CONTENT WARNING: The main character of this series struggles with suicidal thoughts and behaviors that may be upsetting to some readers. If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please seek emergency medical care.

I set the black gun case on the dresser next to a photo of my sisters. It’d been shut for so long, I had to dig my fingernails under the latches to pry them open. The nine-millimeter pistol rested on a bed of foam beside an ejected magazine and a cardboard box full of ammo. My father bought it for me when I was twelve. Personal protection. The springs of the magazine croaked under my thumb as I slid a single bullet into place.

The loaded gun felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I exhaled and shifted it between my hands. It may be ready for what had to be done, but I wasn’t. I still had things to do.

First, straighten my tie. I had a bad habit of cinching down the knot too far to the right. The tie’s fat mustardy stripes, alternating with skinny blue ones, weren’t the right choice for my skin’s golden undertones. But my baby sister Camila loved it. She’d given it to me as a gift the Christmas before she died. The rest of the gray hand-me-down suit fit right and seemed more appropriate than my usual jeans-and-t-shirt combo.

Was there dust on the dresser too? I went to blow it away, but it was just the reflection of the sun coming through the curtains. How about dishes? Had I left any in the sink? No. Of course not. I hadn’t even used any. Maybe the garbage needed to be taken out, and the twins probably left their beds unmade the last time they were there. I told them repeatedly to keep their room clean, but they never listened. How was the house supposed to sell if it was a mess? As the teenaged son of the owner, it was hard enough getting buyers to take me seriously.

To my dismay, the beds had hospital corners and the trash can didn’t contain so much as a speck of lint. The one time I needed my sisters to be slobs and the house was spotless.

I’d forgotten something, though. Something important. I was sure of it.

“And just to remind our viewers,” said a woman on television, “Genesis Robotics is conducting a recall of a number of its products today. If you own an android with one of the model numbers on the screen, please bring it to your local repair station or nearest Genesis facility for deactivation. You’ll be given a replacement free of char—”

“TV off,” I said, and the woman went silent. The house went silent.

I should have done it then. Gotten it over with. But the timing didn’t feel right.

Aside from myself and the ever-present mosquitoes, the summer lake house was empty. My sisters and I lived in a small townhouse in the city, miles away. It had been a long drive out, but I couldn’t do it at home. The twins would be the first ones back at the end of the school day, and the thought of them seeing what I planned to do... No. I wouldn’t risk that. This was an ideal location. Only our father and Mia (the oldest, not counting me) knew the code to get through the gate. Our father would be busy trying to find the bottom of a bottle somewhere. Hopefully, in hell. So, it’d be Mia, in the end, who’d come looking for me.

She was going to be pissed. I wished there was something I could do to stop that from happening, but keeping Mia from being pissed was like trying to trap a wasp in a pickleball.

Thinking of her reminded me of what I was forgetting. I needed to write her a note.

I found a pink notebook covered in cartoon kittens on the kitchen counter. It took a minute longer to find a pen, but I managed to dig one up from under the batteries in the junk drawer. A red ballpoint. Red. Like blood.

The chairs around the kitchen table had never been more uncomfortable. Were the cushions always so lumpy?

I ran my fingers through my black hair. At some point in the past, I’d thought of the note I would write. I swore I had. It kept me awake at night and distracted me in class. There were words there, somewhere in my brain, but they were even harder to find than the red pen. I sat there for what might have been days, squirming against the chair, struggling to think of the exact right way to explain everything. It had to be perfect, each word as carefully chosen as an epitaph.

Red ink scratched into pink paper.

I’m on the hill. Sorry.

Good enough. There was nothing else to say, really. The rest of the story would come out on its own.

A prickly layer of yellow grass coated the hill overlooking the lake house. It crunched under my dress shoes. Grass burrs clung to my socks and the ends of my pants. The walk to the top taxed my legs, and the gun in my right hand pulled me to the ground, but I didn’t mind. The crisp air brought the smell of the lake to my nose and reminded me of my childhood. My sisters—Mia, the twins Selena and Sophia, and little Camila—used to race me up that hill. Mia always won. Before and after her transition, she could beat a rabbit in a foot race. Afterward, we’d collapse with exhaustion and tumble back down to the house. Mom would be waiting with popsicles. That house, that hill, saw my sisters and I grow up together.

