I've always hated spirit mediums.

They're inconsiderate assholes, usually in gaudy clothes and fake accents, scamming people out of their money and using their dead loved ones to do it. It's a despicable, dishonest career and to this day I will always hate the fame and money people like Ed and Lorraine Warren got with this scam. Even if I do like their movies. During late nights when my brother Ronnie isn't working part time at Mooyah's we'll watch bad reality tv shows that involve mediums and debate if they're legit or not. I always win.

Apparently, Boston doesn't share my point of view.

Madame Esmerelda was a tall, lanky middle aged woman with an obvious fake tan and red hair so poorly dyed the grey roots looked like they were waging war with it. She wore typical gaudy, chunky jewelry and flowey, layered clothes you'd expect from someone like her. She even wore ankle bracelets. Apparently, she worked with Boston every now and then, and while that should have made me believe she had at least a grasp on what she was doing...I found myself doubting it. She'd met us at the Denny's where I'd spoken to Boston three nights ago and when I walked in she was already going on about how she didn't like scruffy, who sat in his usual seat on the other side of the restaurant, very clearly able to hear her from where she stood at the front. The guy always made me feel uneasy but I honestly felt bad for him. There he sat, stained as usual, eyes bloodshot and bagged from a clear lack of sleep, a few bruises on his face, just trying to eat his damn meal while this crazy white lady was going on and on to Boston about how his 'Ka' was wrong and he was 'clearly dangerous, like a wild beast'.

I made eye contact with scruffy and he almost seemed to smile when I rolled my eyes and gave him the universal gesture for 'this bitch crazy'.

"Kid, there you are." Boston greeted me when he noticed my arrival. He'd made me stay home the last three days to try and recuperate from what we found in the alley. That poor woman. At least it gave me a chance to spend the holiday with Ronnie, he got me Pokemon ultra moon, the newest game in the franchise.

"I told you, my name is Libby." "Well you should pick a new name to use." He replied, "You don't want anyone we chase down to track you by your name, right?" He had a point. "I'll think about it. Shouldn't your friend be a little quitter if she's going to talk about someone in earshot?" I gave the woman, who's name I didn't know at the time, a frown. One she returned. "I am Madame Esmerelda, seer of the dead and the truth, tool for spirits to speak through and share their knowledge. And you are...Libby, it seems." She said my name with distain, and the feeling was mutual. Before I could react she reached out and grabbed my face, turning it this way and that, running her fingers along my cheekbone and jawline. I felt very uncomfortable. She even pulled my glasses away and held my eye open, staring into it. After giving a huff she let go, handing me back my glasses. "There is nothing special about this girl. You should send her home before she gets too involved and hurt."

Well that was a load of shit.

"Trust me, Esmerelda, I know what I'm doing with this one." Boston assured her. This woman was proving to have zero sense of personal space as she snatched one of my hands and held it palm up, dragging a long green nail across it. Frowning, she pulled my hand up closer to her eyes. A palm reading. I knew of them of course, nearly everyone knows of them in this day and age. Back in high school, well one of my high schools, a goth guy gave me a palm reading. He told me I would die in a house full of strangers, and that an axe would be involved.

"You are, as I said, nothing special." Esmerelda said, still running her nails over my palm lines, "Nothing you have done in your life up until now has been important and nothing you do after this in your life will be important." Boston grabbed my wrist and pulled it from her grasp. "That's enough of that, Esme, the kid is sticking around and that's final. Now stop bothering her and the poor guy back there and let's get to the scene." He then dropped my hand and turned to leave the Denny's without another word. I shot Esmerelda a frown and quickly went after him, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. Anyone who knows Ohio knows how awful the cold is this time of year. Just another reason to hate this place. "You seen your boss around lately?" Boston asked over his shoulder. I shook my head, "No, I was just pulling some overtime during the break that day. I haven't stepped foot in the school since." "Good, good. Then we're returning to the crime scene...will you be okay with that?" This time he actually glanced back at me.

I thought back to a comment I got on here, about how I should really get my whole puking thing under control if I was going to be involved in this investigation.

It's a good thing I decided to skip lunch when Boston came calling. I'm still not sure how he got my number though.

