Sky's The Limit

As the most frantic night of Osmond's life came to be, he finally stopped running in an alleyway beside his favorite old bar—Anton's bar, a place called The Door's Knob.

The alley beside the bar was about two blocks away from his apartment complex, and it was a regular old hangout spot for Raymond Salem.

He knew better. Osmond knew not to revisit all his old favorite spots—but he couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

He pressed his back against the graffiti-covered wall, sliding down and sitting on the dirty concrete, his shoe nudging the neck of an abandoned beer bottle.

Osmond frowned and shook his head, planting his face in his palms and hunching over his knees, utterly exhausted.

The wonderful rush of freedom he felt when he first escaped the prison was gone without a trace—and now, he felt nothing but fatigue and hopelessness. Every part of him ached, and he had nowhere else to turn—but now that he'd successfully escaped prison, he'd likely face a lot more years on his sentence if the police recaptured him. He had to keep running—otherwise, he'd likely spend his entire life behind bars. He was lost, hurt, alone, and trapped in an awful situation with a shit hand dealt to him. He almost considered staying put, simply waiting for the police to expand their search and sweep the entire neighborhood, willingly surrendering himself back into custody—but no, that wasn't an option. He'd rather live alone and miserable on the streets than surrender after all this. He'd come too far to give up the rest of his life.

Osmond was bound and determined to keep fighting no matter what—but now, he had no way of doing so, nowhere to go, and no one to turn to.

He repeatedly glanced to the left, eyeing the darkened street and the edge of the bar's parking lot, dreading the moment he'd see those fateful flashes of red and blue.

He heard a few echoing voices nearby, but he knew they weren't police. The bar was busy tonight, and many of its customers were loitering in the parking lot, drinking and joking loudly, as they usually did. It was something Osmond himself used to do on a regular basis, but now, he wasn't permitted that freedom anymore.

And all because of a stupid damn mistake—a murder he didn't intend to commit.

He never knew for sure if there was a God, and he never knew exactly what the point of life was—but it couldn't be this. This was simply too unfair, too rotten and too horrible to be right.

Still, it really didn't matter; Osmond never had a very concrete idea of right and wrong, but now, it was difficult to think that this situation was right by anyone's standards. No, he shouldn't have taken Benny's life—but Benny shouldn't have set him up for a fall, and the judge should've listened to Osmond's side of the story. The Acardi family should've just passed through Tennessee like everyone else instead of nesting in Ireville, and the police should've never been involved at all.

He knew he'd take some falls and face some setbacks throughout his life, especially with his lifestyle—but this had to be far more bullshit than even he deserved.

Osmond intertwined his fingers, feeling horribly stressed and tapping his head lightly on the concrete wall behind him. If he could just get away—if he could just find a quick escape from this neighborhood—then he could find a way to survive away from south Ireville. He could be Osmond instead of Raymond, and he could clean up in the bathroom of a grocery store somewhere, changing his appearance before skipping town. If he could just get out of this alleyway—out of this area, and away from the police swarming the streets in search of him—then he might have a real chance.

But how could he possibly accomplish such a thing? He couldn't run to Anton for help—no, he couldn't go to any of the friends he kept when he was Raymond Salem. The police would shake those people down in pursuit of the escaped prisoner, and Osmond couldn't rightfully drag all of them down with him. In fact, Osmond suspected that the police would be surrounding this bar, Sam's pawn shop, Carlos's tattoo shop, and Mack's deli shop any second now, cornering all of Raymond's known allies and searching for the escaped crook in all their places of work.

No—the only way out of this was to hitch another ride with a stranger, just like before. But how could he pull that off now? He was no longer bloody and practically naked. He didn't look like a mugging victim anymore, and he wasn't stranded far from civilization anymore, either.

However—he was armed now.

He could take a car by force if need be.

His head ached as his thoughts raced, and he glared at the cement beneath him as he plotted every possibility—but if he allowed his victim to survive, they would likely report him to the police. The only sure way to cover his tracks afterward was to kill the person—but he couldn't kill a random innocent stranger just to steal their car as a getaway.

Could he?

No—of course he couldn't. He wouldn't go that far.

But what else could he do?

"Fuck…" Osmond hissed, cradling his head and scowling down at the ground, kicking the loose beer bottle away. "Fuck, fuck, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬…"

A loud voice nearby made him jump; this voice was much closer than the distant ones echoing from the bar.

Osmond glanced to the side, seeing that a young woman was walking down the sidewalk at the edge of the alley, passing by and cursing at a gang of young men who were trailing after her. The woman yelled something incredibly vulgar at the boys, which only seemed to amuse them. The three thugs continued to follow her past the alley, ignoring her rejections and nasty retorts.

Osmond stared at the end of the alleyway for a moment, even after the young woman and the three thugs were out of eyeshot.

His ears perked, and he listened intently at the semi-distant sounds of an argument. The young woman was telling them to back off, and they clearly weren't heeding her warnings.

Osmond inhaled a big, slow breath, glaring intently at the end of the alleyway and the sidewalk that stretched past. He wasn't sure who those people were, or why they were arguing—but perhaps he could get involved with their little altercation somehow.

If he joined a crowd, he'd be less likely to be recognized by any police passing by. He needed to look like he belonged out here, just like everyone else. He couldn't remain alone and isolated in the shadows. No, his best bet was to blend in, to join the other bar customers on the streets and sidewalks and to strut about as if he had nothing to hide.

He turned and stared directly forward, his gaze landing on the empty beer bottle feet away from him, his brain suddenly working up a storm.

Osmond slowly stood, grabbing the bottle and holding it loosely by the top if its neck, carrying it as if it still contained beer. Then, he cautiously crept toward the street, peering around the corner and narrowing his eyes at the group in the near distance.

The young woman—one about his age—had stopped beside a blue mustang convertible, an extremely expensive and wickedly stylish vehicle that looked out of place in the slummy neighborhood of south Ireville. She combed her short black hair to the side and pulled her keys from the pockets of her studded jean vest—then, one of the thugs grabbed her arm and pulled her back slightly, pressing his face to her neck and inhaling a good whiff of her.

The young woman snapped her arm away and wheeled around, glaring at the three thugs in disgust, but all of them were laughing at her.

"God—can you guys just fuck off?" the young woman snarled, glaring into them heatedly. "You buy me two freaking drinks, and you think I'm gonna be your plaything?"

