Shatter Read online

  Shatter

  By Jay Lang

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-0-2286-1374-9

  Kindle 978-0-2286-1375-6

  WEB/PDF 978-0-2286-1376-3

  Print ISBNs

  BWL Print 978-0-2286-1378-7

  Amazon Print 978-0-2286-1377-0

  LSI Ingram

  978-0-2286-1380-0

  B&N Print 978-0-2286-1379-4

  Copyright 2020 by Janice Lang

  Cover Art Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

  Chapter One

  The only thing more terrifying than the sounds of her screams, was when the screams stopped altogether. Their fights were brutal and frequent and were usually a result of whatever drug they had indulged in. In the morning's we would help clean up the debris and by evening, our lives would go back to normal—existing in pre-chaos. But this time was different. We could feel it. Something sinister and scary had happened. We just didn’t know what.

  Chapter Two

  I sit on the thin mattress and rest my back against the paint chipped wall in my small apartment. Staring at the sun-bleached picture of my family on top of the TV, I listen to the low buzz coming from the broken neon sign outside my window. It’s been a long day. Ten hours in the pit, pulling wrenches at Ziggy’s Garage while my young boss, Rae, blasts rap music. I’ve got to make a change soon. This shit is getting old. I hear yelling from the street and crawl over my bed to look out the window. Hasting’s Street is the go-to place for the wondering souls who have lost their way and found their misfortunes.

  While I pull back the sheer curtain, my eyes sweep the street to find the source of the noise. A streetlamp lights the entrance to the dark alley at the side of my building. It’s not uncommon to see three or four homeless folks with drug dealers hanging around. Across the street is Leung’s Chinese restaurant, a cheap place to eat that’s open late which makes it a beacon for riffraff and night walkers.

  Just as I turn away, I hear the scream again. Looking back to the road, I see a man wearing dark clothes run out of the alley into the street. He stops, grabs his gut, and keels over. An elderly man pushing an overloaded cart walks past him, pauses then continues walking. A part of me wants to run down and make sure the injured guy is okay, but another part of me says that it could be a trap. One too many times, I’ve watched as someone fakes an injury and a good Samaritan stops to help, only to have the ‘injured’ man’s accomplice jump out of the darkness and rob the do-gooder—no thanks. I’ll just call the cops and watch from the safety of my window. I dial 911 and tell the dispatch girl what I just saw. She tells me that she's received other calls pertaining to the incident and that she's sending a car around.

  I watch as the man fights to stand. If he is pulling a scam, he's good. Then, from the same dark alley, another man appears. He's wearing a beige jacket and a baseball cap. He bee-lines it for the wobbling man, pulls out something shiny, and without pausing, aims it at the guy’s head. Next, I hear the booming echo of a gunshot, as it bounces off the building and shakes the windows. A spray of red fluid blows out the back of the man’s head then his body drops to the pavement like a ragdoll. The shooter doesn't run. Instead, he looks both ways and steadily continues to walk until he's out of view. A few minutes later, I hear the sound of sirens get louder. I watch as the cop car pulls up illuminating the blood and matter around the body. The car stops within feet of the shooting.

  Instantly, my stomach feels queasy and my mouth fills with water. I just saw someone get their head blown off! What kind of fucked up shit is that? A wave of anxiety rushes through me like electricity. I quickly reach for my phone.

  Jason answers almost immediately. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  “Right now, I’m about two seconds from losin’ it.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Let’s just say I won’t be eating spaghetti for a while.”

  “Let me guess, you went on a date with an Italian chick and despite her being great in the sack, she couldn’t cook worth shit?”

  “I’ll give you marks for imagination, but you’re way off. I just saw some guy get his brains blown out.”

  “You were freak-watching again, weren’t you?”

  “I heard a noise, so I looked. And, just because they’re street people, doesn’t make them freaks.”

  For the past two summers, Jason’s worked as an adventure guide with me in Halfmoon Bay. Here in the city, he’s the only person I call friend.

  “Why the hell don’t you just move?”

  “Because, unlike you, I don’t have Daddy paying my ticket. I’ve got a shitty job with shitty pay, and this place is all I can afford.”

  Jason’s father, Ed, owns Lyster Investigative Services on South Granville—a P.I company where Jason works. Though Ed is a hard ass and lacks in social grace, he’s honest and fair and has always been there for his son.

  “It’s funny you would mention my dad and money. Just before you phoned, I was going to call you and ask if you wanted to have dinner tonight. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  With my head spinning from the horror show I just witnessed, I jump at the chance to get out of here. I agree to meet him in half an hour at Beaches restaurant on Denman Street.

