Prologue - Summer Downpour

The humid mid-summer heat had already lined my clothes full of sweat as my car sped the empty highway. The only reason for the lack of traffic in this bustling city was the heavy downpour, which would be steaming me alive if it weren't for the air conditioner blasting at max power. As much as I don't want to be speeding through this weather, I have more pressing issues. The only thing I want is to get this over with.

Why? To be honest, I want to forget why I'm out here, but my burden of proof is etched deep into my head. And, no amount of alcohol could drown out my memories, which flood back faster than the rain pelleting my jet-black sedan. My drive to live.

The tragic death of my family almost six years ago. They wanted me to go camping with them right before the incident. Being somewhat rebellious from my parents, I declined to join them on a camping trip and chose to stay at a friend's house. Little did I know, that would be the last time I'd get a chance to speak to them.

As I pull up to the cemetery where they rest, I still remember the report like the back of my hand. It was a head-on collision on the freeway, which framed news headlines for days. A drunken trucker had gotten onto the wrong side and had fallen asleep behind the wheel before colliding with twenty other cars in rush hour. Unlucky for my family, they were the first to be hit and suffered near-instant death.

I say 'near' because only my little brother was the only one who managed to be dragged to the hospital in a coma. He later succumbed to his injuries when the plug had to be pulled. It came down to the fact that neither of my parents had any money, to begin with. I had no choice but to get blood on my hand, with no relatives able to bring in cash for life support.

I don't blame anyone other than myself for the accident. I couldn't blame anyone else. The bastard who killed them ended up committing suicide while waiting for his sentence in jail. I don't even blame my relatives because of how distant our relations had always been.

If I had a choice to go back, I would have suggested something along the lines of, "Why don't we go somewhere in town?". Or, at the very least, join them on that one last car ride. But I can't build my life on ifs and forget-me-nots. I wouldn't know the best place to start back from and how far that would change me.

The habits I picked up along the way show precisely what happened after the incident. I didn't have to look far either to see the silvery glint of a flask peeking its head from my jacket's pocket on the passenger seat. I knew I couldn't come with a clear conscience that reared more memories of bad choices from the following years.

My jacket must have got caught in the glove compartment handle because when I grabbed it, all my work equipment surged out. Just a messy pile of pens, 9mm magazines, a flashlight, and a handgun on the floor now. A small reminder that I took the day off to come here. Just looking at it felt almost suffocating, especially when I saw my I.D top the pile.

As I twirl the card between my fingers, my gaze hangs on the company logo emblazoned by a hound in the background: Cerebrus's Defense. A minuscule private security firm built around five members, which I've been a part of for the past two years. I didn't even hear about this company until one of my old friends told me about it. Then again, I didn't hear or see much of anything when I was slumped in a depression.

Under the decorations, my weathered name stood the test of time: Grey Kita. Beside my name is a faded picture of me, although most of my face could be made out past the scratches. A constant downturned frown marked the Asian man with short raven hair, which I've gotten used to seeing in the mirror. Looking deeper, the accents of my black-on-black uniform skimmed the edges, as well as my lithe shoulders.

I let out a deep-seated sigh as I quickly tossed on my jacket and grabbed my flashlight from the pile before tucking everything away into the glove box. My hand hovers over my handgun for a while longer. If I'd seen this before, I would have seen this as an easy way out. Now, I don't feel comfortable without it slung on the holster on my waist.

I pair a spare magazine along with my handgun and tuck it under my jacket. The cheap umbrella stored in the back seats would crumble under the strength of the downpour although, it was never my intention to prolong this in the first place. I knock back a swig from the flask as I try to mentally prepare myself. Right as I pull the door handle, my phone buzzes to life on my dashboard, startling me back into my seat.

The on-screen flashing, followed by a piece of catchy but annoying elevator music, was 'Ashley.' A young and passionate woman who enjoys meddling and happens to be my coworker. She's helpful to a fault, but it'd be wrong for me to describe her drive to help those around her as a bad thing. After all, she's the sole reason I found out about the company.

I don't even remember when we first met. Everything from before the incident, sort of, became grey and muddy to the point that I shut everything out. I didn't know how far I was gone, just two years after the incident and fresh out of high school. It wasn't until Ashley found me in a pool of my own blood when she came to check up on me.

