Beyond Gray Dreams - Chapter 15 - BananaSlammer7_9 (2024)

Chapter Text

A few days passed. The contest was coming to a close. Elmira needed GHB. An extravagant festival awaited me. In case you couldn’t pick up on it, this is where things start to get exciting, at long, long last.

Firstly, I think whoever made mission planning seem easy in the movies should be fired. Or flayed. Probably both. Because no one realistically lays out a grand plan to sneak into some factory or office building to grab whatever relic they need in a whopping ten minutes, letting the mission itself go off without a hitch. Those damn directors fooled us, because scoping out how we’d approach Arthur Merrick was a trial and a half.

It took us roughly two hours. Mr. Kozlov was out doing something, somewhere, so Elmira and I had that much time and more. Pasty white sheets replaced placemats and glasses on the kitchen table. We went through several markers sketching out the path, doodling ourselves with tiny stick arms and feet (not Elmira, she was rightfully muscular as a doodle), while she drew the general layout of his evil, spooky lair. It was weird how she even knew the base so well, but I suppose when they have a product you like you learn to get an eyeful of the hub area.

Mr. Merrick’s scary lair fared fairly in the place she explained, which was rare and scary, because he owned quite the interesting hideout.

He resided in an old factory laid out by bricks and metal; beyond walking distance, but the subway ride would be relatively short. What did this factory make, you may ask? Bricks and metal. And coffee, or at least, they used to make coffee. The guy who built the place was swiftly arrested when a lopped-off thumb ended up in the cans of grounds. Somehow, Merrick got his hands on it, turning it into his personal home and hangout spot for his gang. Why had no one investigated him and this mysterious factory that was still up and running based on the flickering lights that passed through the foggy windows during late-night parties? I have no idea. He probably had an official or two under his thumb, because our world is run by corrupt slimeballs.

[you have no idea]

His factory was pretty large, holding several rooms repurposed for comfort and weapon-stocking. Shipments had their own wide space and the most security. Everything else was probably just for the storage I didn’t mention, but the size wasn’t what I was worried about.

Elmira had looked at me uneasily. “He has…big group.”

“Gang.”

“Big gang.” she nodded, licking her lips. A smear of purple ink rested at her cheek. Her hair curled over her shoulders, looking jet black as the sun set outside. “They don’t hurt loyal buyers, like me. But they’re secretive, very tense. We need to be smart if we are going to get GHB.”

I paused, remembering what she and Roman told me. “Business isn’t going so well for him. He’s already hoarding this stuff, getting it back by asking nicely is out of the question.”

“Oh, I know…” she moaned.

Touching her shoulder, I tried my best to smile. “We’ve got this, though.” I said, both sure and unsure. “We’ll walk in, talk to Merrick, and…figure out how to get your stuff.”

Your stuff, Elmira. Why do ya stick needles in your skin, Elmira? You gonna TELL me that or are we just gonna beat around the bush for a few more weeks? Who knew? What I did know was that letting my thoughts get bent out of shape wasn’t normal - not with Jake, and not with her. Because I was still a normal kid. Even if this activity awaiting us was anything but normal.

But the prospect of her modeling for me hadn’t lost its luster. I needed to make it happen.

Our outfits were already together; modest, unassuming, fit for the cold. Hopefully the crack in my glasses either made me look tough or pathetic, because either end of the spectrum would grant me some sympathy from hardened gang members, hopefully.

[they’re not usually sympathetic. A buddy of mine had his hand chopped off by one when his cover was blown.]

Well I didn’t know they did that, so I was running on blind optimism. I took my camera with me, stocked full of photos I’d taken a day or two before to dull the sudden hums of pain I didn’t yet understand. Elmira tied her hair into a braid and grabbed a switchblade; I tried not to think of Lucius.

Too late.

Now I needed to take some pictures.

Only, there was no time. Donating each other a worried look, we flicked the lights off and left her apartment, spilling out onto the streets. Chicago was darker and filthier at this time of night, when the evening shifted to the stage following it and the shadows were heavier, lights on the skyscrapers knifing through the inky blackness.

It looked just as it had when I first arrived. Things seemed so different back then.

“Let’s go.” I declared.

She took a deep breath. Nodded.

And we went on our way. The lion's den awaited us.

◩

Did he get a hook, by the way?

[what?]

Your friend who lost his hand to a gangster. Did he get a hook as a replacement?

[...no, mark, you lunatic.]

Hey, it was a valid question. You want another one? Why does the human brain suddenly forget things linked with muscle memory, like…riding the subway, in the face of anxiety? Ask a doctor, ask a nurse. They wouldn’t know how I felt, because they probably weren’t on their way to face a drug lord.

The train’s lights flickered in an eerie light green; think of the illumination in The Ring and slap on a few tacky ads for Viagra and the next action movies on the walls and you’ll understand where we were sitting.

When we plopped down, hands wrenched around the metal bars that rattled loosely, we realized we were almost the only ones in there. The only other passenger was an older man snoozing in the corner seats. We let him rest - at least someone was feeling peaceful.

We sat there, swaying from the uneven grinds and bumps of wheels on tracks. With where we were heading, it felt less like a train, more like a hearse, manned by men who couldn’t bear the weight of soon-to-be cadavers.

“You holding up okay?” I asked, staring at a can of Sprite that rolled back and forth on the floor. “Should be only two more stops, right?”

She nodded. “I’m…fine. I think.” she mumbled. “This is important mission. Last mission, I swear.”

“I believed you, don’t worry.” I nodded, and we were silent for a moment. My mind was louder, the pressing questions of the why and when lancing my instincts to keep quiet, act someone normal in a social sense. Only I gave in, just slowly, flowing out of me like a tiny hole in a water balloon. “Spoke to your dad the other day.”

Elmira tensed up. “What did he say?”

I smirked. “He speaks highly of you.” I said, truthful. “Said you could kick ass on a whim, basically. Must be amazing having a dad that’s so supportive, even if he keeps you busy.”

Her braid shook when she nodded. Then her face fell, gradually, like gravity was slow and weak. “It should be.” she said, biting her lip. “I love him. I just…”

She paused, letting out a deep breath.

“He doesn’t understand.”

I glanced at her. “Your passion, right?”

“More than that.” she told me, leaning forward in her seat. Now she was watching the can sway back and forth. “It’s silly, I know it’s silly. To make such complaints of caring папа when some kids don’t…have one. But it’s more than that. He has heavy hand on me. Schedule. Diet. Future. Папа thinks he knows everything, and…and he might. He knows lots about what he wants for me, and what I need. He knows skeleton of my life.”

She fell silent. I spoke up. “So…what’s the problem?”

Elmira met my eyes, looking vulnerable. “He doesn’t know me. Not truly.” she blurted out. “Stupid, right? He raised me, clothed me, taught me to speak and understand shapes when мама departed days after I arrived. He did everything, he should know everything. But he doesn’t. He knows what I do, what I’m capable of; enough to speak highly of to friends. But he doesn’t know me.”

I understood. Even if our situations weren’t the same, I understood.

For a minute or two, the screeching of tracks and distant bustle filled the space, voracious hums soothing a pain that was all too real. That was one stop down, one more awaited us. It was then that I found some courage - not all of it, but enough for now.

“Elmira.” I said, hearing her soft hm? in response. “Why do you need GHB?”

She bristled up at the question, then softened. From there, I didn’t know what she was feeling. There was a sort of weakness, delicateness, hanging over her face. I thought of spider’s silk the longer I stared at her, like even the gentlest breeze or flick from a finger would snap it all, send the whole thing crashing down. I halted, breath bated. The glimmer in her eyes wavered. I wouldn’t dare move, wouldn’t dare risk blowing it out.

“I just do.” she whispered, and I saw tears prick in the corners of her eyes. “Mark. Sometimes, it’s all just…too much. Okay? Everything is just too much.”

I nodded. “I get it.”

“You don’t have to lie.” she said, sucking in a sharp breath. “But it is, it’s too much. And sometimes, when it’s too much, I need moment to rest. Think. Breathe properly, so heart doesn’t beat out of chest and explode. GHB, that’s only thing that helps world make sense, sometimes. And I guess I need it to make sense.”

There was nearly a minute of silence between every word. I glanced out the window; our stop wasn’t quite there. A starry sky - foreign in the big city - gleamed at us. A million eyes. None as pretty as the innocence I was facing, even if the quantity of stars was vast and everlasting. They had stars like that in Arcadia Bay. But I didn’t want to think about home, not when things were starting to get too real.

She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. I get it, really.” I said, and for a reason that I’m not sure of, I decided to look back again. Let something spill free. It felt different than when I did it with Laura, where the stakes stepped outside of the photographic world. No, this felt different. But the magnitude stayed the same. Licking my lips, I let something pass. “I know how it feels to feel like you’re…cracking.”

Elmira paused. “Cracking?”

“Under the weight of it all.” I murmured, hands knitting together. I wasn’t sure where I was staring, what lines in the world around me my eyes lacerated, hoping to find a less uncomfortable sight beyond the layers. Only one thing felt sound and comforting, the weight of a camera around my neck. I clasped it with infinite gentleness. I’d never let it get hurt. “My parents weren’t so great. Hell, my life wasn’t so great, back in my hometown. They didn’t have…recreational drugs to offer. It was nearly impossible to get through each day, let alone escape it.”

She didn’t say anything, at first. Cheek in her hand, Elmira’s gaze veered off, just like mine. Maybe she’d find something nice before I did. “What did you do?”

What did I do? What could I have done? When no one in the world knew what was really going on, or nobody cared. And the one person that got close to defying it, even he was just a few inches too far from the truth.

But I’m bluffing. This wasn’t a hard question to answer. Waving my hands because the answer was simple, I slumped back down. “I took pictures. Every single day, every moment I could. With this very camera.” I held it up for her to better see, for the subway lights were starting to dim. “And I wanted to. But I also had to, because otherwise…”

“You crack and crumble.” Elmira said. Fast learner, that girl. “GHB. Pictures. Do you suppose they were always meant to be used by us, for this reason only?”

“Of course.” I assured her. “Look, Elmira, don’t feel ashamed. People want to find out things about you, things like this. Because then they feel like they can control it. And then when they can’t, they turn on you.” My chest felt heavy, yanked down by my aching heart. “My friend told me that.”

She waited a moment before nodding. “Then, they can never find out.” she whispered. “No one. Not even my own family.”

I smiled, reaching to touch her shoulder. “Hey, we’d both be judged if we let our true selves spill.” I said, and now, my words were starting to shift to a new corner. The delicacy, the vulnerability, I sheathed mine away, hid it behind the shell that hadn’t yet cracked. That dark power surged in my chest; cool, wide. I rubbed a soothing pattern into her arm, feeling a lot better now. Because I was saying the right things, and she was getting the right message. “You and I, we’re in this together. So let’s keep all this between us and…get that GHB.”

Now she was smiling, just faintly. “I guess so.” she murmured. “Thank you, Mark. I’ve never…I’ve never spoken to anyone about this.”

“And my lips are sealed.” I assured her, doing the hand motion, flicking the invisible key away as the subway lurched to a stop. The doors opened, we rose up at the same time. “After you. You’re the woman of the hour.”

Elmira obeyed, holding the door open as we both stepped into the night. The train shut its mouth, floating off into the darkness. The comforting, beautiful darkness.

Now, it was time.

But before she walked off, leading the way, she said something that made me lag behind.

“And, Mark…” she said, almost uneasily. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

And I stood there. Alone. Unsure of how I felt. Not that it mattered. So I took a deep breath, straightened my glasses, and made sure my beloved camera was fastened to me.

