Click.
The door clicked shut with a finality that went beyond mere gears trapping other gears, otherwise known as the simple mechanism called a lock.
Ten hours on my feet, busting my ass through the insane summertime rush, had left me looking and feeling like a wage-slave zombie.
The shadow of fryer grease, salt, and pepper clung to my skin and hair, not to mention the dull ache in my lower back, courtesy of my side gig as the janitor.
I love my life! Wanna trade? Pfft. As if…
At least I could confidently say that was another overtime shift at Super Burgers done.
Honestly, I'd kinda forgotten the difference between overtime and regular shifts.
I mean, they're both shifts, and I only ever really work overtime.
At this point, the words have just lost all meaning.
Honestly… that's kinda sad…
Shaking my head, I snapped myself out of my thoughts.
The neon sign behind me buzzed like an angry insect, the constant flicker of its ancient bulb casting a sickly, and, quite honestly, scary, glow over the empty parking lot at Liston boulevard and Adams street.
Linton Heights was quiet for once, save for the distant hum of the poverty-stricken city and the warm, polluted air of a midnight that had probably poisoned more people than we'd ever know.
Nothing like the polluted air of a poor city to cheer up my depressing life, eh?
Seeing no one to hear my god-awful jokes, I sigh.
God. I wish I'd get hit by a bus, a truck, a car, honestly anything, really. I just… hate my life…
I fumbled with my keys, my fingers thick with fatigue.
Just get home, Victor. Shower. Sleep. Do it all again tomorrow.
The thought of my mamá's caldo waiting on the stove, of my little brother's dumb fourth-grade jokes, was the only thing pulling me forward.
Then, Diablo came for my soul.
Not literally. But, as I'd soon see, not too far off either.
The roar of screaming engines erupted around the corner, squealing tires spitting smoke that burned my nose with the acrid stench of burnt rubber.
Two lowriders, their outlines sleek and predatory, swerved onto Liston Street.
For a moment, it was just noise and movement, like one of those slow-motion scenes in an old blockbuster, where the world stops and the MC sees his life flash before his eyes.
But unfortunately for me, this was reality. And the only thing flashing were the muzzle sparks from the guns the gangbanger teens in those two cars were firing at each other.
The shots were sharp, dry, and utterly wrong against the unusually silent city night.
Fuck!
I remember thinking.
My body must have moved before my brain could form the word, because I found myself on the hard asphalt outside the shop.
I think I'd thrown myself sideways toward the crumbling cover of the Disc Replay store's brick wall.
I could feel my heart, a frantic drum against my ribs, fueled by adrenaline, fear, and fatigue-induced sluggishness, which all combined for a surreal feeling like I was dreaming, even though I was wide awake.
Altogether, I lowkey felt like I was in a blockbuster. I could see the individual grains texturing the asphalt road's surface.
Yet, at the same time, I could hear my breathing, the screeching tires, the gunshots, muffled yelling, and sirens in the distance.
My nose was on fire, struggling to draw breath through the thick, acrid tire smoke, fighting to supply oxygen to my adrenaline-induced brain and body.
The world became a strobe light of muzzle flashes in the dark.
Crack. Crack-crack.
Pop.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.
They were shooting at each other, a chaotic, rolling battle from car to car, like a scene from Fast and Furious that never made it to the final cut.
I saw a muzzle flash from the first car, but the vehicle was jerking wildly.
A bump in the asphalt, a huge pothole that had been there since I was in kindergarten, and the kid's shots went wild, a few chewing into the stucco of the apartment above Mr. Calderón's Arcoíris store.
But not all of them.
A searing, impossibly hot pebble hit my neck. Then another. A third.
There was no pain at first, my adrenaline was in full effect. There was just a shocking, full-body jolt, like grabbing a live wire.
The force spun me, my keys flying from my hand, ringing profoundly with an ominous finality as they skittered across the asphalt.
I was falling.
The ground rose up to meet me, hard and rough, huge chunks of beaten-up gravel clawing at my back.
Then the pain arrived. A white-hot volcano erupted in my throat, stealing my breath.
I clutched at it, my hands coming away slick and dark in the neon light.
Not water. Not sweat.
Blood.
Dammit. Dammit!
Those were not pebbles!
Those weren't pebbles.
