Converse in Crimson

Rain generously falls onto the concrete ground while I exit the car. I put my arms over my head to shield myself from the rain, but it turns out to be useless. They drop down my arms and onto my Converse shoes. 

“Why does it always rain on my birthday?” I grumble. 

“Well, rain symbolizes growth, you know? You’re growing, makes sense.” Mia says while grabbing the umbrella from the trunk.

“Since when have you been a know-it-all?” I roll my eyes.

“I’m older than you, so I’m smarter, but since it's your birthday, I won’t push it in your face.” She opens the umbrella and walks to the passenger seat, where Ma sits. Her words always come out full of confidence and ego, and it’s always annoying. 

The sky turns to a greyish-blueish color, and the air starts to smell like gasoline.

“Ma, let’s go~” I turn my back to the car as I look at Wulk Mall and watch the lights flicker on and off at the entrance like a horror movie, signaling not to go inside. Sounds of footsteps emerge behind me, and I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder. Pa. 

“OK, birthday boy, where do you wanna go first?” Pa grins, awaiting my response as we stood in front of the mall.

“Isn’t there a Dunkin’ inside?” I ask.

“Probably”.

We walk toward the entrance while avoiding the puddles, and I notice Pa’s pockets and how there isn’t a pocketknife sticking out. Every time we leave the house, he always brings one, stating how the world is a cruel place and how people will do the most messed up things at the most unexpected moments.

Strange.

But I forget the thought, thinking it’s just a mistake, and roam through the automatic doors as they let the cold air in. The roof stands tall, and red and green lights suspend across it, its soft glow casting a warm ambiance throughout the mall.

“Where do you wanna go, Alex?” Ma says.

“Can we go up? All the good things are on the top floors.” I say, pointing up.

“Bet,” Mia says while racing to the elevator. I chase after her, my shoes squeaking on the floor every step. 

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Mia runs gently into the wall beside the elevator, making sure not to go headfirst onto the marble walls, and teases, “Guess you aren’t the fastest anymore.”

“Not fair, you had a head start,” I complain.

Ma and Pa walk a bit faster, catching up with us. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can run around acting like children. You’re 12, act like it,” Pa says with his head up high, but it doesn’t look like him. Whenever he lectures us, he has a warm smile spread across his face. His summer smile, Ma calls it. But this “smile”… is just full of disgust.

“Sorry,” I mumble out. Why was he salty? Ma presses the rusting button for up on the elevator and watches as the numbers roll down.

Four. Three. Two. One.

Ding.

As we all cram into the tiny elevator, the thought about Pa’s look plays around in my mind. I’ve never seen him with a mien like that. First, no pocketknife, now a new expression? 

Weird.

But I force myself to push the thought in the back of my head. Like I said, nothing’s going to ruin this day. Ma presses the third-floor button, and the elevator doors hum close, enveloping us in hard steel. The elevator fills with silence, like a party without music.

“Are we going to go to Baskin Robbins for the cake?” Mia says with an effort to break the awkwardness. 

“Soon,” Pa says. 

What’s taking this elevator so long? 

“What are we doing-” 

Screech!

Clunk!

I fall back into the walls and hold the railings so hard that my fingertips begin to pale under the strain. The heck was that? I look over at Ma and see her holding the railing tightly. Then I see Pa bent over, gripping his hands around the railing, and looking at Ma with a tense look. An uneasy look. Which is odd because he’s never nervous. When he was being threatened by a giant pitbull, he didn’t run in terror, he just slowly took steps back till he was far enough. Or when he got mugged at gunpoint, he didn’t beg for his life, he just gave him the money and got out alive. But out of all of that, this is when he’s scared?

Strange.

“What just happened,” Ma asks. Mia’s hands traveled from the railing to the elevator buttons, pushing every one of them with a shaky mien on her face, desperate to get out. 

“Mia,” Pa says.

Click, click, click.

“Mia,” he says again.

Click, click, click.

“Mia!” he yells with a miffed temper.

“What!? You know I'm not good with stupid small spaces!” Mia yells back.

That's true. Ever since grade school, she's been stuck with the memory of the day a bunch of stuck-up snobs locked her in the janitor's closet for hours at a time. Finally found when a teacher heard her cries from inside. The egotistical brats got away with a warning, and Mia was left with trauma and claustrophobia. 

Extreme claustrophobia.

