Everyone Is A Criminal

Introductions and Old Connections

BROOKLYN

My wig is about to fall off

I straighten it, pulling my legs up to my chest, elbow on knee, right arm propping my wig up.

Is it comfortable on this cramped bus seat? No.

Do I wish I could be anywhere else? Yes.

I wish Daniel was next to me, but he's on the bus behind me. We can't risk travelling together or some do-gooder will tip the cops off. It's risky, waiting for the next bus to come while sitting along, but people are more likely to recognize us together.

I know we will eventually get caught, but eventually hasn't happened yet. It hasn't happened in the four years we've been running.

On the upside, we've managed to visit almost every state in the U.S. We headed up to Maine when everything happened, but then it didn't blow over like we thought it would. So then we headed back down, skirting New York and into the U.S we went.

You would think the cops would have caught onto us by now, but they haven't. It's a cat and mouse game. Although the cat that has been chasing us seems to be old and tired. I wish we could go somewhere foreign, like Australia, but even the prompt of buying a plane ticket is out of the question for us.

I also wish we still had our car. It was quite a nice Mazda, but we ditched it back in Maine when we found out license tracking exists. Since then, me and Daniel have relied on hitchhiking rides with false identities, and public transport, again with false identities. I've had so many fake names and identities, it's been a while since a stranger has called me Brooklyn.

The bus comes to an abrupt stop, and I get off. There are some shady trees nearby where I could wait for Daniel, but I spot a bathroom, so I head in there.

I look into the mirror, and finally shake off my hair. The blonde wig gets dumped into my

I change from my long dress into a jacket and shorts. I think I might become a rebel teenager now. No, maybe a rebellious young twenty-year-old going through a crisis. Yes, I can be an Evelyn. I put some streaky black eyeliner on, bold eyeshadown and red lips, and I wait by the shady trees.

No one notices me, and I'm glad. The one thing that I can't change is my height and size. I'm actually surprised at how much America has latched onto the manhunt- all they are looking for is a suspicious looking, five foot five, young to mid twenties woman, and a five foot six man the same age. They don't even know what we look like.

At first, the headlines made as far as Australia. But after a few months, most of the international world had forgotten us. The hunt continues in America though.

Daniel gets off the bus. His hair is in a blonde wig, and he changed clothes, but I'm still able to recognise him

He goes to the bathroom, and comes out with a look similar to mine- rebellious-but-going-through-a-crisis.

I want to run and hug him as soon as he come out, but that could draw looks. So instead I wait, and we embrace.

We pull from the hug, and I glance around. ''So wheres this friends place?'' I ask.

Daniel grimances. ''Well, I haven't spoken to Dylan since...you know. But the shop is in the backstreets a few minutes from here. I can direct us''

He leans in to whisper. ''Oh, and by the way. Call me...Onyx'' I openly laugh at that.

''Well, Mr Onyx. I'm Evelyn, witch of the third dark realm, ruler of the blackness portal. Lets go to this friends shop''

We pass through the backstreets, avoiding possible police inspectors and security cameras, keeping our heads down. Finally, we make it to a run-down shop with nothing but an A4 piece of paper labelling it: DYLANS SHOP- CAR REPAIRS

I do a double take. ''You sure we at the right place, Daniel?'' I whisper as we enter. Daniel nods. ''Certain. And it's Onyx to you''

I can only roll my eyes in response.

I vaguely remember Dylan. He went to high school with us, I think. I remember Daniel telling me that Dylan was going to do some engineering major in university but gave up and started his own shop.

The shop is very messy. There is a side door that leads to where the cars are repaired, but there are crates everywhere on the carpet, and torn posters for bands I haven't heard of crookedly  tacked onto the walls.

Dylan smiles at us. ''Hey, wassup! Am I allowed to say your real names, or nah? Also, what's been happening lately? You guys haven't been visiting like, at all! I'm hurt guys, truly hurt'' He puts his hand on his heart, and does his best to look wounded.

Daniel laughs. ''Bit hard to make calls with my mate when I've got a side gig of running from the cops, sorry! And yeah, I don't see no harm in calling me Dannie- I'm pretty sure you know this is Brookie'' He slings his arm around me, and I grin at the nickname. His voice always turned a little more Australian when he is with his friends. Having grown up in Sydney, he still has the accent.

''-Anyway, we're just here for the fake IDs and we'll be out. Can't stay rooted, y'know?''

Dylan nods. ''Alright, I'll get those for you in a moment and-''

Suddenly the bell behind him chimes, and I turn in horror to see a girl, probably a little younger then us, stare back in horror. Despite our disguises, it would be pretty easy to recognise us, considering various HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE? and PLEASE REPORT ANY SIGHTINGS OF THESE PEOPLE posters of us are scattered across the country. All complete with us, looking similar yet different each time. There are only so many looks you can pull off with three changes of clothes, a wig, and some hair dye before people figure out the puzzle.

The girl collapses in shock, and I turn to Dylan, who is staring in horror. We need to act fast- the doorway is wide open. It's only so long before some anonymous tip off comes in- maybe someone from the bus.

''DYLAN! Have you got a car?'' I bark at him. He nods. Daniel scoops the girl up, and we head out the back. I grab a pile of fake IDs, throwing them in the boot in case we need to use them later. Me and Daniels suitcases are loaded into the old neon purple van. Dylan sits in the back, flustered. Daniel buckles the girl in, and I'm driving.

The car is filthy, but it's the first car I've driven in years and being behind the wheel feels sightly exhilarating. I speed on to the highway, and follow the signs to Utah, candy wrappers at my feet, and a possible hostage, along with Dylan in the back.

At least I'm not wearing a wig.