"I'm good." I gave Boston a nod and he gave me a crooked half smile before pulling his hat over his eyes and turning down the next alley. Left and right, left and right. When we got closer to the crime scene Esmerelda pushed past me and followed Boston as he stepped over the yellow tape. The cops had already cleaned up everything. Now all that was left was a smell and dried blood, and a homeless woman crouched near a dumpster in the far corner. Not too strange considering the area we were in. The other two didn't acknowledge her so neither did I.

"Yes.." Esmerelda began, lifting her arms in the air just as the wind picked up, causing the long sleeves to billow in the air dramatically. "I can sense a presence here, yes. You said this was a scene of violence, correct?" She turned to face Boston, arms still outstretched. "Yeah, a girl last seen with my suspect." As they spoke I noted the woman near the dumpster shift in her position, head lifted to watch us now. My blood turned cold.

It was the girl.

"Boston..." I tried, but Esmerelda spoke over me, her tone louder as if to drown me out. God, I hate her already. "Yes, I sense the girl. She is here." She walked slowly towards the corner, but not the one the girl sat in. "She is here. Yes. Here. Dear, hello? Can you hear me? I am Madame Esmerelda. What is your name?" She looked like a nutter, talking to that empty corner. I looked back to the girl, who was now twitching her head to the side uncomfortably. Like the jerky movements from a Japanese horror movie. Something was vibrating nearby. Esmerelda carried on, "Elizabeth Witt..that's a lovely name, dear. A very lovely name." And one that she could have just gotten off the news yesterday when they reported on the murder. The urge to roll my eyes was so hard it actually hurt. "Can you tell us what you remember first, just about yourself? I know how stressful this must be for you, and in cases like this your..kind..they tend to forget things. Can you start with your parents names?" More things she could have easily gotten from the news. "Joshua and Clementine Witt...yes, of course I'll talk to them for you, dear." Again the girl twitched, this time in a more aggravated manner. "What's your favorite color? Yellow? Yes, that's mine too, it's a good color."

It went on like this for five minutes. Pointless questions and that damn vibrating getting louder and louder each time, but nobody else seemed to be able to hear it. And that woman in the corner was twitching more and more, the motion becoming almost aggravated. Then finally, as Esmerelda asked one more question, the woman stood, and my breath caught in my throat.

I've seen ghosts for as long as I could remember.

But I've never seen anything like...like this.

It was the girl, Elizabeth Witt, just as pretty as she was the last time I saw her...at first. But with each jerky step she took towards Esmerelda she changed. Her skin grew pale, grey, and no sound came from her mouth as it hung open, only this black liquid, almost like blood but just...not. I could feel my stomach lurching, trying to force me to dry heave. I forced it down, balling my fists and digging my nails into my skin. I wouldn't, no matter how badly I trembled and my stomach churned, I wouldn't...

Then it happened.

Have any of you guys seen that one alien movie, where those things burst out of peoples chests? I've never seen it myself, but I know the scene because who doesn't, but anyway it was like that. Her chest just...burst out, and it was like the day we found her, ripped open, laying in her own blood. That did it. I felt my legs buckle and I staggered to the dumpster, collapsing to my hands and knees as I still tried to will myself not to throw up. That vibrating was so loud and right in my ear. I tried to focus on it, keep from throwing up. With a shaking hand I groped under the dumpster until I felt something vibrating madly. Pulling it out I saw that it was a grey flip phone, adorned with some bear charms. I flipped it opened and was greeted with a background of a smiling Elizabeth Witt and some woman I didn't know, but they looked similar. A mom, maybe? It made my heart drop. This was her phone, and it was blowing up with messages from no number.

Can you see me?

My name is Elizabeth Witt.

Thank god someone can finally see me!!

My parents are Joshua and Clementine!

Green!

No! It's not yellow!

I didn't say any of that, why are you lying?

Liar!

Stop it!

Shut up!

