I wake up slowly to the smell and sound of eggs frying. My body feels heavy, and I'm barely able to open my eyes. I lay there for a while, wanting and not wanting to start the day. After what feels like 10 minutes, I hear my mother's voice calling me.

  "Jacob, get up. It's 11:00."

  I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time—it really is 11:00. I can be a heavy sleeper, but I never wake up this late. I slowly crawl out of bed, hobble to the bathroom, and look at myself in the mirror. I trace invisible bruises, but there's only my normal skin tone. I strip and still see nothing.

  "Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth," I mutter.

  I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and change. I throw on a shirt and black sweats and walk into the kitchen.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "Jacob, did you get enough sleep?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "You usually get up earlier."

  "I guess."

  I sit down in front of a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, cooked to perfection.

  "Thanks, Mom."

  My stomach rumbles, and I immediately start wolfing the food down. In the middle of my eating, Mom speaks up.

  "Oh yeah, Jacob, I forgot to ask yesterday, but is Elliot okay?"

  I choke on my food, and my grip tightens on my fork for a second, surprised at the question, realizing I just left Elliot alone. Panic starts building in my head. I left him there for Luke to kick the shit out of him again. Fuck, what's wrong with me? I clear my thoughts and try to answer her as truthfully as I can.

  "The last time I saw him, he was kinda banged up, but he should be fine."

  I stare at her, hoping she'll accept my answer. She turns back to the stove.

  "That's good. I can't believe I forgot to ask."

  "Yeah… that's crazy."

  I look at my food, but my appetite is gone. I loosen my grip on my fork and see grooves matching my hand in the metal. Another thing wrong with me. I look over at Mom, who's still distracted, and pocket the broken utensil. I grab a cover for my food and start to walk away.

  "Hey, Jacob, aren't you gonna finish your—"

  "I'm not hungry right now, Mom. I'll finish it later."

  I walk into my room, close the door, throw the mangled fork in a drawer, and pull out my phone.

  Jacob (Today at 11:13 A.M.):

  Are you okay?

  No response. I call—no response. I consider calling him again, but I know he's not going to answer. I grab my shoes, throw them on, and walk out of my room.

  We split up in that alley by Maplewood. He might still be there. And if he isn't… I don't know, but going back is my first choice—the only choice I can think of.

  "Mom, I'm going for a walk."

  I rush out before she can reply, and it wasn't even really a lie. I walk down the stairs of our apartment and into the street. It's not very busy on Saturdays, but even then, there's still a crowd. It just feels easier to glide between the bodies, sliding past them with ease. I make it to the mouth of the alley I ran out of.

  It's blocked off by yellow tape and two officers. I loop around, and the crowd gets denser and louder. I see a couple of camera crews with different colors, their vans and logos parked on the curb. I move further to the front and listen to the cacophony of yells—questions about the state of the victim and whether the crime was gang-related. The cops, for their part, stand like statues, not saying a word.

  I mutter to myself, "Fuck, Elliot, what did you do?"

  I look back, knowing I need to get a better look at what happened. I just have to. I weave through the crowd and loop around the side of the building, darting behind a dumpster and under a fire escape. I look up at the ladder above—about three times my height, and that's saying something.

  I consider pushing the dumpster underneath the ladder, but that would draw too much attention. I think back to the fork and look at the ladder.

  "Just work with me here," I breathe in deep, and a strength I shouldn't have flows through me. I leap forward, clearing the bottom of the ladder too fast. I put my hand up too late and slam my face into the bar. I grip for dear life, feeling blood stream down my nose, and do my best to ignore it. I switch sides on the ladder and climb up into the basket. I look down. I had just cleared almost 16 feet. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. I can't get distracted by how it happened. Move on. I wipe the blood off my face as I climb up the stairs onto the roof. I walk over to the edge, pull my hood down, and peek over. Half a dozen cops are all staring at the same thing. All over the alley, pale white fragments litter the floor like snow.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  What is that stuff? Elliot, what's going on with you?

  I see a tall asain woman with short black hair and long bangs. She's wearing a long overcoat and has her badge around her neck.

  "Ava."

  "John."

  "How's you been?"

  "Good."

  "That's nice to hear."

  She looks down at the fragments.

  "So why'd you call me?"

  "At first, we thought this would be something for the gang unit, but…" He pulls out a bag with the same white fragments in it. "What do you think this is?"

