Thermodynamics was never in particular Tahlia's strong suit in high school.

She worked hard, paid attention in class and kept her grades up, yes, but all the countless equations and laws had always seemed pretty fruitless to her.

Until today.

Tahlia remembered learning about the second law of thermodynamics in junior year.

She could faintly recall hints about the law, how it was concerned with the concept of entropy, or in simpler terms — uncertainty. How the uncertainty of the universe keeps changing.

All of it made perfect sense now.

Her life two months ago revolved around nothing but her academic scores, keeping away from any possible distractions and persevering hard to be the best in what she did.

Her life was dull, weary even, but orderly.

But two months later, here she was, having foolishly developed feelings for a serial killer who was now on the run, both her physical and mental state in absolute ruins; and now waiting queasily to know whether or not she was going to be incriminated for being an accessory to murder.

So the second law, in retrospect, made perfect sense to Tahlia— You think you have control over the life that you create, you have order, that all the reins lie in your own hands.

And that's precisely when all the havoc wreaks loose.

All that order you prided yourself in having, turns into chaos right in front of your eyes.

"So, Miss Meyers."

She glanced up, watching Sergeant Randall as he crossed his arms, his hardened eyes boring into hers.

She was seated at his desk, across from him.

It was hilarious, the fact that the reason she was in this predicament in the first place, began with a scenario awfully similar to this one. Perhaps life really does come back in a full circle.

They were surrounded by several other desks, occupied with other officers, she presumed. Coming to the station, she'd assumed it would be like the movies, that at the minute of her arrival she'd be arrested and put into hand cuffs and be thrown into the confession room.

Perhaps it was her guilt talking tall.

"You were speaking to Hunt for about 2 months now, is that right?"

"Yes." She paused, hesitant to say her next words, "I don't understand, I've already answered these questions before, with the other Detective."

"Detective Rodericks is no longer in charge of this investigation, I am." He stated passively, "I'd like to go over some details again, you can call your lawyer down if you wish to."

Tahlia didn't have a lawyer, And she'd prefer to keep it that way. She would be the only person spewing lies in the room that day.

She curtly shook her head, refusing the offer.

"What did you talk about?"

'Why are you still a virgin?'

Her fingernails dug into her palms, not enough to draw blood, but just ample to channel her exasperation.

She hated her subconscious for bringing that memory up as the very first response to the Sergeant's question.

"Uh, just a bunch of questions from a standardized questionnaire. And a few random, very normal ones, that's all."

She crossed her heart and hoped she was just convincing enough to fool a cop.

Sergeant Randall's eyes divulged nothing, he kept a poker face, leaving no way for Tahlia to even gather a hint of whether he believed her or not.

Maybe they already know.

This is just a ceremonial game they play with the culprit before the big reveal.

"So he never talked about anything..unusual?"

An unfitting ghost of a smile came over Tahlia's lips, "He's a psychopath with an alternate personality. Unusual has gotta be in the textbook description for that."

"Let me put it this way," He narrowed his dark eyes, his tone rising, "How about a plan for starters? You ever talk about one? A plan that promised someone a bunch of benefits in the grand scheme of things?"

Her head tilted to side slightly, "What..plan? I'm confused."

"Miss Meyers, there's an APB and BOLO out on this man; any time he's sighted, the department will be alerted." He uncrossed his arms,

"The thing is, it's been 3 weeks since that crazy-ass disappeared and hell, managed to even kill a girl out in the open. But you see, we have nothing on him, except for jack with plenty of squat."

Tahlia could swear she saw a vein in his forehead pop as he spoke.

"Westfield is a small place, there's no way in hell a lunatic can just hide in plain sight. He needs, food, shelter, supplies."

"You're saying he has an—"

"An accomplice, likely yes." He looked at her in an incomprehensible manner, "So if you know anything, now would be the time to speak up. Withholding information from us is not wise, it's only a matter of time before we find out."

