lie to you before? It's in our best interest to keep you safe. And you don't really have a lot of options, so you might as well trust me."

"Chuck trusted you."

Bryce kept driving for a while. Finally he said quietly, "I know. There's nothing I hate myself more for than what I did to Chuck."

"Well you should. I mean, the test was bad enough, but Jill too?"

Bryce looked at me for a moment. "There are things I did to Chuck that are a lot worse than a test and Jill. Believe me."

I waited for a moment to see if he'd continue. He didn't. I stopped looking at him and glanced out the window. We were approaching the outskirts of Los Angeles.

"Was Emmitt in your little group too?" We had turned off the highway, and were now seated at a traffic light. It was mid-afternoon, and traffic was beginning to get thicker, so several cars were surrounding us. I noticed a couple of college-aged women in the convertible in the next lane. Both of them were staring at Bryce.

"No," Bryce responded, oblivious to the women.

"Ok. A real answer. Now we're getting somewhere. So who was Emmitt?"

"He was an over-officious busybody who worked at a Buy More in Burbank."

"Well that matches my intel. Not really helpful, though. So where is this safe house?"

"We'll be there soon, Morgan. Crap!" Bryce was looking at the rearview mirror. Behind us, I could see a police car quickly approaching, sirens blaring. "Get down!"

I unbuckled the seat belt and crouched down. Even the floor mats were spotless in Bryce's car. Finally, I heard the siren fade away.

Once I was back in the seat, I looked outside again. We were now in downtown Los Angeles, and not exactly the part you'd want to walk around in. There were probably plenty of other things to keep police officers busy than one on-the-lam suspected murderer. Still, our current location didn't exactly fill me with confidence. It seemed like an odd place for a safe house. At least if you buy into the whole 'safe' concept for safe houses.

"We're almost there," Bryce said, as we stopped at another traffic light. The traffic had thinned out quite a bit by this point. Apparantly, there wasn't a lot of daily commuting in this part of town.

I decided to press Bryce one more time. "Just tell me this," I said. "Was Chuck one of you guys?"

Bryce turned. "What?"

Before I could repeat my question, I was interrupted by a loud pop, followed by the sound of glass shattering. The driver's side window shattered all around. I looked back at Bryce, and saw a growing red splotch underneath his suit jacket. He wasn't moving.

"Oh crap."

I craned my neck to see behind Bryce. There was a man in dark shades and a long black jacket headed towards the car. His hand held what I could only assume was the reason for my current predicament.

Panicking, I tried reaching into Bryce's pocket, to find his gun. When this didn't work, I tried the next thing that came to find. I unbuckled my seat belt, quickly moved over to the driver's side, and stepped on the gas.

As I hurtled through the oncoming traffic, I tried to avoid thinking about as many things as possible. I tried to avoid thinking about the guy who had just shot at us, a guy who didn't exactly look like a gang member. I tried to avoid thinking about the fact that I had no idea where I was, and no idea where I was going. And I tried to avoid thinking about the formerly and now-once-again dead guy whose lap I was sitting on.

Unfortunately, my lack of thoughts were interrupted by a large black van coming up from behind me. Reacting as quickly as I could, a made a hard right down an alley. An alley that didn't go anywhere.

Trapped, I jumped out of the car, looking for a door to escape through. I finally found one, but the door was locked. At this point, the van had stopped, and the man was coming up to me. "Stop!" he commanded in a voice with a vague Eastern European accent.

"Uh, Ok," was all I could manage in reply.

The man grabbed me by the collar. "Tell me where the intersect is!"

"Um, there's a traffic light back down at the other end of the alley. Is that the one your looking for? I'm not really from around here, so…" my blubbering was interrupted by being thrown against a dumpster.

"I'll only ask you one more time. Tell me where the intersect is!"

"Seriously, I don't know what you're…" I slammed against the dumpster again. Feeling something scratch me, I looked down and could see blood trickling down my arm. A sliver of wood that had been sticking out of the dumpster was now sticking out my arm.

"I promise, this will hurt." The man raised his gun, but before he could fire, there was a flash of smoke, and the man gasped. The gun clattered to the ground. I quickly ran and ducked behind the Mustang. I heard a few more blasts, and risked a glance back, and could see the shadow of the man racing away. My sigh of relief turned into a gasp of pain, as I looked at the scratch on my arm. I've never reacted well to the sight of blood, and I would have doubled over if it wasn't for a hand grabbing my arm. I glanced up at my rescuer.

"Morgan, we've got to go, now!" Sarah Walker snapped at me. In response, I fainted.

A/N: I'd planned out Bryce's death before is actual show death. I suppose it lessened the impact here, but I didn't seem to make sense to do anything different here at this point. I think I may have looked a bit more sympathetically at the character, but I don't know how much it affected his portrayal here.

Thanks everyone for all the reviews, and keep doing so (and be as brutal as you need to be!)