Stockholm Syndrome

911

After leaving Kirksville and driving all night nonstop I was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. I cried a lot, more than I cared to admit, but I was still shaken up by Doctor Hanks' fate. Talking with Emma had helped me to temporarily forget, to numb the pain, but as soon as I was alone all of the memories came flooding back. I tried to consul myself, convince myself that what had happened wasn't my fault, but it was a lie that I couldn't swallow. I was responsible for his death. I hadn't pulled the trigger, but it wouldn't have come to that if I had just stayed...

I took a few deep breaths, trying focus on the task at hand. I had just pulled into L.A. California and needed to keep my eyes peeled for the police station. I normally would have just pulled the address up on my phone, but I didn't have one. I felt anxious, carrying around Max and Tom's secret, and I wanted to get it off my chest as soon as possible. I hoped that by doing so I'd feel better about Dr. Hanks sacrifice.

I drove around for a few more minutes, completely lost in the big city, as I searched for the station. I thought that maybe I could find it by driving around downtown, but there was just too many buildings. I also was having a hard time with all of the early morning traffic. It was weird to drive on the right side of the road, instead of the left like I was accustomed to, and every time a car passed me on the left I felt jumpy. It wasn't that I was a bad driver, but when the boys and I were in the states it was usually for a tour, or an interview, or something like that. Management had organized everything for us, so we never had to worry about driving ourselves anywhere. If we wanted to go somewhere we just told our driver where we wanted to go and he drove us. It was nerve-racking to drive by myself in a crowded city like L.A.!

I finally decided that I was getting nowhere, and that I'd need to ask for directions. Most people who would recognize me were in class by now right? It wasn't that I was scared of people, although I had grown used to keeping to myself over the past few months, but if I got mobbed by the paparazzi or fans I couldn't get myself out of that situation. I didn't have my security team with me, and I felt vulnerable. It wasn't something I was used to feeling until recently. I drove around for a little longer, stopping when I found a downtown library. Who would be there this early in the morning besides staff? It wouldn't be too crowded, so I could easily slip in and out with making a scene.

I parked the car and quickly, the entire lot was empty save for two or three cars, and made my way to the entrance of the building. A few lights shown through the library's glass doors, letting me know that my suspicions were correct. I took the handle in my hand and pulled, but to my dismay the door was locked. Frowning I decided to try another one of the glass doors, but again was filled with disappointment. My eyes scanned the many flyers taped on the glass, looking for one that showed the business hours. On the far right corner, in white print, the opening and closing hours were posted. It said the library opened at 9am... but I knew it was somewhere around 7am. I groaned in frustration as I pressed me face against the glass. There had to be someone who could tell me...

Inside I could see two people, a man and women, pushing carts of books around and turning computers on.

"Excuse me!" I yelled as knocked on the door. Hopefully they'd be able to hear me and someone would come.

The two kept working, and I realized that I was going to have to be louder if I wanted them to notice me.

"Excuse me! I need some help!" I yelled, louder, as I knocked more forcefully this time. The two looked over in my direction with startled expressions. The man and women exchanged a few quick words before the man headed over to the door, he glanced around cautiously before unlocking the door, opening it only an inch or two. He had a cold expression on his face, but I couldn't blame him. I could be a serial killer for all they knew. It didn't help that my hair was a tangled mess, and my pants were dirty and torn in the knees. The jacket that I had been wearing the day before was stained with blood, and I'd used it to clean myself up as much as I could before I'd stopped in Kirksville for gas the night before.