Chapter 2
Erica
"Hello—,” Erica said answering her phone on the second ring.
"Mi Amor—did you get the outfit picked out?" Her mother asked.
"Mama— what are you still doing awake? I told you not to wait up for me. Don't you have to be up early in the morning?
Erica shuffled her bags to one hand so she could push the dimly lit button for the second floor. She leaned back against its rear wall as the doors closed, and the elevator began to move.
"Yes—you know I do, Mija. I couldn't go to sleep— not until I made sure you were all set for tomorrow. I'm so excited for you." The girlish sound of her mother's laughter vibrated through the line; the sound was so contagious it forced a smile and laughter from Erica, too.
God, I love this woman. Her protectiveness could be overwhelming, but the love beneath it was raw and relentless.
The elevator jolted to a stop. The doors opened to a gust of freezing wind.
It hit Erica head-on. She halted mid-step, stunned by the sudden drop in temperature.
Instinctively, her fingers clutched at the hoodie, pulling it tighter.
The thin workout clothes she wore underneath offered little warmth from the unexpected chill in the air.
She set her bags on the elevator floor. Goosebumps erupted across her skin as she fumbled with the zipper, shivers rippling through her small frame before she finally sealed herself in from the cold.
Fall had always been Erica's favorite time of year, but the tropical summer temperatures in southern California usually changed less dramatically.
She mentally kicked herself for parking so far away from the mall entrance.
It wasn't as if she'd had much choice; when she arrived, it was so full that it had been her only option.
She fought to maintain control of her bags and keep her phone balanced on her shoulder at the same time, while using them as a block against the blasts of cold air that howled in through the openings of the concrete walls of the structure.
She barely managed when she added the third task of looking for her keys to the balancing act.
She pressed her phone harder to her ear, lifting her shoulder to keep it from falling.
"Hold on a second, mama— let me find my keys."
"No problem— take your time, Mija. I'll still be here when you're ready."
Frantically, she rummaged through her purse looking for them. She could never seem to find what she needed in this damn thing. She wasn't sure why she used it. It was a black hole. Finally, she fished them out of her purse.
The lights in the garage began to flicker, causing her to become hyper-aware of her surroundings as she made her way to the almost-new Audi A4 at the far end of the garage. It almost felt like she was being watched. The sensation made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"Sorry, Mama, I didn't mean to keep you waiting, but you caught me in the elevator on my way to the car. My hands are full, and this garage gives me the creeps."
"Bueno, so tell me about the outfit. Did you find the perfect? What did you call it again? Power suit?"
Erica chuckled softly. "Yeah, I did! I found a great dark gray charcoal jacket and pencil skirt. Very sophisticated."
"And what about the blouse and shoes? Tell me the colors you picked!"
"It's a deep, blood-red," Erica said, smiling. "The blouse is gorgeous—elegant, great fabric—and I got it for half off! The shoes, though…" She giggled. "Let's just say they weren't exactly a bargain."
"Mija, that's so bold. Are you sure red's the way to go?"
Erica rolled her eyes. She wasn't surprised by the question; her mother's style leaned toward classic, neutral colors.
"Yes, Mama— red is a power color. I want to look powerful and capable. This is officially the most expensive outfit I own. I had to stretch every penny to cover it, but I know it will help me land the contract."
"Well, you are smart and capable. If you think red's the way to go, I say go for it.
You deserve the shoes, too— Mija. You've worked incredibly hard to reach this point.
I'm so proud of you. I'm also grateful to Mrs. Halliburton for arranging this meeting.
She's always been good to us. Don't worry about the cost of the shoes; if you get into a financial bind, just let me know. I'm always here if you need me."
Erica could hear the pride in her mother's voice. Her heart tightened around the quiet residue of years they never talked about; of the years they struggled through.
"Thank you, Mama. I know—and how could I ever forget? You're right, Mrs. Halliburton really is a fairy godmother. It's like she's always conjuring something magical just for me. If I get the job, I'm making dinner for both of you. Celebrations on me."
"If? No, Mija—you must believe it's already yours. God will make it happen. How do I know? Because you love Him, and He loves you. That's enough." Erica could almost see her mother's fingers curling around the cross at her neck, the gesture as familiar as breath.
