The grit that lay underneath my nails had enhanced over the years. When those rusty cellar doors slammed shut that day, my mind became vacant. Supposedly, the sun rises each morning; though I was never to see it again when the judge commanded to the audience “Throw the book at him.” Till this day, my indignation has layered up inside me. 3:30 am rolled around and I removed the pot from its usual place. The bathroom that lay in the corner. The abrupt footsteps of the police would be passing by again, so I had to speed up the pace since it was now or never. Down in the pipes, I could hear my feet in the fecal matter underneath me, “Splish, splash.” My mouth watered and my stomach began to contract as the strong whiff entered my nose. I moved in an abrupt motion - it would only be time until they would be after me. I made a sharp right and all I could see was light. I had made it! It had been much easier than I had originally thought.  When the picture cleared, it was me, in the apartment in New York. It was 2003, the day my wife was killed. With a heavy heart, I knew what was to lay upon my eyes. The scene had begun.

“Honey, I am home. How about we head out to dinner tonight?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” As I watched my wife’s face, a large smile grew over her cheeks and in the background where he was. He was squatting down and had the perfect angle at me. As I stepped forward to grab the keys for the car, my wife Lorain stepped forward into my position.

“Boom!”  down she went.

“Hons!” she cried. The man that had done this had made a sharp turn and was gone. I could hear the wheels of a car take fourth with a large charge. I rushed to Lorain’s side but there was no pulse. I watched this event played over and over from the future as I stay covered behind the couch.

All of a sudden, two arms curled around my neck and waist, it was them. I was dragged out of the sewers and back to the place where I would spend the rest of my life, for what they wrongly think  I had done. That night I dreamt of the man who killed my wife, and I wondered what she had done to deserve this punishment. I was sentenced to jail since they had no proof that there was a man in the yard that shot my wife. I had owned a gun at the time, but it had not come out of it’s preserved area since my father had given it to me, a few days before he passed. There should not have been any guilt on me. How will I prove this complicated case?

With all due respect and my life at jeopardy, I had to make an escape, to put this puzzle back together. My cell was not at all metal. It had gone to extreme glass, outside of which I was watched with their eyes that would gaze throughout the room. There were three other prisoners in the New York jail cell. At night we were to walk to this old, musky room where we were to attend dinner: a slice of bread and water that we had to pump ourselves from the well. I knew that would be the best time to escape since I would be out of my cell. But if I was to be caught I would be sentenced to death. I had to be quick and smart about my choices.

“All right gentlemen, you know the deal.” the enormous policeman said. I stood from my crouched position and my body turned around as my hands slid through the two hand holes for my hands. The cold silver cuffs were latched on tight. Once I was locked up and ready to go, they unlocked the glass doors and out I stepped. I purposely walked slow to lose my place in line. Now as I walked in the back and my guard was a few steps ahead, my plan was to go smoothly. My foot crept up my chest and back, and then the next foot. Now my hands were in front of me but still cuffed shut. The keys hung in the policeman's belt, steps away from me. As my hands latch onto the ice cold keys, I felt the guilt rise out from inside of me. Once my hands were free and uncuffed, I slowed the speed of my walking and I bolt back to my cell. There was a window at the top of the room I was living in. My escape was painful as the sharp glass from the window dug into my skin. I was out at last, and according to the people, I was dangerous. The familiar smell of the big city rises up my nose and I knew I was almost home. On the run again, back to the apartment. Everything was left the way it was, but how would I ever find him? The light colored eyes and light hair were the only features that I remembered. The house was a mess from the past.

What have I encountered by turning on the TV?

“Car accident on route 48 a runaway man with no license on the car. They have not yet found the victim but, the FBI is on this case. While a different man named Hons Smith a runaway from jail and on the loose. The FBI is in this case too.”

With this evidence, if the FBI finds the runaway maybe they will get to the bottom of what happened to my Lorain. All I needed was to stay hidden….

*     * *

Half of a year flies by and the man who I thought had killed my wife was caught. His name was Flech, light brown hair, light eyes and had been driving for four and a half hours before reaching New York City. My stomach crunched as I now knew I was wrong. It hadn’t been four and a half hours. That meant only one thing: The man responsible for my wife’s death was still out there. The FBI was still searching for me.

Without any complaints from the citizens of New York City, they downgraded my case to an escape from jail and a runaway. They know I am still out here. Now I will have to live my life not knowing who killed my wife. If I was to turn myself in to maybe see if they found who had destroyed my life, the cops would never believe me. My first reputation has stuck with me, my whole life.

Life keeps moving on and each person granted with wonderful opportunities should appreciate them since some people don’t. Mischief is created throughout the city each and every day. They never found the man who murdered my wife and I never found out why. My prediction is that the man was about to break in for a robbery, but who knows. I was devastated and learned to let go of the love of my life and move on. She will always be in my heart.  Now I live in the city of California I am pursuing my life by selling brake pads to different car companies. I have changed my name Ryan Oldbrich so they would never find me. And they never did.