Marcus

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Hard pounding on the apartment's front door jerked me from my slumber.

"Sitara!" A squeaky girl's voice shouted from the hall. "I know you're in there! You can't hide from me forever!"

The yelling sounded kinda familiar, but I couldn't piece together who exactly it belonged to. Whoever it was, she refused to let up on the knocking, and the unnecessarily loud ranting and raving. Fuck, I might as well answer it, for my ear's sake and the neighbors.

I reluctantly rose from the bed, relieved that the room was no longer spinning. The weakness and fatigue had faded too. Maybe my luck had finally turned around.

I slipped on my jeans and sweater, stepped into my boots, and then answered the door. A teenage girl wearing a neon pink, flowery sundress, with a designer purse hanging over her shoulder, stood on the other side. She was rather dainty and petite for her age, and despite the air of innocence emanating from her youthful, heart shaped face and flamboyant attire, her aggressive body language immediately put me on edge. She looked pissed— her tiny fists clenched, shoulders tensed and nostrils flared.

"Er, excuse me, who the heck are you?" She asked, her thick brows wrinkled with suspicion. "Where's Sitara?"

"Uh…" I fumbled, crumbling beneath her piercing glare. Something about her fiery attitude reminded me of Sitara. And that's when it dawned on me— the girl standing before me was Sitara's niece, Cindy Baumbach, famously known as DanceBoo01.

Her soft brown eyes filled with anger, glaring searing hot daggers into me. "Earth to four-eyes," she rose a hand toward my face, and impatiently snapped her fingers for my attention. "I asked you a question."

"I'm Marcus, Sitara's boyfriend," I muttered.

"Bull crap, Sitara doesn't have a boyfriend. And if she did, it wouldn't be you. No offense, but you're not her type."

"You mean funny, handsome and incredibly smart isn't her type?"

"No, I mean black."

"Damn," I grinned. "You really don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"Nope, I say it like I mean it. Now tell me where Sitara is. Why isn't she picking up her phone? What did you do to her? I'll call the cops, don't think I won't—"

"Hey, chill out. I'm not lying. Sitara went out to run some errands, she'll be back anytime now."

"Are you really her boyfriend?"

"Yes, I am," I stated matter-of-factly. "What's it gonna take to convince you?"

"It'd help if I could get in contact with her." She sighed heavily. "Okay, let's pretend you actually are her boyfriend. A girl's boyfriend is supposed to know everything about her. He's supposed to know her even better than he knows himself."

"That's debatable—"

"What's her favorite color?"

"Easy," I smiled. "Purple."

"What's her zodiac sign?"

"Aquarius."

"Favorite pastime?"

"Drawing and karaoke."

"What sport did she play in high school?"

"Track."

"Name something she hates more than anything."

I furrowed my brows in thought. This question was a hard one. Sitara hated a lot of things. "Heartless tech giants? Wait no, it's stupid ass celebrity culture. Oh, oh, it's gotta be capitalism. The gap between the poor and the rich keeps growing and growing. I mean, you can't escape it. The system is brainwashing us, and most of us don't even know it. Everywhere you look, the billboards, TV, the internet— there's always someone trying to sell you something, influencing you to buy their product—"

"I didn't ask for a lecture, thank you very much." Cindy rolled her eyes.

"My bad, I got a little carried away." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "So, I take it I passed your little test then?"

"With flying colors. Maybe you're not full of crap after all. I can't say I'm totally surprised she never mentioned you, she's super secretive about everything. It's like, so unnecessary. Don't you think her family deserves to know who she's playing house with? Would it be so hard to invite you over for dinner, or something?"

"Maybe she's worried y'all wouldn't approve? I'm not her type, remember?"

"Personally, I don't mind who she dates. He could be green for all I care, as long as he's nice, and sweet, and preferably rich, so he can buy me— I mean her, all the clothes she wants, and a giant mansion, so I can live there too." She sighed, tension releasing from her muscles. "Wouldn't that be perfect? I wouldn't have to go to college, or get a stupid job. Life would be a breeze. Tell me, four eyes, are you rich? Do you at least have a job?"

"Well no, but I got a dollar, a dream, and a shitload of ambition."

"Whatever." Cindy abruptly lunged forward, pushing me aside, and entered the apartment. She had a real pep in her step, her wedge sandals clicking against the floor, and her short, brown ponytail swayed freely with every stride she made. She gravitated to Sitara's wooden wardrobe closet, and began rummaging through it. "Don't mind me, I'll be leaving any moment now."