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ș̴͈̔̊͗͗̑h̶̻̉ȕ̴̲̟̰̉͝t̴̮̥̘̦́̎̓͝ ̸̮̺͙̼̜͗̃̚ư̴̭͓̿̏̏͠ṗ̸̝̫̈͂

ș̴͈̔̊͗͗̑h̶̻̉ȕ̴̲̟̰̉͝t̴̮̥̘̦́̎̓͝ ̸̮̺͙̼̜͗̃̚ư̴̭͓̿̏̏͠ṗ̸̝̫̈͂

s̸̲̤̼̜̻̓͊͌̿̇̾̕͜h̸̡͇̀ù̴̮̜̯̗̞̠̈́͋̄͆͜ť̶͖͔̣̳̣̜͑̔̀ ̵̧͖̥̯̥̔̾̌̎̀ũ̸̡͇͚̙̬̿̀͐͝ͅp̸͓̆͌ ̶̫̮̜͕̻͂̓̽̈́̊ͅs̸͇̜̪̾h̸̳̗͓̣̔͌̕û̶̩̝̀͑͜t̴̫̯̙͉̬̐͜ ̸̨͇͉̣̥͂̀̿͗u̴̩̣͜͜͝p̴̙͉̻̲̤̘̈́̈̓͗̈̊ ̵̧̡̮̱͈̤̉͐̇͒̏̀́s̶̗͚̀͆̆̄͐̚̚ͅh̴̺̊͐̑̅u̵͔̓͘t̸̨̼̝̬͚͙̅̐͂́ ̸̢̭͌̆̈́ư̵̯̻͉̦̰͋̚͜p̵̹̼̤̪͘͠͝s̴͚̟̹̈́̑̐͝h̷̛̝̬̲̣̩̀́ṵ̸̪̭͈͓̊̚ṱ̸̭͕͇͖̣̅̌ ̶̩̈́͊͌͝ȕ̸̗̱̝p̷̨̦̭͚͇̄̀̈́͜ ̸̨̱̼̤͔̊s̷̙̰̙̬̼̻̀̄̅̌h̵̢̲̥̼̬͙̅͒̕̕͜͝ų̵̠͍̻͎́͋̆̔̚ͅt̷͈́̒̎̿ ̵̛̹͔̒ư̵̬͖̪̦̦̠̋̐ͅp̷̰̤̗̥͉͑͋̂̊̋̇͜ ̴̣͉̅s̵̢̩͚̝̼̪̏̃̀̿h̴̭̱͈̥͌̽̔̈́̏͑̀ū̴̳̋t̴̢̢̄ ̵̢̢̱̺̘͙̈̏͑̀͂͘ư̶͔̙̍̿̓͠p̶̛͖͚̭͌̈͗́͋ ̶̡̣̘̹͕̲̔͌̿ŝ̴̭̭̗h̶̨̘͖͍̖̉̑͆̐͐u̵͖̣̣͚̮̍͒͘t̴̙͛̍̿̃̃͘͝ ̴̨̯̗͎̫͙̿̊̽̆̕ͅu̷̮̥̪͇͉̻̜͒̔͑̃̚p̵̙̬̫̈́ ̵̝̥̊̋͝s̴͖̦͇̲̹̳̠̄h̷̢̙͔̯̅̒̉́̚͝u̶̡̢̹̮͎̬͗̿͑t̵̖̺̬̎̊ ̷̱̙̩̺̲̽͗̈́͊̏̃́͜͜u̷̫͚͎̤͆̋͜p̶͇͙̽̄ ̶͉̼̹̻̘̑̃͑͠ş̵͍̭̻̬͓̍͑̌h̷̢̦̮̤̩̀̔̊u̴̧̜͔̞͕̖̇ẗ̷͎̳̦̟́͘͠ ̷̡̤̌͌ů̷̧̦̪͚̠̈p̶̩̤͇̀̀͗̾͛̂̑ ̶̯̔͗̇͒͐̉ş̸̢̲͓̪̬̲̀̏̎͝h̴͇͋̄ǘ̴̯̝̫̮̖̬͜ț̸̛̬̜̻̻͓̾̃͗̃̆͠ͅ ̶̰̪͒̋ư̸̭̲̦͙̞͗̌̽͛̚̚p̷̥̝͔͇͚̭̳̍ ̸̢̖̞̠̊̈́̒͘͜͜s̸̨̭̠̮͚͉̦̋̽͛̐̚h̵̡̺̣̰͕̮̚ù̸͙́͊ͅt̵̡̮̫͙̜̦̣̂̄͆́̒̑ ̴̳̯̼̤̟͙͛͒̍̂̽̀͘ư̴̼̂p̶̮̤͉͇̒ ̸̮̳͔̮̔̋ͅś̶̨̩͇͚̟̒͑̚h̵̰̤̦͙̐̎͌̍̚û̶̮̫̖̳̳͊̈́̋͂̏̚t̵̲̼̠̃̿̏ ̴̼̙̳̅͐̽́̄̽ű̶͈̓̅̓̕p̵̬̖̭̣̤̙̣̑̅͗͑̊̚͘ ̷̣̙̗̻̌̉̀͛̐̚̕s̵͙͌̀̕h̶̛̘́̎̎͝ư̸̺̆̓̓̍t̵̢͚̖͇̀̐͗̓̀̇͠ ̵͙̣̃̎̓̾̍u̷̻͍̖̿ͅp̶̱͍̠̘̗̤͖̄͑̿́͠ ̷̄̉͜s̴̥̹̰͇̠̫͍̾̋̇̉̒͠͠h̸͈̩͆͗̈́͋͝ų̷̗̖̫͈̤̰͐̈́̄̾̔͛t̵̯̤͚̩͈͋̾̒̀͗͜ ̸̜͎̙̲͍̿̊̍̋͆͑u̸͉̞͓͊̇͂͋͠p̸̠̫̼͆̀͆̊ ̴̝̳̟͚̳̊͂̄̓̀͜s̶̖̲͊̓́͛̏̚h̷̨̲̲͂̊̊̅͋͂̕ư̶̢̡̝̰̲̓̅̉̚͝͝t̶̹̓̈́ ̴̣͖̭̆ú̷̘̼̍͗p̶̃̍̚͘̚ͅ ̷̡̛͙̜͇̺̝̿͆͛s̷̰̞̰̼̭̈́̏̉̇͗͠h̷̖̭̤̣̄̅̍͊̿̈́u̶̝̐́ţ̷̡̘̖̝̰͉̑̉̈́͛̓ ̶̹̦͍̌͋̆͝ư̵͉̳͓̮͍̘̼̋͒͆̈́̍͝p̴̢̱͍̫͎͐̿͊̓̚ ̵̨̯̤̪̗̖̼̀̇s̸͎̻̘̲̈́́̿ȟ̷̺̳͍̠͊̽͌̈́͋͗u̴̢͇̗͉̍̒̍̍ͅͅt̴̮̥̣̦͕͇͔̍̐͐̋̕ ̶̧̣̬͕̭̬̈̇̋̄̚ự̶̹̓̃͗p̴̘͓̰͉̊̑̀͝ ̷͚͔͎͎̲́͑͜s̸͚̙͛̾̈́́̅̐̕h̸̢̰͑͠u̸̲̖̝̾̎̈́̓̾̒t̷̡̡̼̞̫̪̥͒ ̵̨̛̭̰̘̲̦͎̓͠u̷̗̲̲̬̟̿͜p̶͙̦̔͜ ̴̨̧̝̣̖̉ͅs̸̝͉̭͖̯̝̻͋̓̎h̴̙̋̔̉͐͋̍ú̵͈̫̬͝t̴̡͕̥̞͍̉͑͗ ̴͔̣̬̅͛̾̈̊̒u̵̡̬̱̠͚̕͜p̴̹̭͙̽̑́͗͑ͅ ̸̘̻̜̹̪̈̅̆̄̀́̀s̶̡̢̢͙̠͖̠̔̈́̅ẖ̷͔͙̻͍̔͜u̴̡̿̔̃̚̚t̶̡̗̼̳̾ ̸͚̹̈u̶̧̼̙̦͋͒̆͆͊͗̕p̷̞̞̗͍̖̦̊̂̆͋͜ ̸̝̹̗̥̱̫̥̈̾̋̀͆͝ ̸̗͖̲̳̅͋̋́͘͜s̸̘͇͎̻͎̼̬͘h̴̗̠͈̼͙̲̯̄͂͠ṵ̸̝̌̋͂ṯ̷̪̾̅̿ ̷̗̭̪̼̓ư̶̧̦̰̌͊ṕ̷͉͍͓͙ş̷̯̺͎̍̒̌̎h̶̓̀ͅù̷͖͇͇͖̉ͅt̶̮̙̭̒̏͋̀ ̸̪͎̬̃́ͅu̶̪͙͇̽̉͑̓p̷̱̭͈͗͊̄̅ ̵̳̞͍̼̙̬̣̐̏̈́̋̊̌͠s̷̨̖̜̼͈̉̈̆̀͝͝h̸̻̙͕̐̅͗̊u̴̡̟͍̺̾̚͝t̶̛͖ ̴̲̼̫͊̈̓̊͂́̕ů̴̧͉͉͉̣̟͈͒͘͠p̵̨͇̥̓̓̐̄̄̚͝ ̷͚͈̝̪̘̀̓͗̽͘͝ͅs̵͓̫̆̎̈́͑̅͘h̸̛͈̘́͝ự̴̧̫̳̻͍̪̃̒̔͑͂͝t̴͎̤͂̈̓͊̑̔̽ ̵̡̩̝̪͍͒̇̃͑ů̴͓̖̲̞̻̙̦́́̈́̈͠p̷̢̧̮͖̣̞̩̑̀́́s̴͕̅̂̉̎̋́̊h̵͍̗̤̠̿ù̸̢̱̤̥̘̐̍̅ͅt̷̜͉͌̏̇̕ ̴̛̞̠͒̈͌͘u̵̹̬̦̘̓̏͗̏͊͗͝p̸̦͔̬̳̪̉̂̋̿͛͆̒s̵̡̳̟̞̲̥͋̒͒̐̽h̷̙͇̬̩͒̈́͂ũ̸̘̲͈̟͇̒͑͊̏͋͜͝t̶̬̬̞̿͆͑ ̶̳̭͙̽̌̏̏͋̚̚ụ̷͇̇͐͆̊͝p̸̙̪̈́͑̒͋͛́́s̴̺̝̝͂̈̀͗͊̃͠ḩ̵̤̜̠̦͍̈́̆̊̑̃̾͝ụ̸̗̤̝̭̳̤͑̽t̷͎̟̝͖̗̘̙͋́̚͝ ̴̭̦̐̍̏͘͜u̵̺͕͛̒̍p̵̧̗̱̲̠̖͇̐̔̕s̸̤̝̤̉̀͑̏́̃́h̸̛͕̥̬̥͒̌͒́ű̶̧͇͈̌̚̚͜t̵̢͚͉̉̋͒́́͑̓ ̸͎͕͑́̑͑̈́̎u̸̹̤͈̙̤̍̏p̴̛̮͈̪̺͆̇̇́͝s̷̨͚͖͚̫̟̠̀h̸̲̻̜͍͔͇̉̏̓ͅủ̵̧̪̲͓̦͖̲̍̚ṯ̷̓͑̓̑̾ ̸̟̰̗̣̫̞͋̂̎̀ụ̴̘̬̻̜́̀͆̑p̶̟̯̰̝̰̌̿̚s̷̞̙̦̥̤͂̓͠ͅh̵̫͙̟̲̹̤̟̐̈ų̴͓͇̞͕͗̀ţ̴̤͚̲̳̘̤͂̇͘ ̵̝̌̆̀̅̋͝ü̸̡̜̥͙̬̲̃̕p̵̨͎̞̥̹̯̮̒̎́̀͐̓̚s̶̨̙̼͚̮̖̄̓̓h̸̻̱̱̳̅͐̋͗̐͝ű̸̟̗̫̜̫̲͑̅͗͐t̸̢̋̎̍̕̚ ̵̙͇̍͑̓̓ú̶̢͗̐p̴̯͙̭͉͈̳̄͂̌́ ̸̠̰̀̈́̅s̸̤͎̙̯̣̩̗͠h̴̨͎̰̖͙̎̔͌̓͠ȗ̵̢̥̹t̵͓̼͠ ̸̨̤̱̕ȗ̸͙͔͔͚̣͙͊p̶̺̻̥̩͍̎̔̄͒͋ͅ ̶̥̼͈̟͈͓̀̾̀̿̄̄s̵̪͈̅͌̈́͝h̷̫̩̰̐͠u̸̺͕̐̊̏̆̚ṱ̵̱̫̬̻͊̄̄̑ ̸͖̮̼͉̪͉͉̀̾̒̀ṳ̴̯͙̈́̆̈́̈́p̴̖͎͈̟̓͑̓̄̃͊̅ ̶͉̹̲̺͊̉͋͝ṡ̶̩̗̙̰͕̳h̶̼͗́̐̏̆ū̵̢͍͖͉̯̮͍͑́t̷͎̒͗̒͗̍͑ͅ ̵̫̩̰̹̦̬̌͛û̵͚͔̗͖̚͝p̴͍̱̺͎̀̇̓̚ ̶̨̛͓̺͊̈́̀̈̔ș̸̠̯̝̜̽h̶̝̞̋̚͠u̴̝̜̱̗̮̟̲͋̅͗͑̉̒͝ṭ̸̰̈̃͜ ̴̟̜̄̀͛̋u̶̞͍̝͛͊p̵̨̛͇̌̇̐́ͅ ̴͉͖̞̰͓̏͐͛ͅs̸̨͔̄h̶̯͕̯̭̍̃u̵̝͔͙̥͎̇̀̒̇̕͠͝t̶̢̮̤̣͕͊͋ ̵͈̃͆̑u̴̢̎͆̾̚͝ṗ̶̨̩̲̦̝̗̒̿̉͘ ̴̩͇̗͉̥́ş̷̨͙͚͔͉̟͋͛͆̃͝ḥ̴̰̩̳̟̟̄͋͌̾̓u̶̱͓̖̞̇̏͐͛̕ͅt̷̩̦̃̎̀ ̷͉̳͙͚̙͓̿͒̽͘ǔ̴̫͇͙̠̗̑̿͗̒͝ͅp̶̦͚͉̠͍͙̎́́̈́̚ ̶̼̟͇̽͑͒̐̒̊̎s̸̮̯͎̫͑̅h̷̨͙̜͗́̐̒̾̎û̶̳t̵̢̧̗͔͛̏͛͛̈͌̾ ̴͉̫̱̥́͛̚u̸̹̼̬̹͒p̵̥̃̔̊ ̵̧̥̲̯̼͓̅̏̾͘s̵̻̬̀̆͑̓̀̂h̷̫̣͓̫̭͎͂̅̈́͝ͅů̴̱͍̅̽̀̀̂t̸̤̥͔̫͔͚̕͘ͅ ̸̛̳̰̱͎̟͉͛u̴͔͂͜p̷̺̱̦̙̊͋͋̔̐͘̕ ̶̫̣̲̖̩̜͔̃̾̀̀͆̑͛s̴̨̲̲̙̪̤̲͌ḧ̴̙͈́͘͜ủ̷̜͉̙͈̤̝̲͗̌t̴̯̞̪̣̯̜̕̕͜ ̴̱̎͋͗͆ụ̶̟͕̫͈̍̑͗̕̚p̸̡̖̥̳̞͆͜

