Chapter 1: Something in the Dark.

The Abyss Stares Back

Chapter 1: Something in the Dark.

Brockton Bay, Evening shift, 9:47 PM (January, 2011)

Nathaniel "Nate" Vasquez.

I used to think life was unfair. But now I know it just doesn’t give a damn. Life was sucky for everyone in Brockton Bay, mainly the general civilians. For the gangs, life was still sucky. Still, considering all the damage they cause, they aren’t in any more danger than the typical civilian—if the civilian is unlucky enough.

The cheap lights of the store flickered above me as I leaned against the counter, wiping down the register for what felt like the hundredth time. The radio in the corner was playing some old rock song, the kind my dad used to hum under his breath before he—

I sighed. The pain wasn’t worth it to think about that.

The corner store was dead at this hour, just the occasional customer shuffling in to grab a six-pack or a pack of smokes. Honestly, it was not the safest place to work, but the manager didn’t ask questions, and I needed the cash. Mom wasn’t paying the bills anymore.

My stomach twisted at the thought of her. I should’ve gone home by now, like a regular guy my age, but no. I had to earn enough to eat and feed the waste of air my mom had become. I knew I couldn’t fault her and that it wasn’t fair to blame the woman who gave herself to the world to raise me after Dad died. But the gnawing anger always clawed at me when I thought of the husk she was now.

I should’ve checked on her and ensured she wasn’t passed out somewhere. But I didn’t want to see her like that again. Not tonight. Not after what Jenna unleashed into our home.

Jenna.

My jaw clenched at the name. How fast love could change into hate had surprised me, but I had never regretted introducing Jenna to my mom as much as now.

Our house always had problems—it was a given, being Hispanic and a mixed kid in Brockton Bay assured that—but Mom did her best. She worked hard, often arriving home super late just to bring enough to the table. She was a nurse at Brockton Bay General, and she put in the effort to make things work.

Life was hard but manageable until I took Jenna home.

My ex-girlfriend. I scowled thinking about her, my biggest mistake at the short age of sixteen. Jenna was a sweet girl if a little wild, but in my hormone-filled state, I liked that about her when we were together. I met her at school; she had been kicked out of Immaculata thanks to her wild nature and joined me at Winslow since she didn’t have the grades to get into Arcadia.

Her parents were well off, and she was beautiful, so she didn’t have trouble at school. Many people were surprised to see her end up with me in a relationship. It’s not like I was ugly or something, but we were simply not in the same economic class.

Her parents hated it—until they met me. I wouldn’t say I was someone without problems, but I could be considered a good kid, and they liked that.

The Caldwells liked me, and I liked them back. Jason, Jenna’s father, was like a second father to me. He helped my family when we couldn’t do so ourselves, and they did it without asking for anything in return.

Jenna was the sweet kid for her parents, and they spoiled her rotten. Therein lay the problem. A wealthy kid in Winslow attracted attention, and not of the good kind. Considering she was a blond bombshell comparable in looks to Glory Girl, a bunch of Neo-Nazis tried to court her, and they were pissed at a “beaner” being together with her and “polluting” her blood.

That brought a lot of problems, for me specifically. While they didn’t interfere much during school aside from pushes and taunting remarks, outside was another thing. I could see them following me as I took the buses back home, and while thankfully they didn’t do anything to me, I was afraid of them trying something.

The ABB wannabes were the ones who gave me the least problems. Oh, some of them tried to get Jenna to cheat on me with them, but it was for nothing. She genuinely cared for me at the start.

No… the ones who ruined both of our lives were the kids selling drugs inside the school. The ones who were connected to the Merchants.

The Merchants weren’t that well-known nor dangerous compared to the other two gangs in the city, but in my opinion, they were the worst of all for what they had done to me.

Jenna was a rich kid and a little crazy. It had started slow… just some weed, she said, nothing hard.

Nothing hard, my ass. She did startslow, a couple of joints every few days, but as she got bored of that, she started consuming the blasted white powder that ruined our lives.

She had changed a lot by that time, and after I failed to help her, I just had to cut her out of my life. She was a husk of her former self, at least to me.

The deep attraction and love I had for her diminished the longer it went on, and finally, we broke up. That was the end, or at least I thought so.

No… she was adamant that she could change, that she still loved me, and that we could work it out. We tried, I forgave her and gave her my support whenever I could, but she went back to the wretched drugs once more.

