10-Zach - Three Years Ago
(October thirtieth, twenty twenty-one)
Beeep!
Nicole’s horn cuts through the thin walls like a blade.
“Okay.” I grab my purse and take one last look in the mirror.
Under the bathroom lights, the devil-girl jumpsuit’s sequins sparkle across my corset like embers. I’m only allowed short, shallow intakes of breath as the boned fabric hugs my torso, but the hourglass effect is worth it. A sheer, matching lace mask frames my smoky eyes.
Sinful red gloss paints my lips, tasting like pomegranate and chemicals.
I press them together, checking the shine.
My latex gloves squeak as I pull them up to my elbows, the fake claws at the fingertips glittering with the sparkly red gel polish that I spent way too long perfecting.
Adjusting the ceramic horns on my head, I blow a kiss to my reflection.
Beeeeep! The horn blares even longer this time, rattling the windowpane.
“I’m coming!” Grabbing my purse, I lock the door and waddle toward the stairs.
Nicole lent me thigh-high, patent leather platform boots from one of her photoshoots, and their clickity-clacks echo in the concrete stairwell.
I grip the railing, careful not to break my neck before the night even starts.
Nicole leans out the window of her black Beetle as I approach, her glittery pipe-cleaner halo bent sideways.
“It’s about time,” she calls. “I sat through thirty-five extra minutes of traffic because you refuse to get a license. Honestly, babes, I should start charging you chauffeur rates.”
I blow her a kiss. “Consider yourself tipped.”
She grins; plush lips painted a cotton candy pink. Sleek ginger curls frame her oval face, accentuating the pop of green in her hazel irises. Her angel costume is all white feathers and gold sparkles.
With my lanky legs and the extra four inches of height the boots add, I struggle to slide into the passenger seat of the tiny car. Her vanilla perfume and the faint citrus of the air freshener clipped to the vent fill the cab as I click on my seatbelt.
She flicks the radio on before putting the car into reverse.
A jazzy Halloween remix fills the car with trumpets as a sultry female vocal slides over the beat.
The speakers buzz as the bass vibrates through the seat.
We sing along, off-key and loud, windows down, wind whipping through our hair while we ride Sunset Boulevard.
The night air is cool and crisp, freshly fried apple empanadas ripe from the corner vendors.
It’s just us and the music, with the promise of Jeremy’s Halloween office party, which, let’s be honest, is basically a Silicon Valley tech bro mixer with costumes and an open bar.
Nicole turns the wheel to take a left, and the sparkly rock on her ring finger catches the streetlight in a bright flash.
A huge chrome grill shines through the driver’s side window behind her.
“Nic—” My cry is cut short as the truck makes impact.
The tiny car explodes as we tumble like a kicked tin can.
Sound returns slowly, like the volume tuned up on a radio.
A low ring fills my ears, vibrating through my skull.
Muffled noises bleed into a symphony of distant shouting, crackles, and a leaking hiss.
A chemical stench burns the inside of my nose, carrying the scent of gas with it.
Tangy, coppery undertones flip my stomach upside down.
I flutter my lids open to a world gone sideways. A mess of cracks gleams with tiny shards in the vertical windshield. The glove compartment hangs from the crushed dashboard. My airbag is deflated, reeking of melted plastic and chalk.
Bone-deep ache radiates from my right side. My ribs splinter. I try to move. A ragged, animalistic screech tears out of me, bouncing through the compressed cab. My glittery claws tremble as I reach for Nicole, but the seatbelt digs into my ribs, pinning me in place as I hang above her helplessly.
“Nic!” My voice cracks. “Nicole!”
She doesn’t move. Her ringlets fall forward, loose and heavy with blood. The golden halo’s crushed against the dashboard. Like something out of a horror film, her right arm bends in unnatural angles.
“No, no, no,” I cry out, panic clawing up my throat. “Please, Nic, please—”
“Hey,” a voice says, firm but gentle.
