Home is a sad place. A one bedroom apartment devoid of the common hallmarks of a home. White walls. No decorations. Basic furniture that looks like someone just moved in. Devoid of any personal touches.

The only personal items were a stack of boxes. Inside were his mother’s belongings- now his for the time being. Things his father had packed up and locked away. He had found them by accident, wandering around home, while his father was away on business and the house staff was too busy to keep an eye on him. He had spent some time meticulously gathering items while his father went away and hiding them in his room. When he left his father’s home, he made sure to take what little of his mother’s things he had while his father was again away on business.

Not much else mattered. 

Now he took a few minutes to clear away the dust he had been ignoring. He wouldn’t let her things become a memory only. Like his father had done.

He rubbed the circles under his eyes, looking down the small hall to his bedroom door then at a cabinet in the kitchen across from the living room,contemplating. He chose the kitchen, dropping his container from work in the sink and turning on the water while he poured soap in. He stared at the floating dishes. 

Margaux will get it. She’ll be here soon.  

He still felt a bit of guilt lingering in his chest.

A knife floating in the soapy water brought a memory back.

Bloodied arms and hands. Shouting. Someone banging on the door. Crying. He reached up to cover his ears as the memory became more clear. His bloody hands holding a knife away from his maman, sitting in the shower with her, his wet pajamas sticking to his skin as she washed away blood from her arms. The banging got louder but he was scared to get up and leave her side, even for a moment to open the door. 

His hands blindly reached for the cabinet he had eyed earlier, pulling out a pill bottle and downing two before throwing on the sink and ducking his head down to sip some water.

He stopped himself from slamming his hand down on the sink knob and took deep breaths to calm himself. The tight ball of anxiety nestled in his chest hadn’t really disappeared when he forced his legs to move down the hall to his room. He put on the first thing he saw and then face planted on the bed. It muffled the cry of pain he let out. 

He rearranged himself on the bed. Closing his eyes, he said his night time prayer and laid still. The memory of trying to stop his maman from cutting her wrists came back. The look on his Papa’s face when the man broke down the door is the last thing he remembers before he drifts off to sleep.

In the dead of sleep, something wakes up Ace. 

Nothing is amiss. He blinks slowly at the ceiling and closes his eyes again, trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep. But he hears something. So he turns his head to face the room, listening out through the thin walls of the apartment complex. Then it becomes clear, someone is shouting. Ace opened his eyes, and looked for his clock.

11:33pm.

He forces himself up and out of bed. Something lightly grazes his back. He throws the covers off himself and turns around. Nothing is there. Just the blanket. Something black moves in the corner of his eye.  The dark room is filled with nothing but shadows as far as he can see. But something feels wrong. And the screams are getting louder from outside as well. He heads to his bedroom door despite the nagging feeling.

When he gets to the living room he spins around and looks into the dark hallway. For a few seconds he stares at it. Nothing moves. But something isn’t right. He grabs his keys and puts on some shoes, ignoring his pounding heart. He steps outside into the hall of the apartment complex.

A bang rings out, all the yelling stopping with it. 

Was that a gunshot?

He has gone on enough hunting trips with his father and members from their church as a kid to know that sound. He flattened himself against the wall, listening for anything else. Is someone hurt?

A few doors down, someone’s front door slammed open.

Fuck. Ace looked back at his own door, taking a step back to make a run for it. 

A guy bolted out the open door and down the hall, straight into him, smacking him down. They both went down.

“H- hey”, he studied the person closely. It was a guy. He looked a bit familiar. A family member of a neighbor. Specks of red were all over his face and going down his neck. 

Is that blood?

The glazed look in the guy’s eyes stops him from calling out to them. They looked gone. Like someone moving on autopilot with no thought behind their actions. Ace had seen some people look that way when they came to church needing help. Their lives were typically in bad shape. 

He shifted his legs underneath himself to get back up.

“No.” 

He looks up, seeing the man talking but not to him. 

“Not him”. 

The man is staring right at him. Something black flashes in front of Ace’s face and draws his attention down. It’s a gun. Luckily for him, the guy is putting it in his jacket pocket. Then he gets up and stumbles past Ace. 

Ace watches the man get farther away from him and then he remembers to breathe as the man makes it to the staircase. He waits for the guy to get down the staircase before getting to his feet. He watches the man become smaller running toward the security gate hanging wide open. Darkness seems to swallow the man. Ace thinks over the interaction. 

He had blood on him and a gun. Did he hurt someone? 

Before he can process it more, he’s back in front of his apartment door, hand on the doorknob. Other people will call the police. I don’t need to get involved. 

Judging by the lights flicking on in the hallway, with doors remaining closed, everyone else has the same idea. They all want to know what’s happening but no one wants to get involved. Someone will help. 

But a little voice screams “grandpa!” into the quiet. A child’s voice. 

That guy… did he shoot a kid? Ace doesn’t go inside. Listening to the kid yell again. The memory of him holding his maman’s bloodied arms, waiting for his Papa to come help him stop the bleeding comes back. All at once. He runs back to the apartment. 

There’s a little bit of light pouring into the apartment door. Enough for him to walk in, not completely blind.  He can hear a child crying but they aren’t anywhere in sight. There’s an old man crouched on the ground in the kitchen. He walks past the living room calling out, “hello.” He curses his low voice. 

He walks a bit closer, trying louder. Then he sees it.  A body on the ground. Another old man. There’s a pool of blood under the body, pooling out from a hole in the center of the man’s head. 

Ace swallows the bile raising in his throat. 

He’s dead.