Bikes & Blood

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 -- 𝐈.

Santa Carla was said to be the city for the runaways-for the lost who wished to find a place among the blinding lights of the boardwalk. Some blamed the boardwalk's siren call for the title the city upheld; a title that whispered of something more.

Something dark and sinister.

The blinding lights of the boardwalk drew people in, both runaway and local. The screams of joy and the neon lights of the boardwalk ensnared all into the thrill of the night if they were brave enough to stay out past sundown. The live music, food and adrenaline the boardwalk provided pulled you back into the heart of Santa Carla, time and time again.

Making it almost impossible for you to walk away without a second glance.

Santa Carla was many things and none at all; wrapped together in perfect harmony with chaos and serenity. Twined effortlessly together with life and death, a duo that you either loved or hated.

A duo that blurred within the heart of Santa Carla; forgotten by those that it governed.

Santa Carla was said to be life; the boardwalk, the music, the food and the lights thrilling all that spent even a night upon the boardwalk beneath the stars.

But, with life comes death.

And, Santa Carla was the Murder Capital of the World.

***

The wind ruffled Amara's hair through the open window of the car door. The smell of salt within the wind filling her nose as the breeze continued to ruffle her soft curls. The drive from Phoenix to Santa Carla filled with the soft almost indistinctive music from the radio and the brief conversations between Amara and her father.

Conversations had come almost unsurely like even her father wasn't sure on how to proceed after the days that'd followed her parent's divorce-a divorce that'd dragged on for months. Gone were the days of hearing her parents fighting amongst themselves; their hushed arguments drifting up the staircase of our Phoenix home.

And in its place, a swift move to Santa Carla.

Amara's father had assured her that Santa Carla had plenty to do, though he always conveniently steered the conversation away from what exactly it was he'd done while living in Santa Carla those twenty-five years ago. He always gave her just enough for Amara to understand the appeal of Santa Carla, boasting of concerts that he'd dragged his younger brother, her uncle, Sam to.

But he left just enough out that, funnily enough, made Amara want to explore whatever Santa Carla had to offer.

If not for her parent's divorce, she knew that her mother would have divorced her father on the very spot he stood the day that she had found out where they were moving to, or back to in Amara's father's case. She'd been livid at first, throwing question after question at her father about how he could be so stupid to move back there.

Her father had only brushed it off with a simple, "They're gone, Star. There's nothing to be afraid of in Santa Carla."

Amara's brother, though adopted and within the picture before she'd even been thought of, had watched on from the kitchen table-seemingly unbothered by whatever it was that had gotten their mother so worked up. But that might've just been Laddie. Not much seemed to faze her brother but she knew better than to assume that he was unbothered-if Laddie had mastered one thing in his early thirties, it was that mask of disinterest.

Laddie had promised Amara that he'd come to visit and that he'd show her his favourite things within Santa Carla-a comic book store at the top of his list.

Amara sighed as she recalled the look Laddie had thrown at their mother, one filled with reassurance and certainty. He'd managed to convince her that everything would be fine and that whatever she was so afraid of was gone. Amara furrowed her brows in mild confusion as she turned her head to look at her father, his dark soil-brown curls tangling with the wind.