The sun woke him up.
Not the uncomfortable heat of midday, but a gentle kiss of early evening light that opened his eyes to a sky dyed in pastel and washed with gold. A cool breeze brushed against his cheeks and he smelled fresh grass in the air.
Someone ran past him, not in fear for their lives, but just a girl jogging down a clear path. And the laughter he heard wasn’t the shrill giggling of demons, but kids running across the playground.
Jace sat up quickly, ignoring the wave of dizziness that rolled over him as he rubbed his vision clear.
He was in a park, sitting on a bench surrounded by people—real people—enjoying the last bit of daylight they had. Families laid across the field with blankets and snacks, couples walked their dogs through tunnels of sycamore trees, and an older man sat on the edge of a fountain where the Maiden Statue cried streams of water. His heart leaped at the sight of that young woman who glistened like she was made of something more precious than stone and he turned to see the bridge that overlooked her.
He stood and felt over his chest, checking to see if he carried the sensations of reality and not the dream-good sensitivity he’d been caged in. Looking down, he saw the clothes from the night he was kidnapped: dark khaki joggers, high-top Vans, and his dad’s varsity jacket covering Bryce’s borrowed shirt.
A burst of anxiety and excitement coursed through him, building under his skin and threatening to come out as either a crazy laugh or spill of vomit. Thankfully, it wasn’t the latter, and he jumped up in a sudden squeal of happiness that scared the hell out of a man jogging past him.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Jace stepped in circles, looking around and confirming yet again this wasn’t a dream. He was back home, finally.
And after his nerves settled for a moment, he turned back to the bench and saw his backpack. Inside, he found his wallet, an extra shirt, his sketchbook, and other miscellaneous crap he packed the night they went to Nik’s, and finally, he fished out his phone.
“Thank god!” He said to himself, kissing the cold screen affectionately and attempting to swipe it on.
Nothing.
Jace inhaled.
Dead.
Of course, it was dead, God only knows how long he’d been gone—weeks probably—but that didn’t matter. He just needed a charger and he opened his bag yet again, shifting through every corner and pocket until he found…nothing.
“Seriously, Jace?” He said, feeling a twinge of annoyance moving up his spine when he realized the worst thing he could’ve forgotten at Bryce’s house was forgotten at Bryce’s house.
Then, the annoyance was slowly replaced with a painful tightness in his heart, one that only got worse the more he thought about his friend.
He’s…safe. That’s all that matters.
Reassuring himself did little to stop the pain, but he was home now. A missing charger was an easy fix, it was nothing to worry.
A flood of adrenaline awakened foreign feelings restrained inside him and he took off, unable to stay still any longer.
He ran down curved paths shaded by trees in full bloom, past a yoga gathering who’d been meeting up for years and weaving through a pack of teens skateboarding at their own pace. The air was crisp and he inhaled as much as he could, tasting wildflowers and sugary-sweet treats being served by vendors, of midsummer afternoons and freedom from the dark.
He downed it all.
And he left the park, keeping the same pace without feeling an ounce of exhaustion. Compared to a night with the Red One—or all three masters—he felt like he could run like this for hours, and he’d want to if only to continue feeling this good.
Monroe Avenue was as busy as ever; a district of stores and restaurants that called to a generation of Boho-seekers and Indie trendsetters who walked down sidewalks near rundown buildings covered in murals and spray-painted with unheard words of silenced artists. Musicians played on street corners for coins and fame, parkour experts leaped across rooftops, and young hipsters snapped photos beside a wall of flowers and worn brick. A riot of music genres blared out of every door he passed, including the clothing store he used to work part-time at. Around the corner, he met with a cloud of smells, a heady mix of every food truck, vendor stand, and restaurant that was lined up the street; hot pizza and hand-made empanadas, spun-sugar and rainbows of gelato topped with fresh fruit. People passed him carrying burgers dripping with grease, sipping on aesthetically pleasing coffee-drinks, and couples feeding each other sweet cakes. His stomach turned like he hadn’t eaten in weeks despite being fed by demons daily; strange fruits and raw meat only cooked when he earned the flames.
Again, Jace tried not to think about them, he wanted to ignore the nightmares pulsing inside of him and forget every detail of that hideous realm because he wasn’t there, not right now. Right now, he was home—his city, and he wanted to eat more than anything.
