Page 29 of The Road to Ruined

I laugh. I don't need to worry anymore. Not about getting a job or blending in. Not about whether I'm human or a thing or a monster. Because Luca is alive, and he won't leave me. To him, I'm an angel. He wrote that song for me; he's coming back for me.

And I think maybe he's coming back tomorrow night—on his birthday, at a warehouse on Evelyn, just like that fucking bloodslut nurse said.

"You can go away now, Bone Saw," I say aloud when I crawl under the covers. "I don't need you anymore, either."

SIX

It's been a while since I've had to sneak out of the house, but I still remember how. I feel like I'm in high school again, making sure my door is locked and ambient noise on like it would be if I were in here sleeping before leaving through the back door, climbing over the back wall, and dropping down into the yard below.

I don't stick the landing, falling back onto my ass, but I've had worse. I get up, brush off my clothes, and head down the block to my car.

The warehouse is in an industrial area of the city. It isn't nice, but it's also desolate. When I drive past a group of people who look like they're headed to a secret concert, I pull over, park, and follow them, zipping my jacket and pulling the hood over my head.

And it looks like a Gods of Tomorrow concert when I step inside the building. There's a stage set up, dim lighting, and a makeshift bar. Hundreds of people, mostly women, crowd into the space. And it feels…familiar…in a world that's now so foreign. It's like coming home.

I push my way through the crowd, getting as close to center stage as possible. I keep my sunglasses on like I'm Elton John and just kind of wait with my hands in my pockets.

An hour later, when nothing has happened, I get that sinking feeling again. Maybe I'm wrong—maybe they aren't coming. Maybe the secret concert was on the football field in Pasadena, and they're there now, and I'm in the wrong place.

But then the lights go down. Fog billows across the stage, and two tall, darkened figures stand in the middle, one with longer hair and a guitar over his shoulder.

My heart stops. I don't breathe. The intro to "Pretty Poisoned" plays over the speakers, and I'm shaking, waiting for them to turn around.

Turn around. Please turn around.

They do, but not before they reach for something on the ground. Suddenly, we're all being sprayed with a hot, red substance. Before I can process what's happening, the lights go up, and the music cuts off. Two more men are on the stage recording as the crowd scatters.

I get a good shot of whatever it is directly in my face and into my mouth. It's corn syrup…fucking corn syrup.

It's a stupid fucking prank.

All around me, people are screaming and shoving their way to the exits; some are on the ground, shouting for help, while others trample over them. After I'm knocked over for the second time, my sunglasses go flying, and I give up on the front door and head for the back of the warehouse—there's no way there isn't a back exit or a loading dock in a place like this. Eventually, I spot people slipping out a door on the far-left side. I break out into a run, slipping on the corn syrup-covered concrete floors and falling flat on my face once more before I finally make it out the door and into the dark alley. I step aside to let others out the door, and then stop with my hands on my knees, catchingmy breath while others run past me. Many of them are crying or calling out for friends as they scatter in all directions while fireworks erupt overhead, somehow making the entire scene even more disturbing.

Once I'm alone in the alley, I slip off my soaked hoodie, using the inside to wipe my face clean before throwing it into the dumpster beside me.

"Fuck!" I scream at the night sky. I kick that same dumpster hard enough that it hurts. "God fucking damn it! Where are you? Why haven't you come for me? You said you'd never hurt me! I'm hurting! I—"

I see a man in a gold mask standing just around the back of the building, half of his body obscured. "Hey!" I scream. "Do you think this is fucking funny? Huh?" I pick up a rock and hurl it at the figure, who casually ducks around the corner before it can hit him. "Get back here, you shiny ass mother fucker!" Seething, I stomp toward that back corner. Glass crunches beneath my feet, and I stop, picking up the largest of the shards, which is about six inches in length but thin enough to fit in my palm. "You want to play monsters? I'll fucking play!"

Of course, when I round that corner, I look all around and find that I'm completely alone. "Fuck!"

And then the loading door opens. Three men, maybe a few years older than me, step out into the alley laughing, unaware of my presence.

"Holy shit, that was amazing," one of them says, holding up his phone. I can hear screaming on the video they're watching—it's us inside, minutes ago. "This is going to go viral as fuck."

A fourth man joins them. "We can't post this," he says. "We need to call an ambulance. That girl in there isn't moving; she won't wake up. This isn't funny anymore."

"That's not our fault," one of them scoffs.

"He's right," another one says. "We have to get rid of her. We'll put her in the dumpster."

"She has a pulse!" the shorter man says.

"Well, we can't let her go to the hospital. Do you want to go to jail?" the man holding the camera says.

"We didn't do it! It was an accident!"

"No one cares about these girls, Nate," he says. "They're just a bunch of stupid sluts. And I'm not giving up this footage; it's too good."

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