It didn’t see us fall apart.

I perched on a log midway to the top. The landscape went on for miles. Hills like the one where I sat rolled over the horizon as waves of stone and grass. A hawk circled above the green water of the lake, dove, and stole its lunch from beneath the surface. Trees grew like brown, crackling lightning bolts from the ground. In all the summers I spent there, I never stopped to appreciate its beauty. Not like this.

I rubbed the red marks on the back of my forearm. Scratches that hadn’t gone away. They still itched, still burned, still reminded me every day of what I’d done. There was a time when I would have sat on that hill, touched those marks, and cried. Screamed. Felt an ocean of rage crash over me. Crushing me. Drowning me. But that time had passed. I didn’t feel anything anymore. I was empty. Numb.

But it still wasn’t time.

My pocket vibrated. The school might’ve been calling to find out where I was, or it could have been my monthly reminder to pay the bills. I nearly ignored it but was glad I didn’t. It wasn’t the school. It was Mia.

How could she have been calling? How did she even know I was gone? I checked the time. Nearly seven. School had been out since three. The hours had gotten away from me.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Where are you?” snapped her deep voice. “You need to get home, Mama.”

“I’m out. Is something wrong?”

“Yeah. You’re not here.”

“Is that Mama?” one of the twins said in the background. “Ask him about the oven.”

“What is Selena trying to make?” I asked.

“Tuna casserole.”

“The oven has to be at three-fifty. For forty minutes. Ask the kitchen hub for the recipe.”

“I’ll tell her, but you need to get home.”

“That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I’m not in town.”

“What? Where are you?”

“I’m at the lake house. I’m staying here tonight. Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

Mia raised her voice over the sound of the twins arguing. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Sorry, Mia. I have to go. Whatever’s going on, you can handle it. It’s up to you now. Tell the girls I love them. I love you too.”

“What the hell? Why are you even there? God, Chance. I hate when you do this shi—”

“Goodbye.” I hung up.

That was it. That was what I’d been waiting for all day. I just didn’t know it. I’d heard my sisters’ voices and said goodbye. It was over. It was time.

The barrel of the gun felt cold against the side of my head. Gray clouds made way for blue sky. If I had a soul, it had a clear path on its way to heaven. I flicked the safety off with my thumb, held my final breath, and prepared to pull the trigger.

And that’s when a white speck broke through the blue.

Its narrow body and motionless wings resembled a passing airplane, but something about it made me pause. A line of black trailed behind it, and its flight path might as well have been straight down. It hurtled toward the hills at tremendous speed, coming close enough that its black, bug-like core came into view. If it really was an airplane, it was one unlike any I’d ever seen in my life, and I’d seen a lot of movies.

A pop rang through the air like a bullet being fired, but not my bullet. The craft veered left, and the stink of something burning cut through the scent of grass and fresh water. I set the gun on the log and prepared to run. It was headed straight for the lake house. For me.

Another pop sounded, and a pair of blue parachutes unfurled from its back end. Was it an automatic emergency response or had someone initiated it? If the pilot had tried to eject, they hadn’t gotten far. The chutes disconnected the moment they opened, splashed into the surface of the lake, empty.

A cloud of smoke coiled beyond the hill beside mine, one-maybe-two miles away, where the rest of the craft struck. I didn’t see the crash but sprinted down the hill toward the billowing black column. At school, I ran a seven-to-eight-minute mile, but I think I covered the distance in half that time. Along the way, I ditched my tie and blazer. I’d have ditched my stiff shoes, too, if running barefoot over the terrain wouldn’t have been even worse.

“Help! Help me!” someone screamed as I approached.

“I’m here!” I shouted back. “I’m coming!”