"C'mon, girl—you been making eyes at me all night," the leader of the thugs—a tall Caucasian dressed in a baggy wife-beater—smirked at her. "We talked for like two hours, we played pool, I bought you drinks—what's the problem? I thought we were hittin' it off."

"I was just having fun," the girl quipped in response. "I didn't come here to get laid."

"Well, shit—𝘸𝘦 did!" one of the thugs proclaimed, making the other two snicker.

"Yeah—we 𝘢𝘭𝘭 gonna get laid tonight!" the shortest of the three grinned nastily, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips at her.

"Oh yeah? Are you?" the girl growled challengingly, shooting him a caustic look. "Why—are you all gonna fuck each other in the ass?"

Osmond let out a choking laugh, quickly covering his mouth and silencing himself.

He remained mostly hidden behind the concrete wall of the alley, watching from afar as the young woman backed into the driver door of her mustang, the three thugs slowly encircling her.

As Osmond observed, he quickly understood that this wasn't a situation he could simply approach with nonchalant ease. It wasn't just a mild argument or a casual conversation that he could just walk up and join—no, this was growing into something much more concerning, and if he got involved with it now, the situation might turn violent. He knew what his best course of action was—to stroll up and rescue the girl from the situation, to play hero and hitch a ride from her afterwards—but he couldn't do that without facing an altercation with the three thugs, and such an altercation might warrant the attention of police.

Unless he did it as quickly as possible—before any cops came rolling down the street, and before anyone could call them.

Still—he needed to try to resolve this without violence if possible. He couldn't afford to draw any extra attention to himself, and he didn't have any more time to think about it. All the cops surrounding his old apartment complex would be expanding their search any moment, which would likely bring them right to Anton's bar.

Whatever he did, he had to do now.

Osmond stepped out of the darkness and sauntered toward the girl and the thugs, lifting the beer bottle and pretending to take a sip. He marched toward the thugs fearlessly, sliding over to the girl's side and draping an arm around her shoulders.

The girl jumped and gasped.

Osmond acted as if he'd done nothing out of the ordinary, keeping his arm around the girl and glaring daggers into the three young men before him.

"Are you fucking with my girlfriend?" Osmond barked angrily.

Leader-Thug and his two followers exchanged odd looks, then began to laugh.

"She ain't got no boyfriend," Leader-Thug sniggered. "Man, she's been all over me all night, and she told me she ain't got no boyfriend."

"Yeah, she does that. She's a little thrill-seeker," Osmond remarked, giving the girl a gentle shake. "But her fun time's over, and so's yours."

"Who the fuck d'you think you are?" the short thug snapped, stepping closer.

"Man—let's fuck him up," the other follower said, swinging his arms at Osmond and shooting him a threatening stare.

Leader-Thug drew closer to Osmond, and the two of them shared a long, heated glare.

"Skylar's been with us all night," Leader-Thug snarled in a wicked hiss, nodding at the girl, who was apparently named Skylar. "We're just homies, man—we ain't doin' nothing wrong here. We're all just friends, so you need to back the fuck off and stop playin' like you're hard. Unless you wanna be layin' on your 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, hero."

Osmond felt a hot stab of anger, leering into the thug and longing to throw a punch. The girl—Skylar—glimpsed warily between the two of them, and the two followers looked to their leader, waiting for him to make the first move.

For a split second, Osmond was certain he'd leap into a fight—that he'd abandon his plan of nonviolence and show this little pissaunt who'd lay on his back—then, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, something that made his anger vanish and his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach.

A state trooper rolled around the corner, its lights illuminating red and blue, but the sirens weren't wailing, the lights flashing in silence.

The trooper cruised slowly past the bar, drawing steadily nearer to Osmond and the people around him. Time seemed to slow—and the state trooper drove closer as two more police cars came into view behind it, both of them parking in front of the bar as the police stepped out of their vehicles, marching toward the bar's entrance.

The state trooper, however, didn't stop along with the other cops. It continued to drive forward, until it was perfectly aligned with Skylar's mustang.

A quiet, terrible tension spread over Osmond and the strangers around him.

Osmond didn't turn to face the trooper, didn't dare reveal his face to the officer, keeping his back to the flashing cop car; he froze, his expression entirely devoid of emotion, though his mind was screaming, and his heart bashed ruthlessly behind his ribs. The state trooper was parked directly behind him, just across the blue mustang, and the thugs were all staring at it in fear.

Skylar glanced between him and the thugs again, seeing the flashing red and blue lights and trying to duck out of Osmond's grasp.

Osmond thoughtlessly tightened his arm around her more firmly, keeping her in place.

Skylar turned and shot him a look.

Osmond didn't meet her gaze. He couldn't afford to let this girl go now—no, he needed to look like he belonged here, like he was merely hanging out with friends and hugging a girlfriend. The trooper wouldn't suspect him of being Raymond Salem if he appeared as normal as possible. Hopefully…

"Everything okay here?" the trooper yelled out his window.

Leader-Thug and Osmond traded brief stares.

Then, Leader-Thug laughed casually, giving the trooper a nod and a wave. "Yeah, man, we're all good. Just chillin' out, gettin' ready to go home for the night."

"Good. You better," the trooper said. "There's a convict on the loose, and we have reason to believe he's in this area… so you better go home as soon as possible."

"Oh, shit… all right," Leader-Thug agreed, glancing over at the bar and noticing that the parking lot was slowly filling with police. Then, he faced the trooper again, giving him a questioning squint. "What happened? Somebody get busted?"

"No—not yet," the trooper told him. "Hopefully soon."

Osmond's hand began to shake. He curled it into a fist atop Skylar's shoulder, and he didn't move an inch, didn't acknowledge the trooper behind him whatsoever, silently praying that he'd simply drive on.

The trooper didn't move. He leaned out his window, seeming to examine every inch of the area closely, and his eyes fixated on the bar's parking lot, where the rest of the police were now stepping out of the building and returning to their vehicles. After discovering that their escaped convict wasn't inside the bar, the police began to pull out of the parking lot one by one, driving off with their lights flashing quietly.

After the trooper watched them go, he returned his attention to Leader-Thug and the group of people surrounding him.

"Looks like he's not here… but he might be close by," the trooper stated. "All of you, get home, and stay indoors. Y'all have a good night, now."

"Yeah, man, you too. Seeya," Leader-Thug replied, waving the trooper off as he finally began to drive away.