"What? Leaving so soon? Damn, I was really enjoying your company. But I know you have things to do and places to be," I feigned a smile. "Are you looking for something? Need an extra pair of eyes? If there's anything I can do to help speed up the process and get you outta' here—"

"Stop talking please," she returned a tight-lipped smile. "It's distracting. No offense, but prom night is in a few days, and I have a thousand things to do, okay? I already have the perfect dress picked out for the school dance— it's super, duper cute. But I need something for the after party, something showy and sexy, with a bit of leg preferably. Sitara has just the outfit to fit the bill. I was gonna ask her to borrow it, but since she's not here, I'll just take it. I doubt she'll mind. She wears the same outfit like everyday anyway."

I watched her carelessly toss Sitara's clothes onto the floor. "Uh, you sure she won't mind?"

"Maybe if she'd pick up her phone, I could ask. I called her like a bajillion times. Do you think she's dodging me? She can be so petty—" Cindy abruptly paused, her eyes widening as she pulled out a small, yellow stun gun from the depths of Sitara's closet. "W-whoa," she stammered, playfully aiming the weapon about the room. "Where did Sitara get this?"

My heart nearly skipped a beat as she waved the loaded firearm around like a maniac. "Hey, watch where you're aiming that thing," I hurried to her side and snatched it from her grasp. "Sitara needs this for protection. It ain't a toy."

I set the gun down on top of the tall wardrobe, out of Cindy's reach.

"Wait, I wanna see!" She begged, standing on the tip of her toes as she helplessly reached for the gun.

"No," I grumbled, turning away.

"Please?"

"Nuh-uh. Ain't gonna happen."

She gripped my arm and tugged, forcing me to look at her. "Pretty please?" She pleaded softly, pouting her face like a baby, her big brown eyes glistening. "I know it's not a toy. I promise I won't shoot it, and I won't tell Sitara you showed me. Please, can I just see it for a second? What kind of gun is it? Is it a pistol? Why is it yellow?"

I sighed. For a snobby kid with a savage mean streak, she actually had a pretty cute baby face to make up for it, as much as I hated to admit it. I guess one peek wouldn't hurt. The faster I satisfied her curiosity, the faster she'd get back to finding whatever she was looking for, and leave. "You can look, but no touching, alright?"

"Yay!" Cindy exclaimed happily.

I ceased the gun from the top of the closet, and showed it to her. "This isn't a pistol, it's a 3D printed stun gun."

"A stun gun?"

"Yeah. See, with a handgun, ammunition is usually stored in a detachable magazine that slips in and out of the grip. But a stun gun runs on batteries, and you have to reload a new gas cartridge each time you fire. Which takes a Hell of a long time in a dangerous situation. You don't wanna miss with this thing."

"What's a gas cartridge?"

"It's the gun's ammunition. If there's a bad guy coming at you, you aim at him, and pull the trigger right here. The compressed gas cartridge inside the gun breaks open, builds pressure behind the electrodes, and launches barb-tipped probes with wires attached to it, which will attach to the attacker's clothes. Once the probes are attached, a burst of electricity travels through the wires and the impact of the shock disables the attacker. Cool right?"

"I guess. But does it kill people?"

"Nah, it makes the bad guys go night-night for a little while, only a couple minutes usually, sometimes less."

"How? Doesn't electricity kill people? These things have tons of voltage, right?"

"Sure, electricity can kill you, but you're getting voltage and amperage mixed up. Voltage is the amount of potential energy that electrons have— it's like the measure of force or pressure behind the electricity's motion, and amperage is the measurement of how many electrons are moving through a circuit—"

"Um…" She stared at me blankly. "You've lost me."

"Long story short, it's the amperage of electricity that kills you, not the voltage. A stun gun uses less than five milliamps. A milliamp is only one-thousandth of an amp, not nearly enough to do any real harm."

"I don't get it. It's so tiny. Why would Sitara use this for protection? If there was some big beefy creep trying to kill her, I doubt five milliamps of electricity could stop him. Wouldn't she be better off with a real gun?"

"Well, this is a safer, non-lethal alternative. Don't underestimate what this little guy can do, just because he's small. I've been shot with one of these before, it hurt like all Hell, girl. The high voltage shock targets the nervous system, interrupting your neurological functions, and burns blood sugar by converting it to lactic acid, kinda like how vigorous exercise does. It doesn't matter how big the attacker is. If Sitara shot him with this, he's going down."