No more talk. We had a job to do.

◩

The best thing about late-night missions? You barely had anyone in your way, tallying the number of folk you’d need to elbow and move past to a merciful zero. That was one advantage we had, but the future was yet to be presented to us.

This part of Chicago was different from where I roamed. Hipsterland and the city area - home to the Bean statue, in case you needed some specifics. We were in the manufacturing district now, packed with large warehouses and factories lined up on every sidewalk, blocking out the sky when they could. The streets were filthier, the alleyways darker. This was the place you went when you wanted to get shanked, or hooked on drugs, or f*cked raw in public while filthy regret lilted from your very soul.

We stayed close, hands not quite touching, not quite apart. If anyone tried anything, I’d trust Elmira to take them down swiftly. Unless they had a bigger knife than what she was packing. Then we’d both be f*cked.

And I wasn’t wrong to expect a weapon. We’d see people every once in a while with every block we walked. Stoic men with looks only killers could give, meth-toothed ladies that sneered at us. They leaned against streetlights and walls when we brushed by, others pacing around like caged tigers, ready to break through and pounce at the drop of a hat.

I leaned over. “This place is really creeping me out.”

“Me too.” she nodded, before aiming her finger at the building up ahead. Three-story, brick-laid factory, with long, ribbed windows hanging near the steel roof. This building looked mean. Meaner than all the others. “That’s his hideout.”

Gasping, I glanced at her. “You come here for your fixes?”

She shook her head. “No, I have friend for that, remember? I’ve never been bold enough to come to his base. But I guess we’re desperate now, hm?”

Ha, she could say that again.

“So, I was thinking.” Elmira said. “We need to rehearse what we’ll say to Mr. Merrick. Need…polite request. To talk.”

I stroked my chin, not wanting my social skills to fester in the face of a drug lord. Snapping my fingers, I came up with something. “Okay, okay, I’ve got it. I’ll say: “Mr. Merrick, we need to speak to you.”

Breaking into a grin, she gave me a thumbs up. “That’s good! We’ll say “Mr. Merrick, we need to speak to you!”

“Exactly!” I chirped, and we said it together, over and over again, sounding more smooth and charming with every try. Oh, yeah, we had this in the bag. One word from our lips and Arthur would be itching to speak with such polite teenagers. We really were just amazing at this.

Stalking to the shadowy corner resembling an entrance, we kept our mouths shut from then on, heads low. Some people flooded into the alleyway, Elmira grabbed my wrist and guided me after them. We ventured deeper inside, a rhythmic bumping that wasn’t my heartbeat growing more powerful with every step. Muffled music.

Sure enough, a bouncer with face ink stood in the corner, hanging beside a door that spewed out lights when it swung open, devouring another guest. More and more piled in, until we were the ones facing the man.

“Who the f*ck are you?” he asked, septum ring glimmering. Well, I guess that was a fair question. “We don’t allow teenagers in here, get out.”

Elmira huffed, pulling out a card from her coat pocket. Okay, wow, she didn’t mention that before, though we were past the point of questions. The man snatched the card, slanted eyes widening when he handed it back. His beefy hand stamped the door, pushing it open just an inch. “Kay, we’ve got a client.” he muttered, before nodding at me. “Who’s this? Your boyfriend?”

“My friend.” she said sharply.

He whistled. “Damn, sorry about the breakup.”

I blinked. “No, no, we didn’t-”

“It hurts, you know. Man, life in general hurts.” he continued, putting a hand on his chest. “I hate this job. My boss sucks. I wish I could start my own gang, but there’s not exactly much product going around while he’s hoarding it.”

Almost avoiding the convo altogether, I halted. A jab of dark power told me this would be important. So I tilted my head, grabbing Elmira’s shoulder when she started to head inside. “You…wish that stuff was out on the streets?”

He nodded, eyes wide. “Oh, you bet. Merrick thinks that the cops are the reason this drug trade thing is going downhill for us - that’s not true, he’s just making bad choices, between you and me.” he continued, and everyone behind me raised their eyebrows, backing away and scattering once they caught wind of this conversation topic. “If our stuff was in the possession of more people, or better yet, some of my boys, things would look pretty good. Not here - he just keeps some of his stuff downstairs.”

The bouncer might’ve sensed that he didn’t need to say all that, clearing his throat and patting my back. “Anyways, again, sorry about the heartbreak. Just don’t drink too much, it doesn’t make the pain go away.” he said, patting me on the back a second time when I walked towards the door. Now it was open wide enough, and without a second to process what just happened, we passed through.

Once we did, I was hit by a tsunami of swirling green lights. The room was wide but packed completely full by shaking hips and circling bodies, each bedazzled with jewelry and tacky coats and whatever crap people thought was fashionable back in the 90s parties. My eardrums rattled under the music - I craned my neck, facing the band packed on the stage across the room; the harbingers of my pain. It wasn’t good music, either, it was one of those…you know, those boomp-boomp-boomp things that has the beat drop right in the-

And the beat dropped. I plugged my ears as my eardrums shattered, expecting blood to spill out from my fingers. Elmira came up in my vision, face swathed with lights that turned a deep shade of crimson. She co*cked her head to the side, aiming her finger above the crowd. A staircase stretched up to a mysterious door, probably a VIP space, of sorts. But things are never apparent nowadays, and less so back then.

Sensing this, she tugged me close, mouth at my ear. “Mr. Merrick is probably up there! Maybe that’s his office!”

“Gotcha!” I shouted back, looking left, then right. “How do we get up there? You gonna flash your card again?”

“That’s only useful for entrance!” she explained, quite loudly. There was a moment that we pondered it, only stirred by the crowd pushing us forward. I casted a glance over my shoulder, and some guy was standing on another guy’s shoulders. These partiers, I tell ya. “Maybe, if there was something we could do to grab his attention, we could speak with him!”

Not a bad idea. “Only problem is…” I said, as the guy holding up the other guy teetered closed. I tapped his foot with mine. They both came crashing down. “...Finding him.”

We roamed through the crowd, it was an interesting detour. Either we were really well-dressed or sticking out like a sore thumb, because people would say and shout random things at us while we were walking.

“Yo, give me some skin!” one guy shouted, coming from the bar near the stage and holding out his hand.

“I’m a minor.” I told him, and I kept walking. “Elmira, where are we heading?”

She wedged past two guys locked in a passionate kiss. Because drug-infused raves were the most romantic setting of all. “Restrooms. We split up there, regroup when it’s easier to think.”

“Have some beads, little man!” a man with thinning hair and pink shades told me, while sandwiched in between other partiers. He handed me two bunches - one necklace was purple, the other green. Handing Elmira the purple and putting on my newest bling (do people say that? Bling?) while the man held his hand out, palm side up for a generous fee. I high-fived him, not giving him a second to register his confusion. “Gotcha, but after that, we get to work.” I told her.

However dangerous Arthur Merrick was, his party setting was especially hazardous. You could see chunks of mangled machinery hanging in the corners, inches away from a partiers’ bosom or crotch, minutes from a lawsuit and a bucket of blood sprawling out on the floor. Peeling a sticker off the wall with a yellow caution triangle, I crumpled it up and tossed it behind me when we finally reached the restrooms.

I paused, staring down both doors, swinging open with entering and exiting guests. “This is…charming.” I said, grateful that the music was more muffled in this nook of the room, and only slightly turned off by the message on the men’s bathroom door: EAT DICK, f*ck QUICK. I was a little more concerned with the first part, but I had no time to debate the intention of door poetry. “We pop in quickly, then meet out here. Right?”

“Right.” Elmira nodded, face creasing with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mark. I thought this would be easy.”

Smiling to make her feel better, I patted her on the shoulder, needing her to stay happy-ish. “Nothing’s been easy so far. Why change the game now?”

Breaking away, I popped into the restroom, letting out a sigh of relief. The music was muffled, at least mostly so. I whipped around. It was slightly offensive to me that the restroom of a sweaty rave was cleaner than the ones at Pacific Steve’s, save for the filth on the floor, the filth on the ceilings, the filthy mirrors, and the collection of heroin needles under the sink.

Making sure I didn’t accidentally step on the floor presents, I ran a stream of cool water in the sink, tucking my glasses in my pocket. Splashing it over my face once, twice, I relished the sobering chill.

My eyes locked on the glass, and slowly, the world behind me started to go out of focus. I reflect on my reflection.

In a literal sense, the sight was different, even if I’d seen myself in the mirror at least a hundred times since I first arrived in Chicago. But those were mere brushes with the viewing window, I didn’t take a moment to truly peer into the reflection. And it was almost foreign to me, surprisingly. It wasn’t the stubble around my chin or the bags under my eyes that caught me off-guard, no, it was the fact that I expected someone different.

Someone younger.

The kid back in Arcadia Bay.

That Mark wouldn’t even stare into a reflective surface for more than a minute if he was paid to do it. And could you blame him? Why would you want to wallow in the sight of yourself, the scoop of dirt under your chin and the faint, tender bruises scattered in places both invisible and out for the world to see and judge? Why would you want to see yourself weak and scared, meek even in the face of your own being?

I don’t know what was different. Sure, I looked older, somewhat; and as far as teenagers went, I was aging fairly well in my new surroundings. But maybe that wasn’t what I was seeing. It was something foreign to me. Why would a dark, dirty bathroom have an angle to the truth that my own home didn’t?

Gonna be honest, I stared for a few minutes too long, waiting for something to change, a new face to appear and soothe my cloaked worries. Nothing was different. And for some reason, that made me sad. But not sad; all I felt was a heaviness over my chest that was arguably worse.

Still, I wouldn’t be as sad as I’d be when Elmira found me, though. I’d spent too much time in the restroom. I needed to meet her outside, before she thought I’d been stabbed to death or something.

I backed away from the sink and turned away from the mirror. Taking a moment to straighten my pants, tuck my belt through all the loops in case some druggie tried to strangle me with it, I froze up when the door swung open. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I watched two men stomp inside. Well, that’s inaccurate; one of them was stomping, the other skittered behind him. Taking a glance at the duo gave me a reason for the contrast.

The stomper was lean but looked like a crazy person, with a haircut that was given by a vengeful barber and an outfit that was either dug out of the trash or ripped off a dead body - I’m not sure which one is worse. Tats lined his tensing muscles, and with a crazed look and gritted teeth, he started to pace around the restroom with a manic look in his eye. His friend looked massive in comparison, but he was free of ink and watched him with fear in his eyes.

“Hold on, Lenny.” his friend said, patting the air to try and soothe him, which was going about as well as you’d imagine. “Just breathe, man. sh*t, the boss told you that if you cause any trouble, he’s gonna come downstairs.”

“That hippie-dippie f*ck insulted my mother!” Lenny snarled, sucking in heavy, uneven breaths. Slamming his fist on one of the sinks, he screamed, clutching his hand. “I’m gonna find that son of a bitch and eat his SOUL!”

Pausing, his friend placed a hand on his shoulder. “I get it, trust me. But starting a fight is only gonna make him angry.” his friend murmured, grabbing him, making sure they were face to face.

“I’m already angry.” Lenny hissed, thrashing in his grasp. “He said something about my mother.”

“And he’ll get what’s coming to him, eventually. But we’ve gotta stay calm here.” his friend reminded him. I tried to reach for the door, but Lenny twitched and I decided I was safer waiting in the corner. Finally, his friend smiled, face lighting up with an idea. “Do we need to sing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart again?”

Wait, what did he say?

Lenny huffed, shaking his head.

“Come on, I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I want to do this but I’m too angry to admit I want to do this’ look. Come on, I’ll start.”

