Writers -
This story has been a working piece for several years. Here is the beginning of a rough draft.
-thevoiceinside
Adiston Drive - Chapter One
He stared blankly, watching as the rain drizzled carelessly down his window pane. The world outside was black and distant, smeared with patches of cloudy city lights. Everyday seemed to pass by slower than the last for 17 year old Aaiden Hendricks. The barn red color of his bedroom walls welcomed the boy each time he entered, yet rarely was there ever a smile to accommodate the atmosphere.
Another fight had broken out just minutes ago; the cause of Aaiden’s silent solitude. The only light illuminating the room was a plainly shaped lamp that sat atop a computer desk in the corner. Aaiden rustled his blonde hair, placing his beanie back on his head. He let out an effortless sigh and leaned forward on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees.
A quick, rough knock sounded on the bedroom door and in wisped his twin brother, Owen. The two of them hadn’t shared a bedroom since they were really little, although now, their homey city apartment wasn’t nearly big enough to satisfy a teenager’s need for their own space.
“Dude, you blew that one. Mom is even angrier than she was two days ago.”
“Shut up.”
“Whoa…someone has a slight temper,” smirked Owen as he leaned across his bed to pick up a biology book from the nightstand. “Ya know mom is going to ground your butt even longer than the last for bringing home such poor grades this time.”
Aaiden stood up, turning toward the door. A furious glare planted in his eye, “Shut up Owen! It’s none of your damn business!” The bedroom door slammed shut.
Light clicking of a keyboard strummed the air at the bottom of the stairs. Silence struck the moment with a sheer snap as Sarah noticed her son standing at the base of the stairway. Aaiden suddenly turned toward the kitchen and headed for the back door.
“Where do you think you’re going young man?” Sarah shouted angrily from the sofa.
Aaiden stopped at the doorway, his eyes glancing at a picture of his family that was taped to the side of the refrigerator. His father’s smile pierced his heart. Aaiden made every effort to hold back a tear. He quickly turned away as the back door shut with a hasty slam. Sarah sighed; a decree of giving up. Her son wasn’t one to listen, especially when he was in one of his moods.
Outside, Aaiden quickly made his way to the shed. Opening the rusty hinged door, he slid inside. His Etnies made creaking noises as he shuffled his feet back and forth across the floor, trying to loosen the one plank that held what he was after. “Bingo,” Aaiden muttered, lifting the frail floorboard. A red JanSport backpack lay squarely beneath him. Glancing around, he lifted the backpack over his shoulder and quietly placed the plank back.
It hadn’t stopped raining, although, it was only trickling down like a leaky tap. Hazy smog covered the vast city. Aaiden ran steadily along Oaks St. for several blocks before he turned onto Applecove Dr. and into an abandoned street lot. His nerves stiffened as he reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone. He nervously dialed his friend, Pete Auster—a member of San Diego’s 2nd Street gang. The phone rang for several agonizing tones. Finally, a scratchy and familiar voice answered, “Yeah?”
“Pete, where are ya, Man? You said we were getting out of here tonight. I brought the bag. If you don’t get here soon then EJ will. He’ll kill us both and you know it.”
“I got hung up. Just chill it out there, Hendricks. Don’t be a dumb ass and stand in the open where EJ and the guys can see you. I’m there in ten.”
The phone clicked and he was gone. Aaiden nervously sat on the ground, against a broken down Ford Escort. The street light was dim and hardly lit the street corner up enough to see 20 feet in front of you through the fog.
Aaiden pushed the side button on his cell phone, activating the backlight so he could read the time. It read 11:48 p.m. His breathing quickly sped up. Pete was really late. He glanced around and occasionally wiped his arms off of the rain drops that hugged his skin. The ground was cold and wet, causing his legs to feel slightly damp and uncomfortable. His jeans and blue sleeveless t-shirt were damp like when you pull your clothes out of the dryer too soon.
Pressing the back light button again, the time read 12:23 a.m. and yet, Pete hadn’t shown. Aaiden decided against his urge to stay any longer. Surely EJ was out and about the area by this time of the night. He shoved his cell phone into his pocket and stood up, clenching the red backpack. His Etnies softly pitter pattered across the pavement as he jogged down the street, turning to short cut through an alley on his way back home.
The moonlit night held secrets of uncertainty. A second floor apartment porch light was the only light highlighting the murky alley. Unknown, restless beings wandered through the blackness. Aaiden stood cautiously, glancing around him. Every little movement, sound and whisper seemed to startle his incentive to run. A shiver ran up his spine as he crouched behind a metal dumpster, clutching the red backpack at his side. A thick stack of one hundred dollar bills fell heavily onto the dusty pavement. The sound stiffened his nerves. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, stuffing the wad of cash back inside the backpack.
The aroma of exhaust and cigarette smoke filtered through the air like unwanted bacteria. Aaiden caught his breath in an intoxicating heave. He took a few steps backwards, trying desperately not to make himself known. A sweat caked hand seized the boy’s mouth; muting his screams. Cold steel pressed firmly against the back of his neck; sending chills to the tips of his toes.
