Chapter 3: The Night I Should’ve Stayed Home
733 Words
Lee Arden considered himself many things-handsome, smart, top student, and most of all, absolutely NOT afraid of anything.
Except, perhaps, quizzes. And flying cockroaches. But those are another matter.
Tonight, he was sneaking home after breaking curfew for the fifth time that week.
His mother had given him her usual lecture earlier:
“Lee Arden Santos! The day I catch you anywhere near that dark alley, I swear I will have you cleaning the gutters with a toothbrush while reciting the periodic table backwards!”
Arden had waved dismissively, of course.
"Mother, your warnings are as terrifying as a soggy pancake. This alley is completely safe."
He knew he probably shouldn't have ignored her.
But Arden being Arden, he tiptoed anyway, humming like a victorious i***t, milk tea in hand, until—
BANG.
A loud gunshot echoed in the alley.
Arden froze.
"Ha… HAHAHA… probably fireworks," he whispered shakily.
Tonight, there were no festivals.
Another shot.
A scream.
Something heavy being dragged.
"Okay… maybe someone dropped a really big microwave?"
Slowly, he peeked around the corner…
just in time to see five men in black suits standing over an unconscious guy.
And next to them-the tallest, scariest man alive, wearing a long coat like he owned the night.
Sharp jawline.
Cold eyes.
Blood on his gloves.
Arden's brain says:
Don't. Move.
Don't. Breathe.
Don't—
“ATCHOOOOO!"
He sneezed.
All six mafia men turned their heads at the same time.
Arden: “…hi?”
The tall man stepped forward, his voice low and deadly.
“Kid, why are you here?"
Arden forced a smile.
“Um… educational purposes?"
The men closed in on him.
Arden squeaked,
“I-I don’t know anything! I didn’t see anything! I’m blind! Actually I think I am legally blind now-LOOK EVERYTHING IS DARK-”
"It's dark because you closed your eyes," said the tall man.
Arden opened one eye.
The man was now only inches away.
Up close, he was even worse.
Too handsome, too intimidating, too mafia.
“What’s your name?”
Arden stuttered,
“A-Ar-Arden…”
“And why are you out at this hour, Arden?”
His brain chose violence.
“I don't need to explain myself to a handsome stranger!"
The henchmen snorted.
The mafia leader blinked.
“…Handsome?"
Arden: “Oh God, I’m gonna die.”
The tall man studied him, then surprisingly smirked.
“Interesting.”
Arden did not like that word.
The man motioned to his men.
“Bring him.”
“BRING ME WHERE?!”
Arden screamed as two men grasped his arms.
“I HAVE HOMEWORK! I HAVE A FUTURE! I HAVE— STOP TOUCHING ME I'M TICKLISH—"
And just as they were about to pull him forward, Arden's instincts kicked in.
With a panicked yell he twisted, wiggled, and bolted forward, slipping spectacularly on the wet, muddy ground.
“AAAAHHHH—I’M SLIPPING!”
he yelled as he slid forward in cartoon like fashion, mud flying onto his face and clothes.
The henchmen leapt to take hold of him, but somehow Arden scrambled to his feet, flinging mud in their faces in a messy arc.
“I'M FREE! I AM SPEED! I AM… STICKY MUD POWER!”
He ran like a caffeinated cheetah, his heart hammering, milk tea wobbling precariously in his hand.
Behind him the tall man's low voice called out: “Interesting… very interesting.”
Arden didn't look back.
He didn't stop.
He zigzagged, fell over garbage cans, slid under a low fence, and somehow managed to escape into the dimly lit street beyond, leaving the mafia behind, swearing and wiping mud off their suits.
Arden slumped against a wall, panting, heart pounding, mud streaming off his hair and knapsack.
“I… I SURVIVED,” he panted.
“Mother… I told you I was brave…” He sighed in relief.
"Not yet," he muttered, his mind revisiting the calm, deadly words from earlier by the mafia leader.
Arden. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NOT YET’—?!”
And just like that, the stubborn student boy had managed to escape the immediate danger of the underworld.
All because he couldn’t stay home like a normal person..... and probably because he didn't listen to his mother, who, if she had known, would have shaken her head and muttered, "I told you that alley was trouble. "
You'll be the death of me, Arden Santos…
- Writer