I resented her when I saw her crying at my hospital bed. I hardly knew her name, but she went out of her way to help me when I wanted to die. Nowadays, how can I hate her? With her being my savior and the closest person I can call my best friend, I refuse to hate her over the four years we've known each other.

"Uh… Hey, Ashley. Did something happen at work?" I say as I pick up the phone and try to mask any sadness that might drench my throat.

"Hi, Grey. Just checking in… Are you really going to be okay by yourself?" She asks as she anxiously drums her fingers against the speaker.

"You worry too much. I'll be fine; I just need… time." I sigh as my grip tightens around my phone.

"That's good, that's good." She pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "H-hey, if it isn't too much trouble, do you want to go out to eat with Paul and Jane? They've been dying to try out a new sushi bar."

Paul and Jane, an unforgettable pairing, which brings a torrent of trouble together. By themselves, they're just barely as tolerable as Ashley. I know they have good intentions, but it doesn't help that they mix like water and oil. To make it worse, the only reason I know them is that they're my coworkers.

Well, except for Jane. It'd be improper to call my boss just a "coworker" unless I'm looking for a pay cut. She's a twenty-eight-year-old woman who came out of the Marines and established our company two years ago. How Jane and Ashley came to know each other is an enigma, which I've yet to crack.

On the other hand, Paul is a towering giant who's too gentle for our line of work. Despite his peaceful and calming demeanor, his disposition towards Lady Luck pulls him into trouble. That's how he was even recruited by us when he happened to run straight into a thief we were chasing about a year and a half ago. He practically became my partner overnight and hit off straight away… mainly in the bar with a game of pool to round it off.

My thoughts are soon cut off when I hear Ashley ask, "Uhm, Gray? You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. You wanted me to go to the sushi bar, right?" I stutter as I try to recompose myself.

"Don't worry about gas or splitting the bills! I'll pay for everything!" She blurts out, making me reel back from my phone.

"What? No, no, no, it's fine-" I try to reassure her, to no avail as she cuts me off.

"No, no, I understand. You probably don't want to go." She says to herself.

"I didn't say that. Don't start putting words in my mouth." I groan.

"So, you'll go?" She squeaks.

"Look, if Paul and Jane are gonna-" I say before she drowns me out with cheers.

"Sweet! I'll pick you up from your apartment later tonight. If you need more time to get ready, just send me a text." She says.

"W-wait a second! I don't-" I say right when she hangs up on me. "... Even want sushi."

I let out a sigh, but as I lean on the dashboard, I feel a bitter smile creeping on my face at the prospect of joining them. I could say I hate them as much as I want, and yet they'd still find a way to drag me along. They aren't clueless about why I'm here either and know when to respect my personal space. They're the type of people to at least try before giving up on someone.

Judging them won't help against the rain, though. I could barely make out the thick, wrought iron gates beyond my foggy window. The heavy clouds weren't making things better by blocking out every ounce of sunlight. The only thing praiseworthy was that at least I wouldn't have to do laundry for the sweat on my clothes.

Stepping out of the car, the shifting gravel pathway felt familiar beneath the soles of my boots. Although I've been here hundreds of times, the inept fear of being here makes this path feel longer than it truly is. The vertigo of it all made my legs drag on until I was in front of the imposing gate. Forcing myself to push the gate shows its age as it creaks in protest and threatens to break off its hinges.

As my feet drag further into the cemetery, I notice the bits of moss and ferns tangle on my boots. This place has never changed from the past. Nobody likes tending to graves, but the grave keepers should at least try. It's practically a discourtesy to the dead to leave everything in a miserable state.

As soon as I reach my family's grave, I see a woman dressed in a mourning dress, laying flowers for my family. Despite the veil covering her face and rain obscuring my sight, I could make out her slender and delicate body, which was complemented by her milky pale skin. Yet, I don't have to be a superstitious person to feel uneasy about her.

People stopped grieving here years ago, which made her evidently strange. She hasn't turned to acknowledge me yet, but it feels like she has eyes on the back of her head judging me. The rain doesn't even make any attempt to drag down her dress either, as it stays frilled and immaculate. I was about to tap her on the shoulder when she turned heel and started to walk away.