I cut her off entirely after that. She cried, begged, and did everything she could to talk to me, but I ignored her. I spoke with her parents to help her and did everything I could, but nothing changed.

Until that day.

Jenna went to my home one day when I was outside with some friends and found my mother in the house, all alone.

I had not told my mother why I broke up with Jenna. My mom, Margaret, always liked the wild girl, and I didn’t want to taint her image of Jenna. That was a mistake.

Jenna found my mother deep in her cups, relaxing after almost 30 hours of nonstop work, crying over a mess of unpaid bills. My mom was at her most vulnerable, and instead of helping, Jenna ruined everything.

When I came back that day, I found my mother drugged up to her gills, with Jenna passed out on the couch next to her.

I remember that day vividly. I was just entering the house after a nice dinner with some classmates at Fugly Bob’s—nothing wild, just enjoying the last days of vacation. I was about to enter the last year of Winslow, and we couldn’t be happier with that information.

Flashback:

August, 2010

For a long moment, I just stood there, my breath caught in my throat. The TV flickered in the background, the same cheesy drama Jenna used to watch whenever she was visiting. The show lit up the mess of empty bottles and crushed pill packets scattered across the coffee table.

I tried to step forward, but my body refused to move.

“Mom?” My voice came out hoarse.

She didn’t react. Her body is still like a statue.

I shook her shoulder hard. But she did nothing.

I could feel bile rising in my throat. I pressed my fingers to her neck and breathed a sigh of relief. There was a pulse, weak… but there.

“Dios mío,” I whispered.

Jenna stirred at the sound of my voice, mumbling something unintelligible before rolling over, utterly oblivious to the scene I was seeing.

My fist clenched, and I could feel the anger coiling inside my belly. Why had she done this?

I wanted to scream; I wanted to shake her awake and demand answers—why, why the fuck did she do this to my mom, to me, to herself.

But I controlled myself. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Mom was stable but unresponsive. The EMTs asked if she had taken anything. I just pointed at Jenna. I couldn’t speak aloud; my mind was a complete wreck, and my heart… was the same.

Jenna didn’t even wake up as they checked her vitals.

“What’s her name?” one of the paramedics asked.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat before whispering, “Jenna Caldwell.”

“Is she family?”

I clenched my fist hard enough to crack. “Not anymore.”

Flashback End.

Mom spent three days in the hospital where she used to work. She survived. But she was never the same.

Jenna’s parents pulled some strings. They took care of the hospital bills for me. Jenna went to rehab. Got “clean.” I never saw her again.

But the damage was done.

Mom was never the same. The caring mother I had disappeared. Oh, she tried, she tried really hard. I don’t remember precisely what Jenna had given her, but Mom was hooked instantly. Seeing her go through the cravings… it was hard. I thought she was trying her best, working at night and sleeping with some of her friends from work. I believed she was doing everything she could to forget that.

Time passed. I was, well, not happy, but getting by until one day—the day we returned from Winter break. I went like normal, ready to face the six months in this shithole, and I was getting better. That day, when I returned, I found my mom drugged once more. She hadn’t been trying at all.

The nights I believed she was working overtime or staying with her friends? She was getting drugged, who knows where.

I called 911 for the second time, then my mother’s work friends, asking for information.

She survived once more. Thank God. But the problems had just started.

She was fired from her job. When they saw she was drugged for the second time, they checked the inventory. They found my mom was stealing pills to get high. It didn’t matter if they wanted to help anymore. She was so far gone that the hospital had no other option but to let her go.

The last thing I heard from them was some of her coworkers helping her by covering the bills. I was never more ashamed of my mother.

I had to start working. The house was ours, thanks to my father.

Gabriel Vasquez. The man I looked up to. The man whose memory gave me the strength to keep going on the worst days.

My father was a Special Forces soldier assigned to anti-cartel operations. He spent over twenty years fighting the cartels. His job was harsh; he had to go after drug traffickers, corrupt politicians, and hitmen renowned around Mexico.

How did he meet my mother, you ask? He killed the son of a high-ranking cartel member during one of his operations back in Mexico and had to flee for his life. He came here to Brockton Bay and joined as a construction worker with the Dockworkers Association until the day he died.

I don’t think many people know the truth about my father, but the stories he told me shaped me into the person I am now.

