Pages Torn From Long-Forgotten Prologues
Bobby’s eyes snap open, darting wildly like those of a cornered animal, struggling to adjust to the dark void engulfing him. The air is thick with the stench of decay. With each sharp, labored breath he can taste it—rotting, rancid. As his surroundings slowly come into focus, a damp alleyway begins to materialize before him. The place is wrong, yet all too familiar in the worst possible way.
He stands motionless, his body weighed down by a presence as thick as tar. His chest tightens. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his pulse quickens. Then, the voice comes.
"Ey, Gringo. Forget about me already?"
As words like shards of broken glass tear through the dark night air, a mouth of gleaming gold teeth appears, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Of course you didn’t. You still think about it, don’t you? What you did."
From the shadows, a potbellied figure steps forward. His smile is wide, unnerving, with all the friendliness of a cockroach.
“You don't get to forget."
The man's left eye bulges from his bulbous face, and there's a wet, nauseating pop as it frees itself from its socket, dangling by its optic nerve. The other follows in sickening sync.
"Flee thousands of miles away, but you'll never escape it," the voice hisses, lowering in pitch as it distorts into a guttural guffaw of churning gravel.
The man's arms fall limp at his sides.
His spine erupts from his chest with a sickening crack. His chest collapses in on itself, lungs and heart splattering against the walls of his ribcage like heaved sacks of raw meat.
"YOU DID THIS."
The words tear into Bobby’s mind, jagged, pitiless. The man's face begins to cave in as well, skin folding and buckling as grey matter and skull fragments are launched out the back of his head. Bobby’s stomach lurches violently, bile rising to his throat. He drops to his knees, convulsing, and vomits. He looks down to see his own body covered in blood and viscera.
“No...I didn’t mean to...” Bobby says, voice broken. He tries to wipe the horror away, but the blood remains, branding itself to his skin.
"YOU DID THIS!"
The voice takes up so much space in his skull now. Each time the man speaks, the sound echoes in Bobby's mind like the heavy, deafening vibrations of a massive gong.
"YOU DID THIS!"
"YOU DID THIS!"
"YOU DID THIS!"
Bobby attempts to stand, but the pools of crimson beneath him congeal and cling to his arms and legs, refusing to release him. His limbs are dragged deeper into the viscous sea of gore as the walls of the alleyway close in on him.
"YOU DID THIS!"
"SHUT UP!" Bobby screams, sitting bolt upright in his bed with his chest heaving. He looks around his bedroom in a panic, trying to place the sounds of heavy panting before realizing they're his own. He's drenched in sweat, the air already cooling the moisture on his bare back.
5:44 A.M.
Bobby gets out of bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he walks down the narrow hall, hearing the low hum of the morning news from the living room. His mother is sprawled out on the couch, snoring softly. Bobby gently covers her with a blanket. He picks up the wine bottles from the floor and walks to the kitchen, dumping what's left of the second down the drain. He opens the fridge and reaches for a beer, but stops. He grabs the milk carton and pours himself a bowl of cereal.
6:05 A.M.
Looks like he'll be on time today.
"Planning to stare at me all day, Mr. Samson?"
"Just 'til you start your good cop routine, sweetheart," Bobby says, leaning back with his feet on the table, the front legs of his chair lifted off the ground. "Or are you supposed to be the bad cop? Hard to say what the other guy was trying to do."
The woman chuckles softly, her warm, bronze skin almost glowing under the harsh light of the station. Her wild, dark curls bounce slightly as she tilts her head. “Ethan’s voice cracks aren’t very menacing, are they?”
"Most men would find you more intimidating."
She raises an eyebrow, her full lips curling into a smile. Her eyes, framed by thick lashes, glint with amusement. "Luckily, my fiancé isn't most men. You may have seen him leaving the station when you arrived."
Bobby knows exactly who she's referring to; those wine-colored tights are impossible to miss. He glances down at her folded hands to see an engagement ring.
"My name is Ana." The woman says as she extends her hand. "If it means anything to you, I'm the reason you got to lose the cuffs so early on in the program. I felt the ankle monitor was plenty, considering the circumstances."
"How accommodating." He gives a defiant smirk.
"Do you know why we're speaking today, Mr. Samson?"
"You're here to drop my charges? Unfortunately for you, after the physical examination, Japanese language test, and psychological eval, I've really come around to the idea of becoming a hero against my—"
"Maria Bwire."
He pauses just briefly, running a hand through his hair before shrugging. "Never heard of her."
"She passed away in the hospital last night."
There's a longer pause this time. Bobby shifts his chair forward, eyes fixed downward as he picks at the cuticle of his thumb.
