Chapter 14: Welcome to Harlem

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Struggling to adapt to his seat, Mr

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Struggling to adapt to his seat, Mr. Sanchez asked the boy how he knew his son was dead.

"Actually." Brooke began softly. "I had seen a vision of Enrique being chased by a monster or something."

"What?" Mrs. Sanchez murmured. "You saw a vision? What do you mean, Brooke?"

That's when the girl grew quiet.

Colorful mermaids and exotic wildlife waved hello behind the glass barriers, but no one acknowledged them. Truth be told, the mythological creatures and sea animals have other things to attend to.

Water serpents lurk below the surface to find their meals; the hippocampi emitted a whiny neigh while swishing its tail across the water.

And don't get me started on Sirens. Their voices sang with lust and harmony, but their intentions are as cruel as any mortal who walks among the Earth.

Ignoring the vast water and inquisitive sea creatures, Enrique's parents ask the young oracle to give them some insight into their son's murder.

"Were you and Caleb at the scene?" asked Mrs. Sanchez.

"Not exactly," Brooke explained, pretending to study the chiseled graffiti on the table.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

Brooke twiddles her thumbs. She wasn't so sure if the couple would handle the truth.

Just then, a firm, yet polite Johnny tries to dissuade the topic, but Mr. Sanchez refused to heed his words.

A worried Mr. Sanchez gets up from his chair and gives her a worried smile.

"Just tell me what you saw," he urged. "Who killed our Ricky?"

Brooke looks up from the table and trembles like a leaf. 

"I don't know," she repeats, terrified. "It was too dark, and I couldn't see his face. Please sir, I—"

"The police won't tell us anything about that day!" Mr. Sanchez yells, reducing Brooke's sentence to tiny pieces.

"The doctors are giving us the runaround, and the only evidence we have is telling us that Ricky—"

"First of all, Enrique hates being called Ricky," Caleb spoke up coldly.

He glares at a speechless Mr. Sanchez then continued, "second of all, I respect that you and your wife are grieving over your son's death, but I don't appreciate you grilling my girlfriend for answers."

"So, unless you want the train conductor to throw us out, I suggest that you go back to your seat, apologize, and leave Brooke alone."

His unstable voice shook so loud that the train passengers looked at him suspiciously before returning to their hobbies.

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