Blend

30:00 | this fat mess

"THIS IS a bad fucking idea," Peewee mutters, surveying Desert Cove Apartments. "The more people we involve, the more this situation gets out of hand."

It takes everything within me not to scream back at the dead girl in my passenger's seat.

The actual nerve.

She's the whole reason I'm in this fat mess.

Instead I bite a hangnail, refusing to engage.

I can tell by Ace's silence that he probably thinks I'm insane. After all, I have been angry-whispering to Peewee for most of the drive to his uncle's. She really pushes my buttons, though. Peewee operates on impulsivity, brashness, and pushiness—all traits of an excellent lawyer, I suppose, but a ghost? I'm over her. And maybe her domineering nature is a side effect of the murder. I wouldn't know. I've never engaged with a spirit like this before.

Fine.

I can't entirely blame Peewee for the fix I'm in. I mean, I knew she was planning to do something crazy and I might've planted the seed in her head, but damn. Here I am—breaking the law for a boy who couldn't give two fucks about me before all this.

"Maurio said someone would meet us?" I ask, turning to my right.

Ace is still cradled in my backseat. His eyes are like open windows to the uncertainty spiraling inside his soul.

I frown, really taking him in. I wasn't able to do so while driving, not even while he called his uncle through Facebook Messenger on my phone. But ever since I parked into this apartment complex five minutes ago, he's been eerily quiet. Like his escape is finally dawning. Like he has no clue where to go from here.

It dawns on me that Ace has been through hell the past ten hours. It shows on every square inch of him—from the faint bruises along his jawline when the cops beat him against the asphalt to the lack of sleep in his eyes. I feel for the guy.

"Yeah," he finally murmurs, as if in a trance. "His girlfriend's brother. Zion."

"Zion could be calling the cops for all we know," Peewee grumbles.

I ignore her, but my frown deepens. "You sure he's straight?"

Ace shrugs. "Don't even know him."

Peewee slaps her face. "You're fucked, Dev. I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

Biting my hangnail harder, I keep my gaze on Ace. "Let's hope your uncle knows what he's doing."

"I think that's him," Ace says, pointing past my shoulder.

I look over to a lanky Black man in a plain hoodie heading for my car. My shoulders straighten while my heart triples in speed.

Beside me, Peewee searches the area. "No little piggies yet but that doesn't mean he hasn't snitched."

I want to tell her to chill because her energy is screwing with my energy but I'm too busy running through each scenario in my head. What would I do if I got arrested? What would I tell my parents?

The man approaches my door. I take a deep breath and roll the window down a crack. I can sense Ace tensing behind me.

"You Zion?" my voice wavers.

"Tha's me."

Ace props himself up. "Maurio said you'll help 'til he leaves the protest."

Zion flashes a bright smile to the boy in my backseat. He's older than I thought, maybe somewhere in his forties, and his easy demeanor relaxes the tendons in my shoulders.

"Ya'll follow me."

Desert Cove Apartments is a complex of about four, single story rows. Each row has about eight tenets and apparently Maurio manages the complex with his girlfriend—Zion's sister—Bethel.

"Thank God no one's out," Peewee comments.

And I happen to agree. Ghosts and humans are scarce to come by. Maybe because it's a Sunday afternoon that the complex is vacant. In the distance, I do spot a few children splashing around in the community pool and a couple barbecuing nearby. They're far enough that they won't be able to identify Ace.

Zion stops in front of a door and takes out a huge ring of keys.

"Is this guy Heaven's gatekeeper?" Peewee snorts.

Eventually he unlocks apartment number twenty-two and nods for Ace and I to come inside. We step into a dark, damp, and bare living space. It smells like it could use a good cleaning but there is some furniture: a threadbare couch dented by springs, a foldable table and a splinting stool, and a running refrigerator. One glance down the hall shows a box spring mattress in the only bedroom.

"Your uncle told me to give you this," Zion says, scraping off the key. "And he says he'll be here soon with some food and shit. Just lay low, man. You and your girl."

"Oh we're not—I'm not—he's not—"

"Thanks," Ace finishes, taking the key from Zion. "For everything."

Heat explodes on my cheeks. I sounded like Boo Boo the Fool.

Not helping, Peewee bursts into laughter.

"No sweat, my nigga. We all know you didn't kill that girl. These cops be comin' for us any way they can."

Ace seems to take courage from that, straightening himself. Zion holds up his fist and Ace meets him with his. Then they pound each other into a hug. A warmness spreads within me as I watch. Then, Zion nods a goodbye, leaving us both alone in the dark.

Peewee sighs onto the couch. "So far so good. The three of us are together, safe. And now we can finally focus on catching my killer."