The hardest choice was who to visit first, but he decided on a burger stand, classic and right to the point. Thankfully, there was money in his wallet as he had a feeling his accounts might’ve frozen after a couple of weeks of zero activity, auto-drafted bills, and no paychecks. The overdraft fees were a scarier thought than demons and ancient blades.
Blade?
The Beast of the Sea, or whatever the Red One had called it, wasn’t with him.
Concerned and uneasy, Jace moved into the shadows of a building and an empty canopy. He knelt close to the wall and opened his backpack, carefully taking out everything once again, the last thing being his extra shirt.
And there is was.
The box that wasn’t there the first time he looked through his bag.
A shutter escaped him and he unexpectedly felt breathless; nervous and hot—not from the sun or the warmth in the air, but a feverish heat that made his body ache and his head spin. Somewhere, like a microphone in his head making grim announcements, a voice told him to sleep, to give in to the aches and fears, and sink into a good rest.
With heavy eyes, he sat back against the building.
“You’re wiser than that, aren’t you?”
Jace’s eyes snapped out of their clouded gaze when the Red One’s voice whispered into his ear, and he inhaled the air like he’d been holding his breath too close to death.
A group of guys snuck behind the canopy, not close enough to see him, but enough that he was startled by their laughter and footsteps. Jace watched them pass, shrugging off his jacket when the sweat started to wet his neck, and he shoved it into his bag without taking another look at the damn box. He packed up everything and stood with his eyes—especially the right one—aching.
He rubbed them and blinked the pain away until it felt like it was never there. And the drowsiness, the spreading-sickness aches—all gone.
That energy returned and with it the hunger.
Jace stepped out of the alley, past the foreboding sense following him out of the shadows, and he rejoined the crowd.
The line to the burger stand wasn’t bad. He waited behind an indecisive young woman with too many questions and her patient girlfriend, behind him two guys complimented his shirt, some expensive brand Bryce favored, and they about labels until it was time for to order.
He paid the girl and stood, taking in the world he’d been missing from; the sounds of people, not demons, who just wanted to enjoy the rest of the day. He envied them, yet he pitied them.
“Here you go.” The girl pulled him back to reality as she handed him his food with a perky smile.
“Thanks.” He responded, reaching for the paper made basket when, for the briefest of moments and the faintest of breaths, he glanced over to the calendar sitting on the counter.
His food hit the ground and the girl gasped, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the month.
August?
His eyes widened, and he drew in several broken gasps.
Time stopped, or moved unpredictably, slowing to the point where his mind went blank and he couldn’t hear the girl or her coworker despite their mouths moving. The only sound that remained clear was the slow, uneven beats of his heart starting to panic.
“…you another one.” Voices slipped through the thrumming of harsh palpitations that made everyone seem further away.
“What?” Jace asked, and his reality turned back on like someone controlling a volume knob connected to his senses.
“I said we’ll make you another one.” The guy repeated.
“I’m so sorry,” The girl said. “Please, give us a minute and we’ll—“
“Your calendar. Is it right?” Jace asked in an anxious desire for answers.
Perplexed, the girl leaned over and looked at the calendar before glancing back to him with an arched brow. “Yeah. August 5th.”
“No, that’s…”
August. That wasn’t right.
Nik’s party, Bryce’s break from classes, the start of his apprenticeship at the tattoo shop, it was in February. It all happened in February.
“Are you okay?”
Jace looked up, quick enough to make the girl jump and the guys behind him take a few steps back.
And he ran.
Past the crowds and down the street where the sky started to lose its fire-glow and began to wilt into violet-black waves pinpricked with stars.
When the air started to cut up his throat and tear through his lungs like shards of glass, he stumbled, falling into a light post for balance but losing to the weight of frightening realizations and dropping to his knees. Hysteria cold on his lips, his breathing struggling between oncoming sobs and laughter.
Six months. Six months he’d been gone, probably presumed dead by Bryce and his family. His heart started to ache; cracking, and nearly breaking at the thought of calling them because he was afraid to.
When two guys passing looked at him with cautious and curious expressions, Jace stood and crossed the street. Street signs and buildings were all blurs, nothing but dream-writing he couldn’t comprehend, but he kept on.
Eventually, the crowds disappeared and he was running into the twilight alone. Cars with drove past him with lights trailing behind their silver rims and humming wordless songs, opened storefronts spilled out fluorescent lights and laughter, and the smell of curbside trash blending with grease from the closest Chinese restaurant.