"But if there were more than just one guy?"

"She'd be out of luck," I placed the weapon back on top of the wardrobe. "Mind if I ask why you're so interested in all this? Don't you got a prom to worry about?"

"I'm probably just being paranoid but…" She bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders weakly, her eyes lowering to her feet.

"What?" I furrowed my brows, concerned by her sudden silence. "You alright? Did somethin' happen?"

"Not to be weird, or anything, but I felt like I was being followed on the way here. Every time I looked behind me, there were these creepy guys who weren't far behind. I kept calling Sitara because I was scared…"

I frowned. The fact that Sitara hasn't been answering Cindy's calls was really starting to bother me. I knew she had Wrench to watch her back, but I was still worried. It's either Sitara was purposely dodging her niece, too preoccupied by fieldwork to be bothered, or she was actually in trouble. Damn, I hope the second scenario wasn't the case.

Most likely, Cindy was just being paranoid. But a young girl like her shouldn't be walking the city streets alone. If something happened to her on her way back home from here…

"Maybe you should chill here until Sitara gets back?" I asked. "That way, she can find the dress you're looking for, and you can keep your butterfingers out of her stuff. Sound good?"

"No way, four eyes. The thought of being stuck here with you is enough to break me out in hives. I'm deathly allergic to nerds." She glared at me, and formed a tight smile. "Sorry, not sorry."

"Did you really just say 'sorry not sorry'?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "Let me guess, Demi Lovato fan?"

"Nope, Bryson Tiller."

"For real?"

"Yep. He's one of my favorite artists. Anyway, enough chit-chat. I have to get home soon. My seriously overprotective parents have me on the most ridiculous curfew ever."

"Alright, at least let me walk you home then? I won't even speak if you don't want me to. You can talk all you want, take the floor girl, the mic will be all yours. I'll just listen, no more nerdy rants outta' me, promise. I'm a man of my word."

"No thanks. I'll come back for the dress tomorrow." She glided past me and took off for the front door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. "What the crap? What's wrong with the door?"

"Huh?" I took her side and gave the knob a twist and tug. The door was completely stuck in place. "The fuck? When did this happen?"

"I don't know, you tell me! The door was opening and closing just fine when I got here. I turned away for just a second to look through the closet and now…" Lips beginning to tremble, Cindy stared at me silently. Eyes laced with suspicion and glistening with fear, she cautiously backed away from me. "Y-you did this, didn't you? You're trying to trap me in here, aren't you?"

My muscles tensed. "What? No, I'm not. Why the fuck would I do that? That's crazy."

"Why isn't the door opening then?"

I shifted my attention from her to the jammed apartment door. I pushed and pulled with all my strength, but to no avail. It was as if something was holding it shut—

"Tell me the truth!" Cindy screamed at the top of her lungs.

I froze, and glanced at her. I found myself staring at the yellow barrel of Sitara's stun gun. Cindy aimed it at my chest, hands unsteady, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her finger was so close to the trigger. I swallowed deeply, dread washing over me. Fuck, I just couldn't get a break today.

"Cindy…" I mumbled, hesitantly raising my hands in surrender. "I know this looks bad, but I swear, I didn't—"

Crash!

I shivered, the sudden noise of what sounded like glass being smashed into pieces from down the hall almost made my heart burst from my chest. Startled, Cindy shuddered and let out a yelp, her finger pressed the stun gun's trigger. A pair of barbed probes propelled from the firearm and latched onto my sweater.

A short burst of electricity tore through me, and it hurt just as fucking bad as I remembered, the excruciating pain immediately brought me to my knees. I groaned, wheezing harshly— no matter how hard I tried to fight it, an overwhelming soreness gripped my muscles, rendering them useless. I sagged onto the cold floor, the world morphed into a muddled blur. Searing sharp spasms repeatedly jolted through my insides, my consciousness slowly waned away.

Thump. Thump.

The sound of heavy footsteps against the floorboards roused me to my senses. The pain had finally let up, and I managed to open my eyes, but it took a moment for my blurry sight to focus. The haze eventually cleared.

Although, I was still disorientated, unsure of what the fuck just happened to me, and wondering whether I did something to deserve it. I couldn't seem to piece a fucking thing together.