“I know, and we'll get out; you're going to break it even more if you keep pressing buttons,” Pa says, standing up but still holding onto the railing in case it decides to scare us again.

“What do we do?” Mia's voice floods with memories. The memories of being locked in the closet with only her thoughts to entertain her. Pa’s lips purse. “Press the call button, Mia,” he says after a while. Mia quickly moves her fingers to the call button and presses it firmly.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

“Why aren’t they answering?” Ma stands, moves to the buttons beside Mia, and presses the same button repeatedly. What the hell? “Why isn’t it-”

Shh!

The doors open, revealing an expansive darkness–a room as vast as a basement and as chilling as ice. So cold that it sends shivers down my spine.

“What the hell is this?” Mia says, but right after the words leave her mouth, Pa pushes her forward onto the cold ground. “Get out. All of you,” he says, pointing a gun at my head. Crap. The light from inside the elevator reflects from the gun, playing with my life. I immediately shoot my hands up; I don’t know why, it just feels instinctive.

“OK! OK! Pa!” I walk further into the abyss, and he then points the gun at Ma, doing the same thing.

 Pa’s never been mentally ill before. Aside from Insomnia, I don’t think you can count that as a mental illness though. So why? Why was he acting like this? Pointing a gun at us, threatening to pull the trigger, I guess he was right. People will do the most messed up things at the most unexpected moments.

“Love, put the gun down,” Ma quakingly says while holding my father’s hands. “Why should I?” Pa pushes her slightly to the middle of the room and turns on the light. The walls are scratched and dusty, probably in the middle of construction. Random walls are just sticking out, narrow, and soiled. My eyes blur from the dust, and my nose feels like I have the flu. But I only sniffle. I won’t budge, unwilling to risk my life by wiping my nose. I spot Mia on her feet looking around, as if we share the same thoughts.

“Pa, please, what are you doing?” My mind races with what could be the outcome. I could either die or get an answer. “I never really liked you, Alex. You’re a spoiled kid who thinks the world revolves around them. If you don’t get what you want, you’ll have a tantrum, like a fricking five-year-old.” Those words struck deep. He never said stuff like that unless I disrespect Ma (which I rarely do). Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. OK.

“Pa…what?”

“Don’t act like you’re so innocent,”

So with that, he squeezes the trigger, and a gunshot pierces the air.

I hold my breath, and close my eyes, waiting for me to fall into forever sleep,... which I never do.

“AAAAAAA!” I hear Mia scream. I hastily turn my head in her direction and see Ma lying on the ground, adorned in a stark and ominous shade of red. “MA!” I yell, but as I’m about to run toward her and watch her last breath, another goes off.

Blam!

A bullet narrowly misses my head, but it finds its mark on Mia. She crumples to the floor, a gunshot right at her neck–a chilling scene of blood slowly pooling around the wound, staining the fabric beneath her. 

Oh god. Oh no. No, no, no, no. What do I do? OK, OK, just breathe. One…two..three. One… damn it, the smell of blood poisoned the air. Smells horrid. OK, do I have anything to defend myself with? I look around the floor for anything, a broken pipe, a knife. No, of course, I’m not going to find a knife down here. But then I spot it. Stained in Mia’s blood, was a screwdriver. A really grody screwdriver. 

I look over at Pa, scared out of my mind, and see him facing the other way, cleaning his face from the blood. This is my chance. I softly take steps toward it, my Converse drown in Mia’s blood. Guess there was no point in protecting it from the rain. I bend down and with shaky hands, pick it up. The blood imprints on my hands, but I refuse to look at who the blood is coming from. I hold the screwdriver straight, pointing at Pa. Then I take steps. One, two, three, four, five, six. Come on, one more. I’m standing right behind his back, holding the screwdriver at his abdomen. Come on, do it, do it before it’s too late, damn it.

So I do.

Pa gasps, falls to his knees, and holds his stomach, the blood mares on his hands. A sudden chilling realization struck: Did I really just do that? The air tightened, carrying the scent of death and blood. Crap. I wasn't thinking right. No please, go back! God, please!

“Luna…” He says as his last breath. What? That’s my aunt's name.

“SUPRISE!” All my family members are here, including Luna. And all their faces drop once they see it.

“DAV!” Luna runs toward Pa and holds him. What’s happening? I look Ma and Mia’s way and see them sitting up, horror on their faces.

“Alex,... it was a prank.”