The opening show: Houdini.

Fugitive.

Birds of a feather flock together.

When we take a moment to contemplate that saying, it enforces a belief in something beyond the physical form attracting people together. Some people believe in the connection in spiritual forms, other surreptitiously acknowledge the existence of another form of linkage and that is through damage. The fecklessness of wronged souls influences each other with an undetectable force, it might take a moment to give it a deep thought for it to become undeniable but that doesn't question its indubitability.

There was something that summoned his attention to her the moment his melancholic oceanic hues landed upon her, even though he didn't realize it was the churlish scar left by life's merciless maltreatment. Despite the reassurance of her disappearance, his mind found no ease in the cluelessness of her whereabouts. Should he just let her go or wait for her to find him? There was no one to sooth him with an answer except for one thing; diamonds.

As a trusted member of the haughty association James had to be involved with, only two were aware of the existence of the fortune worthy diamonds and their whereabouts; James and Raoul. Consequently, she must have found out about it for when it came to her, her brother's blabbering mouth had no zip to it. After their boss's demeaning death and the identity of the murderer being spread around, he was sure the passing word must have reached her somehow and she would be looking for the same thing James (Only known as Houdini) and her brother would be after.

The ambiguity had been resisted all night long until it was the winner of the sovereign over his will and actions. Only a peek, he told himself. He knew the place; he could only take a look from afar and see if someone ravaged the place looking for the diamonds or not. He was close enough to the previous owner of them to gather the information of how vintage the man used to be that he buried them inside the leather of his rotten Volvo. And to betray his own cautiousness, it wasn't a peek from afar. The urge to reach for them kept summoning him closer and closer to the garage where the car was parked. Before he got into his target's juxtaposition, a bullet travelling right above his head alarmed his senses with the danger awaiting him. He was ambushed and there was only one name that was stabbed into his mind by that moment. Fear took control of the young boy's feet, pushing them to shift as hastily as his human form could sustain to flee out of the place into the woods, clinging to the fragile strings of his existence.

A buzzing sound suddenly invaded his hearing, the temperature of his body went too high that he could feel every inch of him melting. The drumming of his heartbeats was slowly slithering to a more tranquil state, whilst a foreign throbbing knocked his consciousness to abeyance after his feet betrayed him, throwing him off to the solid arms of the ground beneath them.

Have you ever noticed how melancholic the sky turns to be during sunset?

Those exquisitely mingled colours of sadistic rhythms whispered their enervating goodbyes to untouched corners of his chest, he couldn't differentiate whether he was too drunk on dalliance or most likely the first crumbles of his own death. His memory was desultorily running out of ink to save smear any pages to be recalled; all except that passionate kiss yellow has given red while melting quietly into the devouring thirst of blue. There was no sound speaking within his thoughts, no music. He barely could recognize the constant irksome noise of an engine, muffled enough by the screeching wheeze that kept piercing his ears. Even though he was way too gone to feel his body, he still could recognize the churlishness of the surface he had his body flattened against; a motioning one, very unstable that he could tell he was on the back of someone's truck driven somewhere. The how, when, why and 'what happened' were the last words whispered to his mind before the darkness soaked his mind and sight once again.

It felt like only a few seconds has been stolen from him, leaving him startled and firmly grasping the hand that he sensed approaching his face. With widened eyes his gaze was lifted to meet the girl's uncommon features. She was painted in a pale white shade all over, even the locks of her hair almost had no tint, leaving her eyebrows almost ethereal. The second he intended to move in such defensive manner, a wave of trenchant agony has electrified his whole body, especially his right leg and he groaned in pain. She met his threatening look with that inexplicable delicate smile, even freed her wrist to brush the back of her hand against his cheek.

"Relax. You'll be fine. "

Her tongue was dipped in a thick accent, undoubtedly revealing her French roots. It took another wince for his mind to grasp the situation, it was definitely a broken leg. Yet, he would sense the flame of an open wound cutting into his flesh as if he was freshly bleeding. His ocean optics were directed back to her with a questionable gaze about all that has happened while she continued brushing a wet towel against his forehead, shushing him unstoppably whenever he attempted articulating a word. The buzzing in his ears and the inexplicable knocking at the walls of his skull became unsustainable, there was something missing. For a few minutes, his memory was failing to gather the sequent of events to inform him of the identity of the familiar visage in his presence.

"Shh. You don't remember much, do you? You were in the middle of a shooting battle, actually. I got the bullet out of your leg. Isn't it a delight? I finally got to perform what I studied on someone."

She tossed way too much information for his invaded mind to fathom, his whole skull was wrapped in a tight rope of an irksome headache that pathetically tried to expurgate anything she said. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, mostly in ache than anything else. The one thing he desperately couldn't get off his mind was the resemblance of her image. He saw her before, somewhere, sometime with no clear epiphany to abrogate the bewilderment.

"Who're you?"

"Vous ne reconnaissez pas moi?"

"No."

"Ils m'appellent Albo, mais mon vrai nom est Lina."

"Sœur de Raoul..."

It was too late anyways.

His cerulean orbs circumnavigated around the foreign place lingeringly in a feeble endeavour to detect where he might be. They were surrounded by stone masonry walls which barely made an adequate room she insisted to call her beautiful bungalow. She refused to tell him where they were, leaving him with the reassurance that they were still not out of the country. If it wasn't for the broken leg, the boy would have run away as fast as he could. After the strike of terror, he was subjected to, just the idea of one place holding them both at once could only inject the imagine of a bullet driven to the centre of his forehead. She seemed very nonchalant about that matter nonetheless. Her genuine promise about her brother's omission about the place didn't acquiesce his concern, she delivered the whole anecdote to refresh his memory nonetheless. It was him who started the whole ruckus and why they were led to that point.