And he only stopped when he saw a phone booth.
Stepping inside, he couldn’t have cared less of its condition, he just needed the cord to be intact and the dial tone on. Luck gave him both and he scooped out what change he had hiding in his backpack.
He didn’t know Bryce’s number by heart, but he wished he did if only to hear his voice and make sure he was safe—healing and happy. That’s why Jace did what he did, without hesitation and without grievance.
I made my choice. And I won’t regret it.
But his family, what would he tell him? The disgusting truth or a painful lie? That he sold his body and soul to demons to save Bryce, that he wanted to come back to them but he was afraid to face them with this newfound desire to be loved and owned and used by nightmarish masters?
He almost laughed, not because it was funny but because it was so awful to think of the inevitable conversation yet to come.
But I can't keep them in the dark.
Coins gave the phone life and Jace dialed the only number he knew by heart, one that would never change, and he waited for someone to pick up.
That wait was unbearable, every ring played with his heart, tediously pulling on strings attached to each chamber until he was almost tempted to hang up. Fear and Anxiety eating at him, devouring his courage like the slow swallow of a snake. What he wanted to say, what he thought he could say, they started blending together in his mind like a bunch of meaningless scribbles.
Then, the warmth of his mother’s voice filled his ear and a sad relief wiped his thoughts clean.
“Hello?”
Jace squeezed the phone cord so hard that nails dug into the palms of his hands and he feared the weak line would tear apart. Tears stung his eyes and everything shattered when his mom, sounding more hopeful this time, spoke again with the slightest intake of a weeping breath.
“...Jace.”
“S-Si. Si, soy yo, mama.”
“Oh god, oh my god, mi hijo, mi querido hijo. ¿Dónde estás? ¿Estás herido?”
“I’m fine, mama, I’m okay. I love you, I love you.” He said under his mom’s prayer as he sobbed and she thanked God, repeating words of love to him over and over, a devotion he’d been without for months.
His entire body clutched as sorrow and pain flowed through him, a river of agony, of memories and horror that lost under the weight of her honey voice. Tears soaked his face and arm, joining the perspiration damping his skin as the air switched on and off between hot and cold like a light. “Mama, Where’s…Jordan? Let me talk to him, please.”
His mom frantically called for his brother in the background, and within a few long-short minutes his mother’s sobbing was replaced with Jordan’s frantic breathing as he picked up the phone.
“Jace? Jace!”
It’s me, Jordan. I’m here.”
“Oh, Christ…fuck…” His brother began to cry, not even trying to be the rock of the family anymore, but just an older brother who needed to know—finally—that his little brother was safe. “Jace, what happened? Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m okay, Jordan, I’m fine. I…just…I got into trouble,” Muscles started knotting up inside of him. “And I had to leave…”
“Come back, Jace, come here. Whatever is going on, we’ll take care of it, we’ll help you.”
No. No, you can’t.
And that hurt the most.
“I-I will. I just…need some time, just a little, to take care of some things.” Jace lied, sounding too desperate, too breathy and exposed. And Jordan’s heavy inhales let him know the man didn’t believe him. “Please, Jordan…trust me.”
“Jace, don’t go away again.” His voice dropped, lowering to a deep whisper. “Don’t…run, come back to us.”
Jordan's voice carried a handful of regrets, of words he wanted to speak the night before Jace left home to follow Bryce to a new city. And Jace remembered the look on Jordan's face, the tenseness that countered the fake smile he tried to give, spoke the words he tried to hide; that he didn't want Jace to leave.
And right now, they both had regrets.
“I can’t. Not right now.”
Silence bit into them and only cleared when his brother inhaled his anger and frustration then exhaled it as sorrow and hopelessness.
“Do…do you want to talk to Jonah?” He finally said.
“…Yeah.” He didn't.
Muted noises followed his mother asking Jordan for answers not given as he called for Jonah.
Wiping his eyes, Jace struggled to compose himself before his little brother took the phone.
“Jace?” Jonah’s voice, small and energetic, came to his ear like a beam of hope.
“Hey, brat, how are you?” Jace’s eyes looked up, blinking back stray tears and trying to keep his voice steady.
“I’m okay, just watching a movie,” He said. “Where are you? You missed my graduation and haven’t come home for a long time.
Jace covered his mouth when a choking sob escaped, but—in a shivering inhale—he swallowed the rest.
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