15

The train jolts and my forehead knocks against the glass with a sickening thud. The lady in the seat next to me casts me a worried glance, but my gaze remains, forlornly strung into the watery horizon.

The blurry scene of me, snot nosed and with a headache that wrapped around everything above my shoulders like a snake coiling further and further around me, stumbled to the child. Little shit must’ve been not more than seven. I watch myself through my memories, unthinkingly yanking the small bundle of cash in his hands and barking at the woman charging towards me. It’s a less than pleasant change of scene from the gory picture that’s been soldered into the back of my eyes.

The sight of the heaps of plastic in the sea before me flickers emotion in me, but it’s sparking a lighter beneath a heap of stacked wet blankets. Blood from my lip, which’s got my left canine buried deep in it, oozes out and trickles down my chin. The woman moves across the aisle. Anywhere is better than next to me.

Huh, maybe I just look like a vampire. Better than a zombie at least.

The train hisses to a halt, and the doors slide open with sharp clicks. I jolt to my feet, nose on my sleeve and lurch out the doors. The wet smog of West Side makes my taste buds curl, and my vision is hampered with the combination of my sunglasses and the heavy, droopy cover of clouds above me. A shiver races down my spine, and the flaky dried blood scratches across my nipple. I shamble on.

The way to the police station is like a maze on the back of a cereal box that I’ve drawn through a thousand times. Never is it a joyful ending. I prefer to be within the maze than at the end of it.

“Holy shit,” gasps an officer as I push through the front door.

“Kaloaan,” I rasp. Sandpaper slid across concrete. A chain-smoker would have a softer voice than me.

“Uhhh, you need authorization to be here, kid,” the officer says setting down his coffee.

I groan and press my thumb into my temple. “I’m his freaking brother, and I need to see him. Now!”

“Sorry kid, chiefs not here right now.”

“What’s going on?” asks somebody. “The hell happened to you?”

Firidah looks me over like something she’d find growing in her drainage pipes.

“Where’s Kaloaan?” I demand. “I need to speak with him.”

“Hey, bud he’s not around. He’s gone on the other side of the city, and he’s on a case. Confidential. I can’t call him.”

I shake my head, as I lose balance and lurch into a desk, spilling the officers coffee.

“What the hell!” he cries, snatching away his laptop.

I sniff. “Send him a message. Tell him that I’m here and it’s urgent.”

“Alright, alright,” Firidah reassures, pulling out her phone. For once in her life, there isn’t arrogance armored with polarized sunglasses, but what seems like genuine concern. “Ok I’ve sent it,” she says, pocketing her phone. “But I can’t assure you he’ll be here soon. Might be over a week.”

“A week?” I exclaim. “Shit. Shit.”

“What is it?” she asks. “You discovered something?”

I look at her suspiciously, then nod once.

She glances around the room. “Come with me,” she grabs my wrist and leads me to the interrogations room I’ve already visited.

I sit down across from her. Grell is a hulking behemoth in the shadows behind her.

“What are you wearing?” she asks, leaning forwards, “Is that blood?”

I nod again, before erupting in a massive coughing fit.

“You’re sick. Really sick,” she comments. “I’ve got to get you something,” she stands.

“No,” I hiss, lunging across the table and grabbing her by the shoulder.

“Ok, ok. Calm down,” she tells me, sitting.

I look over at Grell. “Get him out of here,” I order.

“It’s alright, you can trust him,” she reassures.

My eyes glint. “No. He leaves.”

Her mouth forms a thin line. “Grell, fetch him a trauma blanket, and knock on your way back.”

Grell huffs and slips out the room with surprising silence.

My eyes are like gnats, flitting around the room. I catch a tiny dot in the corner of the room. “Cover the security camera,” I order.

“It’s alright,” she reassures, “It doesn’t record audio, only video.”

I’m about to protest when she pulls a sleek, rectangular device from her pocket and lays it on the table. She presses a button.

“It’s alright, it doesn’t record audio, only video,” the device repeats.

“We record all conversations with these,” she explains. She sets it on the table and holds down a button until the small white light in the corner flickers off.