“Don’t you-”

And he started singing, soft and whispery, like I wasn’t a few feet away. Seconds later, Lenny started to join in, and then I started to question my life choices.

Because I quickly realized I was really standing in a factory-gangster-club restroom with a wet face, a camera around my neck, and fear in my body while two criminals were having a duet beside me. Where did my choices go wrong? Could I go back in time? No, that’s silly, time travel isn’t real.

But then I started thinking, while Lenny and his buddy were getting into it, hips shaking, fingers snapping, voices punishing the walls, ceiling, and even the needles beneath the sink. There was an opportunity here - Lenny’s friend had mentioned that Merrick didn’t want him starting a commotion. Understandable, gangsters didn’t want a kerfuffle in their base. However, he also mentioned that he’d ‘come down’ if something did happen. Lenny was a ticking time bomb, and maybe, if I became the sh*thead kid with a pair of scissors, I could grab the boss himself without any pesky dance floor roaming.

Get ready for this, Lenny.

I stepped out towards the door, mind in tatters when my plan began to set in, heart pounding in my chest. Focusing on how amazing it’d be to finally, properly capture Elmira, I took a deep breath. Spoke.

“Hey.”

They stopped singing, whipping around to face me. I think that, briefly, Lenny’s friend might have gotten an idea of what I was about to do. Maybe he was just like me once, and had been in this exact situation. Ha, how messed up would it be to see someone make the mistakes you did, in the same place? It didn’t matter, because his plea was silent, spurred by the glint in my eyes.

He shook his head, eyes wide. Lenny, on the other hand, squinted at me, waiting for whatever I had to say. Well, I guess I was doing this. If I died, at least it was at the hands of my passion.

I pointed at him, voicing my next statement with incredible conviction.

“Your mother.”

◩

[that…doesn’t sound smart.]

It wasn’t. In fact, I think I started to realize that about a second or two after I set it, my words hitting the damp air, silence following for nearly half that time.

[so what happened?]

Well, I suppose it was kind of a blur. I don’t remember if I ran first and then he lunged for me, or if it was the other way around, but there was a sort of intangibility to the memory. It was an untouchable blur, and I was thrown right into the thick of it.

I burst through the restroom, running as fast as I could to flee the furious man hot on my tail. Elmira breezed by, and briefly, we slammed into each other. She might’ve opened her mouth to speak but my mind was running a mile a minute, pushing her aside to spare my soon-to-be-muse from harm before I bolted off again.

“You motherf*cker!” I heard Lenny roar, but he was either righteously angry or on a fat dose of drugs because his words were garbled, blended together.

Blood pounded in my ears, matching with the thundering beat of the music. I glanced over my shoulder and let out a little scream, sprinting as hard as my legs would work and barreling into the crowd. Bodies were impenetrable walls in front of and behind me, swaying to the beat. Sweat was thick in the air. I was trying to push through the chaos, get as far away from the lunatic behind me as I could.

The plan was still set, however. I didn’t want to fight the guy, but there needed to be a fight in order for Arthur Merrick to stalk down the stairs, show himself to the groundlings choking all of my senses. It would require incredible timing, cunning, and a steady mind. Unfortunately, I had none of those at the moment.

I whipped around, backing away. Lenny’s spiky hair was a shark fin above the sea of partiers, bobbing and blurring with the rage that shook him. Briefly, he broke through, on four legs like some deranged spider monkey. But the natural flow of the party sucked him back in, closing the gap. I had time. For now.

“Oh, f*ck, oh f*ck!” I cried, ears and eyes punished by the music and lights. Snapping my head towards the stage, the band was going crazy, shooting off their power and spreading ecstatic bedlam. When I looked back around, feeling my back against some guy’s belly, I saw Lenny stalk up in front of me.

It was terrifying, he was slipping past bodies like he was made of air. It was similar to that scene from that movie that came out two years ago, John Wick, where Keanu Reeves was pursuing his target in the crowd, except I’d rather be faced by a cold-blooded assassin than a druggie psycho - at least then the death would be quick.

[how did you even manage to see that movie? you’re behind bars]

Let’s just say that people sneak phones in special places.

I raised my hands when he stepped out, a few feet between us, dancers all around. His eyes got big and crazy, nearly bulging out of his skull.

“You thought you could run, KID? Thought you could insultmymotherandRUNNN?”

What was the right answer in this situation? Yes? No?”

I chose a middle ground, mouthing gibberish and waving my arms as if the music was too loud and he just couldn’t hear me. But I think Lenny could read lips, because a demented cry ripped from his throat. He threw a punch. I ducked. Someone shouted behind me, hands cupping their nose. It was the beads guy!

Backpedaling and holding my camera for dear life, I watched bead-guy blink rapidly, struck with disbelief. His hands balled into fists. “You bastard!” he growled, as he regained his balance, emerald pearls spilling from his pockets, littering the floor. “I had like, seven packs of beads in my pockets! You bastard!”

Oh, you’re in for it now, Lenny.

He threw a wicked elbow, knocking Lenny flat. Unfortunately, bead-guy pulled his arm back too fast and hit someone behind him, earning a punch to the back of the head. That guy knocked into someone, he fell into a lady, she leaped on his back like she was Chucky. Before I knew it, blows blossomed in front of me, and a battle royale sprouted from the pits of a rave.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I quickly broke away, squeezing through bodies while the fight began to spread wider and searching frantically for Elmira. When I found her, I was at a loss. Why was she onstage?

She looked lost, eyes cutting back and forth while the band played behind her. Her chest heaved up and down. Elmira would freak if I didn’t retrieve her.

Shouting her name, I turned into a human rodent and scurried between every nook and cranny before me, stumbling up the edge of the stage and reaching for her hand.

The crowd roared with applause for some reason.

I pulled her close, speaking in her ear. “I put a plan into motion!”

“What plan?” she gasped, eyes wide, body frozen. I guess stage-fright applied when you weren’t supposed to be onstage.

“You’ll see!”

Lenny met my eyes from the pile of brawlers. Driving himself through the dancers and fighters and slants of whirling lights that bridged the spaces between reality, he sprinted towards us, up the edge of the stage.

I thought quickly, grabbing Elmira’s hand and leaning backwards. She squealed, holding onto me when we teetered back. Fell. A million hands held us up, cheers punishing our ears, vision whirling around.

Gotta say, crowd-surfing felt weird. Everyone’s hands under me was a feeling that I’m not entirely sure I enjoyed. But it guided us away from the stage, like inner tubes coasting down a gentle river. Lenny growled, leaping after us. The crowd fanned out and let him hit the floor, because holding him up was like picking up a rabid raccoon from a dumpster.

“Mark, look!” Elmira cried, aiming her finger upwards.

I glanced, the world tilting. The door upstairs flung open, orange light yawning out, pooling down the steps.

The crowd under us dispersed, but they let us down gently. The fighting still raged on nearby, the dancing never truly stopped. Blood pounding in my ears, hands shaking, body feeling weak with fear but strong with adrenaline, I realized something. I let out a broken, shallow laugh at the revelation, right as Lenny loomed over me.

This felt amazing. The thrill, the danger. And the repercussions didn’t matter - in the period of a rush, the rules just didn’t apply to me. Temerity replaced logistics. Feelings replaced thoughts. When my mind flashed back to the first night I’d felt such a thrill, moonlight lathing over Mister Petrozza’s shattered windshield, glass pieces accenting the pavement, Lenny’s hand clamped on my shoulder.

I yelped, feeling him turn me around. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elmira steel herself, holding up her fists in a fight-ready position.

“Got you now, kid.” he snarled, the alcohol on his breath reminding me of my father. Now I was angry, now I wanted to punch him. I wanted him hurt. I wanted him dead.

He reeled his fist back.

I squeezed mine.

Elmira looked like she was two seconds from either running away or knocking Lenny out cold.

Time stood still for a fleeting shard of time until…

“Hey.” a low, gruff voice hit the air.

Everything went silent. The band stopped playing, people stopped dancing. No more punches were thrown, no more shouts mingled from person to person. It was dead there. Because the grim reaper himself had arrived.

Lenny let go so fast that I swore I was made of fire. He held his hands up, stared at his feet. Running a hand over my collar, I glanced at Elmira, then at the voice.

Two large men in silver suits stood beside him. The man in the middle wore a pair of round shades tinted a bloody red, his eyes layered under the darkness and swirling lights. He was tall, muscular, figure bulging under a dark black two-piece. His beard housed a ruthless sneer, fingers clutching a cigar. I could see his knuckles even in the shadows - they looked like steel, rough from years of pounding skulls in, I was sure.

The rush died. My words did too. Elmira rushed to my side, the two of us feeling small and powerless under the gaze of the man. No, not ‘the man’. He was the man, he was Arthur Merrick.

He tilted his head. “Just what the hell is going on here?”

Elmira and I exchanged glances. This was the moment we’d prepared for, practiced nonstop in the last…hour or so. Charm had to flow into us now, dark and syrupy. It was time for us to request the meeting, demand the talk, walk the walk and show this man how professional we were. No fear. No hesitation. And we had to get the line right.

We said it at the same time, words broken and garbled, voices high with terror.

“mRMeRRickweneeedaSPEAKtOYOU!”

◩

“I was under the impression that my men and their- friends, would be free to indulge in a night of fun without any sort of interruptions or conflict, and that I’d be both free and entitled to run some errands while they did.” Arthur Merrick said, shaded eyes flickering between Elmira and I.

He’d taken us up to his office; a warm-colored space, classic in the high-quality wicker furniture but modern enough when you gazed at the finer details. A hanging ceiling fan with a single bulb of light screaming out for attention, framed photos on his desk and the walls accented with gold, and even the cushions under the seats we were glued to. No working class man could’ve bought all of this. Arthur wasn’t down there with the others for a reason.

His men had come too, standing equal beside his seating spot. When Merrick pulled a Cohiba cigar from his desk - stuffed thick but pinched tight - they snipped it the moment they saw it, lit it while it was clamped between his teeth.

He blew smoke out in a narrow jet. “Why was I mistaken?”

I blinked, letting an infinitesimal pause hang in the air before I realized he expected either Elmira or I to answer. Casting a glance at her, she looked so pale that I swore she was dying right in front of me. Okay, I guess this responsibility fell on me.

“Your- uh- associate. Employee? I think his name’s Lenny…sir.” I said, choosing every word perfectly, knowing from countless crime movies that you didn't ever want to offend anyone gangster-adjacent with poor word choice. That usually ended in a grisly fate, as I've said before. “He attacked me on the dance floor. Then several others turned violent.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eye contact alone putting me in a trans-dimensional headlock. Whatever that means. “Lenny, huh? He always was kind of a loose cannon.” he mused. “But he doesn't get mad without a reason.”

Uh oh. Shrinking in my seat, the fear of death was really starting to weigh on me.

Arthur tilted his head, leaning back in his chair. “Son, I didn't bring you up here to grill you; frankly, that madness alone was probably more than a proper lesson for both of you.” But the hardness never left his eyes. I wonder if every gangster needed to keep that guise up, genuine or not, when facing even the least threatening of subjects. “I just don’t like trouble being brought to my base. Are you two gonna bring trouble?”

“No! No, of course not…” Elmira squeaked, shaking her head madly.

“We’d never think to.” I added, my voice wavering less, heart thundering with less power. He didn't seem like he was going to kill us - not that he wouldn’t, he just didn’t seem like he was going to. We still had a job to do, but waiting for the right moment to dispense our request was vital. Couldn’t risk fumbling an easy pass from getting shot down or stabbed by a ruthless drug lord.

He nodded, going in for another puff…before halting. “You two look a little young to seem like a normal guest around here.”

