Stepping over his body, I couldn’t give in to the guilt of every person I had killed. That was suicide, and I wasn’t convinced I was done here.
In high school, isolated and brainwashed by the Clave, I toyed with the idea of leaving this place behind and taking the ultimate dirt nap.
None of them stuck.
Every time I tried, something would happen and ruin it.
Tried to hang myself from the ceiling fan, only to fall, and the cord left a permanent mark under my tattoos.
Tried to drown myself, but our professor jumped in to save me, thinking I couldn’t swim.
Tried to overdose, to only suffer a wicked high that lasted a few days.
Speeding on twisted mountains roads only resulted in being thrown from my car, with just a broken arm.
I was always escaping death, but you could never escape me.
Price of being Death.
Looking around, I saw an entrance I had seen before that looked like it might be an underground garage. My father must have done this as a response to something.
Seeing the thumbprint scanner, I groaned out loud, knowing I was gonna have to drag the skinny kid over here just for his thumb.
Just my luck, huh?
Walking back over to his body that didn’t fall flat, but crumbled up like a piece of paper, I grasped onto his wrist and pulled him behind me all the way to the pad.
The universe was testing me, and I was fucking over it.
Holding his thumb to the pad, I waited for it to turn green, applying more force. The green lit up, and I could hear an unlocking that was clearly the door next to me.
Finally, my car. I spotted my car a few deep, wedged in between perfectly.
Dropping his wrist, I looked for the ramp or door wide enough for our cars when I spotted a ramp that had to go somewhere. I didn’t actually want to leave. The monster wouldn’t allow that, not with the promise of death so close.
Instead I slipped into my car, fished for my Xanax bottle, and poured two into my mouth. Sitting back, I waited with a smirk on my face for them to hit.
So long, monster. See you in a few hours.
Sinking back into the leather of my seats, I closed my eyes, trying to turn it all off, when really I was just pushing it all to the back of my mind. There was no off button.
Sleep eventually came when things felt heavier and darker.
GRIMM
I woke up to a light knock against my window, even though I couldn’t see anyone through the dark-ass tints.
Scrubbing my face, I tried to wake up from the kind of sleep Xanax gifts you—a deep, nightmare-less kind of sleep—one that wasn’t easy to shake off if you didn’t get the right amount of sleep.
I was only slightly an insomniac lately.
Pressing the start button, I made the car purr. I pressed the button releasing the window down to see Khaos holding an OJ and a plate full of eggs and veggies towards me. “Missed breakfast, bud. Brought you some fuel.”
As much as he was chaos and an adrenaline junkie, he was also from the biggest family—five sisters. He was the oldest, which only alluded to their parents being still in love enough to keep creating life.
Khaos always took on the role of caretaker—thriving in chaos, but flourishing in taking care of everyone else.
Bowen was the functioning alcoholic. Keyword was “functioning”. He could drink until his blood alcohol level was dangerous and still string sentences together.
“Thanks.” Taking the plate from him was another pitfall of Xanax—a waned appetite and then a wave of hunger that didn’t seem possible. Working out helped curb the pitfalls and create some routine, but I was a slave to the drugs dulling me down enough to not be dangerous.
“You coming to the ceremony?”
He meant the part where my dad picks names out of a hat of our guests, then the name of the prisoners, pairing them up with their fate.
Even if I didn’t go, that didn’t stop my name from being paired with someone I had to kill.
“I don’t know. I kill for a living… today isn’t any special.”
He pulled his phone out, shifting his focus as he typed and spoke out loud at the same time: “Did you hear? Someone killed the valet.”
I stilled at his remark, fishing for answers.
Staying silent, I waved him out of the way so I could open my door and stretch my legs, while still shoving down eggs and veggies. “Sucks to be him then. Doesn’t it?”
Khaos chuckled, knowing I was confessing without actually admitting anything. Every time someone died, I was the first person they turned to, naturally. If I did it or not didn’t matter.
Standing up all the way, I closed my car door behind me and locked it, like anyone would take my car. Everyone knew this was my car, and touching my things earned you a one way ticket to Hell.
Khaos started walking towards the door as I tucked the orange juice in the small sealed bottle under my arm. Now I had no choice but to follow… or stay in the underground garage with the cars.
The sun was shining so brightly that I squinted at the rays in my eyes. I lived in California, and the happiness of the bright blue sky still had me adjusting every time I saw the floating clouds. It was too happy for the second I was opening my eyes.
The grass was too lush. The sun was too bright. The mansion on the hill was too over the top. Everything about California was too much.
I spotted everyone on the terrace overlooking the fountain, gathered and munching on brunch still. Khaos was in a ripped shirt, no more sleeves, and motorcycle pants, so I didn’t feel completely out of place amongst the polos and golf clothes. Posh for now. Later they would dawn their military fashion sense that did nothing for them.
The four of us had blackout gear, bulletproof vests, and masks that we wore when we did a job, but even that was more panic-inducing than actually helpful.
Killing here felt different. Killing in front of each other felt like this pocket of space didn’t count against us. We were all untouchable here, and we didn’t have to cover any tracks.
It felt wrong.
Let there be blood on my Gucci boots. I truly didn’t care.
My father looked me over and over again, like it would change my appearance into something he liked better than sweats.
I gave him the same stare back, like he’d turn into a dad I deserved. I was drilling it home, hoping he got the meaning behind what I wanted too.
Ignoring everyone else (my mother standing next to him, the four, the royalty and power players) in the Clave’s small inner circle, I kept shoving eggs into my mouth, hoping it made me off limits. Pushing back against the stone wall blocking off the bushes, I slid up until enough of my ass was comfortably on the ledge.
My mother picked the names of the prisoners, and my father said the name of the Clave member. Running through the names with smiles and enthusiasm, I waited for my birth name to come up.
“Jason…” my mother’s permanently slow and seductive tone sang through my annoyance when her eyes found mine.
Then my father spoke: “Teressa will be your player.”
He made it sound like a game, like they had a shot at winning or surviving when they didn’t.
There was no hope here… for anyone or anything. Here was where hope came to die.
Once the silence and attention stuck to my parents lifted, everyone gushed about their players. Jessica took no time at all to find me in her white pants and pastel blue top with loafers. She looked ready to play golf. No one looked like a killer here.