Chapter One

If murder was legal…

I wouldn't go around killing anyone who gives me bad news, but let's just say the thought is there as I sit in a cluttered office, listening to the university's financial aid worker tell me that I never sent in the forms I was supposed to.

Two months ago.

For next year. Not even for this year. Literally, for the next school year I was already supposed to have these stupid forms turned in.

It's fall, for fuck's sake?

"I—" Even though I try to be calm, I end up sounding flustered. "I didn't know I had to redo the forms every year."

Silly me for thinking anything in America was simple and easy. Like, sure, I'm getting a free ride thanks to the state because my dad died when I was ten and I was in the system until I turned eighteen, but none of that matters because apparently the state needs verification each and every year that I am in fact choosing to continue my education.

And I'm late.

"For students with cases similar to yours, we do recommend visiting us more often, even if it's just to make sure you're on track," the man sitting across from me says. A younger guy who can't be that much older than me. He wears a sad smile, but that's it.

I lean forward, as if getting closer to his desk will help the situation. "I don't exactly have loads of free time to come visit you guys daily—"

"Well, not daily, but—"

"—I work, go to school full time, and actually do all my assignments—"

"It sounds like maybe you're juggling a little too much," he says, a hint of sadness in his tone.

I stare at him, and the thought about murder being legal again pops into my head. Not the best time to vividly imagine launching myself over this guy's desk and strangling him while telling him how unhelpful he is. Not sure there will ever be a time for that.

What I want to say is that I wouldn't have to work full time if I was getting enough money to cover a dorm room on campus, but I hold it in. Logically, I know it isn't this guy's fault that I screwed up.

Still, it's a lot to expect someone to know, isn't it? Like, I never got letters or even a damn call about redoing my papers for the state. Without a scholarship… I have no hope of affording next year's loans.

No credit to my name. A job that, don't tell the guy across from me, I lost two weeks ago because of my constant showing-up-ten-minutes-late thing. I really am digging myself into a hole I don't know how I'll get out of.

"Listen," he says, "all we can do is wait until next semester starts and turn in your forms then. You'll miss the fall semester next year, but if we stay on top of things, we should be able to get you back here in the spring."

I focus on one word there: "Should?"

"Yeah. Since you… didn't keep your file current, the money they gave you for this year might already be bookmarked for someone else. Still, if you're hellbent on coming in the fall, why don't we make an appointment to work on FAFSA together?"

"I don't have any credit," I whisper.

He laughs awkwardly. "Most kids your age don't. Doesn't stop the federal government from lending to them." What's meant to be a joke falls flat. He clearly wants to say more, but he stops when he watches me grab my bag and stand.

"I have to go," I mutter, and I don't even wait for him to respond. I just leave.

I walk out of that office with urgency, my heart pounding for no reason. I try to keep my life together, but some days it feels like it's coming apart at the seams, and nothing I do will ever make it good again.I can't fix it.

Down the elevator, out of the building, I walk with haste across campus. I keep my head down, silently cursing myself for being so stupid. No one on the sidewalks notice me; I'm just another nameless face to them, as they are to me. I forget how many students this university has. Twenty-thousand, maybe? Online and in-person. A lot.

I go to my afternoon classes, try to be present in them, take diligent notes by hand, but it's hard. It's hard to focus when it's all slipping away.

After my classes, I swing by the campus library. What I planned on being a short stop actually ends up taking all afternoon because I fill out a dozen job applications. Nothing like redundancy in applications to make you feel like you're losing your mind.

Is it just me, or does it feel like there are no decently-paying entry-level jobs anymore? It's either dirt pay or they expect you to know everything.

It's days like this when I feel like the world isn't cut out for people like me.

By the time I leave the library, the world is dark outside, and I walk home. Don't have a car. More often than not I curse not having a vehicle, but at a time like this, I'm reminded of the fact I wouldn't be able to afford it. The pathetic cashier's job I used to have barely covered rent and food, not to mention my textbooks.

My place is downtown, but not in one of those new fancy high-rises. No, I live above an old bar, across the hall from the bartender himself. Frank. He's a good guy. Gave me a deal on the place. He said I looked like a quiet kid, and that's exactly the kind of tenant he wanted. Not someone who parties it up every weekend like most college kids in this city.

I used to think it was a compliment, but now… maybe partying it up wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd feel carefree, even if it's just for a few hours.

The bar's not directly off-campus, so it's a bit of a hike. Twenty minutes later, I'm walking up the steps on the fire escape in the alley of the bar, but right before I reach for the door to the second-floor hall, Frank walks out, a grim look on his face.

I freeze when I see him. My instincts usually aren't wrong, and right now, they're telling me this isn't good.

"Frank," I say. "Why aren't you downstairs working the bar?"

"I wanted to see if you were home yet," he says, rubbing his jaw before moving to the metal railing on the landing of the fire escape.

Call me psychic, but I have the feeling I know what this is about. I don't move to stand beside him. I'm rooted in place, staring at the back of his head as a sinking feeling takes hold in my gut.

"I don't have the rent yet," I whisper. Technically it was due a month ago, but I asked and got an extension. Still, I'm not dumb. I know there's only so much waiting Frank can do. "Can I have a few more weeks?"

