PARACIDE

Chapter 1: The Cold Night

The air in his room felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on his chest. Sweat slicked his forehead as he shot up from the bed, his breaths ragged, the images still burning behind his eyelids. The dream had felt too real, too vivid. He couldn't shake it, no matter how hard he tried to push it out of his mind.

He stood up, legs shaky beneath him, and stumbled to the window. The moonlight filtered in through the curtains, casting pale, ghostly shadows across the floor. He could still feel it—the sensation of something in his hand, something sharp and cold. The shadows in his mind felt even darker, but the details were slippery. He couldn't remember if it was his father's face he saw or just the feeling of being watched.

Something was wrong. The house felt wrong, quiet in a way that gnawed at his nerves. He threw on a jacket and pulled his sneakers on without bothering to tie the laces. I have to get out.

He tiptoed through the darkened hall, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. For a moment, he thought he heard a faint breath behind him, but when he turned, nothing was there but the same oppressive silence. He didn’t dare glance into his parents’ room as he passed it. His hand trembled as it reached for the door, pulling it open slowly, careful not to make a sound.

Once outside, the cold night air hit him, refreshing but biting. He broke into a run without knowing where he was going. Just away. Away from the house, from the nightmare. From everything.

He didn't stop until the streets became unfamiliar. The city lights buzzed in the distance, flickering like half-forgotten memories. He ducked into an alley, leaning against a grimy brick wall, and tried to catch his breath. His heart was still hammering, the remnants of that terrible dream lingering in the back of his mind.

That’s when they appeared.

A group of three boys, older and meaner than him, stepped into view from the shadows. They sized him up with a sneer that told him everything he needed to know.

"Lost, kid?" one of them asked, his voice a sickly sweet drawl. "Or you just trying to make a donation?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He didn't have time to run. Before he could blink, one of them grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

"Where's the cash?" the other snarled, rifling through his pockets with rough hands.

"I—I don't have any," he stammered, the fear crawling up his throat.

"Liar."

The first punch landed hard on his gut, knocking the wind out of him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, wheezing. He didn't bother fighting back. It felt almost like he deserved it, like the beating was payment for whatever darkness had seeped into his mind during that dream.

He stayed curled on the cold concrete, blood trickling from his split lip. The boys eventually got bored, cursing at him for being a waste of time, and left him there, broken and alone.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, staring at the night sky, the stars so distant, so indifferent. His body ached in places he hadn’t realized could hurt. He wanted to close his eyes and let the night swallow him whole, but the pain kept him awake, sharp and constant.

Then he heard a voice.

"Hey. You need some ice?"

He turned his head, squinting against the pain. A girl stood at the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, her expression unimpressed. She couldn't have been much older than him, maybe a year or two at most. Her hair was a mess of waves, and her clothes were as ratty as his own. But it was her tone that caught him off guard—casual, bratty, like she was asking him about a failed test rather than noticing the blood dripping from his face.

He tried to speak, but his voice cracked, and he settled for a weak nod.

She rolled her eyes and walked over, crouching down beside him, tossing a small, half-melted ice pack onto his chest.

"You look like hell," she muttered. "What’d you do? Fall out of bed?"

He winced as he grabbed the ice, pressing it against his swollen cheek. "Something like that."

She sat down beside him, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, and stared at him for a long moment. "Well, whatever it was, you're not gonna last long out here if you keep looking like that. You got a name, or are you just ‘the kid who got wrecked in an alley'?"

He hesitated, then muttered, "Sam."

"Sam, huh?" She smirked, leaning back against the wall. "Well, Sam, welcome to the gutter. You’re in for a long night."