The explosions still rang in her ears and Blythe was still shaken up. She had been living so peacefully with Irene for so long. . .and in less than an hour all of that had been yanked out from under her feet. Just like Irene. It was around midnight, so hardly anyone caught a glimpse of the woman with black and white hair wearing torn clothes. Blythe didn't even bother to wipe off the small blood stains on her skin--what she really needed was a phone. Obviously going back to the scene of the crim would be suicide. Blythe was barely able to escape and now she felt exhausted. All of the bullets that flew at her and the orders barked amongst the attackers would certainly make an appearance in her dreams later. As she trudged into town, since she and Irene had lived about twenty minutes away, Blythe was tempted to just fly over to the nearest park and collapse on a bench. But there was no time for that. Whoever it was that took Irene, there was no telling what they could be doing to the woman. When they had tranquilized her Irene had gone stiff like a stone. But the scariest part was that Blythe was powerless to do anything about it. At that same moment she had been shot in the leg and that injury made her calf burn with each step. The dirty gash on her head and the small hole in her shoulder weren't very comforting, either. Got to find help. Got to find help, she repeated in her head. Blythe peaked around an alley corner to see if anyone was walking by. Having looked as if she were just mugged by a gang of gorillas in the dead of night, Blythe wanted to avoid as much interaction as possible. Eventually she spotted a pay phone. As unsanitary as those things were, it was Blythe's only hope right now. But how would she get change? Everything she and Irene had was now a pile of ashes at whatever remained of their home, and it wasn't like Blythe wore a nightgown with pockets in it. In fact, what she wore now was hardly her usual nightgown anymore will all of its tears and singed edges. Blythe heard footsteps tapping on a sidewalk and in a panic she ducked behind the closest building. Were her pursuers still tracking her? When a dog trotted by, Blythe sighed. She was just being paranoid again. Irene did always tell her to relax more unless she wanted the dyed white hairs on her head to become natural. Blythe's pure black eyes trailed the dog as it settled down by a sleeping homeless man wrapped in a bundle of dirty blankets on the sidewalk. A rusty tin can sat beside him. When the stray dog knocked it over out of curiosity, a couple of coins clattered out. It's the only way to get money, Blythe told herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures. As much as she hated the idea of stealing money from a snoozing hobo, Blythe concentrated on the loose change anyways. Black aura flickered around the coins and--after watching out for witnesses--Blythe waved her hand towards her. The coins floated through the air and into her grasp. It was enough change for one phone call. Luckily, Blythe knew exactly what number to call. When she dialed the number her hand holding the phone shook. What if he didn't pick up? It was now close to one in the morning, after all. And yet he was her only chance. The agitation in her leg only grew worse as Blythe slumped against the pay phone. Her shoulder burned and she felt dizzy. After a few rings, she was relived when she heard a voice on the other end. "Hey, Jeff. It's Blythe. . .Yeah, haven't heard from you or Alex in a while. But listen, I know this is at a weird time, but I need you to give me Alex's address right now. I just really need to see her right now. . .Thanks, Jeff." Blythe listened closely to the coordinates and repeated them in her head. But just in case she forgot, she payed a visit to a closed corner store and borrowed a pen. The ink on her arm now held all of the info she needed. On her way out she snatched up a map and a flashlight and leapt into the air. Dark energy clouded around her and, like a nighttime comet, Blythe shot herself into the sleeping sky. She wasn't flying as fast as she usually did, still losing a battle wi fatigue, but all she had to do was fly over a few states, locate one city, and then hunt down Alex. Piece of cake. A cake that took three hours to bake, that is. Blythe didn't find the right house until almost four or five in the morning. She really couldn't tell. All she knew at that moment was that she was too tired to wait at the door and knock. The small rumble that followed with her blasting the door down was nothing special and as soon as Blythe stepped in she sighed and collapsed.