A/N: Hello, good readers! Welcome back to another chapter of "Big Time Criminal". Sorry I've kept you guys waiting again, but I've been slowly working on this story and trying to wrap it up to give you guys the finished product! Slight SPOILER ALERT if you guys have not been keeping up with the story, but if you have then you may remember that we left off with Joanna returning home to discovering Logan and Kendall in an embrace.

I wanted to shift gears a little bit after that plot twist. I figured just to tease you guys even more… because you faithfuls know how much I love to tease ;) So the next few chapters will actually flash back to Kendall's journey, right from the moment to shoots his father to his first sight of Logan on that fateful day they met. Originally, none of the Kendall storyline was something I had considered, but after a little thought and many fans that wanted a Kendall POV story, I figured this would be the closest consolation I could give you. I don't plan on writing an entire rewrite story from Kendall's perspective, because he really shares the majority of the scenes with Logan anyhow, but I did want to explore his journey a little more. There were still a lot of story that he hinted at in various chapters that will be elaborated on, like how he arrived to Logan's home, what happened to the boy Toby that was a temporary travel companion that he mentioned in chapter 27, how he almost ran into Joanna at the hospital. So there were a lot of exciting elements that I thought could be tapped into.

Plus, I think that although Kendall's character has opened up so much since chapter 1, he still feels very enigmatic and shrouded in a lot of mystery, so hopefully these next few chapters will give everyone a better sense of him and the way he reacts to things. I also intentionally switched into a third person narrative, because as I was writing it in Kendall's point of view, it just felt wrong. It felt like he was asking for pity and it just felt of out character for him. But, when I wrote it in third person, it felt so much more unbiased and more organic, which showcases Kendall's journey more earnestly.

Please review and let me know what you guys think. I hope you enjoy chapter 31, "A Road Less Traveled".

The songs that inspired this chapter are:

"Trigger" by Phillip Phillips

"Under The Milky Way" by The Church

For this chapter's song choices, it was pretty clear that Phillips' "Trigger" would be an appropriate fit for Kendall's story. As for The Church's "Under The Milky Way", it's always been a favorite of mine, and I thought it'd be fitting for the closing song. It's a pretty poetic song and it has shades of sadness, yet a certain hopefulness and optimism, which I feel captures Kendall's story perfectly, particularly the line "wish I knew what you were looking for".

Please review and let me know your thoughts on the chapter! Hope you enjoy chapter 31, "A Road Less Traveled"

Kendall held the gun in place. His hand froze as if it had fused with the gun itself. The smell of smoke emanated from the pistol, which confirmed for him what had happened, but he refused to fully allow himself to believe it. But the truth was relentless and forced its way through. He couldn't avoid it. He had killed his father.

Kendall's eyes shifted back and forth between the gun that was still seemingly glued to his limb and the lifeless body, of which moments sooner belonged to his father. His eyes then darted all over the room, as if trying to take inventory of all the pieces in hopes of solving the puzzle before him, because that is what it felt like—a puzzle; confusing, fragmented, and only when pieced together could the full image be revealed.

The shattered glass. The broken vases. The debris scattered throughout.

The blood.

The blood—that was the most confusing piece of all. How could there be so much blood, the blonde thought.

He looked at the blood-covered face of the monster he had gunned down. The face looked familiar enough, but the color was drained from the monster's face. The smug smile on the body was also absent, he noticed.

And then, as if all the pieces were set into their correct places and the realization of what had happened hit the teen, the gun slipped out of his hand and fell onto the blood soaked carpet.

Kendall gasped and almost instantly fell to his knees. He couldn't remember how to breathe. He tried grasping for air but it was as if his lungs failed him, and his shame was trying to suffocate him. He fought to find his breath again, and only when he was triumphant did he let out a full guttural scream from the pit of his stomach. He screamed out of anger, pain, fear… everything he could feel Kendall felt in that singular moment. It all surged through him simultaneously until they were relieved from his veins and he was left numb.

