Caylen and I run the whole way home, which cannot be good for my ankle, but the adrenaline pulsing through me makes it so I don't even notice the pain.

We run through the front door, screaming our faces off. Shauna and Rob come running from the hallway, dressed in nightclothes.

"What the heck are you doing?" Shauna says over our yells.

Caylen and I stand there, panting and trying to compose our breathes. We each take turns sharing the story through panicked gasps, and Rob and Shauna's eyes widen. When we get to the part about how we fell off of the balcony, Shauna gives me a questioning glare. She probably thinks it was my idea to fall off of it. But when we explain how Danny was lying, lifeless, in a pool of blood, Rob runs to the phone. He makes a call and soon, people are bursting through the front door.

I see familiar people, and some unfamiliar people. Stephano, Susan, Krista and some other girl who must be Jen, some older people, and two boys who look about my age. Rob explains the situation to them and mostly people just nod.

"Who's going to inspect it?" a man with brown hair, who looks about thirty, says.

"I will," one of the boys says. He points to me. "I think she should go, too."

"What?" I say. "No. I can't go back."

"You have to!" the boy says. "I want to see if you're as good as your parents."

"I...."

"Go, Natalie," Rob says.

Tears start spilling out of my eyes, and I begin to sob. "This is all my fault! If I wasn't there, this wouldn't have happened!" I don't know what I'm saying. It doesn't make sense. Maybe it's because of the agency. The Red are probably hunting us down every second of every day.

"Who else is going?" the man says.

No one else volunteers. I doubt anyone ever reacts to a murder like I am. They inspect them all the time. But they weren't there. They didn't hear the kid's last words, or hear his screams piercing through the night.

"Caylen?" I say. "You coming?"

He shakes his head and looks at the ground. "I can't."

"Well, I guess this is it," the man says. "Natalie, Timothy, come with me."

The boy who volunteered earlier follows the man out the door, with me limping behind them.

The man turns around once we're outside and says, "I'm Mark Green. I'm the head of the agency."

I just smile, although I'm in so much pain that it probably doesn't look too natural.

Mark takes us to a silver car at the end of the street, and Timothy and I climb in the back. Timothy's foot bumps my ankle and I yelp in pain.

"What'd I do?" he says while quickly turning around.

"Sorry. My ankle. I think it's sprained or something."

"After we inspect the scene," Mark says, "we're going to take care of that."

I nod, but I'd rather take care of it right now. I feel my shoe becoming tighter as my ankle swells. I want to scream but I really shouldn't.

Mark starts the car and we begin driving toward Main Street. Timothy holds out his hand for me to shake and says, "I'm Timothy. I've seen you in school."

"You have?" I say. "You never said hi."

"I wasn't sure if it was you. I suspected it, because you were the new girl. But I didn't want to introduce myself like a creep and find out it was some coincidence."

I smile. "Where have you seen me at?"

"We have science together."

"Do we?" Does everyone have fifth period science? Everyone but Robin?

"What about that other boy? Matt?"

"He's my partner."

"This is weird."

"What? Me?"

"No, it's just odd that almost everyone I've met is in my fifth period class."

"Oh. It's kinda cool, though."

I'm nervous. My palms are sweating so bad, that even though I keep wiping them off, it doesn't help for long.

Half an hour ago I was enjoying myself, splattering water balloons onto the cars of innocent citizens with Danny and Caylen.

Now Danny is dead. He was murdered because of something I took part in. At least...that must be the reason.

"I think I know why Danny was murdered," I blurt.

"Tell us," Mark says urgently, pushing on the gas.

"Well," I say, "when we were on the balcony, I saw a man on the neighbor's roof. He was putting shingles on, even though it was the middle of the night. I didn't speculate it too much. Then, Caylen dropped a balloon on this shiny black car. After we stood up again, the car was parked and there was a mysterious lady standing outside." I pause.

"What's your point?" Timothy asks.

"I think the lady was part of The Red, and one of her partners tried to kill us for hitting them with water balloons."

Mark pushes the brake hard and pulls over. "That makes sense! Great observation! No matter what, I want you to always pay attention to your surroundings, because this time it's come in handy."

"You think I'm right?" I ask.

"Yes! That woman could very well be part of The Red, and possibly the man on the roof."

