Back To Our Roots, Book One

CXXIII. We're Always Running

"Name's Tyler Haugen. Lived at the house down at the end of McClaine Street. I sent you the most recent picture we have of him."

"This is very official." Sebastian held back a laugh at how serious they were. Nathan was the only one with a personality, it seemed.

"We're looking for a runaway. Look, kid, I don't know what qualifications you have that we don't, but Richardson trusts you and we need all hands on deck so you're here."

He couldn't help it. He had to get them to at least respect him. "He trusts me because it takes one to know one."

"Takes one to know one..." they mumbled. "He says that. Whenever he has some bit of information that was never taught in training, he always says he learned it from a friend. That it takes one to know one."

Sebastian smiled as they put it together.

"He credits me? Sweet. Always cite your sources, I suppose. I'm going to get looking." He paused, before adding, "Oh, and the name's Sebastian. Sebastian Smythe."

Then he hung up. The guy was rude to him; he wanted to mess with him a bit.

He got started. They'd shown him what they'd covered and suggested a route– or, at least, he took it as a suggestion– but he knew where this kid would be.

There were three spots in Westerville that you could hide. Of course, none of them were spots the law knew about. Lucky for them, Sebastian did.

He checked the one that made the most sense in this situation first. After all, what cop would check the underside of a bridge that nobody knew was accessible?

It didn't take him long to get there. He held onto the edge on the bridge, dropping down onto the large stone hidden from sight by a bush. One wouldn't know it was there unless someone either told them or they took a leap of faith.

He landed on the rock, immediately slipping and landing on his back.

He coughed, shaking his head and blinking to orient himself. "That was not that slick last time I did that," he said to the darkness.

He picked himself up, feeling something sticky on his palm. He looked down, realizing he had scraped it and was bleeding.

"Joy," he mumbled, shaking it. Then he looked around, eyes still adjusting. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"Depends," a voice responded. "What do you want?"

He put his hands up in surrender. His name in these places was like announcing he was immortal. "I come in peace. Sebastian Smythe."

His eyes adjusted and he saw a girl sitting on one of the rocks near the shore. She sighed. "Thank god, I thought someone else found me."

He knew he had a plan to follow, but he couldn't help but feel sympathy for the girl. "You're new here, aren't you?"

She nodded softly.

"What are you running from?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"What? How do you know I'm running?"

"We're all running from something. Our paces just vary. Some sprit, some walk. But we're always running."

She chuckled. "True. I'm running from my family."

"Why?"

"My mom remarried and I hate my stepdad. I ran because I want to get to my dad."

"Well, what's going on with your stepdad?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He's creepy. He just gives me the weirdest feeling, like I'm living with a murder or something. He's nice to me, but not nice-nice. Creepy-nice. Like the witch to Hansel and Gretel, before she tried to cook them."