He now felt incapable of emoting. Everything had left his body. That is, until the fear washed over him again. His fear propelled his muscles. He looked at the lifeless body and the compulsion to be as far removed from it as humanly possible took hold. In that moment, Kendall did not think. The full gravity of what had happened and the consequences did not align. No, he did not think; he simply reacted. So the teen instinctually fled. His weak knees sprung back to life and he ran. He ran down the street of their rented home, not looking back, or minding his surroundings. He ran as if being chased by a ghost.

Kendall continued to run. It was only when the sun had disappeared that he realized he had been running nonstop. The night took over, darkening the town's skyline. Somehow, the blonde led himself to a bus station without consciously realizing it. He entered the quiet station. The stillness among the people felt like an eerie silent movie. The only noticeable sounds were the occasional squeaky of leather soled shoes on the tiled flooring and the coughing fits of an elderly man. The gaps of silence in between was almost deafening though. This is where all the lost souls flee, Kendall thought.

The teen immediately headed for the men's room, keeping his head low. The lighting was obscure; it appeared dimmer than it should for a public restroom. Kendall hesitated as he approached the nearest mirror. He slowly revealed the damage done to his body. He flinched when he saw the cuts and nicks all over his face. They were shallow enough—nothing seriously conspicuous or critical—but noticeably visible up-close. The blood by his temples had mostly dried up, but not the blood in his shirt, which the fabric had mostly soaked up. He swiftly removed his flannel shirt and threw it in the trash. The tee he wore underneath wasn't much better, with flecks of blood splattered on the front, but not nearly as visibly as the flannel shirt. The teen grabbed paper towels, ran them under warm water, and furiously tried to diminish as much of the unwanted blood out of his t-shirt to no avail. He angrily threw the paper towels out of sight. Kendall realized his hands were trembling, and that he had been holding his breath. He gripped onto the sides of the sink, before inhaling and exhaling, in hopes of stabilizing himself. Once he reminded himself to breathe again, he quickly washed the dried blood around his neck, and along the sides of his face. The boy winced when his hand rubbed too harshly against his left cheekbone. A small bruising was already surfacing. Kendall looked at himself and didn't not recognize the person staring back; not just because of the cuts and bruises. Perhaps the reflection was too revealing of what he thought he had become—the monstrosity the he tried to suppress from all the years of emotional abuse.

He wanted to cry. But he could not.

No tears produced. He felt devoid of emotions. He could sense them lingering within him, but somehow they felt out of reach, disconnected. Kendall shook his head and steadied his trembling hands. This was futile, as his hands trembled even more as he put all his focus on them. He was interrupted anyway, by a man coughing profusely entering the restroom—no doubt the same man he had heard earlier. The man made a quick glance at Kendall, which only caused more alarm and panic in him. The teen fled the restroom with great haste, being sure as to not make eye contact with the elderly man.

Walking back into the main room of the bus station was like walking into an overly bright room to Kendall. His eyes felt too sensitive for the harsh lights and he felt too naked, too exposed. His paranoia grew as he believed all the eyes were fixed on him. Kendall fought to shake off the lies his mind was spewing at him and tried to focus on appearing unassuming as he approached the station's ticket booth. He tried to recall how much cash he actually had on him, knowing very least that it would not be nearly enough, but could not give himself a definitive answer of the amount. And using his bank card was simply not an option, since that could so easily trace his location, he immediately concluded. The teen prayed that what little cash he had on him would be enough to get him far enough from town. But before the boy could reach for wallet, the sound of a door being opened caught his attention in the ever-present quiet station. Kendall slowly turned in the direction of the sound, which resided to the rear right of him. His eyes widened as he saw a uniformed officer entering the quiet station. His throat tightened, not that words were what he needed the most right now anyway. Kendall brought his attention back to the ticket booth, and met the eyes of the woman working behind the counter. She slightly narrowed her eyes at him, wondering why the young man had decided to stop in his tracks. Kendall paid no mind to her inquisitive reaction, as his fear of the officer was his current concern. In truth, Kendall had absolutely no idea if the officer was looking specifically for him, but he could not take the chance. His hands kept trembling, but he balled them up into fists, fighting the urge to shake like a conspicuous coward. And without much thought or calculation, again purely on instinct like before, Kendall's feet began to move and he exited the nearest door. He did not look back. He told himself not to look back.