I turned over, and laid eyes on Cindy, who happened to lying on the cold floor as well, hiding under the bed. She was shaking uncontrollably, with her hand slapped over her mouth and nose, as if she was trying to keep quiet for some reason. Her wet eyes peered at me, soft, and apologetically almost.

Hopelessly confused by her odd behavior, I sat up.

There was a stranger across the room, standing idly by with his back turned to me, staring at a photo of Sitara hanging on the wall. He was dressed fully in black, gun on his hip, knife in hand and ski mask concealing his facial features.

Everything suddenly clicked. The door mysteriously becoming jammed, the sound of glass shattering, Cindy tasing me— the memories all came flushing back. The stranger must have broken a window and climbed inside. How did he manage to pull that shit off without anyone noticing?

He probably did something to the door to stop us from escaping. Jesus… why go through all the effort? Why the fuck was everyone so committed to ruining my vibe? Couldn't a brother just get one single day of rest and relaxation? Was that so much to ask for?

Muscles twitching with frustration over my extremely shitty luck lately, the sight of the masked intruder gazing at Sitara's picture with a blade in his grip was the breaking point of my patience.

I snapped, an explosive rage had set off inside me like a bomb, and all I could see was red. I didn't know who he was, why he was here, or whether he had friends with him, but the motherfucker was going to pay. Him, and every other spider monkey fuck who managed to climb up in here.

Without any of my gear, I had to fight the old-fashioned way. Quietly, I stalked my way to the intruder and surprised him with an arm lock around his scrawny neck. He winced, struggling to wrestle himself free from my hold, repeatedly slamming my back against the wall and knocking over just about everything he could get his hands on. But my grip was firm, and there was far too much adrenaline and raw rage pumping through my veins to feel pain.

His noisy, hopeless struggling didn't fall on deaf ears, however. Two of his friends came to his aid— more masked goons. They emerged from down the hall. I snatched the handgun from my victim's hip, and aimed it at them.

Having gained the advantage of a loaded firearm, everyone froze. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't interested in asking questions, or trying to negotiate a peaceful solution. I was done playing nice.

I set my sight on the masked man on the right. Quickly settling my aim on his leg, I pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrated and shattered his kneecap. He cried out, dropping to the floor. The second man drew a switchblade from his pocket and quickly lunged toward me. I threw the scrawny necked intruder aside and raised my foot to meet my assailant, kicking him back. He stumbled back from the impact, crashing into the closet doors.

The man I tossed aside hastily regained his composure, and rammed into me, my back collided with the wall once again. It actually hurt this time around, a grunt of pain seeped through my clenched teeth. The handgun slipped from my fingers and dropped onto the floor.

"Fuck," I grimaced, shoving my knee into his stomach, and knocking the wind out of him. He coughed and gasped for air, buckling over. I followed up with a swift kick to his face, the satisfying crack of his nose breaking beneath the heel of my boot was the highlight of my day. The force put him right to sleep.

The dude with the switchblade charged at me once again. He swung the sharp knife toward my torso recklessly. I dodged his frenzied swipes, patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike back. Eventually, I successfully caught his wrist, wrenched the blade from his clutches, and bashed my elbow into his face.

He sunk to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth. Despite the heavy bleeding, his lips curved into a bloody, menacing smirk. In one quick movement, he drew a small shiv from his back pocket and took another swipe at me, aiming for my throat. Considering we weren't in jail and most people didn't carry around random shivs on them, the cheap shot caught me by surprise. I weaved out of the way just in time however, the blade's point only nicked my throat, drawing a small amount of blood.

"Motherfucker!" I lashed out, hammering my fist into his masked face. He went down with a single slug, but I didn't stop. I wouldn't, I couldn't— I just kept punching and punching, blood gushing through my fingers. I was determined to leave him on the brink of death, bruised and disfigured. The coward deserved it, they all deserved it.

I blinked, and his masked face suddenly disappeared, and was replaced with the pale, broken face of the tortured woman from the cellar. One glance at her bloody, punctured eye socket caused my anger to dissipate into nothingness. Icy tendrils of terror to enclosed around my heart, rooting me in place. She was crying blood, crimson red pouring from the corner of her eyes and into her silky brown hair.

