Chapter 1 #2
Stormie trips, her knee splitting open on the tile, as blood darken the keen of her jeans.
I rip her upward by her collar, fabric snapping as she chokes on her gasp, stumbling to catch her footing.
Luke’s face is chalk-white, veins bulging at his temples, terror making his movements jerkier than mine, but he stays close, holding his sister up.
I crash through a door into the stairwell just behind us—the rusted metal slams against the concrete wall, echoing like the hollow gunshots still ringing in my ears.
I almost trip over my own feet, but Luke’s fingers catch my sweat-slick wrist before I tumble headfirst down grimy stairs.
My lungs burn like I’ve swallowed acid, heart jackhammering against my ribs so hard I fear they’ll crack.
We hit the first floor, but the metallic clicks of the gun still echo through my mind. My brain screams, think, think, think.
How does everyone in this building make it out alive?
I dive for a fire alarm, its red plastic case dusty under my fingertips, and yank it down with enough force to tear my nail.
The shrieking wail is deafening, my eardrums begin to throb like they’ve been punctured, matching the adrenaline coursing through my veins like liquid lightning.
We keep moving, crashing through the door on the next floor, our desperate hands dragging each other down a hall lined with peeling motivational posters.
We weave past scurrying students with backpacks bouncing and confused faces who have no idea of what just took place on the blood-spattered floor above them.
Fingernails digging half-moons into each other’s flesh, shoes slipping on the linoleum, still wet, we find a fire exit and burst into blinding midday sunlight. Darting through the courtyard, we don’t stop running until we make it to my dorm, collapsing onto the cool concrete out front.
On my right, Luke dry heaves on his knees—once, twice—his whole body convulsing before the half-digested contents of his stomach splatter between his trembling arms. Stormie and Tiffany hold each other tightly to my left, frantic fingers running over each other between kisses.
My vision tunnels, black edges closing in like a vignette photograph. Alarms wail all around us—the campus-wide intercom floods through the sounds of approaching sirens, their high-low screams getting closer by the second.
“Terrance St. Aurelius, please make your way to the dean’s office.”A low, crackling voice continues, “I repeat, Terrance St. Aurelius, please make your way to the dean’s office.”
There is no Terrance St. Aurelius enrolled at St. Aurelius University.
Every St. Aurelius student knows that it’s code for: Active Shooter—the school is now on lockdown, shelter in place. It’s something we get taught on Orientation Day. Once the lockdown lifts, there will be no classes held for the next couple of days.
Luke’s fingers dig into my shoulder, bruising. “We made it,” he chokes out, vomit speckling his chin. I can only gasp for air as adrenaline floods my body.
And I know one thing for sure: something in me changed today. I saw death—not as a story, not as something distant—a cold breath upon my skin. A living, breathing entity.
My brother doesn’t scare easily—brave heart.
Brave soul. Roman Alejandro Vidante Jr. has always been like that, he always wanted to be as brave as our dad, fighting every day to “worthy” of his name.
His emotions have been practically non-existent since the day we laid our father to rest, so imagine my surprise to see him standing at my door, panting.
I rub my eyes and make way for him to step inside. “What do you want, RJ?” I groan groggily. After what happened today, all I want is sleep. The adrenaline from running from bullets like a scared animal flooded out about two hours ago, and I crashed.
“What do you mean, what do I want?” His Jersey accent is deep, but sometimes he sounds like a stone-cold New Yorker, especially when he’s mad. “The fucking building you had class in got shot up, and you gonna fucking ask me what I want?”
“Yeah, and what were you gonna do if I was dead?”
“Don’t even fucking joke like that, nena.
” He pulls me into a resistant hug, and I can feel how fast his heart is beating; he is actually scared.
“Don’t even fucking joke like that.” He sways us gently.
And I can’t help but feel a bit steadier in my brother's arms, but I push him away when tears start to well up in my eyes.
“All right, all right.” I discreetly swipe my under eyes and pull in a sniffle. “You can go back to ignoring me now. Go back to your stupid friends.”
RJ scoffs, rolling his eyes at me like I’m an ungrateful brat. "You serious right now? I literally ran across campus when I heard. Didn’t even grab my jacket."
Now that he mentions it, I notice he’s only wearing a thin T-shirt despite the February chill. Something twists in my chest, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook yet.
“Yeah, well, where were you last week when I needed help moving my bed? Or the week before when I called about Mom?”
