I can’t say that I was the bullied type, either. People just… kind of didn’t acknowledge my existence. I don’t think I really acknowledged theirs, either. My mind was always occupied with something. I always found myself immersed in one activity or another, quickly dropping it went it got boring, and then picked up another hobby. I guess you could say I had a bit of a s**tter brain. I wasn’t sure why I was wired like that, but I was.I graduated high school without amazing grades, so my option was either go to community college for another few years or work. I decided to work, because I couldn’t care any more for education. It all seemed so pointless to me. It felt like I always had this void in my life, and I didn’t know how or why it was there, or how to fill it.I felt a heart-clenching sensation in my heart whenever I saw this boy named Dan. He and I worked at the local general market, the one that his mom and pop ran since before he was born. He had light brown hair that shined a. I'm going back to D.C. to catch up on reports. Catch a flight to D.C. after you get Hawthorne's moves pinned down."All the way back to Washington on the long, boring flight, Barringer tried to reason what had lit a fire under Hawthorne's tail. What had him running? Did he overhear something? Did something alert him to the agency's order to detain him for questioning? There was no question that Hawthorne was running. He'd escaped the hospital and gotten away on a flight, arranged hastily through personal connections.What really mattered was the unknown: what was pushing Hawthorne? Where was he going? When he got there, what would he do? Hawthorne had to know that the agency wouldn't stop until they ran him down. They'd hold him and wring every last scrap of information, whatever the hell it was, out of him!Think, man, think! Where the hell would he go that he could hang out, long term, but not where we'd find him? Barringer eased back against his reclined seat, closed his eyes, and.
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