He had no destination in mind, except maybe oblivion. Just run right into nothingness, to a place where he was no one, where he could start over, where Molly wasn’t gone, where he didn’t disappoint his dad or make people angry. Run and run and run till his brain emptied out. His breath came hard, but he didn’t stop. Where could he go? Where could he rest? There was no respite for him anywhere. Not since bloody magic wrecked his life. He took a corner fast, and wished for his skateboard. The speed would be even greater, the breeze stronger, the sense of movement more intense. He pounded his feet on the pavement, bounced off curbs, leaped over puddles. I should have gone out for track after all, he thought. The exertion was beginning to get to him, though. No sleep, no food since breakfast yesterday, plus the pain he’d endured at the hands of the Body Artist. She had helped him; maybe he should go there. But he wasn’t sure what she could do for him now. Tim dashed into the street, when a car suddenly spun around a corner and barreled straight toward him.
