Rule #11: A teen super-sleuth should not panic when danger looms, rather, they should face the danger with a pure heart and a clear mind.

I find myself falling. Far below me, fields boxed in by highways. I assume that I just fell out of a plane. As I tumble through the air, I see something white out of the corner of my eye, high above me and getting smaller. I did fall out of a plane. Or maybe I jumped. My mind feels calm, but my arm doesn’t. It’s flailing around, groping for something. It finds what it’s looking for – the ripcord for my parachute. My arm pulls the cord.

My parachute unfolds. The wind catches it, yanks hard. With a jerk, my downward speed is reduced drastically. A dark blur falls past me. There is a name associated with that blur, and an action. The name: Vern. The action: stabbing. As I drift towards the ground, I wonder which of us had been flying the plane.

I land only a few feet away from the pile of meat that used to be a poisoner. I shrug off the parachute, letting it fall to the ground. I look around. I’m in the middle of a field. There are no buildings in sight, which is good – that plane’s coming down at some point. I pick a direction and start walking. I walk for an indeterminable amount of time. I find myself at the side of the road, near a mile marker.

I realize there’s something in my pocket. I dig around until my hand comes into contact with a cool rectangle. A cell phone. Not mine – I don’t own one. Too easy to track. Must be Vern’s. I pull it out of my pocket. Taped to the back of the phone is a piece of paper. There’s a phone number on it. I unlock the phone with a four digit code I don’t remember learning. I dial the number. It’s a cab service. I ask them to send a cab to the mile marker I was at. If the person on the other end of the phone sees this as a strange request, they do a very good job concealing it. They tell me that a cab is on the way. I thank them and hang up. I take the battery out of the phone and hurl it across the street. I drop the phone on the ground and stomp on it until it resembles the body of its owner.

The cab arrives. I sit behind the driver and give him a destination. He nods and drives off. After a while, I realize two things. The first thing is that I don’t have my wallet with me. I can’t pay the driver. The second thing is that people have been killed in this cab, by the man behind the wheel right now. Suddenly, I’m not too worried about not being able to pay.

I pull out a knife. I used to only carry one knife on me at any given time, but since I lost my suitcase at that hotel, I’ve taken to carrying four or five. I’m grateful for that as I plunge the knife into the side of the driver’s neck.

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