Prologue

Robert Sandifer sprinted down the street, his face bloodied and bruised. Despite this, he wasn’t concerned about his appearance. The only light source was the streetlights, which covered the boy’s face with a yellow-orange glow. To any onlooker, he would appear to be a ghost or even a zombie. They still wouldn't approach him if they knew what he had just done.

He wasn’t aware just how important the girl was. Robert thought it was a simple task only given to lowlife thugs. Scout the girl and reap the profit. How was he to know the damn bitch was the mayor’s daughter. Robert should’ve seen this coming. The whole thing had ‘setup’ all written over it. He wondered if his boss knew. Was Big Boi, as everyone called him, aware he was sending one of his underlings to the meatgrinder?

Occasionally a curtain would open. House occupants would glare outside their window to see what the commotion was about. Realising it was some poor black kid from the ghetto, they quickly closed their curtains in disgust. Robert had already knocked on one door. It was an elderly white man who answered.

Robert's friend once told him you could tell a person’s worth depending on what type of watch they wore. If they wore a Rolex, he remembered his friend saying, they probably are loaded. If they’re wearing one of those cheap Casio watches, they’re not worth the hustle. The man was wearing a polo shirt with his sleeves pulled down, so Robert couldn’t tell if the man was wearing a watch or not. Robert assumed the elderly gentleman was retired. Robert rarely interacted with white folk, so he could only guesstimate.

“I’m injured! Can you call 911?” the boy asked, somewhat demanding. Another tip his friend gave him was never to contact the cops. His friend would often remark the cops would cause more trouble than it would solve. But everyone was out to get him; Robert felt he had no choice.

The man stared at the boy momentarily, probably trying to comprehend the boy’s request. Instead of answering Robert’s call for help, the man gave a scornful look before closing the door without saying a single word. Robert didn’t bother knocking on any other doors.

A rich neighbourhood probably wasn’t the safest place for a black kid to be. Robert had heard all the stories. It wasn’t just cops, but ordinary white citizens, that would shoot black kids – it didn’t matter if they were armed or unarmed. People like them saw kids like Robert as vermin.

For a moment, Robert felt as if he was the baby Jesus, desperate to find shelter. He wanted to find somewhere to hide but felt rejected and alone. Except this wasn’t Bethlehem, nor was Robert innocent.

As Robert fled down the winding streets, he noticed a phone booth. Perhaps he could call a friend?

“Eh… sup,” Robert spoke into the payphone. He leant up the phone booth’s glass walls trying not to seem suspicious.

“Bro!” a voice boomed out – this almost caused Robert to fall over. “Where the fuck are you, Yummy?”

Robert was unsure how to answer. He knew he couldn’t exactly tell his friend where he was. He wasn’t sure exactly who was trying to find him. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his friend. After all, his friend was another gang member.

“I was coming back from Geeves,” Robert lied. Geeves lived on the other side of the city. It was unlikely anyone from the gang had contacted Geeves yet. “Not been doing much.”

“Well, whatever the fuck you’ve been, you need to get back here now!” his friend continued. “Big Boi’s been ranting about you for the past hour or so! Why did you go radio silent anyway.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Robert refused to answer. He felt a sickening feeling in his gut. They all knew.

“What’s he saying?”

“Nothing good!” his friend’s voice still booming. Robert wondered if there was something wrong with the phone. This is what happens when you use a public phone booth. “He knows about the girl! And what you did!”

“It wasn’t me,” Robert pleaded. “God dammit! How the fuck should I’ve known she’s the mayor’s daughter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” the voice spat out. “The cops are on to all of us, because of what you did! We’re all fucking dead!”

Robert ended the call. He couldn’t stomach listening to more of the conversation. There was no point contacting the police anymore, they were going to kill him on sight no matter what. Maybe it was the paranoia kicking in, but Robert didn’t know who or where else to go. He had no one he could trust. Not even his family, who had ditched him after he was caught dealing drugs.

“I’m dead!” Robert thought to himself. “I am fucking dead!” If the police didn’t catch him, his former friends would. There was someone else whom he feared, but he dared not say her name.

Robert found an under-path, which crossed under the highway. Hopefully, he would be safe now, Robert thought. He stopped to get his breath back. His heart felt like it was beating at the speed of light. He crouched down a searched his backpack. The gun he had used was still there. He knew very well leaving a weapon at a crime scene was a big mistake, but now he didn’t know how to get rid of the weapon. Perhaps dump it into a nearby lake or something. Surely the police wouldn’t look there.

He quickly found a bottle of water, which he opened and began drinking. The bottle was an old Coke bottle Robert had reused countless times – homeless kids didn’t have the luxury of having anything new and fancy. Most kids in his situation would prefer booze, but Robert knew he needed a clear head.

As he was heavily breathing, Robert noticed a shadowy figure encroaching towards him. Robert puzzled. The figure seemed to appear out of thin air. It was a tall and skinny man, wearing an all-black coat, which went down to his feet. Robert glanced at the figure again. The figure’s black coat seemed to wave around like shadowy curtains. The thing didn’t seem to have feet. It simply glided as if the ground was like clouds.

Robert noticed the weapon in the figure's hand. It was something Robert had only seen in a children’s book. A scythe? Robert had prayed to Bloody Mary before, but he never thought she would answer his prayer. Was this an angel of death arriving to save him?

The figure was moving closer and closer towards him, so Robert stood up. The thing didn’t seem to be preparing to attack. Whatever light entered the under-path suddenly disappeared, as a shadowy mist engulfed Robert. It was only him and the mysterious cloaked figure.

“You’ve… er… come to save me?” the boy asked, now sounding timid. He tried to sound tough as he would usually do in front of another gang member. But Robert sensed an overwhelming feeling of dread. He could feel an indescribable evilness.

Robert remembered his mother telling him how the wicked were punished, and how good people were rewarded. Robert used to scoff at this notion. There’s no such thing as good and evil, he used to think, only human nature. He may have killed the mayor’s daughter, but that wasn’t necessarily evil. Robert was just doing as instructed. Besides a fallout with the law, Robert wouldn’t suffer eternal damnation.

The figure drew closer. Robert could now see in the hooded man’s veil of darkness. To his surprise, Robert looked at the eyeless face of a human skull. The bone seemed brittle and pale. Robert might look like death, but this indeed was Death.

“You’re here to rescue me, right?”

The figure didn’t respond. Robert’s knees began shaking. He tried to remain on his feet, but eventually, the struggle was too unbearable. Robert collapsed to the ground, falling to his knees. The glass bottle he was holding dropped to the concrete, breaking into many jagged shards. He looked up at Death, his hand begging for forgiveness.

“Please…” he continued. “Not now. Not today.”

Surely Bloody Mary had sent him. If not her, who?

Death lifted his scythe. He positioned it around Robert’s head. For one moment, Robert's entire life seemed to pass him. Every mistake he had made. All the regrets he held. If he had to relive this… do this all over again…, would he make the same mistakes? Robert wished he hadn’t fallen into the wrong crowd. With one sweep of the scythe, Death sliced the boy’s head off cleanly.

Robert only had a few seconds left to live. His head lying sideways on the hard concrete, Robert saw Death mount a pale horse, before riding into a shadowy nothing. Suddenly, all went dark.