Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

“Before you go.” Cate bit her lip. “It’s kind of a shot in the dark, but do you maybe happen to know anyone named Garrett?”

For a moment, the boy’s eyes glinted. She thought she’d imagined it, it was such a subtle change.

“Yeah, I know a Garrett,” said Jesse. “What’s it to you?”

Cate took a step toward him. He took a step back.

“He might be my dad. I’m looking for him.”

Jesse smirked. “The Garrett I know is not your dad.”

“You don’t know that. And my dad didn’t even know I existed.”

“Trust me. He’s not.”

“I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

Cate felt herself flush with indignation. This boy was—what was the word?— moody . And impossible.

But her eyes followed him out the door, into the veil of night, and she couldn’t help but notice the slump in his shoulders beneath his oversized leather jacket, and the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, like a boy trying to hide every piece of himself from the world.

The roar of army tanks moving into position thundered in the distance, met by cheers and chants of Alma, Alma, we won’t go—Earth is better than you know .

Jesse chuckled tiredly to himself. The crowd outside was getting more creative by the hour, and it was barely two a.m.

The last day.

The day of reckoning.

Finally, it had come.

He’d already seen a giant UFO crafted from at least a hundred silver balloons released into the air, and a horde of therapy dogs march down Tom’s street. It was utter chaos. He was lucky Tom’s radio station was soundproof.

He double-checked to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and continued down the familiar path to his house. For a moment, he held on to hope. His fingers trailed the chain-link fence that lined his neighborhood sidewalk, taking in its familiarity. He’d only been away from his house a day, but it felt like years.

He looked up. His stomach went into free fall so fast, he couldn’t breathe.

There was nothing of his house left. Nothing but charred remnants and beams, and the stone foundation.

At least now they wouldn’t have to worry about the eviction notice.

He almost wished he’d kept a copy for posterity’s sake. He could have left it on the pile of ashes and stubs of wood for the landlord.

All he’d brought with him was a fat leather knapsack filled with over fifteen thousand dollars in cash.

He sat on the stone foundation as though it were the stoop leading to the porch. In a way, it was the stoop now.

And then he saw them: Marco’s friend Samuel and the guy he’d called Emmit, standing beside the black husk that remained of the shed. Watching him. And when they realized Jesse could see them, their faces split into wide smiles, Emmit’s revealing a silver front tooth.

Every hair on Jesse’s body stood, and he shivered in the cool night air.

It was time for him to pay.

Jesse’s heart pounded violently in his rib cage. They had found him. He had no reason to believe they wouldn’t show up to collect, even with Roswell flooding with tents and bodies. But he’d hoped. He’d actually hoped. He wondered what Corbin would think.

But his thoughts came to a halt as Samuel and Emmit prowled toward him.

Panic welled. He had more than enough money to pay for the plane tickets. But there was something hungry in their eyes. Something wrong.

If they wanted a fight, then fine. He deserved it. But as they came closer, he felt his confidence shrivel. He was completely alone. What if he died here? As he watched them come closer, his own throat tightening, he felt like a wolf pup caught in a leg trap.

Except you made this leg trap , he corrected himself.

He clenched his fists.

But at least Mom was safe. It didn’t matter what happened to him now. He’d pay up the money he owed, and if the sun came up tomorrow, she could start a new life with the money left over. She’d never have to worry about him or the debts for the house ever again.

“Amazing how three days can feel like a lifetime.” Samuel was only a few feet away, and Jesse could smell the sour scent of beer wafting off him. “But I see your little source of income’s been destroyed. How tragic.”

“Source of income?” Jesse mockingly put his hand on his chest, if only to hide the thrumming of his heart, the frantic rise and fall. “Now, I think we both know I was the real machine behind the operation.”

Samuel rolled his neck. If it cracked, Jesse couldn’t hear over the noise wafting from the tent city. “And now it’s time to pay up.”

He reached out a sweaty palm. “Hand it over.”

Jesse swallowed but quickly folded his arms across his chest, feigning confidence. His mouth slid into a smirk. “Hand what over?”

Samuel threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. You play dumb so convincingly.”

But then his face hardened. “No more games. Hand it over. All of it.”

Jesse recoiled, confused, and for a moment, his mask slipped. “All? I thought you only needed enough for plane tickets. A couple thousand should have covered it.”

Samuel grinned. “Interest’s a bitch.”

Jesse’s shoulders shook. He wasn’t scared anymore. He was furious. Sure, he owed Marco, and he was sorry. So fucking sorry. But this didn’t feel right. He’d thought Samuel was doing this for Marco —and some part of Jesse had been almost jealous that someone would go to such lengths for another, to see justice was served—no one would ever pull that for him.

But it was clear this piece of shit didn’t care about Marco at all.

“Is Marco even in the hospital…?” asked Jesse carefully.

Samuel glanced at Emmit, whose face broke into a feral grin. Jesse felt a flare of fear.

“Where is Marco?” he asked again.

Samuel ran a tongue across his cracked lips. “A shame. I thought we could do this peacefully.”

And then he punched Jesse.

Jesse stumbled, winded, and clutched his chest. He couldn’t see ahead of him—he was doubled over in pain—but he wondered if anyone else had seen, if anyone would step in.

Samuel shoved him, hard, and he flew backward before landing on the ground with a thud. His head throbbed from the impact. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

No one would step in. No one was at the shed anymore, now that the machine was gone. Jesse was nothing without the machine.

Then again, no one had ever helped Jesse. It had always been him, out to fend for himself. Nothing would ever change.

Fine. Hurt me.

He felt his body lift up into the air; Samuel had him by his jacket.

Hurt me , Jesse screamed inside himself. Searing pain exploded at his nose as Samuel punched him in the face again, narrowly missing his stitches. A wet gagging sound escaped from Jesse’s lips.

But before he was tossed to the ground again, he saw something sparkle in Emmit’s hand. A hammer. His dad’s hammer, from inside the shed. How had they gotten it?

No , Jesse tried to shout, but no words came, only blood. Samuel was closing in again. Jesse thought he heard shouting, but he couldn’t tell; his ears were throbbing.

Emmit cocked the hammer toward him. Toward his legs.

Jesse scrambled on the dirt to get away, but a foot was on his back, pinning him as if he were nothing but a bug. “Wait!” he finally managed to choke out, even as his spine threatened to crack.

Suddenly, the weight on his back was gone. He looked up slowly, his vision hazy; his left eye was swollen. But he could see him now: Emmit crumpling to the ground and a kid—no, a girl—jumping backward to avoid the fall of his body. In her trembling hand was a pink pepper spray bottle. More movement, and a sudden crash drew Jesse’s attention to his periphery. Samuel was off him and on his knees, clutching the space between his legs.