nightrunners

xxvi.

The night sky poured down torrents of brilliant hues from the gleam of the moon. The girl swayed in a concentrative stance, her arms crossed like pretzels above her head. With an exhaustive sigh, she glanced over at her bike. Without a second thought, she hurried towards it, mounting the bike in a haste. She slammed her feet on the pedals and in a few wobbly movements, she was off into the dark.

The amber glow of the streetlights lined the road the closer she got into town. The eerie radiance coupled with the humid fog was enough to keep her on edge. She was visibly wheezing at this point, refusing to stop to take a breath. Through the burn, her legs continued to push on, spotting the ashy, weather-beaten beach house ahead. The distant waves crashed alongside the sea wall, making the dock teeter back and forth. She threw her bike to the ground and ran up the wooden steps before banging furiously on the glass door.

The blonde boy strolled out of a room, an astonished look displayed across his face. With a beer in hand, he swung open the glass door, Cassiopeia pushed him aside frantically.

"What's going on?"

"You haven't seen?" Chewing on the side of her nail, "My face, it's all over the television."

"Oh," Topper's voice dropped, "that."

Cassiopeia lifted an eyebrow, scanning Topper's face, "You knew."

"I tried to tell you earlier."

"You should've fucking said something!"

"Rafe, he was-."

"I don't give a fuck about what Rafe has to say, he got me into this mess," She sunk into the couch, burying her face in her shaking hands.

"Hey," Topper rushed to her side, kneeling in front of her, "We'll fix this."

She shook her head in disagreement as he cooed her softly.

"You don't understand," She spoke frailly, her voice cracking, "They'll connect me to his murder."

"We both know you didn't do it," Topper spoke gently, "If we go talk to the cops-."

"Rafe," She said faintly into her hands, "He was involved."

Topper rubbed the tops of her hands, "He killed him?"

"No, I don't know, maybe, he said he didn't, but he has, he has."

"Cassiopeia, he has what?"

"His finger," She sobbed, "Under his bed, he has that guy's fucking finger for some stupid fucking reason."

Topper paused for a moment, soaking in everything that the girl told him.

"What can I do?" He mumbled into her ear, "What do you need?"

She peered at him through the gaps between her fingers, "Help me escape."

--

"You sure you want to do this?" Topper drove down the hazy road, the smog delicately gliding over his windshield.

"He needs to know," Cassiopeia stared out the window, "I can't just leave him."

Topper exhaled lowly, "You know he won't take it well."

She looked over at him, "He doesn't have a choice."

Topper pulled up to the end of the Cameron's driveway, the solar lights casting ghostly shadows on the massive house.

"Hey," Topper reached out to touch her arm, "Get some money from him for gas, the more we have on us, the better off we'll be."

Cassiopeia nodded and swung open the door, "I won't be long, just keep the car running."