I like Frank. Sure, he's an old, crotchety bastard sometimes, but if I was his age—see: sixty-five, maybe—I'd be mean to most people, too. Course, he's only mean to those who are jerks to him, first. I think that's why we get along.

"Rey," he starts, and then he turns around for eye contact, which tells me he means business. "I'm gonna level with you. The bar ain't doing good. You'd think that wouldn't be an issue in a college town, but with all these new, fancy places serving mixed drinks with music so loud you can hear it across the street… I need someone who can afford the rent."

He runs a hand down the side of his old, gnarled face, rubs his gray stubble for a moment. "Look, I can give you one more week. I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do. If you can't make rent, I'll have to kick you out—and I hope you're smart enough to know an eviction doesn't look good on anybody."

If I'm legally evicted, I'll have a harder time getting a place in the future. It'll be a permanent stain any future landlord would be able to look up. Shit. He's right. If I don't have the money in a week—and odds are I won't because none of the jobs I applied to since I was fired have contacted me for as little as an interview—I'll have to voluntarily leave.

But where will I go?

It's as I'm standing there, mind spinning as I wonder what the hell I'm going to do, Frank says, "I should get down to the bar. Don't worry too much, kid. I'm sure things will work out." He gives me a smile and a pat on the shoulder before he goes, but I don't react.

What can I say besides my life is falling apart? That everything I worked so hard for is being pulled out from under me like some damned rug?

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

If I had a mom, maybe she would've taught me not to swear so much, but the woman dumped me on my dad, and he swore like a sailor. Really, now that he's gone, swearing is the only thing I have left of him, besides the picture in my wallet.

I push into the hall and pull out my key from my pocket.

Then again, if I had a mom, none of this would be happening. I could be living at home, commuting. Or I'd have someone to back me up, loan-wise, a parent to sign off on everything.

My foster parents weren't bad people, but… well, let's just say they let it be known that in this world, everyone's out for themselves. They pretty much only took care of me and the others so they could get a paycheck. As sad as it is, I consider myself lucky being placed with them. It could've been so much worse.

My place is tiny. Not a studio, at least, but that's not saying much since my bedroom literally only fits a bed and an old dresser I trash-picked a few months back. I've been here since the beginning of summer, so about five months. AKA just long enough to get used to how things are without really thinking about how things could take a turn for the worse.

I drop my bag and collapse on my bed. After a moment, I roll onto my back and pull out my wallet. I dig out my dad's picture and stare at it in the darkness.

His face looks like mine, though obviously a manlier, older version. Squarer jaw, maybe a bit lighter of brown hair. Our eyes are the same, though. A light amber color. When the sun hits it, it almost looks molten.

This picture in particular is one of him grinning. I don't remember much, but I remember going to the zoo with him for my birthday in the fall. It was a windy day, so we were bundled up. I took his phone and wanted to play photographer for the day. I made him pose in front of every single animal exhibit. Every damn one. He played along, never complained once. If anyone was a good sport, it was him.

I said something stupid before taking this one. Something like, "Don't worry, Dad, this will be the last one… until the next one." Something silly and what I thought sly at the time, but it made him laugh, and that's when I took the picture.

Some lady took a photo of both of us near the zoo's sign on our way out after a long day, and he said he'd print me off whatever pictures I wanted.

I only wanted one.

I was nine at the time. I had no idea about a year later, he'd get sick and leave me.

As I stare at his picture, I whisper, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm trying. I am. It's just… things are so hard, and half the time I don't know what to do." I meet his gaze in the photo. "You weren't supposed to leave. You're supposed to be here now, helping me not make stupid mistakes."

The emotion inside is overwhelming, and I'm forced to close my eyes to stop any tears from falling. I hold the picture against my chest and roll onto my side.

I don't cry. Not anymore. I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn't shed a single tear more.

You'd think it'd get easier, that the grief wouldn't suffocate you as much as the years go by, but it doesn't. Nothing ever gets easy.

I drift off to sleep on an empty stomach.

Sadly, it's that same empty stomach that wakes me a few hours later. Just before midnight it demands food, and I roll out of bed, abandoning the picture of my dad on the comforter. I hold a hand to my stomach and say, "Yeah, yeah. Food. I got it."

My feet shuffle out of the hall and into the kitchen area. I pull out a cup of ramen, add some water, and toss it in the microwave. I yawn, still half asleep, and grab myself a fork. When it's done, I slip my shoes on and sneak into the main hall. Within a minute, I'm on the roof of the building, my feet dangling off the edge as I eat and watch the world around me.It's my favorite spot.

A college town, the nightlife is hopping. The streets are still packed, and people dressed in clubbing attire walk the sidewalks in groups. If things were different, I could be one of them.

I eat the ramen slowly, the weight of all the bad news finally sinking in. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm going to do, how I'll survive. All my life, my goal was to make my dad proud, but I can't do that if I'm homeless, jobless, and kicked out of college.

Glancing up at the dark sky, I shout, "Fuck!" That gets some of the people on the sidewalk to glance up at me, but I'm above the streetlights and Frank's bar isn't lit with multiple neon signs like most businesses on the street, so I'm pretty sure they can't see me.