  "I don't know."

  "Come on, guess."

  "John, seriously?"

  "Fine. It's bone." He turns and points to the fragments. "All of it's bone."

  "Jesus, we're dealing with a fucking—"

  "Yeah, that's what I thought too, but nothing in the human body is shaped like this. So I asked some friends to fast-track the analysis."

  "And?"

  "All of this is from the same person, and even weirder, it's all perfectly smooth—no muscle attachment sites, and uniformly dense."

  "John, I'm not an orthopedic doctor. What are you trying to say?"

  "These were never inside a person. The doctors are stumped. They say it was grown spontaneously, right here."

  "That's impossible. The tests are wrong."

  "They triple-checked, Ava. This" he waves the bag"is very real."

  She covers her mouth and looks around for a moment. "???."

  "So why are you telling me this?"

  "I… I wanted a second level-headed person to help investigate. Help with this. I'm going to go question the victim, Luke, at Royal."

  "That's why security is so tight."

  "We can't let this lea—" He hears tiles creak and fall and looks up, right at me. "Hey!"

  I feel that same heat from last night build up in my chest. It's no longer like spikes but embers, and then suddenly, the whole alley is full of smoke, and I'm running.

  "Shit, shit, shit."

  I sprint back to the fire escape, pounding down the steps two at a time. At the bottom, I leap onto the dumpster lid, and my knees buckle as I barely keep myself from falling. Without wasting a second, I regain my balance and hit the pavement running, narrowly avoiding two cops pushing through the frenzied reporters. I sprint down the street, my heart pounding in my chest as I weave to avoid bumping into pedestrians.

  Glancing back, I see I'm gaining ground on the two cops. I cut into an alley, using the same strength from before to propel myself three-quarters of the way up a fence. I then crawl over the top and jump down as the cops enter the alley. I run back out onto the street, spotting a small restaurant. I walk inside, trying to calm my breath and act normal. Choosing a booth at the back of the diner, I sit and steady my breathing, watching the cops run by through the warped glass.

  I sigh and think about what those detectives said. The bones made me nauseous; it didn't make sense, but then again, nothing from the past 24 hours made sense. I'm a walking cigarette, for God's sake. I hold my head and think of a plan. Eliot's still missing, and the last person around him was Luke, who's at Royal. My mom works there; people know me. Maybe I could get into his room and talk to him. Would he even want to talk to me? My hands ball up, tightening into fists.

  "I don't care if that ass hat wants to talk or not. There's something wrong with my friend, and he's gonna spill."

  ■

  I walk into Royal Hospital, moving slowly as I hold a get-well card and some chocolates. The bottom floor is packed as usual, a blur of faces and voices. I join the line, glancing around at the chaotic scene—nurses rush past, phones ring incessantly, and in opposite corners, two groups of men in gang colors exchange dirty looks. They don't come to blows, though. Even the worst kind of person respects this place or at least doesn't want to get kicked out.

  At the front desk, I spot Rebecca, a familiar face. She's a short woman with fair skin, her blonde hair framing light blue eyes.

  "Hi, Rebecca."

  "Oh, hi, Jacob. What

  brings you here?"

  "I wanted to check on a friend and drop these off," I say, holding up the card and chocolates.

  "Oh, who?"

  "Luke."

  "Oh, him. He just got checked in last night. We're not—" She looks up at me and can tell I'm desperate, and sighs. "Just drop the stuff off at room 403."

  "Thank you, Rebecca."

  "No problem, Jacob."

  I hurry toward the stairs before she can change her mind. The climb to the fourth floor feels like it takes forever, but I find room 403 quickly. It's mostly empty, with the lights on low and the TV on. There's only a bed, a heart monitor, and a chair in the center of the room, with Luke lying in it awake. The right half of his face and eye are wrapped in layers of thick, sterile bandages, concealing the injury. The other side is bruised from our fight yesterday.

  "Yo."

  He turns to look at me, surprised by the voice, but when he sees it's me, the visible half of his face contorts in rage.

  "GET OUT!" His voice is hoarse.

  I close the door behind me and sit in the chair next to him, dropping the chocolate and the card in his lap.

  "Like the eyepatch."

  "how the fuck are you even here"

  "i know a person who work here and as much as I don't want to be here I'm just here to talk."

  "To talk?"