"Why are we stopped?" I ask.

"Sorry," Mark says. "It's dangerous to drive with such a breakthrough exciting me."

I almost want to yell at him, getting all excited after a young - yet maybe not so innocent - boy was murdered. But again, he wasn't there.

Mark starts the car, and a minute later, we're pulling onto Main Street. Police cars and news vehicles are lining the streets, and traffic has stopped. Car horns sound from people who are just anxious to get home.

"Which house, Natalie?" Mark asks.

"That one," I say smugly, pointing at the house crowded with the most vehicles. "How are we supposed to go inspect it? Are they supposed to just let us in?"

"Trust me," Mark says, and steps out of the car.

So I just follow him, limping the whole way. Timothy doesn't even offer to help me walk. I suppose he has other things to worry about than my ankle. Mark simply approaches one of the men outside of Danny's front door, shows him a card, and the officer lets him in. I guess the police know about the agency, the general public don't.

I'm shaking the whole way up the stairs. Not long ago, I was doing the same thing, with different people, and a different goal in mind. A totally different goal. And a perfect ankle.

On the balcony, there's a few officers, but Mark just shows them his card and they step aside. I want to puke when I see Danny, laying there. I know it's insane to want to puke, but it could make me feel better.

No it won't, my brain argues. This feeling won't go away for at least a few days. It's guilt, mixed with terror, mixed with shame. Guilt that I was there, and that it could possibly be my fault. Terror that I was there, and I have to see him this way. And of course, shame, because I was there, and I took part in the thing that most likely got him killed.

My life has turned upside down.

Mark bends over to inspect Danny's wound. "Looks like a stab, only it's pretty gruesome. My guess is they kept pulling it out and moving it around and stuff so he'd die quicker."

"Stop!" I yell. I want to cry, and I probably will soon. "You're acting like this isn't tragic! How am I supposed to do this? I clearly wasn't cut out to deal with murder! How am I supposed to think this way? Especially with such a young kid! I just can't!" I'm actually crying now, tears streaming down my face. I'm not embarrassed. I can't be, in such a situation. How can I be the same again after what just happened? Thoughts of school, Preston and Jill, and the orphanage.... They seem unreal. Now I have more of a glance at the real world, and it's scary. Not even the death of my parents scared me this much. When they died, it seemed natural. A car crash. When I learned the truth, the pain had worn away. I didn't have enough left to feel like this. Now I understand the cruelty of humanity, and my life will never be the same.

Oddly enough, I'm really wishing I could be with Kian right now.

But that thought makes me think of school. That can't be real. Maybe Kian's not real. How can anything innocent be real?

"I'm sorry, Natalie," Mark placates. "In doing my job. What's done is done. why don't you come have a look?"

I timidly step over and look at Danny. "What am I supposed to find?" My voice is shaky.

"Anything. Something related to The Red, or to how the death occurred."

I look away from Danny's pale, dead face, and look at the neighbor's roof.

"Look at the roof," I say. "The tools the man was using - they were set down hastily. Some of them fell off. Now look at the furniture on this balcony. This chair has been knocked over, probably in an effort for the man to escape. Clearly, it was the man on the roof who did it. He jumped over before we could plant a balloon on his partner's car, committed his crime, and quickly left. He assumed the chair would be overlooked because of the death."

"The man on the roof really was suspicious, wasn't he?" Mark says. "I think you're right, Natalie. Think there are fingerprints?"

"No. He was wearing gloves."

"How can you be sure?"

"Look at the sticker on his head," I say with a voice that sounds like it's about to shatter any second. "There's a big wrinkle through the center of the sticker. He couldn't peel it off cleanly, because of his gloves, and the fact that he was in a hurry not to be seen."

"Any idea why The Red - as we assume - was hanging around the neighborhood?"

I gulp. For some reason, I feel like they were waiting for me. But that's weird; why would they even know I exist? Maybe because of my parents?

"No," I say, and turn around to leave.

"Natalie!"

"I'm not doing this anymore!" I call from inside. "Have me inspect anything but something I saw!" And I keep walking (and limping, struggling on the stairs) until I'm back outside, where I get inside the car and wait for Mark and Timothy to come out, and take me away from a house that I will never visit again.