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Chapter 20 – Ghosts of the Alley

Rain had fallen all night, and the streets were still wet by morning. The sky was a dull gray, echoing the mood that had settled over the trio.

Jake arrived early to school that day. The benches were still empty, birds chirping from the power lines, and the earth smelled of wet mud.

He sat quietly near the window in class, eyes fixed on the drops racing each other down the glass.

Don entered late — his hoodie soaked, cigarette still tucked behind his ear.

He said nothing, just took his seat in the corner, pulled out a tattered notebook, and scribbled something without looking up.

Gor entered last. He hesitated near the door, glancing between Jake and Don before choosing a seat two rows back.

They didn’t speak.

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During lunch, Jake caught up with Gor under the basketball stands.

“You’re avoiding him,” Jake said.

“He’s avoiding us first,” Gor snapped.

“He’s... dealing with things. We don’t know what exactly.”

Gor folded his arms. “I’m tired of being in the dark, Jake. I don’t want to play guessing games about our best friend anymore.”

Jake sighed. “I get it. But if we push him too hard, he’ll shut down.”

“He already has.”

They stood in silence, the tension heavy between them.

Then Gor said something Jake wasn’t ready to hear.

“What if Don’s not the person we think he is anymore?”

Jake looked at him sharply. “He’s still our friend.”

“I hope so.”

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Meanwhile, Don walked down a familiar alley after school — one he hadn’t set foot in for over a year.

Cracked bricks. An old iron gate. A red mark still faded on the wall.

Memories surged back.

Here, Reaper had stood with arms crossed, talking strategy.

Here, Ash had taught him how to swing a chain.

Here, he’d bled for a name, for a brotherhood.

B.F.G.

Blood. Fangs. Glory.

He stared at the old wall where their crest used to be — a broken fang and two wings.

The paint had been scrubbed off long ago.

But the ghost of it still remained.

His fingers trembled as he reached out and traced it.

“You’re not that guy anymore,” he whispered.

But the echo in his heart disagreed.

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Back at home, Jake was piecing together a web.

He’d started mapping out names he found in Don’s old notebooks. He wasn’t sure what he was chasing — but something told him the answers were hidden between Don’s poetry and the bruises he tried to hide.

One name popped up more than once.

“Ash.”

And another — written in tiny, careful letters — “Vice.”

Jake underlined it slowly.

What did it mean?

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Later that night, Gor passed by a street corner and spotted something.

Don.

But not alone.

Three boys stood near him — older, rougher. One clapped Don on the shoulder. Another handed him a wrapped packet.

Don took it.

Laughed.

Gor froze behind a tree, hidden.

Don… was smiling.

A smile Gor hadn’t seen in months — fierce, wild, confident.

Not the Don they knew at school.

Not the broken, tired boy they were trying to protect.

This Don looked like a leader.

And suddenly, Gor wasn’t sure who his friend really was anymore.

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End of Chapter 20

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