I aimed my thumb at Elmira. “Well, uh…she’s of age.”

“But she’s not a regular. Not even the most spruced-up of age girl could just walk in here on her own.” he muttered, nodding at her. “You have a card, don’t you?”

For a gangster, he was very astute. Elmira fumbled for her pocket, yanking out the card she’d flashed earlier, past confidence withering away in the face of Arthur. It shook like a leaf when she held it up. One of his men leaned over and snatched it. Arthur took it next, scrutinizing it with a narrowed stare.

He gazed back at her. “Hm. Loyal customer.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded.

“Did Beatriz hook you up with my product?”

Another nod.

The urge to talk was hot and real, but I kept my mouth shut, knowing my blabbering would only tense the air, plunge us further down whatever bar he had us at. We rested at the ‘don’t kill’ spot right now, but one slip and things would look pretty ugly, I was sure. What I did do, however, was observe.

Arthur Merrick looked different up-close. Not seeing his eyes was surreal, for one thing, strengthening the illusion of a ruthless demon hiding upstairs in his castle. Every movement of his catered further to the legend. Each was sharp and sudden, things from the quirk of his eyebrow to the bend in his lip seemed to send me flinching, reeling back into my seat.

Yeah, too spooky to keep staring at. So I looked around his office again, then again, until I found something interesting. Something flat rested upright on his desk, the face only available for his eyes to see. A picture frame.

Hm, sneaking a peek would be practically impossible, and asking about it would probably get me killed. But my little boy brain deduced things perfectly - it was a family member. Big whoop, right? Everyone has family to glance at on their desk, unless you’re a piece of crap or had a terrible family, like I did.

It reassured me, just slightly. This wasn’t a totally heartless man I was facing.

There was a cold twist in the back of my neck. An urge to ask, prod, venture in with a swig of dark power inside of me and persuade this man for the GHB. Only I didn’t know the territory- it’s like the end of the song Rock Island from The Music Man, in which one of those outraged sharp-dressers wholeheartedly declared that the silver-tongued Harold Hill ‘doesn’t know the territory!’ So I faltered, kept a cool head. I was no longer afraid; rather, I was cautious.

I tuned back in to their conversation. Elmira looked a little less pale, but her hands still shook. Arthur Merrick was unreadable.

“So, Elmira.” he said, stretching the syllables out as if that were a fake name. “Why the hell did you come here? Especially with this kid-” he glanced at me “-who has nothing to do with this? Beatriz must’ve told you not to let others in. That was unequivocal.”

“I came…to ask a favor of you.” she said, voice wavering. “My monthly supply of GHB, I was unable to receive it on the day I usually obtain it. And I…I need it. So I ask you for-”

His reply was cold and final. “No.”

I decided to jump in. “Mr. Merrick, we implore you-”

“I said no.” he repeated, folding his arms, leaning back. His bodyguards never took their eyes off him, or us; they were like those lizards that can look in two different directions at once. “Chances are, if you’re buying from me, you know my situation. Things aren’t going so well around here, I need to hold onto my product for as long as I can. Cops are on us like flies on…”

“Flypaper.” I finished.

He squinted at me, or I think he did, because his shades still covered his eyes. “That’s a little on the nose, but…sure,” he said. “We’re not giving any of that out right now; GHB is on-demand, but there’s no safe way to give it away right now.”

Well, crap. I wasn’t sure why this situation was so difficult all of a sudden, why not just hand us a pack…container…bag, or whatever GHB used to come in back then? I was willing to be hush-hush quiet about it all, and I was sure Elmira would jump on any opportunity she could to grab her fix. She didn’t look so good right now; faint twitching, nails scrabbling for solace at her arm. Unfit to be captured. At least, until she was all leveled out.

Persuading Mr. Merrick wouldn’t be easy, or even possible. I wasn’t the silver-tongued charmer I am today back then, even if you’ve seen glimmers of that side of me slowly starting to form, little inklings spreading into something magnificent. That meant I’d need a better angle, a better strategy. I spitballed in my head.

Threaten him? With what, my tiny little fists? Besides, even if I had a proper threat to hang over his head, like, say, a talk with Roman, he’d have no reason to let me leave after that, and certainly not in one piece. I’d have to get a hook for a hand, like your friend.

[i told you, there was no hook hand.]

That’s not how I remember it, but alright.

Bribe him? I thought the whole point of coming was that we were willing to pay, and neither of us had the money to wedge poor Arthur out from his safekept crevice. Things were too risky, I accepted that circ*mstance.

Beg? I’d never beg for anyone’s generosity; my dignity was an impenetrable callous after years of customer mistreatment back at home and mistreatment overall. No begging, no siree.

There was only one option, one that made me think of Jake. Roman had a picture frame on his desk, meaning there was someone dear to him in his life. A weak spot. I mean, I didn’t call it that in my head, because normal kids like me didn’t use emotions as weapons. Of course not. But it did mean he wasn’t above some sort of softness. And it’s the softness that often leaves you vulnerable; because while the jagged end of necessity couldn’t prod past a stony shell, it went through soft underbelly like a warm knife through butter.

I shifted in my seat, scooting to the right upon noticing one of the bodyguards had a metallic name tag, stamped to his shirt, looking like a glutinous attempt of appearing to have status. The picture came up warped and blurry, but I could see two heads, one large, one small. Arthur, and…a kid? A son? Daughter? Nephew? I couldn’t tell.

But he had a soft spot. For kids. I clicked a plan together in my head.

“Elmira.” I said, a dip in my voice leaving room for ambiguity. Only there was no doubt in my next decision; I had to put on a show. “It’s fine.”

She widened her eyes. Something flickered across her face, a will-o-the-wisp of pure, straining desperation. “Mark…”

I tried my best to look emotional, but…man, it was hard. How do actors do it? Sniffling, I shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine. He said no.” I mumbled, standing up in my chair, putting an arm on her shoulder. I hushed my voice, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. “Maxim will be fine.”

Elmira’s face changed, rippling like a pebble hitting a pond, falling still when the plan seemed to enter her brain. She nodded, just faintly. On cue, tears pricked in her eyes, looking scarily natural. “But…but…h-he…I won’t be able to-”

“We can get through this.” I said, forcing my voice to crack slightly. I ushered her away to sell the scene - because obviously, doing all of this in front of Arthur would look pretty suspicious. We were about halfway down the office when I noticed a door to my left, small and blending into the wall. It jiggled, a slant of light peeking from a crack in the door. For the sake of the performance, I paid it no mind.

And…about that performance, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was working. From the corner of my eye, Arthur’s face was a blurred shadow. The man was an enigma; as much of one that a generic drug lord could be.

My words shifted, and that power returned. Suddenly, the emotions came easy, my voice wavered on-cue, and even my hands were shaking when I reached to take Elmira’s. “I can look after him. It’ll just be hard. He’ll w-wonder what’s wrong with you, he always does. Even his kindergarten teachers know what’s going on.”

“I know…” she whispered, and Jesus, we were good. Maybe Elmira and I should’ve auditioned for a local play, because the way our faces were creasing with sorrow, eyes flooding, I could’ve sworn we were actors. “I just wish…I wish I could be better.”

I cupped her cheek, turning her further away from Arthur, to make this ploy even less clear. “You’ll be fine. And he will, too. He’s strong.” I told her, staring into her eyes, those rays of innocence fueling me, invigorating me. God, she looked so good under my gaze. Under a camera she’d be even better. I lowered my voice even more. “And I’ll explain your narcolepsy when he’s not too scared to understand.”

“Al-right. Fine.” Arthur huffed, and we turned around, watching him drag his hands down his face. The bodyguards were still stone-faced, but they were avoiding eye contact now.

I paused. “...What?”

He growled, a flicker of softness in his face. “I’ll get you some.” he said, looking reluctant. Sitting back, Arthur gave us a stern leer. “But you’re gonna need to pay double. I’m sorry about your condition, really, and I’m sorry that your brother has to suffer because of it…” He pulled down his shades. His eyes were softer than my own Dad’s. “But my gang can’t afford to let too much go for too little. Things are too tough for us, right now.”

I glanced at Elmira. Sniffling, wiping out her tears that I wasn’t sure were real or fake anymore, she gave me a look that confirmed that would be a problem. I half expected her to pull out her wallet and see a gnat fly out.

Hm. Looks like we were still in a pickle. We’d need a saving grace, now, a prong of luck to skewer the predicament that seemed unmanageable. Thankfully, in some ways, I was pretty lucky. Because the tiny little door on the wall jiggled, rattled. It swung open like one end of a batwing, and…

A kid walked out.

He was short and frail, looking no older than nine. The kid was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, looking filthy (that hit close to home, I was practically always filthy for all of my younger years), halting like a deer in headlights the moment we turned to him. Swiping messy brown hair out of his eyes, his gaze panned towards Arthur.

The kid almost got a word out. “Da-”

“Damon.” Arthur said, in a mix between a snarl and a gasp. His eyes shot to us, then down at him.

Oh, here it comes. I bet my measly wealth at that time that his kid was gonna get smacked in the mouth right then and there, or berated, or glared at until he realized his presence was unwanted and he slinked off to sulk on his own, because things were only ever okay when he was on his own. Steeling myself, the world rolling like storm clouds, I waited for Arthur to spring over his desk.

Instead, he waved the kid over. Damon waddled with a widening smile, squealing when Arthur lifted him by the waist, placing him on his lap. He murmured something, Damon said something back. Arthur’s lips curled up, and his smile didn’t look terrifying, unfamiliar warmth replacing familiar chill.

…Huh. My mistake, I guess.

“Who are they?” Damon asked, aiming his finger at us two as Elmira and I exchanged glances. I was right, he did have a son. A son that made him turn all soft when he arrived. I made note of that.

“They’re friends of mine.” Arthur lied, giving us a look that either demanded or pleaded for us to play along.

I obliged. “Hey, little man.” I said, offering him my best smile. “My name is Mark. This is Elmira.”

Damon squinted. “Your glasses are broken. It looks weird.”

“Damon.” Arthur scolded, real eyes peeking through his shades.

Well damn, kid. But I’d be lying if I didn’t see myself in that remark; honesty was the best policy, after all. You’ve seen that in some of my past memories - and I say I’ve been pretty honest with you so far, Mr. Davis.

[i sure hope so.]

Nodding, Damon glanced at us with doughy eyes. “Sorry.”

Arthur’s hand sheathed Damon’s skull when he tousled his hair. “I have to leave, Damon. Daddy has work to do, like I told you.” he rumbled, and slowly, awkwardness began to replace my fear. Watching this felt unnatural, weirdly personal. We just needed some GHB, but now this whole thing was spiraling out of control. Hell, I almost died just a few minutes ago. Lunacy seemed common in the lives of the ambitious. But geez, I wished the world could take it easy on me, at least in this one instance.

Damon frowned. “Aw. But daddy-”

“I won’t take long,” he said, cutting him off once more. “I’ll find someone to look after you, like always.” He paused, hooking his son’s chin on the edge of his finger, guiding his eyes to his own. “You can play downstairs near the cars, if you want…you like cars, right?”

“I guess.” he said, eyes cutting to the side. “But I don’t wanna have someone look after me. You can stay.”

Arthur sighed. “I’ve explained this to you before. I don’t have any babysitters, so just…I don’t know…do what you usually do.” he murmured. “Daddy’s very busy. I taught you how to play by yourself, didn’t I? Then when I come back-” he tried to smile, but it looked more like a shark baring its teeth. “We can watch that dinosaur show you like so much.”