Osmond glared at the fence and the bushes behind the thugs, watching intently as the red and blue lights coasted over the chain links and the branches, slowly moving further away until—finally—the lights were out of sight.

The trooper and the police drove away, moving on and searching elsewhere.

Osmond wasn't convinced that he was completely in the clear—as there might've been canine units sniffing around, or perhaps some police searching the area on foot—but for now, the danger seemed to have passed.

He let out a massive cloud of breath that he hadn't realized he was holding until now, gnawing his bottom lip and slowly raising his head.

Then—he and Leader-Thug locked eyes again.

Skylar scoffed, now incredibly annoyed and fed-up with the situation. She forced her way out of Osmond's grip, reaching for her car's door.

Leader-Thug grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, wrapping an arm around her and making her drop her keys to the ground.

"Hold up, girl," Leader-Thug said. "We ain't done—"

Osmond swung in an instant—and he smashed the bottle over Leader-Thug's head with all the strength he could muster.

Leader-Thug howled and staggered backward—and the shorter thug jumped forward and began swinging wildly—

Osmond backed away and weaved to the side, narrowly dodging a punch—and he ducked down and tackled the short thug, lifting him off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder.

The short thug spun over Osmond and smashed hard into the sidewalk at an awkward angle, his wrist giving a snap against the pavement as he roared in pain.

The third thug planted a hard punch on Osmond's face—and Osmond doubled back as his vision exploded in colors and stars, pain shooting through his skull. He quickly found his bearings and dodged the second punch, just barely—and Skylar backed into her car again, her face painted with shock.

Osmond's vision straightened out just in time to spot the blade. The final thug was now swinging a switchblade at him, Osmond staggering away hurriedly, his injured ankle twisting against the curb.

He tripped and hit the ground—and the thug stood over him and raised the knife—

Osmond felt something in his palm—and he grabbed it and swung, Skylar's keys slicing across the thug's face and making him stumble to the side.

Osmond then leaped to his feet and snapped his hands around the thug's wrist, twisting and wrestling until the blade fell from his grasp. The thug grabbed for his head, ripping the beanie off—and Osmond reared back and delivered the hardest elbow thrust he could, ramming his arm into the thug's stomach and knocking the wind cleanly out of him.

Osmond swiped his hairs back and stepped away, watching as the last thug hit his knees. He turned, meeting Skylar's eyes and holding up her keys.

"Drive you home?" he offered, his voice hoarse and breathless.

"O-okay," Skylar stuttered in response.

Osmond leaped over the driver door and sank smoothly into the convertible, Skylar hurrying to join him in the passenger seat.

He managed to start the engine just when the leader of the thugs was reaching his feet.

Leader-Thug gave one final lunge, diving at the car and making a grab for Osmond—but Osmond hit the gas pedal, making Leader-Thug's arm smash against the driver door as the engine roared and the mustang hurtled away with haste.

All at once—Osmond felt it all come back, the rush of freedom and glee he felt the moment he absconded from Ireville Correctional Facility, a sly grin forming along his face as he drove into the night.

Skylar was twisted around backward in her seat, gaping at the scene behind her until the battered thugs faded from view—and then, to Osmond's surprise, she began to laugh loudly into the whipping winds around her, which made her dark hair dance wildly about.

The car was blasting music now, and Skylar wheeled around, plopping back into her seat and giving Osmond a beaming smile.

"That was amazing!" she exclaimed. "Who are you?!"

Osmond glanced at her, wearing his old signature smirk. "I'm the luckiest bastard on earth."

"Oh, don't do that—don't start hitting on me," Skylar giggled, smacking his arm. "You seem like an awesome guy, so don't ruin it. Don't start acting like a creep!"

"I wasn't hitting on you," Osmond replied truthfully. "I 𝘢𝘮 the luckiest bastard on earth. You have no idea."

"Seriously," Skylar grinned curiously. "Who are you?"

"My name's Osmond," he told her, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and offering her the other. "Nice to meet you, Skylar. Sorry if I came off like a creep. I was just trying to help you out."

"Well, good fucking job!" Skylar laughed, slapping his hand with a high-five rather than a handshake. "You took down three guys—𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴—by yourself!"

"Wasn't my first rodeo," Osmond said coyly. "I thought they'd back off if a protective boyfriend showed up… but that didn't work, so…"

"Dude, nobody does that," Skylar said insistently, turning in her seat and giving him an invested stare. "Seriously—𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 does that. Nobody just steps in and helps people for no reason. Chivalry's supposed to be dead. But I guess you missed that memo."

"I really wouldn't call it chivalry," Osmond replied with a laugh.

"Man—you showed up like a guy from an action movie, and you whooped three guys for some strange girl you never met," Skylar pointed out. "What would you call that? I'd call that new-age chivalry in the ghetto."

Osmond snickered, sparing the girl a half-smile.

"I'd call it dysfunctional anger management at best," he replied.

"What, you just wanted to take out some aggression? I mean, that's fine with me," Skylar tittered. "Worked out pretty good for me, so…"

Osmond smirked and nodded, glancing up at the bright city lights as he drove around the corner and headed down the main road.

Free in the city—here he was, driving through it with the music blaring, and feeling freer than a bird on the air.

He wasn't sure if this freedom would be short-lived or not, but it was as refreshing as it was exhilarating. It was nothing short of astonishing that he'd managed to get this far, and he even helped a girl out of a tough situation in the process. He was nothing resembling a hero—but on this most hectic day of his life, he'd accomplished a lot, reclaiming his old identity and helping a girl escape a gang of predatory thugs, miraculously avoiding the police all the while. He succeeded in full so far—and he could enjoy that simple fact for now, if nothing else.

"So, just out of curiosity," Skylar continued. "What made you wanna take out all your stress on three random guys? Other than the 'being a hero' part…"

"Oh, hell… I don't know where to begin," Osmond responded. "The short version is, I've got no money and nowhere to live anymore."

"Oh… did you get evicted or something?"

"Ahm… yeah. Yeah, I got evicted."

"Well, that sucks."

"By the way—feel free to tell me where the hell I'm going. I have no idea where you live."

"Oh, just drive toward the north side of town. I live in Highland Drive."

Osmond blinked, turning and eyeing her. "Highland Drive? You live in—are you serious?"

Skylar grinned and nodded. "Oh yeah. Dead serious."

"Huh. I was wondering why a girl with a mustang was hanging out on the shitty side of town," Osmond muttered. "Should've figured you were rich. You live in the same neighborhood as Governor Bernard…"

"I live in the same 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 as Governor Bernard."

