How? Why? What did I do? Seven months ago I was miserable but safe. I can hear my heart beating. I'm waiting for it to explode in my chest (damn that pack a day). My body aches, an entire month of sleeping in back streets and eating out of dumpsters, I feel aged. I feel senile and weary. How's that for the prime of my life? My name is Nicholas Daine, I am twenty-two years old, and it's been six months, twenty-six days, forty-three minutes and some odd seconds, since I became wanted for murder.