Sighing, Damon nodded. “Okay.” he whispered, but just like that, he switched back to pouting again, folding his tiny little arms. “Your friends never play with me…”

Hm. Okay, so, I think you can guess what’s about to happen.

[i have a guess, but I don’t like it.]

For starters, I picked up on a few unspoken things that I’d make sure would remain unspoken. One thing was for sure, though, this kid wasn’t being smacked around - which wasn’t something I expected when I saw a drug lord had a son. I thought they’d be the kings of physical and emotional abuse, but it looked like he was missing the former.

Among the other ubiquitous beliefs I had regarding men like Arthur, I found a seed beginning to sprout. An idea. Bathed in that sweet darkness I still didn’t understand.

You see, I’ll demonstrate this in the form of a math equation. I was a teacher three years ago, and I doubt I’ve lost my touch.

[you taught math?]

Well, yes, but actually no. Sit down anyways, or…stay seated, more like.

So first we have Elmira and I, represented by a charming, attractive F. You know, F for the failure I was previously certain we’d been struck by. We need to reach the sum ‘GHB’, which I think is allowed in math. I don’t know, I honestly believe the clan of mathematicians messed up when they started adding letters to the existent kerfuffle of equations.

I’m getting off-topic. We have F + X (X meaning a factor we haven’t yet come across) = GHB. Previously, we’d conjectured that X represented Arthur Merrick; that a conversation with him and a please, please, please would get us the months' worth of GHB that Elmira desperately needed and that I needed her to have so I could finally photograph her. Evidently, we were incorrect.

But then I read the situation over a few times. Arthur stated he had work to do, meaning he’d be away from his son, which I guess wasn’t much of a difference from where their relationship currently stood. Damon, his son, didn’t want to be left alone with some grubby gangster who probably eats uranium for fun- I just threw that part in - and doesn’t know the first thing about what a kid needs or wants. Poor bastard was alone. He didn’t even realize being alone is the best place you could be, especially when the people who were supposed to be looking after you did anything but.

And it hit me. Arthur needed a babysitter in the same way that we needed GHB, meaning I needed to take advantage of this widening weak point. Taking a deep breath, I casted out my last hope.

“Mr. Merrick.” I said, standing up straight. “We can look after your kid.”

“No.”

“We have experience.” I blurted out, holding my hands up and glancing at Elmira. She looked tense, but she was amazing once more, reading me loud and clear without a moment of hesitation. “Free of charge, we can look after your kid. Nothing bad will happen.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, right, I know what you’re getting at.” he grumbled. “This is somehow supposed to equate to a months’ worth of GHB, isn’t it?”

I blinked. “...That’s not the full reason.”

“No.”

“Daddy, I want them.” Damon said, looking at us hopefully, because frightened young people were more attractive in a babysitting sense than old, grizzled gangsters. “Please?”

“No.” he said a third time, but something flashed across his expression. Weakness. I just needed a killshot now, something to murder any doubt and seal the deal.

A surge of dark power would’ve made that easy. Elmira jumped in, ensuring I wouldn’t need to waste it. “My brother is about his age.” she told him, and for a moment I almost forgot we’d told that lie. I made a mental note to keep my lies straight from now on. Assuming I’d keep lying. “You said you will not be gone for long, yes? We can take care of him. It’s not hard, and we won’t ask for any payment.”

“Free of charge.” I chimed in. “Except for…what we came for.”

His eyes were slots, burning with on-the-fence fury that threatened to become an inferno. We’d either played this right or so very wrong, but I think the fact that he hadn’t kicked us out yet was probably a good sign.

Arthur sighed. He flipped his shades back on.

“Okay. Fine.” he huffed, and Damon let out a noise between a cheer and an unintelligible squeal, leaping off his Dad’s lap and doing some dance or whatever in the corner. The bodyguards nodded along, as if he was actually moving to a beat. Arthur rose from his chair, walking up to us. We’d never been this close before, he towered at least two feet above us.

He leaned in, head between our ears.

“If you can look after my son for an hour or two, you get the GHB.” he whispered. His voice turned low and gravelly, like the grim reaper himself was speaking into our mortal souls. “But if I find out anything happened, or there’s something wrong with my son, I will kill you both with my bare hands.”

My eyes widened. “Got it.”

“Understood.” Elmira squeaked.

Arthur nodded, backing away and smoothing out his suit. One glance at the bodyguards turned them from statues to obedient puppies, walking up to this side and following him out of the office.

“Oh, and don’t touch anything.” he barked, before snapping his head towards Damon, but that kid didn’t look nearly as scared as us. “And Damon. Do you remember my number one rule for playing downstairs?”

He sighed. “Don’t let anybody through the doors. No matter what.”

“That’s right.” he grumbled, slamming the door closed. The club music hummed just slightly through the wall, but right now, those disorienting noises and lights were the least of our problems. Elmira and I exchanged glances, before I felt a little hand pull on my sleeve, barely strong enough to shake my arm.

We turned to face little Damon, who was stuck between a smile and a nervous, cautious gaze.

“So…” he said, arms swinging behind his back. “Let’s play.”

◩

You look uncomfortable, Mr. Davis.

[i don’t like the idea of you around children]

Hey, I was a child too. Technically. If you expected me to kill this kid or, worse, molest the poor bastard, you definitely have low expectations of me.

[we both know that isn’t true.]

That I’d be capable of harming a small child?

[that I have low expectations of you. I wouldn’t be sitting here, scrawling your life’s story into my pages, if I had low expectations.]

Interesting way of looking at this. But the question is, Mr. Davis, what are you expecting to find?

[i told you, i wanted to find out why you did what you did. that’s all]

We both know that isn’t true.

[what?]

Saying that’s all you’re expecting to find. Countless cops have tried to grill, beat that information out of me. I’ve transferred between prisons for these last three years and that’s all they’ve ever wanted. Hell, I’ve been here a month and I’ve had two cops try to interrogate me before I even knew you existed.

I know when someone wants something more.

What more do you want?

[he looks stunned. his lips make a thin line, he clenches his fist.]

[too early for this. just continue on.]

Fine by me.

Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. If anything, Elmira and I were the ones in a pickle, because neither of us had experience with little kids. According to our indisputable fib, however, we were practically experts. And what is life, if not a bridge upheld by a few good lies?

Damon had wandered down a long, narrow staircase, finding a landing spot in what looked like an oversized garage. Closer inspection rendered that assumption void. Though they were vague, I could make out vague scraps of old machinery resting in the corners, under shadowy ceilings of wood that rotted and choked on cobwebs. Large crates rested in darker spots, covered in dusty tarps. Windows sat in a bent line above the wide, garage-like (okay, so maybe my assumptions weren't so far off) doors, leading to the freedom of the outside world. The prospect made me antsy, but we still had a job to do. Hopefully, we’d both be alive to see our dreams through.

Oh, and how could I forget the cars? You see, the space only got bigger the longer you looked at it, getting vertigo from the high ceiling and serious allergies from the dust in the air, fitting six different cars, all lined up. Not sure if they belonged to Arthur, or his men, or if they were just planning to sell it when they scraped the blood off the seats, but they were there. And in pretty okay condition, I might add.

I vaguely remember a few of the present picks; a 1957 Ford Thunderbird with a banged-out headlight, a Dodge Challenger, a beefy Ford Mustang, and a Volkswagen Beetle that I really liked. We weren’t here to shop, though, especially since we’d probably have to sell an organ to even afford a glance at these babies.

Damon yelped, shoes slapping the floor as he ran for them. “See this? These are daddy’s cars, he lets me play in them.”

Tilting my head, I gauged my response. I decided to speak to this kid like an equal. Because baby talking is for losers.

“So you do like cars.” I noted, running my finger over the VW.

“Duh, everyone does.” Damon said, doing a spontaneous hop, arms windmilling out. This kid had a lot of energy, I didn’t see much of that earlier. “I also like drawing. And TV. And candy. And dogs.”

Elmira seemed to marvel at him. “You like dogs?”

I smirked. “Duh, everyone does.”

She grinned, sending me a bras d'honneur that we quickly scrambled to conceal, because this kid was nine and we didn’t need him throwing that gesture around. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be looking at us, climbing inside the Challenger and putting his hands on the wheels, needing to reach up high just to attempt it. I think he tried to shift his body down to reach the gas, but evidently, he was too short.

I glanced at Elmira. “Well…I guess we’re looking after this kid.” I said, hushing my voice while he played in there, swerving the wheel to the right and making engine noises. “This is weird.”

“I agree. I’ve never seen child behave like this.” she commented. “But we can do this. We’ll just…keep him from hurting himself. Long enough for Mr. Merrick to return and be satisfied, and for us to get GHB.”

“I like the sound of that.” I said, casting a glance over my shoulder. “What do you think is in those crates over there?”

“Something we’re not supposed to be looking at.” Elmira told me. “Now, let’s…try and be babysitters.”

But that would be easier said than done. Because we were standing in the world’s largest, most relatively unsafe playpen I’d ever laid my eyes upon. Boy, what I would’ve given to have a space this large when I was Damon’s age. I wouldn’t torture myself with those thoughts, instead leaning in to photograph the Volkswagen Beetle.

“Hey!” Damon said, eyes wide and curious. “You’re a photo…uh…a photographer?”

I hoped this kid wasn’t about to insult me. Sheepishly, I smiled. “I guess you could say that.” I said. “Not officially yet, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to win a contest.”

He squinted. “All photographers need to win a contest?”

sh*t, how was I going to explain my situation to this kid? “Well, no. But it helps.” I said, walking towards the car he sat in and leaning against the hood. Peering at him through the windshield felt more like a fogged mirror, just like the one in the restroom. “You see, if I win, I will get the attention of a famous photography company called ‘Syvuse’.”

He tilted his head. “That’s not a real word.”

“Companies are allowed to make up words.” Elmira chimed in. “Because they have lots of money.”

“That’s exactly right.” I said, pointing at her. “If you have money, you get to make anything up.”

“That’s dumb,” Damon said bluntly, swinging his legs to the side and stepping out of the car. He stumbled. I watched him teeter, right as Elmira swooped in to catch him. She set him down; he didn’t look shaken up. “But true. Daddy has money. And he makes things up all the time.” His face fell. “Instead of playing with me. He’s always working.”

Like a switch flipped in his head, he beamed, eyes darting between us.

“Hey, let’s play a game!” he chirped. “Cops and robbers!”

The hell was cops and robbers? Were we gonna have to arrest this kid?

[where would you even get that impression?]

Well, you know, cops arrest robbers. Most of the time. And then when you play cops and robbers, you…uh…Mr. Davis, stop trying to make my sixteen-year-old self look stupid.

Elmira looked as confused as me. “What is…that?”

Damon looked shocked. “You don’t know what cops and robbers is?” he gasped, before huffing. “You guys are dumb. I’ll show you.”

Gotta love a child’s brutal honesty. While he was good at pointing out our shortcomings, he wasn’t great at explaining the rules. According to Damon, there were cops…and there were robbers. And that’s as far as he went, because when we’d still be confused he’d get all huffy and puffy. I’d look at Elmira for guidance, some sort of illumination in this dark, unfamiliar task, but she’d just shrug. We were both lost.

It took like, seven minutes of straight-explaining (or trying to get Damon back on track when he’d want to play in the cars again) we finally understood, kind of. Elmira was assigned the role of cop, Damon and I were robbers.

“We’ve gotta hide.” he said, elbowing me with his tiny little arm. “She has a gun, we don’t.”

Elmira made a gun-co*cking sound, aiming a two-armed finger gun at us.

“And then what?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We rob.”

This kid, I tell ya.