Part of me wants to demand who she is, but my better judgment tells me not to follow her; that's not what I'm here for. Stranger or not, the flowers are always welcomed. My mind is elsewhere, so I wouldn't even know what to ask. My gaze already drifts to the bold letters carved into the slab of stone: "Here Lies The Kita Family: James Kita, Heather Kita, and Harry Kita. May They Find Eternal Peace."

"What a load of bullshit," I mutter to myself as my fists curl in anguish.

There may be peace in the afterlife but not here, not like this. Not in the cold ground, where their dreams and regrets lie in memories. Whispering white lies would only make them angrier. They're already wailing at me for not joining them, jabbing insults into the back of my head.

"Failure."

"Disappointment."

"Egotistical."

"Recluse."

By the time they listed everything, I was sick of it. I'm not a horrible person; I just failed to keep going. Why are they blaming me? I know myself the best, so why do the dead have to tell me?

"Shut up!" I yell as I slam my fist into the gravestone and watch the blood slowly trickle down from my knuckle.

Soon, the feelings in my hand grew numb, only to be replaced by the threat of anxiety pumping blood into me. Breathing took energy, and for once, I couldn't calm down without choking on rain in the process. I could barely keep myself up by focusing on the stinging pain of the rain pelting my knuckles. Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours as everything spirals around me.

Once vertigo settles down, I lurch over to the tombstone and try not to retch up breakfast as I lean on it. A familiar elevator song chimes in my pocket, almost to mock my inability to cope. As my cold hand tries to take out my phone, it slips from my grasp and splats into the mud. Ashley's bold name was staring back at me, which lulls me into a false sense of security.

When I squat down, my legs turn to jelly and crumble under my weight. The pleasant chiming slowly distorts into static as I reach out to deny the call. Each fiber of muscle protesting in anguish, constricting my body like a vise. It must have been too long since the last anxiety attack since I accidentally swiped up and fell face-first into the mud.

"Gray!" I barely hear Ashley yell from the speaker.

Before I suffocate myself, I try to lay flat on my back, flopping like a fish out of water. It sucks that I don't have gills because I have to cough up my lungs every few seconds. I must have gotten a bit crazy when I see wisps of black tendrils wrap around my legs as I prop my head up. I figure out soon enough that I'm not as my legs slowly sink into the mud like quicksand.

Flinging myself up out of panic was the worst thing I've done today. My lungs collapse entirely, forcing me to hammer away at my chest. As I hammer away, the tendrils grip tightens and work up my arms, snapping me into the mud. It doesn't take long for everything to slowly grow dark, letting the pitter-patter of the rain fill my thoughts.

After the stillness became uncomfortably long, I expected to see my family once the light shined down into my eyes. In the end, I find myself staring straight into a dim fluorescent bulb, which sears my eyes shut. As I try to focus on the light again, I taste the air, which feels too stale to be a hospital. I knew this wasn't heaven or anywhere remotely close to it.

Propping myself up, I find it hard to focus on anything at all. The minimalist design walls and furniture combined with the monochromatic colors bring everything into a nauseating spiral. It all felt peculiarly similar to my apartment, other than the lack of decorations. Aside from that, I couldn't see anything reminiscent of a window until I tried to focus on anything popping out.

My gaze soon lands on the jutting window seal that appears to be boarded up from the outside, blocking out every ounce of light. As I get up to pry the window open, it hardly budges an inch as I put my entire body into it. Seeing as that's getting me nowhere, I peel off my jacket and wrap it around my fist before winding a punch. The long, dull thud followed by the pins and needles running through my arm told me I wasn't going to crack the glass any time soon.

As I unravel my jacket, I notice how oddly dry it was despite being drenched by the rain earlier. The only thing I could piece together was that either I was kidnapped or worse. My best bet right now is to call someone; if only I paid more attention since my phone was in my jacket the whole time. Lucky enough, my phone slips out of the coat unscathed.

"Fucken fantastic…" I sigh to myself as I receive no reception and stare at the screen as it blinks low battery in my face.

I swipe through the phone aimlessly, hoping to see at least one missed call or text. If I could see one message, I had a minuscule amount of hope that the police would come. Instead, just as I was about to power it off after swiping through a few spam notifications, a shiver runs down my spine as I eye the date. Seven days had passed since I went to the cemetery.