Tahlia's hazel eyes widened exponentially, "You think I'm helping him?!"

That was insane. Tahlia may have unknowingly transported the key to him, but she sure as hell was not assisting him in his deranged work.

"We have to look at every possible angle." He glimpsed downwards into a file, "You said you were at a party from 9 pm to about 12 on the 27th of last month, the night he escaped?"

"Yes."

"Do you have anyone who could support your alibi?"

She nodded, "You can ask around, plenty of people might have seen me there."

"You don't have any friends who could attest to that?"

Friends? As in, plural?

It was laughable really.

"Jace Montgomery, I went with him." She answered quickly.

"Speaking of airheads," Sergeant Randall let out a weighty exhale, "We'll have to have a chat with Mr. Montgomery too, again."

Tahlia chewed on her bottom lip, "Jace? What does he have to do with this?"

"Your friend has quite the criminal record that he conveniently forgot to mention when he talked to Detective Rodericks." He pronounced the word 'friend' with free flowing disdain.

"Defacement and destruction of public and private property."

Tahlia almost sighed.

The very second month of her being friends with him, Jace had confided in her about it all.

How his name was put on the criminal record for vandalism at age sixteen, ruining his chances of a career in soccer and costing him admission in many big universities across the country.

That was precisely why he was stuck in Westfield, studying a course he had no interest in, since his parents insisted on him going to college.

But old habits die hard.

He still was the same delinquent teen who'd spray paint phallic objects on any wall, any chance he got.

She'd always known that Jace's penchant for graffiti would get him in very serious trouble sooner or later, but she wouldn't be able to live with herself if the Logan thing got pinned on him, seeing that it was her fault all along.

"Did you hear me?"

"Hmm?" Her attention was snapped back to the the Sergeant staring at her like he saw right through her facade.

She muttered a small 'yes', gulping visibly.

"Hey Serg." Both Tahlia and Randall turned their heads sideways, towards the direction of the voice. It was the woman from before, Detective Hernandez.

"The lab sent just their report on fingerprints from the sanatorium's back gate."

Tahlia stilled in her seat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It is often said that one's entire life seems to flash right in front of their eyes, the minute their body embraces death with open arms.

That's exactly what it felt like to her.

Everything she'd work so hard for, would be going down the drain for sure in a matter of seconds.

Sergeant Randall straightened his back, his ears perking up almost, "We got any hits?"

The detective shook her head, "There are no fingerprints." She hissed with perturbation, "Get this, the handle on door was wiped clean."

"Fuck me." Sergeant Randall cursed, disgruntled.

Tahlia almost did a double take, her jaw hanging open, as if.

Did I hear that right?

Then maybe there was in fact, a guardian angel watching over her.

A guardian angel who was helping her cover up her not-so-angelic deeds.

"I'll keep you updated on the staff's alibis." Detective Hernandez muttered rigidly, taking her leave.

"See that." The sergeant huffed, swiveling towards Tahlia, "It's been about a month, and we've had no breakthroughs in the case."

He sloped his shoulders, leaning forwards, "Which is why I need the truth. Was this college assignment jazz the first time you met Hunt?"

Tahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "Yes, I told you." She quipped.

"You grew up in three different foster homes here, didn't you? From age 9-17."

Her heart missed a beat, as if.

"Y-yes." She answered, still stunned by him bringing that up.

"Look, we see cases like this all the time with neglected, young, impressionable girls who think falling for a criminal is one heck of an adrenaline rush. Maybe you met him as a kid, he promised you things—"

"What?! No! That's not true!" She exclaimed, her voice reaching a higher octave.

"If you did, no one would blame you. You're the victim in this situation, just tell us the truth."

She stood up immediately, making the steel chair squeak shrilly against the marble floor, as it was pushed back.

"I said, THAT IS NOT TRUE."

She spat, every word dripping with emphasized distaste, "I didn't even know he existed before I met him."