For some reason he made Elmira close her eyes and count to thirty and I’m like 90% sure he was just ripping off hide and seek. But the kid was grinning like a madman when we scurried off to hide; that was good, a happy kid meant we were one step closer to getting our GHB. I indulged in his game accordingly. We crouched behind one of those crates draped in sheets, dust caking the air while Elmira counted back in Russian.

My legs were burning after a moment or so. I focused on wiping my camera lens clean with the end of my shirt, all while Damon was sitting beside me, looking like he was fighting laughter.

“This is so cool.” he whispered. “I never get to play this game.”

I raised an eyebrow, half-listening. “Don’t you have friends your age?”

“Nah.” he shrugged. “They all know who daddy is. It freaks out their moms and dads. And then they get freaked out.”

“Children can be cruel.”

“And daddy’s friends get angry when I ask them to play.” he continued, his sigh practically inaudible.

Pausing, I peered through a gap between crates. Elmira’s eyes were closed still, she was wandering off blindly, waving her finger-guns around like a sick outlaw. Her knee hit one of the cars, and she let off a curse in her mother tongue.

I glanced at Damon. “What’s in these boxes?”

“Daddy said it was his product,” he told me.

“Like, GHB?”

“Yeah, that. It’s probably why he never plays with me.” he said. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore. Let’s just play.”

The bouncer was right.

Was Arthur really dumb enough to keep some of his drugs in the space his child played in? I mean, I guess I understood, he didn’t seem like much of a threat to secrecy, safe for his clear imagination that might have crossed the line towards curiosity. Looking around, crates bulked out practically everywhere. Crack, cocaine, all that stuff was probably sealed away in whatever bunker-like room this factory base had.

But the GHB? He kept it conveniently where we were babysitting his kid. Amazing, we were roaming around with several years worth of this crap, the crap that should’ve been common on the streets but was now running dry, because the big watering hole for all your sick fixes was in this factory. In this very room. That realization made me feel mad as a hatter. Whatever that means.

We could just take this stuff, all of it. Only question was, how were two teenagers going to steal these heavy crates for ourselves? Or at least, make getting it in the future a lot easier?

Didn’t matter, because Damon slapped my arm, yanking me from my reverie. “She’s done counting!” he whispered. “She’s gonna kill us!”

I widened my eyes. Sure enough, Elmira was stalking across the room like she was Michael Myers. Jesus, why did she look so scary?

“I thought she was a cop.”

“Duh, cops kill robbers.”

“Since WHEN?”

Damon grabbed my finger and pulled me along, weaving me into the places that had cover, guiding us away from Elmira’s path. She made gun noises, even mimicking the sounds of bullets striking metal. “Show yourselves, robbers!” she ordered. “I only want to arrest you.”

She was lying, she was lying.

I took the lead when Damon froze, guiding him around the crates and feeling thankful Arthur had lined them up so nicely.

“So, how does this work?” I whispered. “Do we eventually find a gun and kill the cop?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I dunno. No one ever plays this with me.”

“Okay. Crap.” I sighed, taking this way more seriously than I should have. We needed a plan - well, I needed a plan too, but my plan was to come after the present fictional plan in which we’d defeat cop-Elmira - because this was more like a slasher roleplay than any sort of cop or robber dynamic. “We’ve just gotta stay calm. Get into character.”

“Character?”

“Yeah, like…we’ll have fake robber-names.” I said with a smile, flinching when Elmira let off an especially loud ‘kapow’ gun noise. I made a mental note to never arm her. “I can be…” I paused, feeling my smile widen, heart turning pained and weighty. “I can be Lucius. Yeah, I’ll be Lucius.”

Damon’s mouth fell open as if I’d just done the coolest thing in the universe. “Whoa.” he gasped. “I wanna be called ‘Mark’.”

I blinked. “You can’t be called Mark, I’m Mark.”

“No, you’re Lucius.”

“Alright, whatever.” I muttered, too immersed in the game to argue. Besides, I kinda liked this vibe. Mark and Lucius, hanging out again. Kinda. I wondered what he would’ve made of my comprehensive situation; I was making friends and enemies left and right, setting up my own photography space, hearing stories from the local bum, asking a girl on a date, and now I was sneaking through a gangster’s base with his son, running from a girl with a fake gun that would be my very real muse.

He’d probably smack me on the back and say “You’ve got a crazy f*ckin’ life, Jefferson.”

I missed him so much. Why hadn’t I called him yet?

For the next few minutes, we stealthed our way around. Elmira still hadn’t found us, and for a moment I seriously questioned her awareness, because we weren’t exactly quiet. Then I saw her staring into the corner, making gun sounds with too much enthusiasm. I guess not playing games our whole childhood was taking a toll on all of us.

And I mean all of us. With each passing minute, I’d grin wider, snicker more. Snickers turned to chuckles. Chuckles to laughs. And Damon was choking on whatever gas had been released into the air, because every time we’d hide behind a surface, or crouch into dusty crevices, or marvel at Elmira’s spookiness as a cop, we’d get a little more jolly.

At one point, we’d almost given up on stealth all together. I poked my big head out from cover and Elmira bursted out laughing.

“Mark, I can see you!” she called out.

Damon rose next, like a prairie dog leaving its…hole? Tunnel? “No, I’m Mark, he’s Lucius.”

“Yeah, we did fake names.” I specified.

Elmira nodded, making a note of that. “Unfortunately, you made mistake. Now I know where you are!” she cried, making a gun co*cking sound again and firing off several shots. Damon squealed with laughter, I did my best scream and lifted him into my arms, running to the side to evade her fake bullets.

Gasping with fear and laughter, I ran for dear life.

“Damon, Damon!”

“I’m Mark, you’re Lucius!”

“Mark, Mark!” I cried. “We’re so gonna die! We’re gonna die, she’s gonna get us!”

He narrowed his eyes, determination hardening his features. “No she’s not. Because I actually planted a box here earlier with, like, a buncha weapons.” he revealed, dropping the biggest plot twist I have ever felt at such a young age. I smacked my palms over my cheeks while Elmira let loose at us, ducking down as Damon mimed opening a box, handing me what I assumed was a machine gun.

I poked my arms over cover. “Get ready for this, you pig!”

I made what sounded like rapid machine gun fire. Elmira leaped for cover and countered with her handgun sounds. From there, it was a mad blur. Lots of ‘PEW PEW PEWs’ and ‘KAPOW BRRRRRRAPBRRRAPs’ and then Damon really shook us up when he leaped up and-

“GRENADE! CLICK, BOOOOM!” he screamed, tossing it over to Elmira while she yelped and barely dodged the following explosion.

“FLAMETHROWER!” I roared, holding it and running out of cover, because at this point we were just doing anything. “FWOOOSH!”

“Lucius!” Damon exclaimed, running out of cover while I tossed my empty flamethrower aside. Elmira stood up from behind cover like some terrifying sea monster rising from the depths, a crazed look in her eyes, finger-gun glaring at us.

Tossing one to me, I reflected her weapon right back, then Damon stood by my side. And it was a mexican standoff now, except it was two against one. Best pals against the world.

Our finger guns didn’t leave their target. Hers flipped between us, but otherwise, her next move seemed calculated.

“Give it up, robbers.” she demanded. “I know only one of you is bad.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” I said.

“Yeah, you liar!” Damon added. “Let’s shoot her.”

This kid is hardcore.

“But you forgot one thing.”I said, and I swear a chorus of puissant voices and shredding violins rang through the factory. Damon widened his eyes, turning towards me. Elmira was stony, statued in front of us and slowly, slowly fading out of sight. It was just me and him now. Slowly, I aimed my gun at him. “You and I, we ain’t the same. You’ve gone too far. This is a betrayal.”

He looked mortified. “Lucius!”

“Sorry Mark.” I grunted. “I guess we just-”

He shot me before I could do the same to him.

I gasped, clutching my shoulder. The next one hit my stomach, then my hip, then striking me in the chest while I overacted, howling with pain and trying to suck in air through my lungs, imagining blood gushing from my wounds. And I drew my death scene out for a while, groaning. Falling to my knees. Reaching my arm up to the cruel, cruel world that cursed me and falling limp.

Fade to black.

[what?]

I’m assuming you’re not much of a cinephile. All the best tragedies end in a ‘fade to black’; you know, when the screen sinks into darkness and leaves you with a hole in your heart but with an amazing story finally told. That’s what happened. I faded to black. Because everything ends in darkness, Mr. Davis.

Suddenly, Elmira reappeared, slinging Damon’s little arms and handcuffs. “Ha! Got you, robber.” she grinned.

“Noooooo!” he lamented, face falling in utmost shame.

Defeat was admitted.

The cop won.

We were all silent for a moment or so. Then we fell into mutual laughter, laughter that grew louder and more joyous the more we were allowed to indulge in it, let it fuel our husks of bodies and flood them with jovial light.

Walking over to the middle of the room, we all laid back, spread out like snow angels and staring up at the ceiling - so high that it seemed like a sky of its own. Slowly, our laughter died down, and, weirdly enough, I felt at peace, in a way that I hadn’t felt in a while. Sure, my camera was with me, I had an ally by my side, and I was still breathing, but this feeling wasn’t tied to familiar conditions.

Being candid, I’d say this was the most stupid fun I’d had since Lucius; real Lucius, not fake name Lucius. Who knew that my soon-to-be-muse and a literal nine-year-old would be such great company? I wasn’t sure, but I felt a weird bond between the three of us at that moment. Deeper than normal friendship, deeper than the tendrils of photographic inspiration and potential. Something…soulful. In both the literal and defined meaning.

Damon sighed. “You guys are cool,” he said. “I wish you went to my school. Can you…go to my school?”

Elmira smiled, sweet but straightforward. “We’re too old. Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.” I mumbled, resting my hands behind my head, not minding that the ground was completely filthy and that my shirt was probably tainted with the dirt beneath me. The crack in my lens split the ceiling into two halves, bisecting the world when I started to daydream.

I tensed up. I saw the ceiling to my old bedroom, light fluttering through my blinds, an ethereal chill in my body that I knew would never fade. Sight was only the beginning, then the fragrance of perfume- my mom’s perfume, distant but seeping from under my door- hit my nostrils. Nausea came next, but I grit my teeth, keeping back what I was sure to be a hail of vomit and trying to rip the sight of blood-stained sheets from my retinas.

What a joke of a childhood. Just hours in my room spent hiding from my parents, the only reprieves with Lucius or photography never a permanent solution. Because life is a river; we all drain somewhere, in the same place we always do. The current always guided me back to them, while the other kids got to flow to brighter scenes.

Click. The snap of a camera was the only way I’d ever get a scene that bright. Exposure was hardly a replacement for that real light, that real glow that made my muscles go taut when I saw it in others, because no matter how much I tried I’d never be like the other kids.

Happy.

Free.

Not alone.

[but you weren’t alone. You had Lucius.]

Yeah.

Yeah, I guess I did.

I sat up, not wanting to reminisce. We still had a job to do. “Your dad will be here soon.” I said to Damon. “He won’t be happy if you’re not happy. Are you happy?”

He pouted. “No.” he whined, standing up and stomping his feet. “We were having fun. And now he’ll make you go away.”

Elmira and I exchanged glances, because that was just our thing now. She rose to her feet, holding her hands out gingerly. “It’s…okay.” she said, smiling softly. “Now that you know how to play game, you can…make new friends.”

“But I don’t wanna make new friends.” he lamented, looking like he was seconds from crying. Uh oh, we couldn’t have that. If this kid cried, we were dead. Merrick would put a bullet in our heads and bury us in cement, he would do that if we returned Damon back all sad and teary. “I just…he…”

A single tear slipped out. He ran away, hiding in the corner behind one of the crates.