Don't throw up, don't throw up, do not throw up.

I clutched the phone to my chest, my hands shaking as I turned to see Elizabeth screaming in Esmerelda's face, while that hack was completely unaware of it. As she screamed, the phone gave a long, seemingly never ending vibration. I nearly dropped the phone, fumbling with it in my hands as I forced myself towards them. My legs felt like lead and my head felt hot. I may not have thrown up yet but I might pass out, I figured. It felt a lot like when I found Heather's body. "Esmerelda." I tried, but if she heard me she pretended not to, asking more questions and making the ghost of Elizabeth Witt angrier and angrier. Now I was less worried about throwing up and more worried about pissing myself. And then I saw the tears streaming down Elizabeth's face and my fear became something else.

Anger.

"Esmerelda!" I yelled this time and she whipped around, one of her stupid long sleeves nearly whapping me in the face. "I am working, child!" She snapped back, "Very important work, work you couldn't possibly understand, so unless it's something that cannot wait-" You aren't speaking to Elizabeth Witt." I snarled, shoving the phone in her face, "You aren't speaking to her and she knows." The color drained from Esmerelda's face and she started to open and close her mouth like a fish. The phone stopped vibrating for a moment, then started once more. I looked at it.

Can you see me?

Taking a deep breath I turned around and nearly jumped when I found the ghost mere inches from my face. I swallowed, nodding, "Yeah. Yeah, I can see you. Can you tell me..who killed you?" She stared at me blankly for what felt like the longest time before one last message was sent to the phone.

Pete Ness.

"...Thank you." I told her, "I promise...he isn't going to get away with this. Boston?" I turned to the large man, who was staring holes into me with a look of mild interest. "What next?" "...Next, you go home and get some rest, then tomorrow we do a stake out at the bookstore. I doubt Ness can wait much longer to target another girl." He didn't even bother speaking to the still babbling Esmerelda as he strolled out of the alleyway. I gave one last look to Elizabeth and silently promised to come back to her one day before jogging after him. Boston went the opposite way from my apartment, but he left me with one last word. "You did good today, kid."

I'm so, so god dam tired.

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