Fuck, I don't wanna die.
I DON'T WANNA DIE!!!
My thoughts ran a mile a minute, and I understood.
It's human nature to fear the unknown.
I'm scared to die. I don't want to die and leave my Mamá to take care of Rosa and Santi alone.
¡Mamá! ¡Te quiero! Lo siento. Por favor, perdóname... Rosa... Santi...
A wet, gurgling sound escaped me. I was choking.
I was choking on my own blood, leaking onto the warm pavement in shallow pools, dampening my taco-shop uniform and pants.
The cars' engines revved, the teens in a panic of their own.
Tires screeched, fading fast. Then they were gone, leaving my dying self as the only evidence of their violence amidst the cold air, which was quickly getting colder.
The buzzing of the sign was my only companion, but that too started to fade as my eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
Alone. I was so alone.
They killed me, and for what? What hate or conflict could possibly drive boys not yet eighteen to murder, leaving only death… my death… in their wake?
Somehow, I don't blame them.
When the world is evil, it's infinitely easier to be evil as well…
The asphalt beneath me smelled of oil and heat, undercut by the strong, coppery scent of my own blood as I drowned in it.
I stared up at the hazy orange sky, the stars drowned out by the Los Angeles city glow.
The pain was increasing, deepening into an oppressive, heavy, cold numbness that started at my fingertips and crept inward.
The pool beneath my head grew wider, like a grotesque, dark halo only the devil could wear.
Mom.
The word was a hazy thought, a brief surge of pure, anguished want like nothing I'd ever felt.
Miguel…
Rosa…
I saw their faces, clear and bright against the darkening edges of my vision.
I had a joke I was planning to tell Rosa about Swiper and a reverend.
I wanted to make her laugh...
I'd promised Miguel I'd help him with his science project. We were gonna make the best baking soda volcano ever. I'm sorry…
And Mom…
…I was supposed to pick up pan dulce in the morning.
I couldn't breathe. Each desperate, wet gasp drew less and less of the world in.
I'm scared. Really scared.
The raw terror of death was a tidal wave, crushing the anger and washing away all traces of pain, leaving only a profound, primal terror.
I wanted to scream goodbye.
To tell them I loved them.
That I was sorry they'd be alone.
But all I could do was bleed out silently on a street whose name I'd never think about again.
Why has no one come to save me?
Why? Why.
WHY? WHY?
WHY?!?!
The cold reached my core, and the terror turned from fear to pure rage at my own human weakness.
Then, all sound fully faded. Everything from the buzz of the neon sign to the rustling of distant trees.
The world narrowed to a pinprick of that orange-tinted sky, and then it, too, winked out, forever losing the soul called Victor Velegas.
There was nothing.
And then… a presence.
A feeling of being observed. Not by eyes, but by something that made me shiver.
Wait… I'm not… dead?
In the void of death where I was supposed to be, I felt a… chuckle.
A shimmering ripple of amusement that had no place here.
It vibrated through the fabric of my vanished existence, as if seeing more about me than even I could.
Under its gaze, I felt… naked.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Then, a gentle, lulling tug.
Not a voice, but an invisible nonlinear rope wrapped firmly around my sense of self.
It's hard to explain. I guess the best way is… like the most gentle and relaxing lazy river ever.
But the water was made of time itself, pulling what was left of me, a faint, fading imprint, away from the asphalt.
Away from the blood.
Away from the usual warmth of a Linton Heights midnight in North Hollywood.
It pulled me toward a… place.
Honestly, I'm not certain I have the ability to fully experience it, let alone describe it.
It's like… when you go to the eye doctor and get your pupils dilated, and everything is blurry.
I could instinctively tell a film had been placed over the part of my existence that perceives my surroundings.
While that 'film' shielded me from the indescribable divine beauty, it also hindered me from seeing the world in all its true splendor.
I got the feeling it was not a place, but an intention.
I don't really understand, but then again… if I could understand the time river, which I now realize is the source of the Omniverse itself, well, let's just say I'd have been rich with multiple degrees, rather than 28 and barely supporting my mother and siblings. But I digress.
I don't know how long I was guided by the presence, but the last thing I knew of Earth was the scent of grease and iron, of blood, and the overwhelming silence I'd left behind.
Well… sorta…
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END OF CHAPTER 1