And then we were silent.

She sighed. “I shouldn't have said that.” she murmured.

“It’s not your fault.” I told her, eyes trained on the corner of his shoulder, the only part of him not shrouded by the sheets over the crates. I had to pretend I wasn’t freaking out, trying to deduce a plan to make Damon stop crying so we could get out of this alive. We couldn’t die now. We’ve come too far. “He’s a kid. Kids go through a lot.”

Hugging her arms close to herself, Elmira bit her bottom lip. “I barely had friends at his age.” she whispered. “I don’t know how to help him. I was always busy with schoolwork. And sports. And…anything папа wanted.” She cut her eyes to the side. “We never had good childhood, Mark. But I don’t want him to hurt like we did.”

Her words hit me like a truck. They hurt.

And then they didn’t.

Afterwards, I wasn’t sure how I felt. I’d seen myself in this kid for only a split second or two, because the universe had a habit of putting people- or rather, shards of people, together, hoping they’d fit together and mend themselves. Or not. The universe was hardly ever so gracious, my early years represented a cadaver of my hope that our existence was fair and kind.

My heart clenched. I ushered those emotions to the side, feeling them clamor in my body, the dark corner they rested in not dark enough to shield my soul from knowing they were there.

And I thought of my photos. Thin, creeping tendrils of that dark power returned. Suddenly, things were clear. I was in control. I needed to be in control, because when I was in control, the glimpses into past pains and old wounds alike were too dark to make out.

I sucked in a sharp inhale, I knew what I had to do. You see, Damon needed to be helped. But so did we. And I had a plan to get us what we wanted, and more.

Holding up a finger, I nodded at the boy. “I’ve got this.” I whispered, striding over to his hiding spot. I didn’t bother lightening my footsteps. Kids are more observant than you think, in more ways than one - I wholeheartedly believe that the smallest of things in their lives can still have massive impacts, either an hour, a week, or years down the line. Footsteps were the least of his worries, but being quiet was pointless.

He knew why I was approaching him. I didn’t intend to lie.

Arms around his knees, he bristled up when he saw me. “Go away.” he said, mouth muffled in his sleeve, cheeks glistening with tears.

I didn’t know emotions so well. But I took a seat beside him anyway, knowing I had to try to help.

My voice came soft, a laugh slipping from my lips. “We’re robbers, Damon. I won’t leave you alone that easily.” I said, knees bending, hands knitting. He was quiet for a moment. I prodded further. “Is this about your dad?”

“It’s always about him.” he hissed. “I always hear about what he’s doing, that he’s too busy, and why he’s sorry. But he’s not sorry.” Damon rested his cheek in his hand. “If he were sorry, he’d stay.”

I chose my next words carefully. “He’s sh*tty, kid.” I said, and he widened his eyes, mouth open. I raised my hands. “Mind my language. But if I’m gonna be totally honest with you, I’m being truthful. There’s no excuse for not being around; you’re his son, he’s your dad.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“But, hey, now you have a golden opportunity.” I said, but he cut me off.

“To make new friends?” he strained. “No way. You two are the only ones that play with me. Or even talk to me.”

I smiled. Cool, natural charm flooded into my veins, controlling my words. “We’re not leaving the city, Damon.” I pointed out. “We’ll still be around. But who needs us when you have your Dad?”

Damon glared at me. “I told you. He won’t have time.”

A small laugh left my throat. I swallowed it down, focused on him, focused on the photos swirling in my mind. And the ones I’d soon be taking. “What if I told you-” I leaned in, like I was telling him a secret. “-that there was a way I could get your Dad to stop focusing so much on work, and instead focus on you?”

Casting a glance over my shoulder, I made sure Elmira wasn’t listening. I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about this. Damon, however, seemed to light up. Only, a drug dealer’s son was bound to be immune to some forms of manipul- I mean, generosity, because his eyebrows only just met in the middle. Who could blame him? The prospect of a dad that stayed around must’ve seemed chimerical to him. I might as well have told him I had a pet dragon resting just outside the door.

He sat up. “...How?”

I pointed at the doors, large but liftable, sheets of metal thick enough to keep gunfire tamed. “All you have to do is leave those doors open a crack.” I said. “And a friend of mine is gonna come in and take these crates off your dad’s hands. All this GHB.”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “He’ll…steal? You’re gonna steal from-”

“I would never steal from you. We’re friends, remember?” I chirped. “No, no, this friend of mine isn’t a thief. He’s a- repair man. Those crates are unsturdy, I noticed it while we were playing. He’ll take these away later tonight when everyone's asleep and return them later! While that’s happening, your dad won’t have to worry about this stuff he’s hoarding. He’ll have time for…”

I went silent, looking at him expectantly. His lips turned up, and he pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Duh.” I grinned, and we shared a small laugh. “You can play cops and robbers, and-and other games. And he can get you a dog, you said you loved those, right?”

“I do!”

“So basically, just leave that door cracked open.” I repeated. “And your dad will be around you so much, you’ll get tired of him.”

Breathing sharp, looking shocked because this was too good to be true, he latched onto me in a spontaneous hug. I patted his back twice while under the embrace. Good kid. Really good kid.

“You can count on me.” he declared, slipping away.

“I know.” I said. “Just don’t tell your dad.”

And we fist-bumped.

◩

Arthur returned about twenty minutes later. His men came down to collect us while I was taking action shots of him and Elmira (which didn’t count as truly capturing her, but, hey, there was no shame in getting some samples), walking us upstairs, winding through the halls, briefly passing Lenny while he was chain smoking a few cigarettes before plopping us back into his office.

We were in the chairs again. This time, I didn’t have an ounce of fear in my veins. Just power.

Staring at his son for almost a full minute, he nodded. “Well. He’s happy. And fairly undamaged.” he noted, stroking his beard and standing up. “You did well. Both of you.”

“Thanks.” we said in unison, although Elmira did some bow-nod that might’ve been pushing it.

Taking out a massive, bagged container from a compartment in his desk, he handed it to us. I grabbed it like it was my baby, shocked at how weighty the thing was. Or maybe I just needed to work out. After the contest, as I promised. “This should be enough for the month,” he rumbled. “Not sure how you’ll find more of this stuff when your fix runs out. Not planning on letting any of this stuff out for at least a year- cops are on my tail 24/7.”

Oh, you sweet, sweet idiot.

“We’ll figure something out.” I said, before remembering my lie. “Her brother will be grateful to see her doing better.”

Arthur nodded, looking more like a respectful man than a heartless gangster.

I handed the back to Elmira, who slung it in one arm and stared at it feverishly, itching at her neck. “Well, we best be on our way.” I said, before glancing at Damon. “Damon, it’s been fun. We’ll try and come around if we’re ever in the neighborhood.”

He smiled. “You better. I have so many more games for us to play.”

My next pause was for Elmira, in case she wanted to say something. She didn’t, instead keeping her eyes on the container. I filled up the silence. “We can’t wait.” I said. “And thank you, Mr. Merrick. You’re a good man.”

His face turned stony. “No I’m not,” he said. “Now go. Before I change my mind.”

We didn’t wait long enough for that to happen. Our trip downstairs was a rush; my heart gunning in my chest, body swimming in hot-cold electricity, legs feeling weak and wobbly but head feeling stronger, richer than ever. There was no way we got away with it. There was no way we pulled this off.

And I had my special power to thank. I mean, I guess you could chalk that up to charm and self confidence, but control was the name of the game, right now. And I was in control of all of this.

Everything.

And that’s exactly how I wanted my life to stay. With me. In control.

When we made it back to the dance floor, the partygoers parted like the red sea, carving out a path for Arthur Merrick’s recent associates to flood on through. Pride slowed my path. I glanced at every single person we passed, not a glimmer of innocence in any of their eyes. Not worth a full look.

The brisk night air slithered down my spine. We exited through where we entered, the line completely dead, the bouncer jumping at the sight of us. “Wow, you two are alive?” he gasped, before cooling his jets. “Er, I mean…’sup?”

“Yo.” I said, not liking how that word felt in my mouth. I patted Elmira’s shoulder. “You go on ahead.” She silently obeyed. I had a moment alone with the bouncer.

He met my eyes.

“Oh, and by the way.” I said, jutting my thumb out behind me. “Arthur Merrick will be leaving his door open later tonight. There’s extra GHB in those crates, if you want to take it.”

He jumped a second time before freezing like a deer in the headlights. “What? Kid, you…you convinced him to distribute his product?”

I gave him a dark look. “I said ‘if you want to take it’.” I repeated, making both my intentions and his opportunity very clear. “His gang won’t last much longer. I saw some cops roaming the floor earlier - somehow, they snuck past you. You better take that stuff before they get to it.” I paused, wanting this to seem more convincing. “You’re a nice guy, so…I figured I should help you out.”

This wouldn’t have worked if anyone else had said it. But I was so in-control, so sure of myself and what I was saying that I knew, I just knew, he’d believe me.

The bouncer stroked his chin. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Look, I…I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of thief. I’m just-”

“Doing what you have to do. I get it.” I said. My voice deepened just slightly, and I sounded like the man I’d become, just for a moment. “Just…give me some contact info, for when you set up. I want my friend-” I glanced at Elmira. She was a statue, faced at the darkness pooling in the streets ahead. “-to have a reliable supply. Indefinitely.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t look so old.” he murmured. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

I replied before I could think of my next words. “I tipped you off. Let me worry about her.”

The big, bad bouncer faltered, yanking out the end of what looked like a receipt and taking a pen out with it. Scribbling a number down, he handed it to me. I took it like it was made of gold. “There you go. Just give it a few weeks, I’m not sure if this dream of mine is even gonna work.”

I nodded, shoving my hands in my pockets and striding off, not wasting time with goodbyes or any sort of half-hearted attempts at parting ways in a friendly manner. All these drug dealers were the same, it seemed. Blissfully one-track minded.

Walking up beside Elmira, we floated down the block. Once we were somewhat out of sight, life kicked back into her, hand tightening around the container. Her arms immediately went around me, crushing the life out of my poor boy body.

“Mark, Mark!” she squealed, sounding breathless. I know I’m not doing a great job at describing this but, trust me, she was making the celebration we’d had a few days ago look dull and emotionless in comparison. Lifting me off my feet, she slipped away, legs bounding like she was running through a field and an elated smile breaking her expression into a million joyful pieces. “Mark!”

I smirked. “Elmira.”

“We can do it now! I can finally model for you!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down, doing a sick cartwheel on the sidewalk that I couldn’t have done if I had her years to train. “We can-w-we can-”

I pumped my fist, throwing a kick into the air. I cried out, a muscle in my thigh screaming but it didn’t matter, because Mr. Davis, we’d earned this.

All the equipment.

All the trips.

All the conversations.

And now this- this, Mr. Davis! We got a drug dealer to give up his supply to us just by babysitting his kid! Which, by the way, was actually pretty fun. My life was so crazy, nothing like my early days in Arcadia Bay - where everyone was flat and sad with flat, sad dreams. That place could have never birthed the man I became. Things were looking bright, at long last, and I was finally getting the life I wanted.

Well, not yet. I still needed to share my work with the world, and while having a real muse was a great start, I needed a leg-up, a springboard to propel me above the others and launch me into a career I’d cherish with utmost fervor.

I needed to win that contest. But in order to win the contest, I needed to enter a photo.

And I didn’t have much time left. The festival was coming, and before I knew it, the deadline would hit. I needed something. And…and…I had nothing.

Oh, f*ck.

