My mother was as surprised to see me leave as she'd been to see me come back. I immediately hopped the fastest train of Greyhound buses possible—I think I set a world record—and soon found myself at a drugstore in Illinois, the same state where Rotor lived, and only one state away from where I lived. Sonic hadn't gotten far, and I was sure he wouldn't get much farther before he found a place selling the stuff he wanted.

I power-walked into the drugstore, moving straight to the counter. "Can you send out a warning to the nearby stores that there's a guy looking for drugs in the area? Yeah, illegally," I clarified.

Inwardly, I felt terrible, and though I'd wanted to go and find Sonic personally, my conscience wouldn't let me do it. I felt like I was betraying a friend, which may've been true, but it didn't make me want to see him anymore. It was concrete in my mind—the guy was still addicted.

I really can't emphasize how guilty I felt. I pictured Rotor and Bunnie, being questioned, not knowing a thing. But I guess I'm one of those black-and-white types after all, huh? I'd probably hate myself, if I ever met me.

I wasn't there, but I read the news.

They cornered Sonic two days later, not too far from Illinois—they'd made it one state further, and it caught them off-guard for a bit. I actually got some letters from Rotor following the incident—I ignored them. To this day, we've made up, but we weren't exactly on speaking terms for a while, and he was in the dark for a long time.

I honestly couldn't say what happened to Bunnie. I wasn't able to find her in any Yellow Pages.

So what of Amy Rose?

Well, she came to visit me a month or so later. My mother called me to the door, explaining it was a friend who "knew me a year ago." I didn't want to let her in after I saw who she was, but I couldn't really let her stand out there with nowhere to go. We made our way into our living room, and I motioned for her to sit down.

"I heard about that Sonic guy." She stared at me, as if expecting me to jolt to life. Nothing happened.

"When?" was all I could ask.

"I had to do some digging. It took me a while, but I finally found out the whole story."

"Sit down. Say whatever it is you came to say," I sighed. I'd have to confront this sooner or later.

Amy sat down, took a deep breath. I took one myself. "I think," she said, "you should go see Sonic."

"No." Oh, how eloquent I was after all these years. Clearly my travels had made me a very worldly man—

"Why not?" Amy asked. "Trust me. I've been in this kind of situation before."

"My answer's still no," I grumbled. I also still didn't really want to talk about Sonic, much less about him. "What makes you think talking to him is going to help anything?"

Amy took a breath. "I can tell you don't want to talk to him for his sake."

Showing off my caustic side, I said: "Really? What gave you that idea?"

I was interrupted. "—So talk to him for your sake."

I frowned. She continued.

"I had a mother who was addicted. She went to jail at thirty—she'd had me young—but never quite broke the habit. It took me a long time, and a lot of unpleasant thoughts, but I ended up forgiving her. If I hadn't talked to her later, it never would have happened."

I still didn't say anything; I didn't really know what to do. Should I hear her out? Should I express my disbelief?

"And anyway," she said, voice rising, "you practically tore down any chance of recovery he had!" She stood up and jabbed her finger in my face.

Now I could respond. "How'd you get that? The only things I said were disapproving!"

"That's exactly it," Amy said. She sat back down. "Dissaproving is not support, and support is exactly what Sonic needed. What he still needs."

She was guilt-tripping me, but I couldn't fault her for it. It was for good reason—and it didn't hurt that I knew she was right.

It's been a long time, so I don't really remember when Amy left. I know she didn't stay long, though, and that I spent quite a time thinking about what she said. I remember calling machines affectionately Sonic-styled names, and that was when I knew I had to get off my butt and see him.

That one last drive up to Montana did me some good. I didn't think it was going to, at all, but you'd be surprised.

In those days, seeing a friend or relative was easier. People weren't so jumpy as they are now (not that they don't have reason to, things were just different back then). Prisons weren't filling up like wildfire like they are now, either.

Armed with an ID and a guilty feeling in my stomach, I found Sonic. He had his own cell, but surprisingly, he looked far better than I expected to. Even so, when he saw me, his face crumpled.

"Hey," I said softly.

Sonic sighed. "Man, I knew I'd have to make this apology sooner or later. I'm sorry I got you all into a mess—"

"—No, Sonic, don't apologize—"

"—how bad were the police?"

"Sonic, everything was fine. I mean," I corrected myself, gesturing at him, "fine for us. I came to apologize, actually."

"I'm not gonna let you apologize for sending me where I deserved to go," he half-joked. I knew he didn't mean it in a bad way, he meant it as a friend.

"And I'm not gonna let you apologize for something that was my doing," I said.

Sonic scratched his head. "I guess we're both at an impasse."

Shaking my head, I said, "No, no, it's my fault you ended up here. I'm going to make you forgive me if it's the last thing I do." I was surprised that it came out of my mouth.

"Tell you what," Sonic said out of the blue. "When I get out of here, we're actually going to see the world."

I stopped talking, and started thinking.

"I'll take you up on that," I finally said. "One last trip, right?"