Page 34

Now July 25, 2020 Paz

12:00 a.m.

Death-Cast will call me tonight, but what about the Death-Cast heir?

Will he die too?

Will I kill him?

This can’t be real; this has to be a hallucination. There’s no other reason why Alano Rosa of all people would just magically

appear on top of the Hollywood Sign right as I’ve figured out a surefire way to game suicide in a Death-Cast world. My therapist

didn’t mention anything about hallucinations being a side effect of BPD. Maybe that’s what this is, maybe it isn’t, maybe

seeing things is some other illness in my sick brain. I could pull the trigger and find out if this phantom is real. If Alano

isn’t a hallucination, then maybe I should kill him as a middle finger to Joaquin Rosa for all the ways Death-Cast trapped

me in this life when I wanted to be dead.

No, this isn’t my dad trying to beat my mom to death. This is an innocent boy, my age. I wouldn’t kill someone for revenge, that craving must be coming from my BPD. But what do I know about my own life, I was wrong about how my own head works, maybe I’m lying to myself about being a cold-blooded killer.

“Please don’t shoot,” Alano Rosa says.

Alano has gone from telling me to not jump to my death to not shooting him to his. He’s holding his hands up and trying to

keep his balance as a strong wind picks up around us. He doesn’t wanna fall... he doesn’t wanna die. How fucking nice it

must be to appreciate life.

I lower the gun. “Get out of here,” I say, my voice trembling. Alano doesn’t retreat down the ladder. He keeps standing there.

“What are you doing? Alano, go!”

“No.” Alano takes a few steps closer. “What are you doing up here?”

“What does it look like?” I ask, waving the gun.

“It looks like you’re trying to kill yourself.” Alano leans forward, squinting, almost like there’s a chance he’s got this

all wrong, like I’ve climbed up the Hollywood Sign to gaze at the stars, maybe shoot at them too. “Wait. Paz Dario?”

I almost don’t say anything, but my name will be all over the news tomorrow anyway. “Yeah.”

“Your blond hair threw me off,” Alano says, taking another step toward me. “But I never forget a face.”

“We’ve never met,” I say.

“That didn’t stop you from knowing me.”

That’s ridiculous, of course I know who he is. He’s famous because of Death-Cast. But I’m being ridiculous too, of course he would know who I am. I’m infamous for killing Dad.

That’s not how I wanted to be known, but that’s all I’ll be remembered for.

The gun goes back against my head like magnetism.

“Please don’t shoot,” Alano says again, this time for my well-being. “Talk to me, Paz.”

“You don’t know me!” I shout.

“I know I don’t know you, but...”

Alano stops speaking, and he’s so still that I can’t tell if he’s breathing. I stare at him, really feeling like I’m seeing

him, since that first glance that told me who he was. I didn’t give a shit to take all of him in before, still don’t, but

I can’t help it. It’s too dark to make out the color of his eyes, but there’s something familiar in his gaze as he looks at

me like I’m a ghost. His dark brown hair is brushed up, holding its own against these winds that have Alano trembling in his

ripped blue jeans, but the crystal earring dangling from his left ear keeps swinging. He’s a few feet away from me, but he

seems to be a couple inches shorter. I’ve got height on him, but he’s got muscle on me. His arms are lean with veins bulging

on his left arm while the other is wrapped with a white bandage; that’s from that Death Guarder’s knife. But I feel most drawn

to Alano’s T-shirt, which has a graphic of a skeleton smoking a cigarette. It reminds me of killing myself.

The gun is still pressed against my temple, and I wanna pull the trigger.

“You don’t know me, but what?” I ask, snapping him out of his trance.

“But I do know what it’s like to wish it was your End Day,” Alano finally says after what feels like forever. Then time freezes

again when he adds, “I’ve tried killing myself too.”