  * * *

  Doing my best to block the images of the man’s brains on the pavement, I slip into my black leather riding boots, slide on my leather jacket and run a brush through my long black hair. I glance quickly in the small cracked mirror. I don’t feel sick but I don’t look healthy. My face looks paler than usual. I lean in to take a closer look. My best feature has always been my blue eyes, but right now they look dull and lack their usual sparkle. This apartment is slowly sucking the life out of me, I know it is. When I open the door to the stairwell, a waft of stale booze and piss hits me. Breathing through my mouth, I walk down to the underground parking lot and over to my bike, a 1972 750 Norton Commando that I bought off my boss at the garage. I paid too much, but I had to have it. I’ve always been a stickler for British bikes. As long as I carry lots of electrical tape and wire to fix the ‘always something’ engine issues, it’s a great ride. I park in front of the eatery and lock my bike. Two guys in 1980’s Mustang pull up behind me. They’ve got buzz cuts and are wearing similar tank tops that show their over-buffed physiques—typical West-end juice monkeys, all steroids and no brains. I take off my helmet and walk past them.

  “Hey, babe, wanna ride?” Monkey #1 asks.

  “No. I’m good.”

  “I bet you’re good,” says monkey #2.

  I sneer and keep walking.

  “What’s the matter, you don’t like us? What are you, a lesbian?” laughs monkey #2.

  “Well, I wasn’t until you two came along. Now, I’m pretty sure that’s the direction I’ll be heading from now on.” I sneer.

  The car peels away.

  In the restaurant, Jason is sitting at a window table that overlooks the water. When I approach, he stands up and hugs me. “Hey, hottie, have a seat,” he says, pointing to the chair on the other side of the table.

  Sitting down, I look at him. A part of me wants to share the gory details of what I saw in front of my apartment, but instead, I push the images to the back of my mind. Plus, there’s a strain on Jason’s face I haven’t seen before. He’s twenty-seven, the same as me, but right now, he looks a lot older. There are fine worry lines at the corners of his eyes and his brows are furrowed. Usually, he loo
ks energized and full of piss and vinegar. That is not the case right now.

  “What’s up, my friend? Did bimbo of the week break your heart?” I say, sarcastically.

  “I wish it was that simple; I could handle that. Unfortunately, my current state of inner conflict has nothing to do with bad decisions and the opposite sex.”

  Now I’m interested. As cool of a guy that Jason is, he’s as shallow as a puddle when it comes to anything else besides conquering females.

  “Ok, I’m listening. Spit it out.”

  “I decided to go to Europe in three weeks. There’s this really cool opportunity to co-manage a B&B with this British chick I met here. She lives just outside of London. I’ve saved some cash, and I think it would be fun to go someplace I’ve never been and see what happens.”

  “Wow. You’re in love. That’s it, isn’t it? I can’t believe it. You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone.” A part of me feels a bit hurt that he kept something so important from me, while the other part of me is happy to be distracted.

  “It just kind of happened. We met when she was working at Whole Foods on Cambie. I went in to buy something, and we started talking. Pretty soon, I was finding myself with a daily addiction for carob bars and hemp snacks.”

  “You’re hilarious, and predictable.” I laugh.

  The truth is, I feel happy for him, but scared too. He’s my only friend. All I do every day is go to work and then home. If it wasn’t for the phone calls and odd outings with him, I’d go out of my mind, especially when I start thinking about my family.

  “Well, I think that’s great.” I lie.

  “It is, and it isn’t. My father is one breath away from disowning me. He had his retirement planned; all he needed was for me to take over the company. He knows my heart isn’t in P.I. work, but he doesn’t care. He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and I can’t change that.”

  “That’s shitty.”

  “Tell me about it,” he says, shrugging.

  “So, what’s the answer?”

  “I made him a deal. If I can train someone to fill my spot, it won’t leave him high and dry when I take off.”

  “Good idea. Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “Yep,” he says smiling.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, come on, Jules. Why don’t you just try it? You’ll make a shit load of cash, and you’ll be able to tell that punk ass boss of yours to shove it.”

  “Gee, Jason. You speak so poetically. Ever think about writing greeting cards?”

  “I’m serious, Jules. While I’m away, you can use my apartment and my truck. Don’t you want to move out of that shithole you live in? Look at what just happened, it’s a dangerous place.”

  He’s right, it is. But what he doesn’t know is that I grew up in the same shitty, druggie infested shitholes that I’m living in now. Even though I hate it, it’s what I know. Jason lives in a posh apartment on Granville Island. I’d be out of my element there. Though, it would be nice not to have to barricade the front door every night. Not to mention, the weather is getting colder and having a truck to drive would beat the shit out of taking the bus everywhere.

  “Jason, I know as much about P.I. work as you do about women’s emotions. I’d be lost.”

  “It’s easy. All you have to do is drive around in my truck and follow people.”

  “I have a grade ten education. I probably couldn’t even get certified.”

  “There is no certification, Jules. Just show up and get paid. You’ll be a natural at it. Look at how much time you spend watching all the druggies out your window. At least this way, you’ll be making good money. All I’m asking is that you think about it?”

  “And all I’m asking is that you shut up so we can order. I’m starving.”

  Chapter Three

  After dinner, we say goodbye and I promise Jason I’ll think about his offer. On the ride home, I avoid Hastings Street and zig zag around backroads to get to the underground parking. Once back in my apartment, I drop my coat on the floor, kick off my boots and immediately head to the window. The cops have blocked off one lane on Hastings. I see a white van with cop lights on it and a half a dozen men in uniforms standing around a something covered in a white sheet—the body. So much for wishful thinking. Emotionally drained, I lie on my bed, breathing in deeply and trying to relax. And finally, I drift to sleep.