Osmond faced her again, almost forgetting to watch the road as he drove, his mouth drifting slightly agape.

Skylar snickered at the look of astonishment he wore. Then, she extended her hand and offered a handshake, tilting her head and giving him a curt smile.

"Skylar Bernard, nice to meetcha."

"You—you're the governor's 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳?" Osmond gasped in disbelief. "What the hell're you doing hanging out at The Door's Knob?"

"Trying to live my life," Skylar replied with a simple shrug. "My dad's paranoid. He never wants me to go anywhere or do anything—so, yeah. I'm a thrill-seeker, just like you said. You called it."

"You don't have a bodyguard or something? I figured the governor's family would be protected in public, somehow…"

"Nope. No bodyguards. Despite my dad's best efforts, I manage to get around town without some creepy men in black up my ass all the time. My dad's not just the governor—he owns the Kevron Company. We have a lot of money, so my dad's extra paranoid. He's tried to set me up with protection before, but it's just annoying…"

"Yeah, well… it could be a lot worse."

"I guess." Skylar cocked her head, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at him. "So… you wanna hang out tonight?"

Osmond gave her an odd squint.

"I'm not coming onto you," Skylar quickly added, shaking her head and laughing. "I just kinda figured, since you got evicted from your place, and since I kinda owe you one… maybe you could hang out at my house for dinner. You could crash at my place tonight… and maybe you could do something about that."

She pointed at his face, where a dark bruise was forming near the corner of his mouth, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

Osmond swiped his face, only just remembering that he'd been punched a short while ago, the dull pain now more noticeable.

Then, he glanced between the girl and the road ahead, looking somewhat surprised. "You really want a stranger sleeping over at your house?"

"Sure," Skylar shrugged and grinned. "I mean, I don't really know you—but I know you'll step in and help a girl in need, so I'm pretty sure you're not a bad guy. And I like the idea of having a new friend over."

Osmond gave her a strange stare. Then, he smirked and shook his head, returning his attention to the road. "Careful what you wish for…"

"Besides—it's not like you and I are gonna be alone in the house," Skylar added. "Sullivan's gonna be there, and he always looks after me like a protective grandpa. I'm not worried."

"Sullivan?"

"Yeah, my butler."

"Your butler. Wow. We could not be more different…"

"Hey—don't judge me because I was born into money. You think I'd be hanging out at The Door's Knob if I was a snobby ritzy asshole?"

"Okay. Point taken."

The two of them fell silent as Osmond drove down Watt Drive, coasting past numerous old hangout spots of Raymond Salem's—a thrift store where he once shopped for clothes, a tobacco shop run by an old man named Karl, and a fast-food place where he and his friends often ate. He glanced at the buildings in passing, slowing to a stop at the red light and taking a last gander at his old neighborhood.

Once he drove out of south Ireville, he'd start anew. He still wasn't sure how, but now, he at least had a place to sleep for the night. Perhaps he'd work out a solution before morning. He was more than grateful for his excellent luck, and to Skylar for unknowingly rescuing him from a night of running and hiding on the streets—but he still felt a bit wary about sleeping over at Governor Bernard's house.

Osmond wasn't sure how quickly the information would get to the governor, but once Governor Bernard learned of the escaped convict loose in Ireville, Osmond would be in direct danger of being discovered. Especially if he was sleeping under the governor's own roof.

"Hey," Osmond said, glimpsing at Skylar, who was now leaning on the door and watching the world pass by. "Random question… is your father home right now? Am I gonna meet the governor tonight?"

"Oh hell no," Skylar scoffed in response. "He won't be home until tomorrow night. He's a busy guy… and he doesn't make time for my friends, usually."

"Okay."

Osmond slowly nodded at the road ahead, pondering on this.

He'd have a night to himself in Skylar's home; he could lock himself in the bathroom and work hard to change his appearance however he could. He'd make sure to change his looks as much as possible before the governor, or anyone else, could lay eyes on him.

"So, what do you wanna do when we get home?" Skylar asked him.

"Hm? Oh… I don't know. Whatever you want," Osmond mumbled distractedly.

"I wanna eat some leftover enchiladas," Skylar muttered, grinning at the thought. "I never get to bring people over for the night… it's kinda awesome…"

Osmond squinted at her. "What, you never bring your friends over?"

"Well… kinda," Skylar sighed. "Sometimes. It's weird. My friends are all airheaded dipshits, and they flake on me a lot."

"Oh… gotcha."

Osmond gave her another short glimpse before staring firmly at the road.

This girl seemed almost deprived of excitement, wanting nothing more than to explore the city and find new friends—but Osmond himself felt the opposite. His knuckles ached horribly, as did his ankle and his jaw, and he was thoroughly exhausted, wishing desperately that he could escape from all the excitement of this night and sleep in a comfy bed for a week straight. He couldn't imagine feeling the way she did, purposefully seeking out the thrills of the Ireville nightlife. There was a time when the nightlife thrills were part of his everyday routine, but now, that was far from the case. More than anything, he wanted—and needed—to flee from it all and finally leave it behind.

Thank God he met Skylar when he did. This girl was his ticket out of south Ireville, just the little miracle he'd wished for as he ran from his old apartment complex. It was a blessing he wasn't sure if he deserved—but, of course, he'd take it and run with it. That was his only option now.

After a while of driving, and after leaving behind all the most familiar areas of Ireville, Osmond found himself driving through a very different neck of the woods—an area where the buildings were much bigger, much cleaner, and spread much farther apart from one another.

After cruising through north Ireville, Skylar pointed him to a wide back road, which led him away from the heart of the city and into a wooded area. After another five minutes of driving through darkness, he slowed to a stop in front of a large, elegant gate, which was closed and blocking his path.

Osmond leaned over the steering wheel, narrowing his eyes at the closed gate.

Skylar popped her door open and stepped out of the car, approaching the gate and stopping at one of the brick pillars on the gate's edge. She pulled a keycard from her pocket, swiped it in the small square keypad on the pillar, and Osmond saw a tiny red light turn green just above where she'd swiped her card.

Just then, the gates jerked slightly, and they began to roll open. Skylar sank back into the passenger seat and closed the door, motioning for Osmond to drive onward.