"What am I going to do?" I ask myself in a much more normal volume. "Stop talking to yourself, for one. Get your shit together, for two."

I was going to say more, but right then, across the street, something flashes. Something in the alley between the bank and the chiropractor's office—yeah, another reason Frank's business isn't doing too well: it's in the shittiest part of the city.

Anyway, back to whatever it is. It's bright, some kind of intense flash of golden white. It's strong enough to light up the whole alley and then some, but after two seconds it fades, as if it was all in my imagination.

Everyone on the street and sidewalks go on with their nights, completely oblivious to whatever it was.

Huh. Maybe it is all in my head, somehow.

Either way, something tugs at me, and I decide I have to go check it out.

I get up and head down the fire escape, down to the alley. I stop by the dumpster and immediately see two big eyes staring up at me.

Stripes, the alley cat. Frank won't let me bring him in, which is fine because I don't have the money to take care of a cat, but… I still bring him food when I can. Maybe I pity him because I understand him, the having no family to take care of you bit, or maybe I just like cats.

Or both.

I set my half-eaten ramen down before him, and the black and gray cat meows in thanks before pushing his face into the bowl. I pet him from his head to his tail, and his little butt goes up with my hand, as if he's relishing the affection.

"Don't know what all you can eat from it, but you're welcome, dude," I say. I pet him for a few more seconds, and then I stand, straighten myself out, and leave the alley behind, my destination across the street.

That flash… I never saw anything like it before. I have no idea what could've made it. It was too bright, too blinding to be a snap of a camera flash. It was powerful enough to encase the entire alley: the dumpster from the bank and the three floors of brick walls on either side of it.

And the weirdest part is I don't remember seeing any people in the alley. That means whatever it is glowed by itself.

This is one of those moments where you could say curiosity killed the cat. Me being the cat. It probably isn't the smartest thing to hike across the street and go into another alley in search of answers that, in the grand scheme of things, won't affect me at all.

I wait until traffic clears somewhat, and then I rush across the four-lane street. I make it to the sidewalk on the other side of the street and dart into the alley. It's like the entire world is carrying on, oblivious to what happened here.

Which is insane, right? That flash was super freaking bright. I don't know how I'm the only one who saw it.

I head deeper into the alley, on high alert. I don't hear the sounds of people waiting to jump me. In fact, the deeper I go into that alley, the less I hear everything. The cars on the street. The people on the sidewalk. The general nightlife of the city. It's like I step into a vacuum, a void where all sound ceases to exist.

I pass the dumpster, finding it's overflowing. A few bags lay against the bank wall, and the smell is enough to make me nauseous. Urine. Someone definitely took a piss here. I hold a hand up to my nose as my face wrinkles in disgust, and I'm seconds from turning away and leaving—because it doesn't look like anything is here—but then something strange happens.

In the vacuum of no sound, the wind blows. On the gentle caress of that wind, I hear a voice. Whispers. Murmurings so low and incoherent the little hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stick straight up.

My eyes scan the small mound of trash bags next to the dumpster bin again, and this time I see something poking out between two bags. Something glowing.

"What the…" I whisper, inching closer to it. What is it? Is that what made the entire alley light up? My incredulousness and my curiosity overpower me, forcing me to bend over and carefully move aside the trash bag on top so I can see the object better.

I'm not dumb. I know not to pick up random things without making sure there are no sharp edges or used syringes involved.

With the trash bag aside, I'm finally able to view the thingamajig. It's… a crystal of some sort? I'm not big on that stuff, so I don't know what kind, but I'd say it's about six inches long with a point on each end, and it freaking glows.

Yeah, the crystal glows.

What kind of crystal has its own light source trapped inside itself? None that I know of. Maybe it's some kind of battery-operated lamp or something. Either way, it's pretty cool.

The wind blows again, and I hear the murmurings a second time. Now that I'm staring at the crystal, it sounds like the whisperings are coming… from the crystal? No, that can't be right. That would make absolutely zero sense. What kind of a crystal glows and talks?

None, because this is reality and that shit just doesn't happen.

My gut is telling me to leave it. That someone dumped it here for a reason. But I can't move. It's like I'm fixated on it and I can't turn away. I'm locked there, staring at it, for what feels like an eternity but is probably only a minute at the most.

Even though it's a bad idea, I say, "Fuck it." I reach for it.

I'll take it back to my place, look it over. Maybe I can sell it for some rent money. If this weird crystal can help solve one of my problems, then I'll gladly deal with the strange glowing and the creepy whispering.

My fingers grasp it, slow to curl around it. It is surprisingly warm to the touch, and I can't stop staring at it as I stand. I swear, as I gaze down into it, I see movement. "What the hell…"

It's right as I say that that the crystal turns from warm to insanely hot, and the sudden shift of its temperature makes me drop it as I jerk my arm back and cradle my hand against my chest. I swear—or at least I think I do. I don't hear myself.

In fact, I don't hear anything except the crystal breaking as it collides with the dirty concrete below. It shatters, and then everything goes black.