He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Look, I've been busy with—”
“With West and them, I know.” I walk to my mini fridge, mostly to put some distance between us. “Want a soda or something?”
“Sure.”
I grab two cans, passing one to him. The top makes a satisfying hiss as RJ pops it open with his thumb. He takes a long swig, then leans against my desk. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the hum of my mini-fridge.
“So,” he finally says, “you gonna tell me what happened?”
I shrug, trying to seem casual even though my hands are still trembling slightly. “Not much to tell. We were in the middle of the hall when we heard the first shot. My friends and I ran. Didn’t stop until we got back here.”
I skip the part about what I saw. The last thing I need right now is him making me feel weird about it. He’s never believed in my abilities, constantly either telling me it was a bunch of shit or not to be weird like our grandmother.
“Jesus Christ, Mack.”
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my soda, the carbonation burning my throat. “Turns out it was some guy from the engineering department. Had a grudge against his advisor or something.”
RJ’s knuckles go white around his can. I try not to stare at them—try not to notice how much he looks like Dad when he’s angry. I can tell he’s picturing it—me running down hallways with gunshots echoing behind me.
He sets his drink down on the desk, harder than necessary. “Anyone hurt?”
“Two professors. Three students. Two students and one professor died.” My throat constricts, remembering the sounds, the screams. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”
RJ paces the room, looking like he’s about to put his fist through a wall. “This shit shouldn’t happen. Not here. Not anywhere.”
I sink onto my bed, suddenly exhausted again. “Yeah, well.’Merica.”
He stops pacing and looks at me, really looks at me for the first time since he barged in. “You sure you’re okay? You look… I don't know. Different.”
My stomach drops. Of course he noticed. RJ always could, even when we were kids and I’d try to hide when I was seeing things. “I’m fine. Just scared like everyone else.”
He’s not buying it. I can tell by the way his eyebrows pull together, creating that little crease above his nose that’s been there since we were kids.
“You saw something, didn’t you?” RJ asks quietly.
I consider lying, but what’s the point? “Yeah.”
He sits down next to me on the bed, the springs creaking under our combined weight. “What was it this time?”
“I saw it before it happened,” I admit, staring at my hands. “This morning. I had this…vision, I guess. Flashes of people running, screaming. Blood on the walls.”
RJ is quiet for so long, I think he might have stopped breathing. When I glance over, his face is pale.
“Why didn’t you call me?” His voice softens.
“And say what?” My eyebrows knit together. “Hello, dearest brother, I know you think I’m a freak, but I had a vision of a school shooting today. Just wanted to let you know!” I snort, but it comes out more bitter than I intended. “You would’ve hung up on me.”
RJ winces. “I wouldn’t have.”
“You have before.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I stand up, needing to move. “You get to be normal. You get to have your friends and your parties and your perfectly ordinary college experience. I get to see people die before it happens and not be able to do a damn thing about it.”
He can’t argue with that. The silence stretches between us again, heavier this time. Outside my window, I can hear sirens in the distance. They haven’t stopped all day.
“I should’ve warned someone,” I whisper finally. “Maybe if I’d—”
“Don’t.” RJ cuts me off, his voice firm. “Don’t do that to yourself. Even if you’d told someone, who would’ve believed you? The campus police? The administration?”
A sob breaks free, catching me off guard. I try to swallow it back, but it’s too late. The tears I’ve been fighting all day spill over, hot and unrelenting. RJ’s arms are around me before I can push him away again.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and for a second, we’re kids again—me with skinned knees and him promising to beat up whoever pushed me. “No tengas miedo, aqui estas salvo.” He whispers just the way my father used to, “Don’t be afraid, you’re safe here.”
“I saw their faces, RJ,” I mumble into his shirt. “The people who died. I saw them in my vision. I could have… I should have…”
“You couldn’t have done anything,” he says firmly, urging me not to carry a burden there was no way to control. “Look, do you want me to stay here tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I say, voice muffled against his shoulder. Part of me wants to say yes—to fall asleep knowing someone else is keeping watch. The other part, the stubborn part, wants to prove I can handle this alone. “Maybe.”
RJ pulls back, giving me space to breathe. “That’s not an answer, Mack.”
“Fine. Yes.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “But you’re taking the floor.”
The ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Just like old times.”
I remember those nights after Mom would stumble home, drunk. RJ would sneak into my room with his pillow tucked under his arm. He’d sleep on the carpet beside my bed, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone with the sounds of breaking dishes and slamming doors echoing through the house.
How far we’ve fallen since then.