"Lord in Heaven," Osmond breathed, slowly driving through the open gateway. "You need a keycard to get into your own neighborhood…"

"Yeah, well… it's security," Skylar replied. "There's political figures and business owners living in this neighborhood, and my father happens to be both. They can't let random people wander in here."

Osmond let out a faint, breathless laugh, thinking of the irony and shaking his head.

As he slowly drove into the dark and endless neighborhood, he suddenly felt as if he'd driven into an entirely different universe—a world of massive houses with ten-acre front yards, where the giant mansion homes were practically a mile apart from one another, standing tall and intimidating over the world below them.

Osmond stared at the giant houses in passing, feeling more out of place than ever.

Skylar motioned for him to keep driving.

A short while later, she pointed out the house at the end of the street, surrounded by trees with a positively massive front yard, a short brick wall circled around the property and another gateway blocking the large driveway. This house stood at least three stories tall, with numerous pointed sections of roof over various different rooms upstairs, the house itself composed of red brick, the rooftop a dark black with fresh panels that looked as if they'd never been rained on, much to the contrary of the homes from Osmond's old neighborhood. The front porch—barely within his eyeshot from the road—was a giant concrete stoop, complete with its own roof and numerous chairs, as well as a bench facing the street, a porch swing that looked brand new. The monstrous home had many windows of all shapes and sizes, and at the end of the expansive driveway, a sleek black car sat in the garage, presumably belonging to the butler. Osmond parked in front of the gateway, gazing up at the house in slight awe, and just to the left of the gateway was a rectangular brick structure, fixed with a mail flap—it was a fancy mailbox, Osmond realized as he gave it a double-take—and it was decorated with golden letters on the side, which read in shiny capital letters: BERNARD.

Once again, Skylar stepped out of the car and swiped her keycard, allowing the gates to roll open before returning to the vehicle.

Osmond glanced at the house, then her, then back.

Skylar giggled. "What?"

"It's just unreal," Osmond mumbled, more to himself than her. "Can't believe I'm here…"

He wasn't exaggerating at all. As he slowly guided the blue mustang up the long driveway, he repeatedly glimpsed up at the home of Governor Bernard, feeling as if he hadn't yet awoken from the bizarre dream he'd been enduring since he retired to his cell in prison.

Everything about this night felt utterly surreal, and he half-expected to awaken in his cell the next morning, only to find that he'd dreamed it all, that he'd never dashed through the night in pursuit of freedom, and he was still trapped in a hellish place with lunatics and a schizophrenic roommate.

How could Osmond have come so far, all in one night? After barely planning it out, after taking giant leaps of faith in ways he'd never dreamed of in the past—and at the end of it all, he ended up at the home of Governor Bernard, welcomed in like a guest? It seemed too good to be true.

As he parked the mustang in the darkened garage, Osmond hesitated, grasping the steering wheel and thinking intently.

He hit a streak of good luck tonight, and he couldn't afford to let that go to waste. During his time here, he'd have to change his appearance to the absolute best of his ability, and he'd have to plan out how he'd start a new life somewhere far from south Ireville. Perhaps he could steal something of value from this place. He could steal this mustang and sell it off to Carlos's cousin at the chop-shop before skipping town, and that would give him a financial head start…

Osmond glanced at Skylar, who had just opened the passenger door, pausing and giving him a smirk as she waited for him to join her.

Suddenly, he felt a pinch of regret in his chest as he met her eyes, only just realizing they were a deep, shiny blue…

Honestly, he didn't want to steal from the girl. He felt guilty for using her as an escape in the first place—but he may not have a choice. If he failed to think of a better plan, he'd have to resort to another dirty tactic in order to stay ahead of the game.

Skylar stepped out of the car, and Osmond placed a hand over his lap, feeling the pistol and the zip-lock bag of papers inside his jacket's pockets.

Perhaps he shouldn't think about his next move yet. He'd been taking this whole escape one step at a time, and miraculously, it seemed to be working so far. He didn't need to worry about it yet; for now, he wanted to fill the hungry emptiness in his stomach and relax in a comfortable, expensive house. It was a rare luxury, and this was probably the only night of relaxation he'd be allowed to experience for a while.

"Oh… for fuck's sake," Skylar griped, leaning on the passenger door and frowning into her smartphone. "Uuugh…"

"What?" Osmond asked, eyeing her and stepping out of the car.

"My dad," Skylar mumbled disdainfully. "He's been blowing my phone up all night. I have like twelve new messages…"

"Oh."

"Doesn't matter—c'mon. Let's go."

Skylar waved him onward, and the two of them marched away from the vehicle, exiting the garage and following the wide sidewalk up to the front porch.

Skylar stopped at another keypad, which was placed beside the white double-doors of the home, and she examined it closely. The light was green, indicating that the security system was powered off. So, she unlocked the front doors and pushed them open, leading Osmond inside.

Osmond halted just as he passed the threshold, gazing up at the spacious interior as his mouth hung slightly agape.

The ceiling stood high, and two rounded staircases were directly across from him, one of them spiraling up the left wall, the other on the right. Each staircase was at least a third of a football field away from him, and before them was the largest, cleanest red rug he'd ever seen. Beneath the stairways—and beneath the second-floor hallway that hovered above the enormous room—were numerous doorways along the far wall, and directly to the right was an open doorway that led into a room containing a long, spotless dining table.

Skylar marched off to the doorway on the right, pausing and waiting for him to follow.

Osmond tore his gaze from the enormity of the house and trailed after her, emerging in the next room and finding that it wasn't a dining room at all. The dining table sat outside of the massive kitchen, and past it was a huge living room in the corner of the home, the back of the couch facing the dining area, a gigantic flat screen covering the majority of the living room's wall. Two recliners and a loveseat were aimed at the television as well as the couch, and the coffee table was a fancy rounded glass one, covered in coasters and a large, crystalline ashtray.

"Sully!" Skylar hollered into the kitchen, tossing her purse onto the dining table and glancing down at her phone. "Heat up that pan of enchiladas for me, please!"

Osmond paused at the head of the table, grabbing the back of the chair as his eyes continued to venture around the impossibly enormous home.

Skylar cursed under her breath, holding up her phone and looking conflicted. "Dad wants me to call him. He's gonna bitch at me for an hour straight…"

"Skylar," a new voice entered the room.

Osmond turned, seeing an elderly man in a black suit standing in the kitchen doorway, cupping his hands and watching Skylar. He had a wrinkled face and a pair of large brown eyes, his hair wild and silvery, mostly combed backward.