  "Yep." There's an awkward silence, and I see him consider pressing the nurse button, but he doesn't and lets me talk.

  "So, what happened to you?"

  He pulls up his covers, and I see a cast on his foot.

  "my face isn't as bad as it looks but" He stops a shutter running through him as I stay quiet

  "my legs pretty fucked up The doctors say i might never walk again "

  I just stare at him, unable to say anything.

  "Just ask what you wanna ask."

  "You're the last person who saw him. I just wanna know what happened."

  "I just remember kicking him, and then him convulsing. I stopped, and when he got up, he was different. I don't know, after that, I can't remember anything but him pressing down on my leg…"

  There a pause after that allows his words to sink into my mind.

  "I don't like you very much."

  "Save it and get out."

  "Wait, just let me finish my point So I'm not gonna lie and say I fell bad for u but just i hope you get better"

  He acknowledges the sentiment with a grunt and I stand up and leave.

  "What the fuck did you do, Eliot?"

  ■

  I make my way back to my apartment and then keep heading south. As I walk, the neighborhood changes. The echo of traffic evens out and eventually stops, replaced by the occasional shout or dog bark, as creaks in the street get larger and more frequent. I look up, and the apartment building next to me has peeling paint. In the center is a massive mural of a gold crown, bright against the dull walls, its edges lined with flags from Latin American countries. Beneath it, the date "98-6-14."

  "Kings."

  I keep walking for a couple more blocks until I reach Eliot's home. The paint is a dull, faded red with a small lawn covered by a metal fence. I walk past and stop in front of the door. What was I supposed to tell he that her grandson's growing bones, that he brutalized another student, that he's missing, and it's my fault? I take a deep breath and knock lightly on the door. I hear shuffling behind the door, and it slowly opens.

  "Oh, Jacob, how are you?"

  The voice comes from an old Hispanic woman. I didn't know how old Eliot's grandmother was, but I'd guess at least late 60s. She stood a little over 5'9", her posture still upright despite her age. Her short curls, once black, were now flecked with white, framing a face deeply etched with wrinkles.

  "I'm... I'm alright."

  "Well, Eliot isn't here right now, but still, would you like to come in?"

  "Nah, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to check on you."

  "Jacob, I've known you since you were 12."

  "Yeah?"

  "And I know when you're lying. What's wrong?"

  I sigh and hold the back of my neck.

  "Did Eliot come back here last night?"

  "No, he said he called and said he was going to spend the night at a friend's house. Why?"

  "I... nothing, just worried about him."

  "Jacob, you're a good boy for worrying about your friends, and I haven't gotten to thank you yet for helping my grandson yesterday." My shoulders feel heavy, guilt welling up in me.

  "But I trust my boy. He should be fine."

  I can't bring myself to tell her anything, but that was out of my hands at that point. I hear a car pull up and turn to see the two cops from the alley getting out of the car. I lock eyes with one of them, and I see his eyes light up.

  "Please don't recognize me."

  And that light vanishes as soon as it appears. The woman walks ahead and pulls out her badge.

  "Ma'am, we're with RCPD. Can we talk?"

  "Jacob, I think it's best you leave."

  I look back at the cop, then back to her, and nod my head. I walk past the two officers and start heading home. I pull out my phone and check the time, it's 2:43. I had been out all day and was no closer to finding my friend. Now his grandma is learning about what he did to strangers instead of someone who actually cares about her because I'm too much scar-

  I hear a creak and look down at my phone, cracked. Before I can lose it, I hear someone behind me speak up.

  "Yo, pedejo, empty your wallet."

  I turn around to see who's threatening me. It's a tall, lean Hispanic man, about a year or two older than me. He carries a small switchblade lazily in his left hand. His voice is slow and arrogant in just the right way to drive me up a wall. It would be easier to just hand over my wallet; I only had $15 at most. It would be easier to just do what he wanted, but fuck this guy.

  "How about you fucking take it from me."

  "Fuck you say to me?"

  "Are you deaf, pedejo, or do you need me to repeat th—"

  He raises his arm and slashes downward while I tilt my body to his right to sidestep and plant a fist in his gut, making him double over and step back, dropping his weapon. I kick his knife away, and he looks up at me and then back down, reaching for it. When his hand was right over it I kicked him in the face, knocking him out.

  I sigh and turn to leave.