Under Lock and Key

ivan ☾

Hey, Ivan here. Go ahead and laugh if you need to. I'm used to it.
I'm Ivan, and I've been homeless exactly 23 years, 3 months, and 2 days.
My parents used to be middle class, steady income, working full time, and managing to put food on the table.
Then they divorced.
So I ran away.
My mom was a prostitute. Well, my mom is a prostitute. Dad didn't know. He didn't know until one day another guy was in our house. Then he knew.

I knew. I had known the whole time. But I had kept my mouth shut. Two parents are better than one.

Then they divorced. Which left me in a bad situation. I know what you're thinking. "Just live with your dad, Ivan. It's your mom that's the bad one."
Well, after they divorced, dad turned to pot. Now he's a crackhead. Last I heard some sort of underground drug overlord. Last I heard.
Last I heard this all happened about 10 years ago. Right on my thirteenth birthday. That was when things started to get weird. Like, really weird.

☾

I had woken up in a daze around 12:30 am. Or maybe it was 1:00. I don't know. I don't remember the details.
All I know is seriously regretting the decision to get up and go pee.
Today was the day of my birthday. August 16th, 1998. And boy, did I feel weird. I remember thinking something along the lines of, maybe I'm sick? And then, score, I won't have to go to school tomorrow. I'd felt weird on that day. Really hot and cold at the same time. I also felt like throwing up. So I went to look for the bathroom.
On the way there, I passed by my parent's bedroom. They were both sound asleep. My dog, Bucky, lay asleep on the floor.
And then I blinked.
And everything changed.
My mom was sleeping next to another guy. Wait, not another guy, more than one. My mom had five guys surrounding her. Some were standing and watching her sleep, which was creepy as hell. Another was stuck to the ceiling, wrapped in chains, wearing an orange jumpsuit with a prisoner ID on his arm. And then I looked at my dad.
There were IVs in wrist, on his legs. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, soaked in blood. And he was missing teeth.
Scariest of all was Bucky.
Bucky was a dog corpse. Maggots crawled out of his eyes. A rotten smell wafted from him, overpowering me. I gagged. The guys by my mom turned and watched me choke. All of them smiled simultaneously, and I screamed. Then Bucky slowly raised his head. His eyes were bright red, and he was made of scraps of skin and bone. Rising to his feet, he started loping towards me, teeth bared in a kind of way that made me want to jump out a window. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of those pearly whites clamping around my neck. And that's not something one's likely to forget.
When I woke up, there was a key in my hand.
And a note.

☾

"It can only go up from here."
That's what the note said.
Oh, and there was a number scrawled on the back.
41.
What did it all mean?

☾

My parents had found me on the ground, curled up into a ball, with Bucky licking my face. I had been sobbing, they said. Whimpering.
Three days later, my parents had divorced.
When asked why, they said it was because they didn't get along. Or some other crappy reason.
But I knew why. They thought it was their fault. They thought they had caused mental breakdown. I had driven my family apart.
And now, look where I was. I was just a homeless half Asian with a skateboard, long hair, and a key.
I flipped that key around in my fingers. A design was sketched along the surface. Ivy and roses.
My stomach rumbled.
"It can only go up from here."

☾

one year later

☾

My luck had changed.
It had gone from rotten to wonderful, seemingly overnight.
One year later, I had an apartment in the city. One year later, I was a photography professor. One year late, I had a girlfriend.
One year later.
The visions hadn't stopped.
One.
Year.

My name is Ivan Sinclair.
My luck is changing from bad to good.
And
my story
is
one
of
two.