"Hey—Sully—have you talked to Dad today?" Skylar asked the butler.

"Only once, just a short while ago," Sullivan replied, sparing Osmond a peculiar glance. "He's worried. He doesn't want you leaving the house alone, exposing yourself to… unsavory folks."

"Yeah—well—I'm an adult, and I'm allowed to leave whenever I want," Skylar snarked. "He's gonna have to get over it. Did he tell you anything? Is he gonna try to put me on watch again?"

"More than likely, Madame," Sullivan replied, and Osmond only just realized that the butler had a British accent. "He's very insistent on giving you a bodyguard, just as a precaution. He never leaves the house without at least two bodyguards of his own."

"I don't 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 a bodyguard," Skylar complained, tilting her head and moaning irritably down at her phone. "Seriously—why would I want that? Why would I want some stranger shoved up my ass everywhere I go? I hate when they do that. Those people are so annoying."

"Those people are 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦," Sullivan corrected her, giving Osmond another glimpse. "So you don't end up mixing with people who'd do you harm."

Osmond wanted to shoot him a nasty glare, but he resisted the urge, simply looking away and staring into the living room again.

"Those people aren't insurance—they were trained with simulations," Skylar griped at her butler. "Most of them have never even seen real danger before."

"But they're armed, and they know how to use their guns," Sullivan told her. "That's all you need in a bodyguard."

"No—it's not," Skylar argued. "And I don't want one."

"Well… you'll have to discuss that with your father," Sullivan concluded. "Would you like your enchiladas now?"

"Yeah, heat 'em up. Cook them all at once. I have an extra mouth to feed tonight."

"I can see that. Who's your friend?" Sullivan inquired, speaking to her as if Osmond wasn't even in the room.

"He's my friend from The Door's Knob," Skylar answered shortly. "And he saved my ass tonight, so don't give him any crap. Just feed him. Feed us both. I'm starving."

"As you wish, Madame."

Sullivan gave Osmond a final stare before turning on his heel and vanishing into the kitchen.

Skylar motioned loosely for Osmond to sit at the table, sighing loudly and holding her phone to her ear.

Osmond sat at the edge of the table, just next to the chair at the end. He intertwined his fingers, biting his lip and watching as Skylar waited for her dad to answer the call, looking irritable.

"Dad, hey, it's me," Skylar said, stepping out of the dining area and pacing in the enormous room containing the staircases.

Osmond slowly leaned back in his seat, folding his arms and squinting through the large doorway curiously, watching as Skylar marched up and down the red rug while she spoke with her father on the phone.

"Where did you go tonight?" the voice of Governor Bernard echoed from the phone.

"I went to hang out with some friends," Skylar answered nonchalantly. "Nothing happened."

"Really? Then why are you only just now getting home? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No…"

"Skylar—what happened tonight?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't lie to me. I know when you're lying."

"Dad—what makes you so sure something bad happened tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know—maybe because there's an escaped 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵 on the loose, and he used to live in south Ireville. The police are spreading far and wide to look for him—and this is happening on the same night you decided to spend your evening at that disgusting bar down south."

"Okay—fine—yeah—I saw the cops. They looked in the bar, but they didn't find who they were looking for, so they moved on. What's your point? Nothing bad happened."

"I know you're lying to me. You always ignore my calls—but you always pick up whenever Sullivan calls you. Well, Sullivan tried to call you an hour ago, and you ignored him. You 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 ignore him. Which means, something was happening that you wanted to keep us in the dark about."

"Holy shit… you are 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 suffocating…"

"Tell me what happened tonight, Skylar."

Skylar scoffed and groaned numerous times during the conversation, Osmond continuing to watch her through the doorway.

Then, the gentle 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬 of ceramic caught his attention, and Osmond turned, noticing that Sullivan had placed a plate of piping hot enchiladas in front of him.

Sullivan put the second plate across from him where he expected Skylar to sit, staring intensely into Osmond as if he was an alien species.

"Oh—thank you," Osmond said, lifting his fork and smirking hungrily at the plate.

"Not a problem," Sullivan replied tonelessly. "You're Skylar's friend, are you?"

"Hm?" Osmond had already filled his mouth with a wonderful chunk of cheese-smothered tortilla. He chewed and nodded at the butler. "Oh—yeah. Definitely. Sky and I go way back."

"Do you, now," Sullivan mumbled vacantly. "I'm afraid she's never mentioned you to me before. Or to her father, for that matter."

"Yeah, well… I think she keeps a lot of her friends away from home, honestly," Osmond replied wittily, swallowing his food and glimpsing at Skylar through the doorway again. "She doesn't think her father would approve of her friends from the south side of town."

"I know the feeling," Sullivan murmured ominously, his dark eyes fixated on Osmond, glaring at the bruise on his face, then at the scars covering his knuckles.

Osmond glanced down at his hands, then up at the butler again. "Yeah… see… that happened earlier tonight. I got in a fight with a few guys."

"Congratulations," Sullivan grumbled.

"Nah, it's not as bad as it sounds," Osmond assured, trying to mask his irritation at the butler's attitude. "These guys were following Sky to her car, giving her a hard time… so I stepped in. She'll tell you all about it."

"I see." Sullivan gave him a nod, then stepped out of the room without another word.

Osmond glared after him for a moment, then returned to his meal, slicing the cheesy enchiladas with his fork and taking large bites of the glorious, savory food, not minding the slight taste of iron from the blood in the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes and held the food in his mouth for a moment, trying to recall the last time he ate something so hot and fresh.

Then, he glimpsed to the side again, his eyes following Skylar in the other room as she walked up and down the red rug, still yammering angrily into her phone.

"It was just this 𝘰𝘯𝘦 time," Skylar insisted, gesturing wildly and fuming. "This is the 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 time anything like this has happened—and everything turned out fine! I had a friend there! He fought them off for me!"

"That's not the point!" her father snapped in response. "If your little friend hadn't been there, what do you think would've happened? Those boys would've dragged you off and did God-knows-what with you—!"

"Dad, I'm fine!" Skylar yelled. "I 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 need a bodyguard!"

Osmond observed her, slowly chewing on his food as he did.

And in the kitchen—Sullivan stood at the doorway farther down the enormous entry room, a kitchen doorway that was much closer to the staircase. The butler cupped his hands and listened to Skylar's conversation as well.

"You clearly do," Governor Bernard argued. "I'm assigning one of my guys to you, and that's the last I wanna hear of it."

