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“Where’s Mom?”
Angel said nothing. He was sitting up straight with his back turned to me. We were only about five feet apart, and I knew he had heard me.
What the fuck is his problem?I wondered as my frustration grew. Was everyone working together to ruin my evening?
“Angel!” I reached out and grabbed his shoulder.
Everything happened suddenly.
Angel’s head fell backward, and I screamed as I caught sight of his blue eyes staring up at me. They were glazed and lifeless, and there was a small, red hole in his forehead.
Even in my drugged-up haze, I knew what had happened.
Angel had been shot.
Angel was dead.
“Oh, God,” I cried out.
The drugs were peaking, and for a moment, I considered that maybe I was just high. This was all a terrible illusion created by a mixture of drugs and alcohol. After all, I’d just talked to my mother, there was no way Angel was dead. Not in our family home.
I blinked once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing changed.
My feet stumbled backward away from Angel’s lifeless body as reality set in. As I did, my foot caught on something hard, and before I realized it, I was on my ass, sitting in something warm and sticky.
Lifting my hands to my face, I trembled.
They were soaked in blood.
I screamed once more as I caught sight of a ringed hand that had caught on my heel.
The ring was familiar. My grandmother gifted my father a priceless family heirloom when he left Mexico for America. He’d given it to my mother.
It was my mother on the ground.
Her cold, lifeless body had tripped me.
My mouth opened in a silent scream as I caught sight of her blonde hair, which I’d inherited, which was stained red by her blood. Her face was obscured, but the sight of her twisted body riddled with bullets would never leave me.
This was real.
Someone had broken into our home.
They’d killed my family.
And I was in danger.
Alarm bells sounded in my head, and I felt my mind whirl into action. The only problem was that the drugs were still coursing through my system, and it felt like I was working through quicksand.
Scrambling through the blood, I got to my feet as fast as possible, slipping in the slick mess. Tears were streaming down my face, and terror was flooding my system. I was going to die.
I stumbled towards the house, panting as I tried to get it together.
Things were starting to click in my drug-addled mind. I’d missed the signs. The gate had been open. The gate was never open. No one had come to do the door. There was no one who could.
My mind raced as I thought about what to do next. No security was coming. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I felt that reality in my gut.