The young man walked and walked in an aimless direction. He simply had no idea what he was doing, where he was heading. His only driving factor was his fear. He could feel the heels of his feet rub uncomfortably against the soles of his shoes, and the physical exhaustion was taking its toll on him, but he continued to walk, feeling as if his last few breaths were just moments from surfacing. He momentarily paused when he noticed the sign at the edge of town several yards in front of him. He had unintentionally walked out of town. Kendall walked towards the sign until he was face to face with it. He knew if he took another step, he'd officially leave town—and more importantly—he'd never come back. Images of his mom and Katie lit up, but he closed his eyes and pushed them from his mind. The pain was already intolerable without them factored in. With them in mind, the pain would just be debilitating.

Kendall glanced back, but the idea of him turning back around would only make what felt like a nightmare become an instant reality. He stared briefly at the town's lights contrasted against the night's sky. He really had hoped this town could have been a new start for him, his mother, and Katie. The teen did not believe he had the strength to confront the reality of what had happened though; he could not endure the idea of returning home at that moment, so he moved forward away from that part of his life…

Outside of the town sat a small diner. Not much else was around; it was the type of isolated place at which only truck drivers would consider stopping. The diner wasn't exactly attractive or particularly inviting; it was shabby, run down from the years of neglect and upkeep. But, Kendall was just relieved that there was a place for rest. His legs felt as if they could barely function any longer, and his feet felt calloused, most likely due to the constant friction against his shoes. He felt like his energy was sapped and his legs were moving at a glacial pace. The diner was within walking distance, but somehow it felt farther than it looked. And by exhaustion alone, Kendall did not realize the 18-wheeler that was about to collide into him as he struggled to cross the lone highway. A loud honk from the truck's horn and its blinding headlights were what it took to grab Kendall's attention and enough for the boy to jump back from the oncoming truck. The truck kicked up a strong gust of wind in its place, practically slapping Kendall awake. His heart beat eventually returned and he silently told himself to be more cautious.

Kendall entered the old diner, which looked as though it attempted a shabby chic look, but perhaps hit closer to the shabby mark than the chic. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. This proved difficult with how haggard he felt, which he imagined he looked, as well, which garnered him a few stares as he walked in. He was instantly attuned to the savory smells emanating from the small kitchen. The smells of smoke-ridden booths and grease-stained walls were also present, but his overwhelming hunger fought off the more unpleasant smells, only to fixate on the better ones. The warmth from the kitchen also was a nice welcome for him.

The young man slid into the nearest open booth. He kept his head held low and scanned the room, without moving his head or eyes too noticeably. He did not see any law enforcers, so he took it as a good sign to finally breathe. Kendall let out a weak exhale.

A small-framed blonde waitress approached his table. Kendall tried not to make eye contact in an attempt to remain undetected. He did notice her coffee-stained apron and her name tag, however; Doris, it read. The letters appeared almost rubbed off, a clear indication that Doris had been working at the lonely little diner for too long. Kendall's mind went to his mother. He figured by now her waitressing shift would have been over, and then he thought of her returning home to find her husband's dead body on the living room floor. He felt bile rising in his throat, and he wanted to vomit, for fleeing without explaining it to her. But, he shook the disturbing image from his mind and composed himself once more, because he knew this was not the moment to fall apart.

"What'll be, sugar?" the petite waitress asked, while multi-tasking by scanning the small diner of patrons.

"I'll have a cheeseburger—but no tomatoes—with fries," Kendall ordered in a low voice. "And some coffee, too, please," he added.

"Anything else?" the waitress asked as she jotted down the teen's order.

Kendall looked at the desserts on the counter, where all the pastries and pies were displayed out in the open. Kendall wanted to devour each and every one of the displayed sweets. His stomach grumbled in agreeance.

"Uh, how much for a slice of apple pie?" he asked, eyeing the pie.

Doris briefly eyed the young man up and down, fully taking in his appearance. Kendall could feel her eyes on him, and silently prayed she didn't recognize him from anywhere. She noticed the small shallow cuts along his face, framing his tired eyes. She also took notice of his handsomeness, young and exuberant looking, even passed the weary exterior.