"Help," she whimpered. "Please…"

"N-no, you aren't real," I whispered, burying my face in my bloody, trembling hands. "You're not real. None of this is real. It's all a bad dream—"

Am I going crazy? Why couldn't I get her out of my head? What did I do to deserve this? I couldn't save Horatio, but I owned up to my mistakes. I know I fucked up, I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't smart enough. The guilt of failing to save her was eating me up inside all the same, but I almost died for her. I went down into that cellar to save her, to save everyone who's gone missing. I've worked so hard for redemption. I sacrificed everything. What more did I have to do?

There was yelling, a lot of it, but I didn't care to listen— to do anything but sulk in my own pathetic remorse. Good Lord, I was falling apart, losing my shit with every passing moment. Sitara and the others would cringe in disgust if they saw me like this. I hope they never did, but at this rate…

Small hands clenched the sleeve of my sweater. "They're coming!" Cindy shouted at me. "Do you hear me, you idiot? More are coming! Help me get out of here!"

"M-more?" I asked, lowering my hands to my sides. I gazed down at the man lying before me, the woman's face was finally gone. There were footsteps coming from down the hall, heading this way. I had all the time in the world to reminisce on my shit luck, pain and failures. Now wasn't the time. I had to pull it together. I had to. Or Cindy and I were fucked.

We weren't getting out through the front door, that's for sure. Our only hope was the bedroom window. I vaulted over the bed and opened it. Down below was an alleyway, with a conveniently placed open dumpster, full of cardboard boxes and garbage bags. It wasn't a long way down, considering we were only on the second floor.

"We're gonna have to jump," I said. "It'll be a rough fall, but we could probably survive it with no broken bones if we landed inside the dumpster—"

A pair of hands latched onto me from behind. Instinctively, I butt the back of my head against my attacker's forehead. The impact of our craniums crashing together gave me the meanest headache.

"Gah!" My assailant griped, setting me free and falling back onto the floor.

Cindy winced. "That looked like it hurt."

"It did," I muttered, rubbing my head. "Alright, you go first. I'll be right behind you—"

"N-no, I can't do it." She shook her head. "That's a freaking dumpster, for God's sake. Do you see this sundress? This is new, brand new! I'm not gonna ruin it by jumping out a window, into a stinkin' dumpster."

"Girl, we don't have time for this. Climb your little ass out that window, and jump, or the only prom you'll be going to is the one in Heaven, if you're lucky enough to even make it there."

"Oh my God, I can't do it! I just can't—"

I swept her petite body off her feet and into my arms. Thanks to how short and narrow her frame was, it was easy to slip her outside the window. Kicking and crying, she screamed for dear life as I held her in the warm summer air.

"Don't drop me!" She yelled, tightly clinging to the collar of my shirt. "You're a psychopath! I hate you! I hate you! Help! He's going to kill me! Michael Jackson is going to drop me!"

"Sorry, not sorry." I dropped her.

"Asshole!" Cindy shouted at the top of her lungs the whole way down, her insult echoing throughout the city. She landed safely in the dumpster, but seemed to be having some trouble trying to climb out, her arms too short to grab onto the railing to heave herself to freedom.

I vaulted out the window soon after, landing face first on a trash bag full of week old lasagna, and moldy meatballs. My stomach quaked with nausea. There were flies everywhere. It smelled like literal dog shit in here.

I hopped out of the dumpster, and took Cindy's hand, pulling her out next. Unable to maintain her balance, she leaned against me, dazed. I took her into my arms once again and sped off from the alleyway, into the safety of the crowded streets.

She began burping repeatedly, the belching grew louder and louder each time.

I set her down on a bench outside a clothing store, and inspected her closely. She looked woozy. "Damn, you good girl? What's wrong? Did you fall on your head, or somethin?"

"You're a—" She heaved, chunky vomit propelled from her mouth and onto my sweater. I stood there in disbelief as she puked on me, the vile chunks oozed warmly down my torso, the retched stench of stomach acid filled my nostrils. People passing by stared at us in pure disgust. It was only a matter of time before someone called the cops, there was blood all over me, and Cindy looked like she was a second away from face-planting the ground.

After what felt like forever, she finally quit spewing vomit on me, and regained her composure. "Like I was saying before I was interrupted," she said, casually patting down the wrinkles in her dress. "You're a psychopath."

Don't forget to comment if you like! I'm looking forward to reading your comments and feedback, I'll do my best to respond as quickly as possible. My goal is to become a better writer and getting your input would mean the world to me. Thank you for reading!