Triage: A Backstage Story

Chapter 1

2024

Bianca rubbed her eyes, padding into the kitchen. Scarlett sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee—black. Since she was a vocal coach, Scarlett rarely drank anything with dairy in it.

Bianca opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

"Alya didn't come home last night," Scarlett said.

"You know Alya and her seasonal depression." Bianca took a swig of her juice. "She's always like this around this time of year."

The topic of Miles's death lingered in the air like a smoky haze, one which they never outright addressed.

"It's not normal." Scarlett looked up from her drink, eyes blazing. "Last year, I found her on a bench in Central Park."

"What do you want me to do? Search every bench in New York?" Bianca brought the cup down hard. It squealed against the counter. "I have a job, and so do you. Besides, I'll probably have to pick up extra shifts to cover Alya's rent this month. Alya will be back when Alya wants to come back. That's how it works."

Scarlett let out a long sigh, bringing the cup to her lips. "If she's not back by tonight, I'm calling the police."

"Fine," Bianca said. She left about an hour before Scarlett, whose vocal lessons didn't start until nine.

Scarlett sat at the counter, procrastinating getting dressed and putting on makeup. She'd imagined being famous, not training other kids to take her place.

She finally stood, going to her room and picking up a picture framed by her bed. It was from a few months ago, when all the girls had graduated their respective colleges. Even Alya looked happy, though Scarlett guessed it was a mask so she and Bianca wouldn't feel bad for celebrating.

She turned to the closet and pulled out some jeans and a nice shirt. Her phone rang.

"Hello?" Scarlett flipped the phone open and cradled it between her ear and her shoulder.

"Hey, sis." Curtis's smooth voice registered in her brain.

She hadn't talked to her good-for-nothing brother in over a year.

"What do you want?"

"I need some help."

"You always need help." Scarlett laid out an outfit on her bed, studying it carefully. She held out a different shirt, trying to decide which one was better.

"I'm in jail."

The second shirt clattered to the floor. "What did you do?"

"Just come bail me out, and I'll explain everything."

"You're in New York?"

"Have been for over a year, not that you care."

"Give me the address." Scarlett chewed on her lip. She hated cancelling classes.

******

Bianca slung lattes, espressos, and pumpkin spice infused drinks down the counter.

"Order for Jack."

She hated this job. Her talents were wasted here. They were wasted anywhere really if it wasn't on a stage or in front of a camera.

"Can I get a Blonde Latte, one pump of caramel?" The man in front of her gave her a smile that made her skin crawl.

He looked like the kind of guy who liked blondes.

"Coming right up."

His smile softened some as he opened a leather wallet, withdrawing a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Th-thank you," she stammered.

"Have a good day." His eyes glanced to her nametag. "Bianca."

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

*****

The Previous Night

Alya curled up on a park bench. Most college kids loved spring break. She hated it. It only served to remind her of Miles's death.

She shivered, closing her eyes. Footsteps crossed the sidewalk in front of her, but no one stopped. No one ever stopped.

Hours passed. Eight. Nine. Ten. By ten, all the footfall had stopped. No one was coming to get her. Alya didn't want them to anyway. Let her be alone in her misery. The only company she had was the lone street lamp, casting a dim glow around her bench.

Tears froze to her face, small balls of ice sliding like pearls against her skin.

"Can I help you?"

Alya opened her eyes and stared into the face of concerned woman. Blonde hair pulled into a ponytail highlighted her warm blue eyes.

"I think I can help you." She offered Alya a faint smile. "Before the police come. I promise, the shelter I work for is better than any jail cell."

Alya smiled despite the pain. The woman was funny. She unfolded herself from the bench, wiping the ice from her face.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Maria Schiller. I'm here to help you."