"No!" Skylar screamed. "Dad—I 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 when those people follow me around! They treat me like a dumb kid, and they spy on me!"

"What do you mean, they spy on you?"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Dad? These bodyguard guys are 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 friends, not mine. They spy on everything I do, and then they report everything back to you. When I went to Veronica's birthday party last year, your stupid bodyguard told you about me smoking pot 𝘰𝘯𝘦 time, and then I had to listen to you bitch about it for the next month. And this past Christmas—when you had that skinny bodyguard dude following me to Alison's Christmas party—he told you all about us ditching the party and drinking under the bridge. Do you have any idea how 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 that is? I need to be able to live my own damn life. I don't like being followed everywhere by snitches in suits, and I don't want every move I make being documented and reported to my father."

"Why? Do you have something to hide from me?"

"No—but I want my damn privacy!"

"Skylar, you are getting a bodyguard. This isn't a discussion."

Skylar opened her mouth to continue the argument—then, she stopped pacing suddenly, turning and meeting Osmond's eyes in the dining area.

Osmond blinked, then slowly faced away, eating his dinner and pretending not to have heard anything she'd said to her father.

Skylar approached the dining area and entered the room again, holding her smartphone against her chest and staring at him intently.

Osmond lost himself in his food, trying to ignore her invasive stare.

She stopped across the table from him, leaning over her own plate and eyeing him closely. Then, she slowly raised her phone to her ear again.

"What if I pick my own bodyguard?" Skylar asked her father.

Osmond's eyes flickered up to her, feeling a nervous jolt in his chest.

"Skylar, you don't 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 any bodyguards," Governor Bernard stated. "But I do. I knew plenty."

"Dad—hang on a second." Skylar placed the phone against her breasts again, leaning on the table and meeting Osmond's eyes.

Osmond gulped and gave her a strange stare.

Skylar returned the look with a gaze of curiosity mixed with mischief. She gave him a smirk and raised her thin brows at him.

"How did you get evicted?" Skylar asked, hushing her voice. "Did you lose your bouncer job?"

Osmond couldn't think of a response. So, at a loss, he simply nodded.

"I guess that means you need a new job," Skylar determined. "And you don't know my father, which means you wouldn't go behind my back and snitch to him like all the other bodyguards do. Plus, I know you can hold up in a fight…"

"Are… you serious?" Osmond managed. "Are you offering me…?"

Skylar grinned and nodded, holding the phone tighter against her chest. "Have you ever been a bodyguard before?"

"Yeah, once," Osmond lied, blurting the first thing that came to mind. "I was a bodyguard for a smalltime musician in south Ireville…"

"Do you have a reference I could give my father?"

"I… ah… yeah. I do."

"Cool. You're hired." Skylar swiped her hair back and stood fully upright, holding the phone to her ear again. "Dad—one of my friends used to be a bodyguard, and he's been a bouncer before, too. Plus, he's the one who got those asshole guys away from me earlier tonight. I know he can do the job. He's already proven that. I'm gonna hire him. Okay?"

"What? Skylar—I've never even 𝘮𝘦𝘵 this person," Governor Bernard snarled so loudly, Osmond was able to hear his voice from across the table.

"No, but I have," Skylar replied flatly. "Dad, you're just gonna have to trust my judgment, because I don't want your friends following me around anymore. I'd like to use one of 𝘮𝘺 friends for once. Let me have my privacy. All right? That's a fair thing to ask for. I'm not being unreasonable here—I'm just meeting you halfway."

The governor was silent for nearly a full minute after hearing this.

Osmond stared across the table at Skylar, both of them waiting for the governor's response.

"Dad, seriously," Skylar added. "This guy has street smarts. He's got instincts that your bodyguards don't have. That's not the kind of protection you can get from a bodyguard who just went through training and simulated scenarios. Not to mention, he's been a bodyguard before, and he already protected me once. He fought off three guys by himself with nothing but a freaking 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦. He's 𝘨𝘰𝘵 this."

"Is he with you right now?" Governor Bernard asked.

"Yeah, he's right here," Skylar affirmed. "Why?"

"Let me talk to him," the governor requested.

Skylar leaned over the table and handed the phone to Osmond.

Osmond slowly took it, gaping at her for a moment before holding it to his ear. "Hello…?"

"Hello—who am I speaking to?" Governor Bernard asked. "What's your name, son?"

"Osmond Williams…"

"All right, Osmond. How long have you known my daughter?"

"I…" Osmond looked to Skylar, who mouthed the word 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 to him. "Years, Governor. I've known her for a few years now."

"How did you meet her?"

"I met her at The Door's Knob. She's a pool buddy of mine. We'd shoot pool together whenever she came by."

"I see. Are you involved with her?"

"Involved…?"

"Yes… I think you know what I'm getting at."

"No, no. I'm not. Not at all."

"All right. What's your work history?"

"I was a bouncer for the… the Game Layer. It was a club in south Ireville, pretty rough place. It closed down recently. Before that, I was a bodyguard for a young rock musician named Sam. I could give you Sam's information as a reference, if you like."

"That won't be necessary right now—you can do that tomorrow, when you and I speak face-to-face. I'd like us to talk in person before this goes any farther."

"Absolutely. Whatever you need, Governor."

"Good. I appreciate you looking after her tonight. Put her back on, please."

"All right."

Osmond handed the phone back to Skylar.

She began talking to her father again, but Osmond didn't bother to eavesdrop this time. He slid his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands and staring down at his half-eaten dinner, his expression blank, his heart pounding anxiously.

So much was happening all at once—something impossible, something he couldn't have possibly planned for.

A job protecting the governor's daughter? He'd take that job in a heartbeat—but he had to meet the governor of Tennessee in person beforehand.

The governor of Tennessee—it was enough to make his head spin.

He could hardly believe that he'd just spoken to the governor on the phone, much less that he'd be meeting the governor sometime in the next twenty-four hours. It was frightening; if Governor Bernard walked into his home right now, Osmond would probably be recognized instantly. He still had his old goatee, as well as his faded sandy hair, which had grown a bit longer during his captivity in prison. His knuckles were scarred and battered, and he had a blackened bruise on his face, as well as spots of dried blood on his mouth—not to mention the concealed firearm in his jacket. As of now, Osmond looked like exactly what he was—a criminal.

That would certainly have to change before the night's end.