A shadow moves outside my shattered window. I turn my head up slowly. Through the dust, a man crouches beside the wreck. His flashlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating his uniform, badge, and the calm steadiness in his regard.
“I’m Officer Reyes,” he says in a quick quip. “You’re all right. I’ve got you.”
“No,” I choke out, heaving as I crank my neck back toward my best friend. “S-she’s—”
“Look at me,” he orders, his gruff voice steady but stern. “Stay with me. What’s your name?”
“Z-Zach,” I spit out.
“We’re going to get her, Zach. But I need you to stay awake.”
My hands shake violently; fingers numb and tingling. Shapes bend at the edges of my wobbly vision. A glint at his neck catches my periphery like a magnet. Shimmering silver dust gleams from a small, teardrop-shaped vial.
Home.
“You like this?” he asks, following my gaze.
I nod, barely. It’s like the stars of a clear Wisconsin night. He gently weaves it from around his neck, the thin silver chain scraping across his sharp-edged goatee.
“Here,” Officer Reyes says soothingly, leaning in through the broken window.
He works the chain around my devil horns before I can protest. The vial’s shockingly cold against my skin. It shoots straight through my sternum, stealing my breath.
“It’s for protection.” His gaze shimmers with a panic he desperately tries to conceal. “You’re going to be okay, Zach.”
The sirens blur into a distant wail, thinning out. My teeth almost chatter my tongue off. Cold creeps into my limbs like an unexpected fog.
“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Officer Reyes says, reaching in through the shattered window.
His hand lands on my arm, and I wince as pain shoots through me. I tilt, my sight flickering in and out like a dying light bulb. Everything’s too loud; it stabs my eardrums, stridently disorienting.
Cold air rushes through the broken car. It brushes against my skin, shooting asphalt and exhaust up my nose. I shiver violently at the icy breeze, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my ribs.
“Zach,” Officer Reyes says with a sense of urgency, “stay with me. Look at me.”
I really try, but my lids keep drifting shut. Matted hair sticks against Nicole’s cheek. Her lips are parted like she’s about to say something, though her chest doesn’t rise to collect the breath.
“She’s not moving,” I choke out, half sob, half scream. “She’s not—”
“Don’t look at her. Look at me.”
Officer Reyes’s voice is warm and grounding, cutting through the panic. I force my gaze up to meet his; the furrowed brow, a faint sheen of sweat on his crinkled forehead. He smells like aftershave and amber, a contrast to the chemical stink inside the car.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says softly.
The vial thuds against my collarbone, its weight comforting. I bend the glove’s sparkly plastic claws around it.
“That’s it, Zach,” he assures me, “just hold on.”
I can’t feel my fingers, like they don’t belong to me anymore. Each inhale comes in short shallow bursts, scraping on their way out.
“Hey.” Officer Reyes’s hand anchors me to the fleeting moment as it wraps around mine. “You’re in shock. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
I try to inhale, but the air is too thin. My lungs empty. The cold seeps into my bones, spreading like permafrost. I force one last peek at Nicole before I inevitably join her wherever she’s gone.
She’s gone.
“The paramedics are right here,” he says.
Brightness floods the wreckage. Red and white strobes reflect off the smashed glass like a chaotic labyrinth. Voices shout urgently in clipped, professional demands.
“Door’s jammed!”
“Get the spreader!”
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
Metal groans as tools bite into the frame. It vibrates the car, through my ribs and skull. I wince, squeezing Reyes’s hand. The door wrenches open with a violent crack. Cold air rushes in, flooding my lungs like water.
“Easy,” Reyes says as the paramedics reach in and slide their arms around my back.
Their touch is careful, but even that gentle pressure sends a bolt of pain through my side. I cry out.
“Got her,” one of the medics says. “On three.”
The ground tilts under me, and I’m laid on something hard. Plastic. My vision swims, legs buckling. I glance at Reyes and go dizzy as liquid glistens across his red-smeared palm.
That’s my blood.
A wave of vertigo crashes over me, and the necklace slams into my chest; a tiny pulse against my skin as I fall under.