I wheeze as she hands me a crumpled pile of tissues, which I gratefully blow into. Coughs and retches follow, but Firidah wait patiently, hands folded in front of her, her back arched with perfect posture. Her eyes dart around, analyzing every inch of me. They linger on the small spots of maroon that aren’t covered in dry, crusty, brown blood. If she flinches, it’s so subtle I don’t notice.

“I… stumbled across something.”

She nods encouragingly.

“Not sure if you’ve heard, but the Bansilin overlord is some dude called…” a string of coughs rip themselves free from my wretched insides.

“Ravven. We know. We’re doing all the investigations we can to find out who he is.”

“Yeah. Him, well I did some investigations of my own. Found the HQ factory or whatever it is.”

“What?” she asks, jolting with shock. “How…” she stutters.

I shrug. “Police force is pretty useless.”

I hear a door click shut outside the investigation room. Grell must be returning.

“Where is it?” she asks, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “Can you get an exact location?” She pulls a notepad from her breast-pocket and uncaps a pen.

“Yeah. It’s in East Side.”

“East Side, no wonder,” she muses.

“I don’t remember the exact address, but it’s on Foragger road. Huge abandoned warehouse, you can’t miss it, it’s like the only thing on the road. If you get on top of one of the storage shelves, you can access the roof working. From there you can…”

My voice trails off as her face turns to stone, and her eyes to ice.

In an instant, her handgun is pointed at the security camera.

I’m on my feet by the time she’s shot it, but the barrel is pointed at me before I can move.

Gunshot.

~

…

…

…

…

…

Gunshot.

…

Body drop

…

Hashtag: Body bag

…

Toll tag: Shot in the head

~

The sky was dark, and the smog blotted out even the moon from illuminating the grim scene.

A tear rolled down the face of the policeman and joined the others in a solemn swim on the concrete.

The arm of one of his colleagues held his broad, shuddering shoulders.

A shield, made of the strongest metal, braced by the strongest of warriors, cannot stop a tsunami.

“It’s… going to start raining soon.”

The chief of police didn’t push the other officer away, but rather remained standing in rigid vigil, watching his tears drip to the ground. The body had already been taken away, and he had watched, unbearable thoughts possessing and reaping his battered mind.

Indeed, it started to rain. Not a soft, solemn shower, but rather a heavy, splattering, gritty sort of rain, that would hit the ground and leap into the tallest of rubber boots. He barely only noticed when the puddle at his feet grew, and distorted the meager, onyx reflection of his stoic face.

“I guess… I’ll leave you then,” the other officer said, returning to the warm comfort of the police department.

But the chief of police didn’t move, he remained standing stronger than the tallest of oaks that had lived in the very place he called a home, many years ago. Their spirits danced around him, giving unnoticed comfort for his grief.

His body was in its prime condition, there weren’t many that could compete, but this man’s spirit was crushed, trampled, and nearly destroyed. However, he was not a shell of his former self. This man, though bitten, would not become a zombie.

~

I rap my bruised knuckles against the door. There’s no response. “Kaloaan? Hey, it’s me… can I come in?”

The door opens and the sullen figure of my brother, towering over me appears. The bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, and his shoulders are hunched with tiredness. He’s still wearing the damp, navy blue police uniform. “Hi… Kallix. D’you want to come in?”

I nod, and he steps aside. I swallow vigilantly as I see his usually crisp, tidy, organized down the dust apartment, looking like a tornado had swept through it. His glass coffee table is smashed, his couch is torn, his clothes are strewn everywhere and multiple different half-drunk bottles of liquor litter the floor. I decide not to comment. I’ve never actually seen him drink.

“Did you need anything?” he asks, shutting the door and sitting solemnly on his couch. I sit opposite him, large pieces of jagged glass between us.

I shake my head. “How’re you holding up?”

He sniffs. “I’m not really sure. Take a guess,” he sweeps his hand around the mess. “I don’t think I’m going to tell mom.”