"I know, Mama, you're right. Now, you've checked on me. I'm fine, but you shouldn't worry about me so much. Now, why don't you get to bed, huh? I'll call you. Right after the meeting in the morning."
"Está bien. Te amo, Mija. Don't forget to call, okay? Por favor! And drive like you've got a mother who prays too much. Text me when you get home—I'll check first thing."
The words wrapped around Erica like a quilt stitched with love.
Glancing at her phone as she hung up, she noted the time—10:30 PM.
The sudden screech of tires caught her attention as a car sped around the corner from the level above, descending in a blur.
The gust of wind from its passing sent trash skittering across the concrete floor in a chaotic ballet before it settled again.
She sighed at the sight—it might not be pristine, but this was still the best mall Culver City had to offer.
She moved swiftly across the exit lane.
Growing up, her mother had always emphasized the importance of being vigilant when alone. A cautious woman by nature, she had instilled that same awareness in her.
Her mother had been raised in poverty in a Mexican barrio just outside Tijuana.
At seventeen, she fell in love with her father, who was a low-level boss for the Cordoba Kings—one of the largest cartels in the area.
When she was twelve, he'd been found murdered on a desolate dirt road on the outskirts of town.
The Kings never found his killer. It was why her mother worried so much.
His death left them both scared, afraid of the violence of the world.
She pressed the unlock button on her key fob, hearing the car chirp softly as she approached. She placed her shopping bags in the back seat. Tomorrow's meeting with the owners of Cordoba & Cordoba Enterprises was yet another opportunity made possible by her mother's dedication.
Smirking with a childlike smile, she reached for the driver's side door, only to recoil as her fingers pressed into something squishy and gel-like.
"Eww! Gross! What the hell is this?"
Erica lifted her hand to inspect it. But there was nothing to be visibly seen on her hand other than a slimy, transparent substance that clung stubbornly to her skin.
What the hell?
She hesitated momentarily and brought her fingers to her nose, searching for a scent or something to identify the substance. The only scent on her skin was a faint remnant of the lotion she had applied earlier.
"Hopefully it was just moisture left from the rain mixed with road residue," she muttered, wiping her hand against her yoga pants.
She shrugged off the discomfort of the substance as she slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.
The car purred to life, the soft intro of Knife Party's "Death & Desire" filling the space.
Erica cranked up the volume and let the music wash over her.
Tension drained from her shoulders as the beat progressed, and by the time the bass dropped, she was backing out of the parking spot, head bobbing in time with the dubstep.
The unsettling incident with the gel-like substance faded into the background, overshadowed by her renewed confidence and excitement for the day ahead.
Her cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much.
As she entered the freeway, the entrance sign appeared blurry and hazy around the edges. She shook her head to clear the fuzziness creeping into her vision, keeping her focus on the white lines of the road and steadying herself as she accelerated.
An intense wave of nausea hit her. The crashing wave made her stomach clench in pain. White-knuckled, she gripped the steering wheel, willing herself to keep control as the pain washed over her.
Sharp, stabbing pains erupted in her gut—vice-like and relentless—causing her stomach to spasm.
Erica pushed her seat back, attempting to ease the pressure.
Thick saliva pooled in her mouth, triggering her gag reflex, while the burn of acid rose in her throat, scorching her nostrils.
She swallowed hard, choking back the bile before it could spew onto the windshield.
"Only ten minutes to the townhouse," she whispered. "I can make it."
She refocused her eyes on the road and pressed the accelerator harder. The car surged forward, finally reaching speed.
"You can do this," she muttered to herself. "Come on, Erica, get it together."
The freeway was all but empty, save for a lone car's taillights glowing faintly about half a mile ahead and another vehicle trailing her roughly five hundred feet behind.
Keep it between the lines, girl. You've got this.
The sudden onset of sickness still puzzled her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Her arms sagged, as if something unseen was tugging her hands from the wheel. She loosened her grip, hoping to ease the tension, but her vision smeared—dark streaks bleeding into the edges.
She blinked rapidly. Nothing. The black kept crawling inward.