My excitement curdled, turning into bitter, electrifying fear. Smile dropping, I watched Elmira continue her celebration, doing a dance that made her legs resemble twirling ribbons. Walking up to her, I placed my hands on her shoulders.

“Elmira, we have to go.” I said, taking a good look into the innocent pools in her eyes for some needed reinvigoration. A staggering success: my next step was clear. I would get a photo tonight, and if I didn’t do it tonight, I could kiss my dreams goodbye. “You can model for me…in a bit. After the festival, and I mean right after, I’ll head to that apartment. You have the address, right?”

Looking stunned but nodding rapidly, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and slapped it into my palm.

Good. That was that. I tried my best to smile again, but blood was pounding in my ears and time was running out. Class was tomorrow. Professor Lambert would be waiting. My grip on her tightened, I pocketed the paper. “I’ll see you then, okay? We’ll meet right in front.”

“Okay!” she chirped, glancing down the block. “Let’s hurry back, then. Trains are faster going back.”

“I really hope that’s true.” I murmured, and we sped off to our own destinations. For Elmira, she was just going home, running to a household run by a man who was oblivious to her true nature - whatever that was. For me, I was running towards my future.

My bright, dark, wonderful future. Or at least, my final chance at reaching it.

Hopefully I wouldn’t f*ck it up.

◩

One last chance, one last chance! Missing it would mean the end. Letting myself miss it would mean I failed; life, photography, something? It’d be a failure, I knew that for sure.

I was back in my neighborhood, and for a short time, my every thought and action fed the desperate beast inside me known as the Great Scramble. All artists go through at least one great scramble in their lengthy or otherwise careers. Maybe you have a short story due as the final project in your class but you haven’t even gotten an idea down. Maybe you’re striving to sell your paintings but the canvas is still dry. Maybe you have to…uh…dance, before a certain time. I don’t know if dancers have great scrambles, unless that’s a name for a dance.

Granted, I was in a better place than them. Photographing a proper sight would be the easiest thing in the world; the moon and street lights worked in tandem to dazzle the city itself, there weren’t too many cars and taxis to block the shots, and my camera had plenty of film to work with. More prominently, I knew what Professor Lambert expected of me; realism. Gritty, almost grimdark realism.

I scanned the neighborhood for something, anything, to render that prompt content and declare it wholeheartedly fulfilled. Seventeen minutes of scrabbling to every street and corner-street killed my hopes of doing that.

So then I looked deeper. Into myself. What did I want to capture? What had I learned on my own accord, free of the shackles set by Lambert and other factors I didn’t quite understand? Well, that was simple. Innocence can turn to corruption, and that change is significant, soul-shattering, and yet reliable when you find the right situation. It’s not like a solar eclipse, where you have to wait years to get a glimmer of hope that one will show up.

Last one was in Arcadia Bay. That instance was unexpected, now that I think about it, but we’re far from the point in which I’d talk about that town again.

Anyways, getting off-topic. Point is, I knew what I wanted to capture, and I knew that what I wanted to capture somewhat pertained to what Lambert wanted. Somewhat. I scanned through my options when I got home, practically chucking my coat and kicking my shoes across the room just to plop down into my underused but useful photography perch - the Birds Nest.

[that fire escape deck beside your window, right?]

That’s the one.

Teeth chattering, I chewed on my own anxious flutters and searched through my photos, trying to decide if I’d already found the proper entry, already discovered the secret to my lingering…fixation. That second part I was less confident about, but the contest was a priority right now.

The bird and the baby? Lambert hated those, she hated innocence.

Numerous photos of Arcadia Bay and Chicago? Didn’t relate to the prompt; if only a meth head had entered the frame.

The Elmira photo, taken on the first day we met? Again, Lambert hated innocence.

I searched and searched, widening my eyes when my interesting brain started to shift the world again. Darkness- no, not darkness. Darkness was my friend. Blisteringly powerful light started to settle around me, like the empty corners of a soulless surge of exposure. White lights. Slithering around me like a rush of slime and slowly eating away at the world around me.

No. I fought and I fought, touching upon that dark power and finding the will, the confidence, to go on.

One contender brushed across my vision. The photo of the woman, taken that one day. She was undoubtedly the victim of her boyfriend, the harbinger of her shedding innocence and irreparable corruption. Beaten, berated, sunk low. This was perfect, but…no, it wasn’t.

Looking at it again gave me a step forward, though. At that moment, I punched a hole through the light, watching it start to retreat, the dark world around me starting to fill in the blanks. I was close, and I knew it. This was more than a realization, it was a feeling. Have you ever had a feeling that something was wrong, or that something amazing, or-or something insane would occur? I was feeling that, in every sense of the word.

This was it. either I'd find out the secret, at long, long, last…or I'd fail forever, and I'd never find out.

I studied it, thinking back to the innocent photos I'd taken, to the one in my hands, to the scenes taken under forever lenses - the ones rooted in my mind - like the sight of that girl as she watched her father die. The sight of my mother, face and hair sticky with blood as she refused to look at me.

And…and…

The sight of myself. I don't think my innocence ever truly remained after that night. My father took it from me.

It all meant something, but what? What was the magnificent, clandestine secret that I was continuing to miss?

I halted. Footsteps below me. Light on the sidewalk.

Nearly retreating, a cold surge in my chest told me to stay.

A man and a little girl. The former didn’t look out of the ordinary, save for a thick, graying stubble and eyes that were just a touch too bleary. There was a sort of sluggishness in the way he walked, like his feet were dragging and wobbling with every stride. His enormous hand clutched a little kid’s wrist.

I saw Damon, then I saw myself. Then she turned, and I saw a slice of her face, one that almost reminded me of the girl at the car crash.

She didn’t look much older than eight, maybe even seven. And…she didn’t look quite normal. Not in the sense of disfigurement, no, I mean she didn’t look normal. A lingering, youthful curtain stayed half-tucked over her face. The rest…I saw corruption fading in, going after the tiny little glimmer still left in her eyes.

My fingers twitched around my camera, heart pounding in my chest, the rational part of my brain realizing this…wasn’t quite right. Something was off.

They crossed the street. He let go of her when they reached the apartment building directly in front of mine, hands fumbling with a bundle of keys. She looked like she could finally breathe when he did, heavily bundled arms folding down, shielding her groin. I saw something dark at the edge of her cheek - a bruise. Undoubtedly a bruise.

I inhaled.

I considered what I was about to do. What I was seeing.

I pondered if this was worth it - if snapping a photo of this poor girl was worth dooming her to whatever was going on; that vibe was undeniable, something was wrong.

[and what did you do?]

[he sounds impatient. Maybe even feverish]

I thought about it, frowning, thinking back to a million-billion thoughts that all fit into one second. One single, fleeting second that defined me in that very pause, in which time stood still and darkness reigned supreme.

Briefly, her eyes panned up. Looked at me. Pleaded silently.

Click.

Moment of desperation.

Her father reached for her. She flinched, then faltered, fawning under his iron grip as he pulled her away. Shut the door.

I waited. Noise started to hum from several streets down. The honking of a horn.

Then I watched. The scene wasn’t over yet; unfolding yet ruffling under my eyes, under my lens. It took a moment, sure, but they re-entered. A square of light hit the fourth floor window. His shadow, a hulking mass of blackness, rose. Hers was so tiny, so frail and small in comparison. He leaned close, took her by the wrist. Did she struggle? I don’t recall, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He was bigger, stronger. Smelling like whiskey and dragging her into a dark corner.

The man’s silhouette let his shoulders slump. He raised his hand. I shut my eyes instinctively, because this felt too real, and it couldn’t have actually been happening, and I shouldn’t have captured this moment and it felt horrible to even think about and I just needed to

Go.

Retreating, I slipped through my window and closed the door. The light in his window went off. Only my mind could fill in the blanks of what he did as I stood there, chest heaving with sharp, uneven breaths. I closed my window. The chill never truly left.

I walked further into my apartment, sat on the couch. Stared off into space. Thought about this.

I was a normal kid.

I was just a normal kid.

Who was there at the wrong time. No, not the wrong time, the right time. It was a good thing I saw that, because now I could call the police on that-that…monster, that monster who dared to exploit a little girl for his own sick pleasures. f*ck that guy. He was going to be getting what he deserved in prison once those cops came.

I grabbed my cell phone, having to sink my hand into the cushions to retrieve it. My thumb was primed and ready.

Nine.

One.

One second, actually. I paused, putting down my phone and grabbing the more powerful item. My camera. My beloved camera, how dare I commit such an act, marring the integrity of my tool a second time. This wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. I told myself this at the airport, when I found that moment of grief and pain flickering into existence in front of me. I came across her photo during my time in the Birds Nest. I wondered what she was up to.

Strangely, wondering was the only thing I felt. A normal kid would’ve sobbed for her. I didn’t.

I chewed on that for a moment, checking the clock on the wall. Five minutes had passed - oh no, I needed to call the police. Now.

I reset my progress on the phone.

Nine.

One.

One thought entered my mind beforehand, though.

And that was to look at the photo. At least take a glance, just a tiny little glance and then I’d call the cops.

[mark.]

Don’t interrupt me right now.

[did you call the police?]

Just a second.

I thought about it, deciding…against it? Yeah, that’s what I did. I said ‘Mark, do not look at that photo. Call the police’. Maybe I didn’t use those words but I had a fragment of an idea of what I needed to do. And that was the right thing.

Hmm.

I glanced at my camera, picking it up with infinite gentleness. One peek wouldn’t hurt, you know.

So I caved. Afterwards, I told myself I’d call the cops.

Then I took a look at the photo. And the world around me shattered into a flare of darkness and light, all mixed together in stained-glass-like angles, portraiture taking reality by the reins and plunging me into a world that wasn’t my own, yet far more welcoming.

Her face was practically floating in the dark. Expression grim, but not bitter. Her innocence was practically faded, and if I squinted at it from a certain angle, I could watch it vanish from her eyes on my own accord - a moment I could replay over and over again as much as I pleased. The angling was flawless. Exposure low, her head was a frame of pain swimming with shadows, drowning in a special change of nature beyond her feeble understanding.

My heart thundered in my chest. My palms were dampened with sweat. Every sense in my body heightened at that moment, tasting and feeling better than any drug. This was that dark power in effect. This was what I’d been looking for.

I felt powerful, electric with glee. This was it. This was my magnum opus of that age. I had captured the change a third time, I wasn’t crazy for thinking about it!

The clock tick, tocked. Thirteen minutes passed. Then seventeen. Then twenty-two. And I’d only noticed then. I drank this power until I was full, but I wouldn’t stay full forever. Because this, this, was too beautiful. Too amazing. I’d captured the change. But here’s the sugar on the cream: this was realism as well, if you were foolish enough to see everything from such a stern angle. At last, however, I’d found something worth showing.

Yes! I’d have this printed first thing tomorrow. Lambert won’t know what hit her.

And in my head, I began to realize something. All three instances of innocence lost captured in my camera - far more under the gaze of my forever lenses - had something in common. They came from swamps of pain and darkness, and I hate to use the latter term so loosely, so foolishly. Sometimes, though, darkness is all there is. Sometimes it’s the only thing to behold. It can be comforting or cruel, it all depends on how deep you’re willing to look inside of it.

I found these changes in dark places, dark situations.

As I stood up, I solved the mystery.

Dark changes like this, they can only come from dark places. That’s how I’d find what I craved so dearly - I’d need to find dark situations. And if I couldn’t find them, then I’d…I’d…

I’d call the police. Twenty-six minutes gone. Love for my craft fluttered my heart as I picked up my phone.

Nine.

One.

One.

The cracks within me began to mend themselves, yet deepened a hundred feet.