“Did she know?” I ask. “That you and Firidah were…”

He nods. For the first time I see stubble around his usually perfectly trimmed goatee. “Yeah she did. She never liked her though, and for good reason, I guess. I don’t want her to know what I did. I don’t want her to think of me as-”

“A badass?” I cut him off. “You saved my damn life, bastard. If you came in a split second too soon, I’d be dead meat, and you’d be believing a bullshit story that she would be telling you.”

My brother winces.

“You’re not a murderer,” I persist. “You did… what you had to do. You saved a life, even if it was a cruddy one, but that’s what cops do, right?” I ask, the self-consciousness of my shitty consolation growing within me.

“I just…” he starts. “She was such a good person.” His voice is strangled, and his eyes are moist. “She followed every damn rule, she new what to do in every scenario, she had my back all the freaking time. She’s saved my life more than once.” Sobs shudder through his body.

I’m not sure what to respond. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. I can’t even begin to understand how he feels.

“I was going to propose,” says after a while. “In one or two months time. She was going to move in. We would remain professional at work but give our coworkers the tiniest of hints that we were married, let them figure it out for themselves. They would gasp when they did, and we would giggle… kiss in front of them. We would have a little girl, called Yarika, and she would look just like her mother.”

As he speaks, the scene replays in my mind. The shot that took out the security camera. She didn’t even look. She knew exactly where it was. She’d practiced. Her arm, perfectly held, swiveled towards me. The barrel of the gun looked like a shark’s eye right before it kills. I didn’t get a chance to look at her’s before I heard the shot. I thought I was dead for a moment. I almost felt the bullet tear through my chest. Instead, I saw her head snap to the left, and her body crumple out of sight, behind the table. Kaloaan stood in the doorway with a look of sheer utter terror on his face. Not the terror one feels when they see a ghost, or a demon, poised to attack them, but the terror of somebody who’s walked into the remains of a genocide that they inadvertently caused. The gun dropped from his hands, and he held my gaze for the briefest of moments, his mouth agape, before he dropped to her side.

I don’t like him looking like this. His dirty face, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks remind me of myself. I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen. Paralyzed with uncertainty. Kaloaan is a stone, an unbreakable wall in my life. An impenetrable fortress that I escape to any time I ever needed. He’s not the sobbing mess before me. I turned him into that. I’m infectious. I… I’m a disease…

“We still haven’t found dad,” Kaloaan continues, pulling himself together. He hugs his arms close to him. He’s got nobody to wrap their arms around him and offer their warmth. He’s got no shoulder to cry on. All he has is me.

“He wasn’t in the building?”

“No. They packed up and vanished. Not a trace of them left besides a couple shards of a smashed beer bottle. Zorikan’s got eyes and ears in every nook and cranny of this damn city. He’s permanently one move ahead.”

Silence envelopes us for a moment.

“So… what’s your move forward?” I ask, awkwardly. I need to get his mind on moving on, thinking practically. That’s what he’s best at.

He grimaces. “I want to keep up the search, but it’s… selfish of me. The police force is getting a lot of shit lately.”

That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him swear.

“Based off public demand, and urgency, we need most of our men on the look of for Qiara.”

“And the Foraging Raven’s Nest?”

“Yeah… that to. We have to neutralize the threat of Qiara first. She’s too dangerous, too lethal. Another death; Leerr Kenroy, a rapper who was publicly against bansilin use was found in his trailer his brains dripping into his sink. After we get rid of her, we can work to taking out the Raven’s Nest.”

“Makes sense. Hey, watch out alright?”

“Huh?”

“You’re influential. You’re against bansilin,” I say.

He catches on. “Yeah, I guess. I’d like to see them try though,” he says with a halfhearted smirk.

At least.

“Hey, look,” he continues. “I know I shouldn’t ask this of you but…” he pauses, looking at me as if for confirmation to continue.

I don’t budge.

“But dad is still missing, and I can’t really do anything about it. This Zorikan guy, he’s after you though. You’ll be able to find him, won’t you? You’ll be able to get dad?”

I’m as still as a gargoyle.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get him. We can’t just leave him with that monster. I would give you a few of my men, but I know you’d refuse…”

I cough.

