Chapter 12

  I lay restless in my own bed, swinging and rolling side to side the whole night, and my head is killing me. I don’t know what Vivi gave me, but I never want another taste.

  My body can already sense it’s too late to call this night but too early to call it morning, so I decide to wake up. Lying in bed restless isn’t helping; it’s just making me more anxious. Why did I let my dad go alone in the middle of the bloody night?

  I mean, yeah, he’s a big guy, but he’s getting old. I think that was a mistake. I still think we should have called the police. I mean, she’s the one that attacked me. Like, the law should know I’m the victim, but he treated it like a fucking business scandal.

  As I go to the bathroom to freshen up, I look in the mirror. My face shows what a shit night I had. But just as I was about to get in the shower, a thought comes to me: I should call Brook. He will know what to do. I mean, he’s the head of security.

  I give up on showering for now, rush back to my bedroom, grab my phone, and immediately call Uncle Brook.

  Ring ring.

  Click.

  “Hello, Elijah. What can I help you with? It’s the middle—no, the crack of dawn. What’s the issue?”

  I pause, not knowing how to actually explain last night’s events, but I know the important details.

  “Uncle… I messed up. Everything’s messed up.”

  With a still-sleepy voice, Uncle Brook responds, “Hey now, kid. What’s going on? Where’s Thomas?”

  I think knowing that he wouldn’t be my first call if something bad happened—Brook asking where my dad is—makes it even worse. My anxiety creeps back in, worrying about what could’ve happened to my dad. I explain the situation to Brook, detailing everything.

  After what feels like a good thirty minutes, Brook responds calmly but firmly:

  “Okay, kid, I understand the situation. Listen, none of this is your fault.” Sigh.

  “But it is a serious situation. I’ll go find your dad okay—Elijah…”

  “Okay.”

  “I think his car still has a tracker. But listen, since he told you everything will be fine by noon, just trust that you'll see him this afternoon.” A silent pause fills the room as we try to convince ourselves the statement is true.

  “Unless Thomas turned into a liar since the last time I saw him, we have nothing to worry about.”

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  “I guess you’re right, Uncle Brook. I’m just worried.”

  His words help calm my shaking and nerves enough that I feel ready to go to school. We end the call on an optimistic note. Getting into the shower now finally seems like the logical thing to do—lord knows I smell like failure.

  Early Morning

  Brook drives his black Sudan across a very sketchy part of town, irritably. Why in the hell would you be here, Thomas? Having your kid stressed out for no reason, and you didn’t even call me—I think age is getting you reckless.

  As he glances at the GPS, he gets increasingly nervous.

  With the city looking more and more poor and dirty, his optimism that this is just a heated negotiation between Kravitz dwindles. Brook is by no means a weak man or a scared man—he’s the head of security for a reason. Standing at a solid 6’5, black, and built like an Olympic bodybuilder, he is no stranger to danger. But even he is skeptical of entering this part of town at night, which is something Thomas did.

  When Brook sees the car parked from a distance, it looks pristine and without a scratch—not the bullet-scarred scene he was expecting. But as he gets closer, he sees the full extent of the area: the battlefield of the motel, fire, bullets everywhere, and sirens in the distance. Anxiety coils tighter around him.

  He quickly parks behind Thomas’s car and approaches. Red liquid is leaking underneath the car. His heart sinks as he sees, through the tinted window, a man hunched over the steering wheel. The engine hums uncomfortably, too long. Brook lunges, flinging the door open, and sees the lifeless body of his dear friend Thomas Stone.

  It lies cold. The blood on the leather seats has dried, forming jagged cracks. Brook’s heart breaks instantly. If this man were capable of tears, he would have shared them—but the shock is too large. The sirens grow closer, making reality all the more clear.

  Brook turns to see the motel, realizing these are the scars of Thomas’s last moments on Earth.

  “What the fuck, Thomas?!” he screams, looking at the wreckage.

  Trying to make sense of it, Brook notices the sirens finally reaching them and a flood of police storm in. This doesn’t bother him much; Thomas was deeply connected. But he can’t even begin to think about how he is going to explain this.

  As Brook breaks the news and asks detectives to handle the body with care, he walks away, exhausted and still in shock. He gets in his car and starts making uncomfortable calls.

  One of those calls is to Selena, one of Thomas’s most cared-for people—almost as cared-for as Elijah.

  Ring ring.

  Ring ring.

  Click.

  “Why didn’t you pick up sooner, Selena?”

  Drunken murmuring.

  “Hello… Selena, are you drunk right now?” he asks softly.

  “Oh, Brook, it’s you. What can I help you with? I’m a little tipsy, yes, if that’s okay.”

  Brook pauses, weighed down by the next few words. “Selena, listen. I need you to really listen.”

  A long pause follows.

  “Thomas is dead. I just found him. I need you to pick up his son, Elijah. Can you do that? I don’t know if he’s safe at school.”

  A loud, frantic voice jolts out of the speaker. “What do you mean Thomas is dead? What happened? Where are you, Brook? Where the fuck are you?”

  Brook looks into the distance, speaking slowly, brokenly. “I’m downtown, near the edge of the city, at a motel. I don’t know what happened yet, but we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Trust me. I just need to know Elijah is safe—Thomas would want that. Please, do what I asked. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

  Her voice calms a bit, still frantic: “Okay… I think I can handle that. I’m sorry for yelling. I’ll go get the kid.”

  End call.

  As he puts his phone down, he notices his hands are shaking and his heartbeat is racing.

  He was about to turn on the engine and leave, but he no longer trusts his body is capable, so he just sits in hot silence, torn between shock, pain, and anger.

  Brook leans forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. Exhaustion hits him like a train—but even that triggers the pain, because it reminds him of Thomas’s body.