“Don’t make a sound or you’re dead,” a rough, familiar voice spoke sternly into the boy’s ear. The man removed the gun, shoving Aaiden into the grasp of another. Aaiden recognized all three of the people that now stood, surrounding his every move. EJ, the leader of San Diego’s 2nd Street gang, age 23, had the criminal record of a murderous Gadianton. He had multiple tattoos and piercings; a lot more than the other two guys. The second man, Vince, had a prune-like appearance, being 21 years of age. He had been busted more than once for dealing drugs to San Diego East’s junior high school students. As for the third guy, Jace, he’s no older than 15 years—an African American kid who was simply used as a ‘filler man’. Jace was always the one to take the blow if EJ or Vince could get out of being caught.
They thrust Aaiden against a brick wall and pinned his arms helplessly, knocking the wind right out of him. “What do you want, EJ?” Aaiden demanded, catching his breath. The man with the gun tilted his head back and chuckled to himself. His eyes glazed over into a determined glare. He cocked his gun, pointing it to Aaiden’s head.
“You know what I want, Kid. Where’s my money?!” The boy’s heart skipped every other beat. His words came out shaky, “It-it’s in the bag, I swear.”
EJ glanced over his shoulder. The red backpack lay against the dumpster. “Put him down but make sure he stays here.” Vince did as his boss commanded. EJ motioned to Jace, who rummaged through the backpack; placing each stack of bundled cash onto the alley floor. Several moments past and Jace counted nervously faster. He stopped suddenly and looked up at his boss, angrily. “483 grand is missing.” EJ’s expression turned furious. He grappled Aaiden by the throat, cornering him between the dumpster and a brick wall.
“750 grand!!! There was 750 grand!! Where’s my half million you piece of shit?!”
Aaiden gasped for air. “I-I don’t know!!”
EJ pulled a 6mm hand gun from his leather jacket, forcing it into the boy’s abdomen. Aaiden’s thoughts stiffened and his body went clammy with petrified fear. He could feel the blood rush to his knees.
“Wait, the kid’s got family. To kill him off suddenly would be a bad idea,” mentioned Vince; recognizing his boss’s intentions.
“Cork it, Vince,” heaved EJ. “Listen Hendricks, I won’t hesitate to end your pathetic, wasted life. If I don’t see my money in one week, you’re dead. And tell Pete,” EJ paused, glancing around, “wherever he is, that I’ll do the same to him. Is that clear?” Aaiden nodded as the gun was removed.
A clattered metal banging sounded from several feet ahead in the narrow alley. EJ’s expression stiffened. Throwing Aaiden into the clutches of Vince, he cautiously slid around to the other side of the dumpster; his hand gun cocked. A discrete shadow merged into focus. A young man of about 19 years stood two feet in front of his persecutor. He raised his arms in a surrendering stance as EJ had the gun pointed right at him. “Whoa EJ, I’m just playin’.” Aaiden struggled as the voice sounded all too familiar; it was Pete. EJ laughed sarcastically and made a motion with his head for Pete to walk toward the others at gun point.
Pete’s attire consisted of the usual back alley fad; rustic jeans and a worn t-shirt with no sleeves. Being a member of the 2nd Street gang, he always wore his purple bandanna around his left arm. His rustic red hair hadn’t seen a comb in several weeks.
A circle now formed, inclosing Pete as the center of attention. Vince held Aaiden tighter, standing next to Jace and his boss.
“Where’s my money?” EJ asked roughly through his teeth. He didn’t wait for a response as he knocked Pete over the head with the butt of his gun and held it there, threatening his every move. Pete fell to his knees; his head bleeding.
“I-it’s in my shed on Charleston Rd. I swear man, it’s all there.” His words were shaky. Aaiden tried to interrupt but was taken back by the fact that these men wouldn’t hesitate to kill them both if he spoke. An eerie smile formed in EJ’s lips.
“Now Pete…” He paused, his voice switching tones abruptly, “that wasn’t so hard.”
The trigger fired with a loud and echoing ‘bang’. Pete’s body fell limp on the asphalt. He lay motionless in a pool of blood. The gruesome scene seemed to pause and rewind itself several times in Aaiden’s head. The torture stunned his every thought, movement, and breath.
Far off police sirens beckoned closer as the seconds dragged on. Vince threw Aaiden to the ground; warning him, “You talk and there will be hell to pay. If we don’t find the money, then we’ll know right where to find you.”
Vince, Jace and EJ ran in haste around the apartment building and out of sight. Aaiden leaned over his friend. Pete’s body felt cold and distant. “Pete…” Aaiden whispered, “…come on Pete…why did you tell them?” A tear trickled from the boy’s face. He wiped it away quickly, untying the purple bandanna. He shuffled through Pete’s pockets, taking his wallet. Aaiden darted out of the alley in the opposite direction, leaving a part of himself behind.
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