“You don’t need to rescue him, just locate him. And keep this on you,” he hands me a small, black walkie talkie that fits into my palm. “I just can’t sleep knowing he’s out there.”

I swallow. I shift my position. I avert my eyes from the gleaming glass shards at my feet, to the brown liquid dripping out of a misty bottle.

“Kallix?” he asks.

I shake my head. I near unnoticeable gesture, so small it would take a detective eyes to notice it. Unfortunately…

“Kallix I know how it sounds,” he starts.

I stand abruptly, making him jolt. There’s no way I’m going back there. Not a chance I’m risking getting back into Zorikan’s clutches for my bitch of a dad. Not a damn chance.

“Hey, stop! Wait!” he calls.

Like a snake, I slither away, faster than his eyes can even follow. Down the stairs, skipping entire flights and out the door I plunge. The night is weak, and my brother’s apologies are strong. I am fast.

Down the road I tear, murky puddles splashing at my quake. I cannot be stopped. I will not be stopped. My instincts rein my body, and my mind is thrown from its unstable throne.

I don’t tire.

I don’t think.

I simply run.

I see, but do not register the glint of moonlight of a bottle. I notice, but do not react to a car, swerving drunkenly past me. I look, but do not understand as a figure dives out of my way.

Eventually, I stop. My muscles are hot with exhaustion but my adrenaline surges like a gushing river through my body. My lungs and heart are working beyond what should be capable, but the imbalance of chemicals within me widens my trachea and feeds my heart energy that I shouldn’t even possess.

The door in front of me is red, illuminated in the dim porch light so it appears blood-like. The brass figures at my eye level show me numerals I do not process. A flicker of uncertainty passes through me as the plastic doorbell does not crunch under my thumb, as most usually do.

I wait as moments pass, like a serial killer, patiently biding his time before his victim lets him in. When the door does open, the girl in front of me lets out a quick gasp. I don’t know why I ended up here. I’m not sure how mu subconscious brought me here. As my mind struggles to fight off the chemicals, an image of myself flickers in front of me.

Sunken, dark, eyes, like a cornered wolf.

Hollow, bony cheeks, like a zombie.

Sickly pale, bruised, sweaty skin, like a living mannequin.

Long, thick, unruly hair, like a scarecrow’s.

Thin, twitching, scabbed fingers, like an electrically pumped corpse.

Crusty, brown…

“What are you doing here?” the girl asks. “And what the hell happened to you?”

My eyes, like a bull’s flit to her brilliant red hair. “You have no idea,” I croak. I sniff. I cough. I stagger. “I’m… sorry, Tauren.”

“Really? Really? You’re freaking sorry? Kallix goddamn Rane is sorry? Wow, this is revolutionary,” Tauren snaps. “After you left me, a crumpled mess, sobbing on the side of the road, you’re sorry?”

“Tauren I…”

“No! Don’t Tauren me. You’re a damn monster!”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you do anything! You’re a piece of shit and you know it! I don’t know why you came here. I don’t know what you thought you’d receive. Just get the hell out of here and maybe I won’t freaking stab you.”

“I can…”

“No. Fuck you, Kallix Rane.”

The door slams.

I wince.

I amble a few steps.

Not even my adrenaline is left.

Even it has deserted me.

And for good reason.

Why the hell would anybody want to live around me?

~

I shuffle down the aisle, the people tucked into their seats casting me weary looks as I wait for the obese man ahead of me to squeeze onwards. I’m not exactly sure where the bus is going. It’s not going to East Side, and it’s not staying here. That’s all I need. Anywhere. Anywhere away from here.

The fat man plops himself down on a seat, and I grace down the bus. The last seat is filled with over six girls, giggling and pointing fingers at me, so I swing myself into an empty space, two rows ahead.

The bus rumbles to a start, and a bit I stare solemnly out the window, but I soon grow sick of the grimy sprawl and turn my gaze to the seat across from mine, where my heart skips a beat.

Passed out against the window, with his legs stretched out into the aisle, is the unmistakable figure of Deqar, purple mohawk, dark eyeliner, rings and all. He’s also escaping. He also can’t remain. Maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.