Kendall grew increasingly nervous that she may have recognized him because of the news. But he maintained his composure and kept his head low.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. It's on me," she finally assured him with a flirtatious wink.

The waitress left the table to put in the teen's order. The food came out promptly, much to Kendall's delight. His strength was at a dangerous low, so the timing couldn't have been better. He quickly ate his food, drank his coffee, and devoured the apple pie Doris handed him.

"Someone was hungry," she joked when she returned to empty plates.

Kendall gave her a smile of slight chagrin.

That's when Kendall noticed the small television propped up in the corner of the diner. Breaking news of a homicide flashed across the screen of news headline.

Kendall once again held his breath.

It was only when he realized it was not his story on the news that his breathing returned. It was a Latino man he did not recognize. The humanity in Kendall felt sorrow for the man's passing and his surviving family, but the self-preservation him also felt relief that it was not his crime on the television at this time. He knew it would be evitable though, so he decided he needed to put as much distance between him and the town. The teen had regained some of his strength back from the food and water, but he knew this alone would not be enough to sustain him for the long haul. But, he also knew he could not remain in a single place for too long; he had to get moving again.

When he went to pay for his meal, the young man almost handed over his bank card when he realized his error. He prayed he had enough cash so he wouldn't be easily traced. He had a paltry fourteen dollars in his wallet, but luckily his bill was only eight dollars. Although Kendall knew he needed every cent to survive, he decided he should still tip the nice waitress—she gave him a free pie after all.

A heftier man, wearing a trucker cap, quilted vest and some rugged work boots, walked in as he was paying. Kendall noticed the man's vehicle that was running idly out front. It was one of those fruit trucks, with a wooden flatbed in the back.

"'Evenin' there, Stan," the blonde waitress greeted.

"Same to you, Doris. Just need a big to-go coffee like usual," the portly man requested.

"Sure thing, babe. You headin' east this time?"

"North actually. Got a ways to go still," the man replied.

"Alright, coffee's comin' right up."

Kendall exited the diner, but stopped to look at the man's truck. He imagined jumping into it and taking off with it, but then realized how amateur of a mistake that could be. For one, it would potentially draw too much unnecessary attention, and secondly, the license plate could always be tracked.

He peered back into the diner and noticed the truck owner heading for the restroom. The teen also realized everyone was too preoccupied to notice him. The blonde boy knew trying to carjack right now would be foolish, but he also knew he could not get very far on foot alone. This was potentially an opportunity staring at him right in the face. Kendall took notice at the truck's flatbed, which was covered with blue plastic tarp to protect whatever produce was underneath. Kendall knew he had little time, so he took a risk and quickly lifted the tarp and hid in the back of the fruit truck.

Kendall then noticed that the mystery produce that was hidden underneath the tarp. He had secretly hoped for some fresh fruit, like apples or pears, but instead discovered tomatoes, one of his least favorite foods ironically enough. He shook his head at the bad luck, but hopeful for a ride that could get him far from town.

The teen lied silently and as motionlessly as humanly possible. This proved difficult as the night brought in a chillier temperature, and he was wearing simply a t-shirt, since his blood stained flannel shirt was in the bus station's trash. Still, Kendall knew if he was caught in that moment, it would all be over for him. After a short while, Kendall heard the trucker whistling as he exited the diner. The man had suddenly stopped at the foot of truck; this Kendall could see from a small sliver of an opening between the bed of the truck and the tarp.

The man had noticeably stopped whistling. Kendall held his breath and closed his eyes, silently praying.

"Aw, shit, forgot my keys in there," the man finally muttered to himself, before going back into the diner and retrieving said keys.

Upon his swift return, the portly man continued whistling a tune as he got right back into the truck. Kendall finally sighed from relief.

Kendall could feel the bumpy graveled parking lot of the diner. It wasn't until they got back on the main road that the ride felt smoother, only to have the cold night air being an unwelcomed guest. The cold teen folded his arms under his tee and tried to curl up tightly to maintain warmth, but he knew he would just have to toughen it out.

He wasn't sure where the truck was heading, but north was away from where he was running, so it would suffice. He could only hope that it would be a road less traveled… one away from too many faces, and the too many opportunities to identify him.