"Don't beat yourself up for not knowing. We've kept you busy." Ana says softly.
"Why tell me now?"
"You were mentioned quite extensively in her journal and briefly in her will. Well, my section of the will. She was my grandmother. Small world, huh?"
"You read your grandma's diary?"
"Apparently you have an impressive pirouette à la seconde. I never would have guessed. And it looks like you spent more time with her last year than anyone. Thank you for that, by the way."
"The booze was cheap. Worth hearing the old bat complain about how her granddaughter never calls."
"I worked there as a teenager. You won't convince me Abuela's bottom-shelf swill was worth putting up with her abuse. And she sure as hell wouldn't have guaranteed someone free entry into her dance hall unless they'd paid their dues."
"Maybe you don't remember her as well as you think." He says tersely.
"Perhaps not. How would you describe her, Bobby?" Her voice is smooth like honey, her smile is reassuring.
"Good teacher." His expression hardens. "We done here? Got a plane to catch."
Just as Bobby stands, four figures in tactical gear materialize from the corners of the room, guns trained on him.
The woman sighs. "I told them not to do that." She waves them off. "I have no desire to get hit by ricochet."
She meets Bobby’s gaze with a calm smile. "I wanted to deliver the news about Abuela myself and get our introductions out of the way. Considering your good behavior, I see no reason to prolong our meeting." She stands and extends her hand once more, "A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Samson. I'll be in touch."
Minerva Kim stands at a drinking fountain in one of the Changs' sprawling facilities, a business they'd recently acquired to do research on God knows what. She glances nervously at her watch, feeling the seconds slipping away.
Hurry up, Hailey... She thinks to herself. They were already thirty minutes late to being two and a half hours early to the airport, and she was NOT about to miss her plane. Unfortunately, these meetings between Hailey and her parents could take forever.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
Minnie looks up to see an elderly man in a lab coat, his smile almost apologetic. He has a thick brow with buggy, bloodshot eyes and a ridiculously long, hooked nose. The top of his head is bald, but with long, white hair sprouting messily from the sides and back.
"You do not know me, but I have something for you. Two things, actually. One for you to look over and another for you to hold for someone else. It's extremely important that you do this."
Minnie stares at him confused. His accent is thick—Eastern European, maybe? He looks the part of a scientist, and he's probably skilled enough at what he does to make up for his terrible Korean, but she has no clue what this business even does. Plus, something about this guy really gives her the heebie-jeebies.
"Uh...I think you have me confused for Hailey." She smiles nervously. "I'm just her friend. And I really need to get going, actually. The Changs are here today, so you could probably give it to them directly instead of going through either of us."
"No! I assure you, it has to be you, Miss Kim." He blocks her path, frantically reaching into his front coat pocket to grab the items. He opens his hand palm-up, revealing an unlabeled flash drive and what appears to be a black marble streaked with swirling dark green. "I do not have time to explain, but all the research done on this object is detailed on the flash drive. It'll be necessary to understand who the object is meant for."
"Shouldn't you be able to tell me?" Minnie frowns. "This is all very suspicious..."
"You do not know this person yet, but you will. It will not be someone you can miss. All of this will make sense to you in due time. Soon, in fact."
Minnie stands still, panic creeping up at his pushiness and the vagueness of his statements. The fact that this stranger somehow knows her name doesn't help. The man continues to block her path, his overly eager, bug-eyed stare and outstretched hand are almost psychotic. Her mind is telling her to run now. The place is eerily quiet—no one in sight. The bathroom is around the corner, but... no one seems to be coming. The facility is rather large, but surely someone would hear her if she screamed, right?
Hailey and her parents should still be somewhere around the building, and Hailey had said she'd meet Minnie here. Her heart races, and her thoughts spin. Her eyes dart between the man's face, his outstretched hand, and the space next to him. She could make a run for it, or—
Her hand shoots out before her brain can catch up, grabbing the items from his palm. Her fingers fumble as she stuffs them into her purse.
"Sure, I’ll pass it on, I guess," she says awkwardly.
The man smiles, stepping aside, and Minnie takes the opportunity to dart past him. She speed-walks a few steps, heart racing, and glances over her shoulder. When she looks back around—he’s gone.
Minnie freezes, eyes wide. She turns around fully this time, her breath catching in her throat. No sign of him. Not even a trace. No footsteps, no rustle of fabric. Just the unsettling, absolute silence. It's like he simply vanished—as if he’d never been there at all. Had she imagined him? Her hand goes to her purse, and she digs through it—no, the items haven't gone anywhere.
I'll ask Hailey to check with her parents about some Eastern European employee, she thinks to herself. But the image of his face is already fading from her memory.