  * * *

  Abby grabs my hand. Her small fingers are cold and clammy. She looks up at me, “It’s okay, Jules. We’re together and you always said that nothing bad could ever happen to us when we’re together.” With her free hand, she reaches out and opens the door. Slowly, she leads me into the dark hallway. The floor creaks with each step we take. A flickering light reflects off the wall as we turn the corner to the kitchen. I hesitate.

  “Don’t be scared, Jules. Come on,” says Abby, cheerfully.

  “We shouldn’t be here, Abby. Let’s go back to the room.”

  “It’s too late now, Jules. We have to keep going.”

  The worn linoleum is cold on our bare feet. Abby leads me around the table then stops. She points to the fridge at the corner of the kitchen. “She’s over there.”

  “Who’s over there, Abby? I can’t see anyone.”

  “Mommy is, silly. She’s on the other side of the fridge,” Abby says, pulling on my arm. “Come on.”

  Then, I see a slow puddle of deep red seep from under the fridge, oozing toward us. I feel an icy chill crawl up the inside of my bones. I grab my little sister’s hand tightly and back up, “Let’s go. I told you, we shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Stop it, Jules, she says, jerking her hand free. She moves forward and steps in the puddle. “Mommy told me that she needs to tell you something important. We have to hurry. We don’t have long,” she says with urgency.

  I know there’s no point in trying to talk her out of it. She’s too much like Dad, once she gets her mind set on something, she can’t be moved. Reluctantly, I step into the puddle and follow her.

  I watch as she reaches the far side of the fridge and disappears from sight. A few seconds later, I hear her let out a playful giggle. Poking her head out from the other side of the refrigerator, she waves me over. The first thing I see are my mom’s feet, then her legs. Her white flowery dress is soaked in red liquid. The back of her hands are resting on the floor, revealing huge cuts on the insides of each palm. Blood is gushing from each gash. Abby is crouching down beside her, whispering in her ear and giggling. I walk over to my mother and bend down. When Abby moves out of the way to let me get closer, I see a needle sticking out of Mom’s arm. I grab Abby underneath her arms and pull her up. Her feet hit the floor hard, so she’s angry. “Listen to Mommy, Jules. Listen to what she’s saying.”

  “She didn’t say anything, Abby. It’s time to go.”

  “What do you mean? Abby looks up at me confused. “Can’t you hear her?”

  “No, I can’t. What did she say?”

  “She said that you mustn’t trust him, no matter what he says. Then she told you that she loves you and we’ll be waiting for you. That’s what she said, Jules. She also said that she loves you very much. I love you very much too, and I’m going to miss you.”

  “What do you mean, you’ll miss me?”

  Abby drops to the floor and wraps her arms around our mother. “I have to go with mommy, and you have to stay here,” she says, starting to sob.

  “Abby, come with me right now.” I grab one of her arms and pull as hard as I can, but she doesn’t budge.

  I look down at my feet and notice the red fluid rapidly increasing. “Abby, please sweetie, you’ve got to come with me,” I cry, still pulling on her.

  The liquid continues to rise. All I can think of is saving my little sister. With everything I have, I try to release Abby’s grip on my mother. My efforts are useless. I become so exhausted, I fall to the floor beside them. Putting my face in my hands, I begin to sob. Suddenly,
I feel a cold hand grab my arm.

  Chapter Four

  The squelch of my alarm shocks me out of my nightmare and sits me straight up. I feel overwhelmed with sadness. My face is soaking wet from crying and my hands are shaking. My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. Another fucked up dream. I’ve spent so much time and money on therapists, and for what? I still suffer from night terrors. I take deep breaths to calm myself, then have a quick shower before heading out.

  * * *

  What a miserable day—pissing rain and cold. Riding my bike to work, I feel like I’m driving through a car wash. Fall in the lower mainland is beautiful, but there are non-stop showers. As they say, no matter what the season, you don’t tan in Vancouver, you rust.

  As soon as I walk into the shop, I grab my work sheet from the receptionist, Betty, and throw my bag into a locker. After I put on my coveralls, I walk into the garage and start working on a Subaru that needs tie rods. As soon as I get the first wheel off, Rae junior, my boss, walks in. I stop what I’m doing and look up. He’s wearing baggy-assed jeans and an oversized Crooks and Castle t-shirt. His hair is tightly cornrowed with tiny white beads hanging from the ends—a wannabe gangster. “Jules, we’re not doing enough business lately, so I’ve got to cut your hours.”

  “What? Are you serious? With how little you pay me an hour, I barely have enough to get by as it is. I’ll be screwed.”

  “Sorry, I’m just the messenger. It’s my father’s shop, and this is what he wants.”

  Fuck. Now what? I’ll never find another mechanic job in the city. Employment rates are down and if a position does open up, they’ll likely give it to a man over me. The only reason I got this job is because I bought my bike from Rae senior. At the time, he was looking for a mechanic and he gave me a shot. That was five years ago.