The Sergeant leered, "Is that a sensitive subject? Your time in foster care?"

Tahlia chose to remain quiet, even though her heart was racing like stallion.

He on the other hand, glanced down to his file again, turning a few pages.

"This says you were placed in your first foster home after your mother killed your 7 year old sister and then overdosed on heroin—"

"I'd like to go home." She announced monotonously, her face passive of any emotion.

Sergeant Randall looked at her for a second, wordless, then shrugged lightly, "I can't stop you Miss Meyers."

With a short nod, she turned on her heels sharply. She needed air.

As she approached the elevator a few feet away from his desk, she paused, swerving around on a second thought.

"I'll send you a copy of my report on Logan Hunt, it has excerpts from our interviews and other snippets that might be of use to you." She said plainly.

The Sergeant acknowledged her with a small nod, "That would be much appreciated."

And with that, she stepped inside the elevator.

She almost fell down to her knees.

The air passageway to her lungs felt constricted, as if something heavy was coiling it's way around it.

It was building up to another panic attack, she knew.

Tahlia needed to be in her dorm as soon as possible, take her pills.

Almost immediately as she got out, she decided to call herself a cab instead of walking her way back. She couldn't.

The entire ride was excruciating, with the cab driver insisting on making small talk with her, while she was quite on the verge of a breakdown.

As soon as she made it to her room, she jammed her keys in the lock offhandedly, struggling to get it open.

Her pulse was thumping like a jackhammer.

With the fourth attempt, she successfully unlocked the door, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

She grabbed the bottle, shaking the medicine out into her palms and washing it down with a glassful of water.

Her hand went to temples, fingers rubbing the surface the soothe the little migraine she felt coming.

On the brighter side of things, at least she wasn't lying in some ditch unconscious.

She put the bottle back in it's place in the cabinet, closing it shut, coming face to face with her reflection.

A sweet-sounding laugh rang in her head, from the deep depth of her buried memories, as she looked into her own eyes.

The amber in her irises transformed into a soft shade of baby blue.

Her hair wasn't curly and chocolate colored anymore, but a warm toned blonde.

Suddenly she wasn't looking at herself, but her beautiful baby sister.

"Get out, I need to pee."

Her little reverie was disintegrated with the strident sound of her roommate's piercing voice coming in from outside.

She quickly splashed some water on her face, catching her breath.

She swung the door open, only to see Wynn standing there with an annoyed look plastered on her face.

"Fucking finally, I almost did it in a Pepsi can."

Tahlia simply ignored her jibe, like she'd learnt to do in the year and a half of living with her.

"Oh, and there's a package for you on your bed. What did your imaginary boyfriend send you, tickets to the nerd convention?" Wynn simpered like a fox.

A package?

But she hadn't ordered anything.

She went to her bed, and there it was, a little larger than medium sized box.

It was covered in a blush toned, gingham patterned gift wrapping paper. Ribbons and all.

Who'd send her a gift?

She undid the bow first, still perplexed beyond words.

Maybe it's Dean, the thought made her smile dreamily, her cheeks heating up.

She tore the packaging to reveal a plain brown cardboard box, taped close.

Stretching to grab the paper cutter from her bedside desk, she cut open the box at last.

There are moments in life, when time seems to slow down. It has nothing to do with middle school physics and it's concepts about motion and retardation.

It's perhaps, entirely dependent on the gravity of the situation.

Before Tahlia could even take in the contents of the box fully, she heard an ear piercing scream that sounded like it came from Wynn.

That's when she saw it.

A blood-covered body of a small animal, it seemed, it's light fur drenched in crimson, and it's mouth parted open.

But then perhaps, in this case it wasn't the brutally slaughtered cat that made time stop.

It was the little note placed on top of the poor animal's side, covered in plastic.

And even though it was all bloodied up, it was just legible enough for Tahlia to be able to make out the words from underneath it all.

Aren't you glad you chose 'dogs' Natalia?

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