Chapter Thirteen. Julian #4
Julian flashed a tight smile. “Thanks.” He changed his mind and stood up, heading for the bedroom. He could feel Omar’s disappointment.
Julian made it halfway down the hall before Omar’s voice called out to him. “Somethin’ weird happen?”
Julian froze, his back to the room. “What?”
“You got that look on your face again.” Omar wasn’t teasing anymore. “Like you’re gonna barf or something.”
Julian turned. Luca just stared at him, like he was waiting for the truth to fall out.
Julian exhaled a laugh, trying to play it off as he turned his attention back to Omar. “You sound like Rio.”
Omar sat up straighter. “Yeah, well, maybe he’s got a point.”
Julian clenched his jaw. Omar wasn’t making this any easier on him, and he was tired of getting grilled. “Wow. Thanks for the support,” he said, unable to keep the hostility from his voice.
Omar’s nostrils flared. “I am supporting you,” he said. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“I already told you—”
“You haven’t told us shit.”
The silence that followed was sharp. Tense.
Luca curled deeper into his blanket, face turned away. His hands had dropped from the bracelet. They tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves instead, and for a second, Julian saw it.
The dark spot. His Marca Hueca.
It peeked out from under the stretched neck of Luca’s sweater, trailing past his collarbone. Faint, shadowed, and unmistakable.
Guilt slammed into Julian.
Luca was getting worse, and Julian was still lying.
“I just need some sleep,” he muttered, not looking at either of them.
He heard Omar suck his teeth, could picture him shaking his head.
Julian flinched at the bite in his voice, then turned down the hall fast, brushing shoulders with Rocky as she exited the bathroom mid-argument with Flaca.
“Next time you steal my face wash, I’m pouring glitter in your shampoo!” Rocky snapped.
“You act like that’s a punishment!” Flaca shot back.
Julian managed a smile as he passed. Rocky and Flaca continued their argument into the living room.
He reached the shared bedroom door and paused, hand on the knob. For a second, he swore he saw movement—just a ripple of shadow across the hall. A trick of the light.
Julian exhaled and pushed the door open. He felt it the second he stepped inside.
Rio was asleep under the mound of his blanket, the lights flicked off, but a shiver crawled up Julian’s spine. He froze, squinting into the dark. The pulsing neon sign from the gas station filtered through the blinds, but the shadows felt too still, too watchful.
The room felt colder than it should be, raising the hairs on his arms.
Julian stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The sound of the latch catching echoed too loudly. Rio’s steady breathing came from the far bed, deep and slow, but even that felt … fragile.
Julian stood still. Listening. Watching.
Waiting.
The shadows were wrong. They leaned at strange angles. The air had weight—thick, like breath.
A prickle crawled up his spine. He turned to the window, but the blinds were steady, the neon light continuing to pulse. Nothing outside.
He stepped toward his bed—and stopped.
The closet door was cracked open.
Only a sliver.
But from inside, a faint glow pulsed—pale blue, soft at first, like the shimmer of moonlight across deep water. Then stronger. Rhythmic.
Julian’s breath hitched. His pulse thudded at his temples, sweat prickling on his brow.
Julian.
His name scraped through the air like nails on glass.
Julian flinched. Spun.
No one.
Just the light. Just the closet.
Julian.
It came again—not loud but unmistakable. Not a threat, not even angry.
But the way it said it, like it knew him.
Not like Angel, who was trying to help. Not like Yadriel, who loved him. This was deeper.
Older. Like something carved into his bones.
The voice was familiar. Not recognizable. Not yet. But something in it hit wrong in the exact right place, like a bruise pressed by an invisible finger.
His chest tightened. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to run—or scream—or answer.
He took one step toward the closet.
The light grew brighter, and the stillness shattered.
Shadows stretched across the walls, pulsing like they had a heartbeat. Julian’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the darkness coiled like living ink.
“Who’s there?” Julian demanded, fists clenched, though his gut twisted. The silence swelled, thick and expectant.
JULIAN.
His gaze snapped to the closet. Darkness gaped wide, shadows undulating, drawing him closer with a watery blue glow. Heart pounding, Julian crept forward, each step weighted with dread. The light reflected off the closet walls like ripples in a deep lake, growing brighter.
He swore he heard it—breathing, faint but unmistakable.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, staring into the pulsing blue light. What was it? The question twisted in his gut like a knife—
“What are you doing?”
A shout tore out of him. He jerked backward, heels skidding on the floor as he scrambled away from the closet, palms stinging.
Rio was propped up on his side, squinting at Julian in the dark.
“What are you doing, man?” Rio repeated, his voice rough with sleep, his brow furrowed.
“N-nothing! I’m cool— Holy shit, you scared me,” Julian stammered, gripping his shirt when his scar throbbed painfully underneath. “I—I thought I saw a—uh—spider.”
Rio frowned. “Spider?” he asked.
Julian’s pulse hammered as he glanced back at the closet.
It was dark now, like the lights had never been there. Just piles of clothes and junk.
But Julian couldn’t stop staring at the dark. It had felt real. Too real.
He tried to laugh, but it cracked in his throat. “Guess I scared it off.”
Rio’s scowl deepened. Without a word, he grabbed the metal bat from the corner—a relic of their dad—and yanked the closet door open.
The hinges creaked, the dim light spilling over nothing but mess.
“See?” Julian choked out, relief washing over him. “Told you. Just my imagination.”
Rio lingered, eyes darting between the closet and Julian, like he was waiting for something to happen. Finally, he shut the door with a thud, returning the bat to its corner.
He crossed the room and paused in front of Julian. He reached out, hand landing lightly on the side of Julian’s head, thumb brushing the scar behind his ear.
The unexpected gentleness made Julian choke on his own breath.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” Rio muttered, exhausted and defeated. “Whatever it is you’re hiding—it’s gonna catch up.”
Then he turned and got back into bed. The bat sat safely in its home, propped in the corner.
Julian stood there a second longer, heart thudding, ears ringing, a tremor working its way into his spine.
The whisper still clung to him.
Just there.
Waiting.