Charlie's Angel

10

Chris

The blazing hot water practically scalded my skin in the morning. I didn't bother to change the temperature because it felt amazing and my skin was numb. My forehead rested against the cool tiles and I let the water run down my hair and my neck. I had another restless night so my body was trying to shut down while I was in the shower. And shit, it was kinda working.

It had been the same dream for a week now. Couldn't shake it, and I knew it meant something. And that scared the fuck outta me.

It was my sister. She was coming home after eight months overseas. My mom, my nephew, and I were waiting at the airport for her. Then she appeared, just like the hundreds of other soldiers. But I knew something was up; she was the only one who was still wearing her camouflage uniform. And her gun was around her shoulder. But she was smiling nonetheless. As soon as Isaiah saw her he let go of my hand and ran to her. She caught him in her arms and hugged him with all the pent up love she had kept within her. She was crying, and my mom was a basket case. Even Isaiah was crying tears of joy.

"Stand back," my mom murmured. "Lemme look at ya."

So my sister stood back and turned in a circle. She was the exact same except she looked well past tired.

And then in a blink of an eye she dropped like a dead weight to the ground and a pool of her own blood surrounded her. The weird thing was, one, there was no bullet–no appearance of a gun anywhere–and two, nobody else noticed. None of the happy families noticed my sister just got shot by an imaginary bullet. Isaiah let out an ear piercing, blood curdling scream, and my mom just didn't know what to do. There was nothing we could do. The blood leaked outta her mouth and that meant it was too late.

My fist slammed into the tile, almost cracking one of them, and I shut the water off. I yanked a towel off the towel rack and tied it around my waist, my jaw clenching in fury. Same fucking dream for the past week. Every single night. Like a fucking broken record player.

I got dressed in a white t-shirt, a black cardigan, some blue pants and some Chuck Taylor's.

Isaiah was still knocked out in his bed. "Isaiah, wake up, buddy." He was usually a light sleeper so I just stood at his doorway. He didn't budge. "Yo, wake up, man." I walked closer to him and he still didn't move. I pulled the blanket off him, nothing. I pulled his socks off, still nothing. Finally I dropped a pillow on his head and he smiled.

"Uncle Chris," he laughed. "I was ignoring you."

"Ha-ha," I muttered, laughing anyway. "Bath first, or do you wanna eat first?"

"Can I take a bath by myself?"

I laughed at him. "And have water all over the place? Nice try, man. Go on."

I successfully bathed him and nudged him downstairs for breakfast. I slid down four Eggo's into the toaster and got out the syrup. He loved peanut butter on his waffles, but I made him cut down on that. Since we had been spending so much time with Paris and Mystery, I cut out all the peanut butter and peanut stuff out of our diet. I didn't want Paris to have another accident and this one be fatal.

He dealt with it.

I drizzled some syrup on his waffles and gave him a fork and a glass of milk. He grinned up at me, warming my heart. "Uncle Chris, am I your best friend?"

I chuckled at him, turned his snapback backwards to see his eyes. Just like my mother's eyes; brown. "Of course you are, man."

"You're my best friend too." He kicked his sock feet under him and hummed some tune while he finished off his breakfast. "Can I call Mystery to sing her happy birthday?"