This was it; if he could make this work, he'd have his new life on a silver platter, a whole new lifestyle, working as a bodyguard and living in a mansion. But he'd have to work hard, he'd have to change his appearance completely, and he'd have to do a damn good job of being a bodyguard.

This night would mark his complete transformation from Raymond Salem into Osmond Williams. He had to become an entirely new person before he could hope to make this impulsive plan work.

"Okay… love you, Dad. Seeya." Skylar hung up and pocketed her phone, crossing her arms and giving Osmond a half-smile. "So, what do you think? Sorry I kinda sprung that on you, but…"

"I like it," Osmond smirked. "I'd take that job in a second flat."

Skylar's smile grew. "Good. But, um… you're probably gonna be interviewed by my dad tomorrow. He can be kinda intense, just a little bit."

"I figured as much…"

"If you go up to the third floor and go to the end of the hall, there're two guest rooms up there," Skylar informed. "There's plenty of clothes to wear. You can clean yourself up in the bathroom, too. It's at the end where the guest rooms are."

"Yeah… I probably need to look more interview-worthy," Osmond chuckled. "I look like a street rat right now…"

"Yeah, well… that's why I like you," Skylar said with a smirk. "You're a lot more real than my other friends."

Osmond nodded quietly, peeking over her shoulder and making sure the butler wasn't eavesdropping. Then, he leaned forward, lowering his voice and giving her a serious stare.

"Are you sure?" he whispered. "I'm still basically a stranger to you—are you absolutely 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 you wanna do this?"

"Oh hell yeah," Skylar replied without a hint of hesitation. "I'm pretty good at reading people, Oz. I know you're not a rapist or anything. And I am 𝘯𝘰𝘵 gonna be followed around by Dad's 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘴 again. That shit is unbearable…"

"Oz," Osmond mumbled, squinting at her and flashing a faint smile. "I like that."

"Good, get used to it. That's your new nickname," Skylar said, spreading her arms and gesturing to her surroundings. "Welcome to the Emerald City, Oz. You're gonna love it here."

"I have no doubt," Osmond agreed, finishing his last few bites of enchiladas before reaching his feet. "I'm gonna go clean up now."

"Okay—and listen, I know it's late, so if you wanna just go to bed afterwards, that's fine," Skylar told him. "We can actually hang out tomorrow, get to know each other a little better. We'll drive out to a bar or an arcade or something, if you want."

"Yeah… I need to run an errand tomorrow, anyway," Osmond mumbled thoughtfully, heading toward the doorway. "Goodnight, Sky."

Skylar gave him a smile. "I like my new nickname, too."

Osmond smirked and nodded, marching halfway out the doorway.

Then, he suddenly stopped, hesitating and facing her again.

This time, his visage wasn't intense, nor was it joking or nonchalant—it was a face he probably hadn't worn in many years, if ever at all, a softened expression of gratitude.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "You have no idea how much you're helping me. Seriously. Thank you."

"Yeah, well… I'm helping myself, too," Skylar shrugged. "We're helping each other."

Osmond responded with a final smile and nod, then marched out of the room and headed toward the nearest white staircase.

As he ventured up the stairs, his hand gliding up the wooden railing, his mind continued to race, his tiredness catching up to him again, and he found himself wondering if he was still lost to some impossible dream.

None of this seemed real. It was the wildest night of his life, filled with danger, close calls, and enough fear to fill a lifetime. Still, for once in his life, by sheer chance, dumb luck, and perhaps even a divine blessing, he was finally dealt a good hand—and he was determined to make the absolute most of it now.

Osmond wandered the house, still marveling at the size of it all, the wideness of the darkened hallways and the gigantic portraits that covered the spotless white walls, some of them paintings of scenery, others family portraits that depicted Skylar and her father, as well as a few people he didn't recognize. He glanced at all the pictures in passing, exploring the halls before finding the staircase to the third floor.

This floor was a single stretch of hallway; there were four bedrooms, two on either side, and at the very end, the bathroom door stood halfway ajar. The bathroom was the only lit room, the fluorescent light bleeding into the dark hall opposite him. Osmond meandered toward it, feeling as if he was marching toward something of the utmost importance, as if he'd transform inside that bathroom and walk out a new man—someone no one would mistake for the criminal, Raymond Salem.

Osmond vanished into the bathroom, basking in the warm serenity of the large, wonderful shower, allowing the water to wash over him and closing his eyes to enjoy the glorious feeling. It felt like years had passed since he was able to take a shower without the company of naked prisoners eyeballing him.

After his shower, he stepped out of the tub naked and refreshed, approaching the large mirror and leaning on the sink. He surveyed himself closely in his reflection, frowning at the severity of the blackened bruise on his jaw. His fingers coasted over the tan goatee that curled around his mouth and stopped on his chin. Then, he combed his wild hairs back, pondering on everything he could change.

Osmond bent down, opening the cabinet beneath the sink and rifling through its contents. He pulled out an electric razor—then, he grinned from ear to ear, spotting a half-empty bottle of brown hair dye in the cabinet's corner.

After shaving off his goatee, he searched around for a pair of scissors, cutting his hair back to its short and spiky style, his widow's peak hairline much more visible now, sharpening into a point atop his forehead—then, he lathered his hair with the brown hair dye and paced around the spacious bathroom, waiting for the proper time to rinse.

He leaned into the shower and rinsed his head thoroughly, brown watery liquid running down the white floor of the bathtub.

Once it was all done, he approached the mirror again, examining himself and smirking. The sandy hair was gone, as was the goatee, revealing his mischievous smirk to the world in full—and Raymond Salem was nowhere to be seen amid the reflection.

Gone was the man who planned gun-running routes with Sam and Benny. Gone was the man who traveled south with Anton and Carlos in order to meet up with Carlos's gun-smuggling family members. Gone was the criminal the police were scouring south Ireville for—and now, a new man stared back at him from the mirror, with a cleaner face, dark hair that looked almost black in its wet state, and no trace of the facial hair Raymond was once well known for.

It was tricky; he'd have to act differently, carrying himself in a way Raymond Salem never would, living each day with a whole new demeanor. He'd have to dress in a way he never would have in the old days, and he'd never answer to the nickname Ray ever again. This was it; the transformation came to be, and he smirked at the mirror with a profound sense of determination shining in his impassioned silvery eyes, licking the wound in the corner of his mouth as his heart throbbed with excitement.

"This is it," he uttered in a faint, breathless murmur. "Sky's the limit now."