"It's going to be okay," I whisper to her, but my body is shaking so hard that my voice cracks, and I don't believe my own words for a second.

I don't understand what's going on.

I don't understand why Sebastian is shooting people right before my eyes.

And I don't understand why these men want to kill us.

My hand is shaking like mad as I hold the trigger. I hear more people running up the stairs, the barking of orders and sounds of guns being loaded. I know I don't have much time. I know they're almost here.

"They're coming, angel!" Sebastian roars back at me, and his bloodshot eyes meet mine for a single instant. Fear pulses through me as more gunshots go off, and he screams, "We have to go!"

I don’t move, though. My body is shaking so hard and I just keep staring at Ash. Everything starts to fade out, and I'm absolutely paralyzed, unable to move.

"RUN!" he screams again, taking one last shot at the oncoming men.

But I can't. I can't move. My feet are absolutely rooted in the spot. I clench the gun so hard I swear I'm going to break my hands, and so many tears rush down my face at once that my whole cheek stings. My vision blurs, but distantly I see Sebastian running over to me, screaming something I can't make out, and I feel myself reaching out to Ash, trying to grab her arm and hold tight to her, but my hand misses.

Before I know what's happening, Sebastian is behind me, putting something dark over my head and shoving a needle into the back of my neck.

"I won't let them have you," I swear I hear him whisper, but my ears are ringing so hard now that I can't be too sure.

Everything is dizzy as I slump back into his arms, feeling sick and bleak and empty. Distantly, I feel his arms wrapping around me, his grunts as he drags me somewhere far away. The last thing I remember is the sound of the Beethoven music I put on in room 364, drifting out into the hallway.

And then all I see is blackness. 

Chapter Four

I drift in and out of consciousness for hours after that. Or days. Or maybe even weeks. I don't know how long. All I remember is waking up face down in a seat of some sort a while after Sebastian knocked me unconscious. It felt like there was something moving beneath me, as if I were a car, but I can't be too sure. I could see nothing but blurry sunlight for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, and then I was gone, back in a memory.

I'm twenty years old again, running down my old street in the pouring rain. I'd been at a friend's house all day, but her mom told me something had happened, that I needed to go home now, and I refused to let her drive me because I knew whatever it was, it was bad. And before I realized what I was doing, I'd started running.

I run and run, already crying and choking and gasping for air, already wanting to crumple and let everything else leave me, already knowing something is terribly, terribly wrong.

I can hear the sirens wailing through our once silent neighborhood, the buzz of energy and fear and sadness in the air. It's the dead of night, but everyone is standing outside of their houses, hugging and looking at the house the cars are crowding. My heart sinks.

They're staring at my house. The house I'd been staying in ever since I failed out college.

Ten cop cars surround my front yard, and policemen fill the area, bringing evidence and equipment in and out of the house, talking into their radios and putting up yellow tape all around my home.

I keep running. I don't even hesitate. Tears burn my eyes and my heart pounds furiously, but I try to hide it, try to stay hopeful, even though a deep, crushing part of me knows it's really over.

"Ma'am, this is a crime scene," a pudgy cop says when I duck under the yellow tape, forcing my way over to my house. "You can't--"

But I'm already pushing past him, muttering, "I live here" in between my fits of trembles, and then I hustle inside the house, pushing past a few cops, and look around desperately.

The house is a mess. Furniture is upturned everywhere--couches, chairs, tables. Shattered glass is spilled across the floor, and torn-up pictures of me and my parents laughing and smiling several years ago litter the ground like they're nothing. And then I notice the drop of crimson on the hardwood floor in front of me, and I look up. I let out a scream as soon as see my parents, on the ground, shot and killed beside the sofa, their hands locked.

Together.

Even in death.

I gasp and cry, and my body feels frozen and numb and hurt and I can barely process what I'm seeing, what this means. Sobs rack through me and I turn away, shaking all over. A detective grabs me and steers me outside, telling me I shouldn't be here, I should wait outside, that I was going to be okay, that everything was going to be okay even when I knew it wasn't.

The detective starts turning away and hurries back inside, but I grab her through my tears. "Tell me," I gasp. "Tell me what happened."

Her eyes look sad, so sad, sad for me. "I shouldn't--" she says quietly and tries to brush me off, but I cling to her for dear life, not knowing what else to do.

"Please, tell me," I whisper. My voice sounds so hollow and defeated it doesn't even feel like mine anymore. "Tell me what happened."

She sighs, then locks eyes with me. "It was a robbery," she says. "Your mother's jewelry was reported stolen. Suspect appears to be male. They tried to stop him, but… they couldn't. He had a gun," she adds.

My stomach twists at her words but I manage a nod, whispering, "Thank you." And then I start shaking all over again, and I collapse into her arms, screaming and crying and telling myself this can't possibly be real, this can’t be happening to me, all night long.

When I wake up next, I can vaguely hear a door slam outside, feel someone grab my arms and mutter something under their breath. And then I'm being moved away from here, to somewhere outside in the blinding sun. I feel my head loll back, and then I'm back in another memory.

It's three days after the murder. I'm sitting on the rooftop of my old house, closing my eyes and thinking. I think about my dance classes. They're supposed to be my escape, supposed to wash everything else away. The grace of my movements, the way my legs sway every which way, so nimbly, it's all supposed to free me. From what, I don't even know. My thoughts, maybe? Or is it supposed to free me from my depression? Or really, maybe it's just freeing me from myself.

Whatever it is, it hasn't worked. The ache in my heart hasn't gone away, and my parents are still dying again and again in my mind. I live with my aunt now, but I hardly care for her, and she returns the favor. I hang out here, at the house they died in, because I have nowhere else to go. Because the pain is stronger here, but at least I feel like myself again. At least, when the depression and loneliness overcome me, I can feel like Crystal Knight again. I can feel like the real me, the one person who otherwise couldn't seem farther away.

And today, I'm going to end it at all.

There isn't one particular thing that brought me here, or a certain reason why I chose today, or a breaking point that I reached and couldn't keep going on after. It's been much more gradual. I'd been sad for a long time, mainly because my parents were always away on their business trips and I'd never had friends before. But even in the thick of it, I used to cling to the knowledge that my parents were still alive, that I needed to be strong for them, that I needed to keep on pushing, but now that they're gone, who do I need to be strong for anymore?