Disclaimer: I do not own the Lost Boys, but I love 'em

In short, the Dodge City Police Station was not a nice place to be. But thankfully, Morgan Penciatti (finally arrested for her multiple offenses) now found herself blessed with an incredible escape from the hellish jail. As she was nearly eighteen years of age, there was some controversy over whether or not Morgan needed to be tried and sentenced as an adult or a juvenile and she had, since her arrest, been living in the police station. Her cell, a dingy, cob-webbed and dirty old box contained one decrepit, creaking bed, a small, reeking toilet and a cracked sink. The minuscule window that looked as though it had been shoved between the bricks of the wall, provided hardly any sunlight, fresh air, or any hope of escape. She had been locked up and had been served rank, meager meals for eight days and would remain there until eight that evening.

In order to avoid any further argument over Morgan's trial, the judge of her case had simply decided that she lacked proper schooling and a good home and had thus sentenced her to a life of fostered care by a recently widowed man named Max Walsh.

Supposedly, Max had undergone rigorous tests in order to be marked as an appropriate foster parent for Morgan. In the end, he won out, which meant that Morgan was guaranteed a comfy bed, three square meals a day, proper schooling, and all the love and care a foster parent could provide. She had to admit, she was pretty happy about getting out of the dumpy police station, but it hurt her to know that her surviving gang friends (who were all now of adult age) had been sentenced to many years in the State Penitentiary. One of her friends, Johnny Double, had shot and killed a policeman at the shootout and had been sentenced 25 years to life in the joint, when he had only been protecting his younger brother Franko, and himself from the murderous cops. She herself had never fired a gun at the shoot out (this was probably one of the factors that kept her from being properly sentenced), for her friend Donny had sacrificed himself to ensure her escape. However, Donny's attempt was in vain, more police had arrived by that time and she had no way out of the gas station which they had been attempting to rob. Donny was shot three times in the chest, and once in the leg, and he later died in the hospital.

Shock and guilt weighed so heavily on Morgan's mind that she found it difficult to think of anything but the shootout. She would awaken in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, just having relived the entire scene in her dreams. Her mind constantly replayed the whole thing in slow motion, forcing her to remember every minuscule detail that she wished she could forget, and sometimes when her memories were at their most vivid, she'd set down on the creaking bed, lean back against the wall and cry.

But tonight was different, she had earned a 'get out of jail free card' so to speak, and would be released in just a few hours. It would be a great relief to be removed from the dark, foul-smelling cell, and tonight Morgan felt herself all too anxious to be free once again. Of course there would be this Max character to deal with, but that would be easy as duck soup. She'd stay a few days, let Max think she'd settled in, then she'd up and split in the middle of the night and dust off to California, or just someplace where people wouldn't know her. She'd imagined some place nice and warm. Somewhere where the kids were hip and where it would be a cinch to make new friends and get along just fine. So naturally, she thought California, but if that seemed too far off, her second choice was Arizona, either one would do just fine.

The hours passed as she daydreamed of what winter was like in the desert, and soon enough, the sun had disappeared over the horizon, and it was twilight in Dodge City. A guard came a long and knocked his nightstick against the bars of her cell with a bit too much force.

"Hey." he said, but when Morgan did not answer, he got louder. "Hey! Penciatti! Wake up, you lazy swamp rat!"

Morgan let a smirk slide across her face and rolled her head to face the guard. "Drop dead, copper."

"You better play nice, girl, or we'll keep you here!" the guard unlocked the door and entered the cell.

"Oh! Would'ya please? Cuz it's oh so pleasant in here! A real hip pad. And I do love hanging with the heat." she mocked him.

"Cut it out, kid!" He growled and readied a pair of handcuffs. "C'mon, you know the drill."

Morgan sighed loudly and put out her arms. "About to get freed and I still gotta wear the bracelets? Well, ain't this the royal shaft?"

The guard grunted, but looked pleased once he had clicked the locks into place. "Get up." he ordered when Morgan did not move after the cuffs were secure.

She did so slowly with a laboured sigh, and let the power-hungry guard lead her out of her cell and to an area in the front of the station with a few old chairs and a splintering desk at which an older policeman sat. Resting amidst the mess on the hard brown surface, was a folder with her name across the top, illuminated by the dim lamps and the dull glow of the twilight sky outside the dirty windows. The guard forced Morgan down roughly into one of the chairs before the desk and the older man looked up to meet her sullen face.

"Well, well, well, finally getting out, are we?" he chortled through his thick grey mustache. "Mr. Walsh should be here soon to retrieve you- though I can't see why he'd adopt a good for nothing drape like you. You're nothing but trash, that's all you're worth-garba-" he stopped and snapped his mouth shut like a goldfish.