This was why I also resented my mother so much. What she had become was a sin against the memory of my father, the love of her life. It was why it hurt so much to see her now.

I, of course, took the mantle of the man of the house when I realized that Mom could not go on.

Things were hard, but we managed. This store gave me the money to eat and feed my mom, and a couple of odd jobs made it possible to pay the rest of the bills. The way my life was going, I would probably end up working at the Dockworkers Association, too, since I couldn’t afford to study in college. I needed to keep providing for my mother.

She had found a side job that brought in enough for us to finally breathe. I couldn’t help but think things were looking up for us.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The bell above the door jingled.

I looked up, instinctively straightening. Three guys walked in—hoods up faces shadowed, all of them stinking of sweat and stale weed.

I knew that look.

My heart pounded, but I kept my face blank. Maybe they were just here to buy something.

Then one of them—tall, greasy, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time tweaking than sleeping—grinned at me.

“There you are, little shit,” he drawled.

I felt my stomach sink. Fuck.

“Do I know you?” I forced myself to stay calm.

“Nah,” he said, stepping forward, his breath stank of rot, “but I know your mom.”

His grin widened, showing yellowed, rotting teeth.

“She’s been real… friendly with my boys lately.”

I froze. No. No fucking way.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My voice came out sharp, angrier than I meant it to.

The Merchant laughed, amused like he enjoyed watching the realization dawn on my face.

“Shit, you really don’t know?” he mocked, tilting his head. “Your mom’s been working off her debt. Got herself a nice little side hustle moving product for us.”

My breath hitched. Lies. Had to be.

“She wouldn’t—”

“She did.” He cut me off, taking another step closer. “You think she’s been getting high for free? Nah, man. We gave her enough to move, but turns out? She’s real bad at business.”

The other two guys chuckled.

My hands clenched into fists. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to break his fucking jaw.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice cold.

Greaseball’s grin sharpened. “See, the thing is, we fronted her some product. She was supposed to sell it. Bring us the cash. But guess what?”

I didn’t answer.

“She fucking ran,” he sneered. “Disappeared. No money. No product. That’s a problem.”

My pulse pounded in my ears.

“You think I know where she is?” I forced out.

“That’s why we’re here, dumbass.” His voice darkened, his amusement slipping away. “You live in the same house. You see her every day. So you’re gonna tell us where she is.”

I swallowed, my brain scrambling for an answer. Mom ran? I didn’t even know what to think.

But if it was true—if she really ran with their drugs—then she was already dead if they found her first.

“She didn’t tell me shit,” I said. It wasn’t even a lie.

The Merchant studied me, eyes narrowing. “That so?”

The other two moved to block the door. My skin prickled. Shit.

Greaseball reached into his jacket. My whole body tensed. A gun? A knife?

Instead, he pulled out a small plastic baggie filled with white powder.

“You recognize this, don’t you?” he said, shaking it. “Yeah, you do. See, your mom? She didn’t sell shit. She just kept using.”

My jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

Greaseball leaned in, voice dropping to something dark. “She owes us, kid. And if we don’t get our shit back, someone’s gonna have to pay.”

The implication was clear.

I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn’t a cape. I was a fucking high school student working night shifts at a convenience store.

And yet, I knew exactly how this would go at that moment.

If they didn’t find her, they’d come for me next.

My fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

“I don’t know where she is,” I said, forcing my voice steady.

The Merchant held my gaze for a long moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s a real shame, man.”

Then his fist swung for my gut.

I twisted and felt the wind of the punch miss me by inches.

Then I grabbed his wrist—just like Dad taught me—yanked forward, and drove my forehead straight into his fucking nose.

CRACK.

Greaseball reeled back, screaming, blood gushing between his fingers.

“FUCK! You broke my fucking nose!”

One of the others lunged. I caught him in the ribs with a palm strike, then twisted his arm so hard that something snapped.

The third guy hesitated. I could see the doubt in his eyes.

I took a step forward—momentum on my side—

Pain exploded in my stomach.

I gasped, staggering back.

I looked down.

The knife in Greaseball’s hand was slick with blood.

The bastard stabbed me.

I tried to breathe. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt.

Greaseball laughed, wiping the blood from his busted nose. “Didn’t expect that, did ya?”

I dropped to my knees.

Shit. Shit.

One of them grabbed me and yanked my head back, baring my neck.

“Time to teach this little fucker a lesson,” Greaseball muttered.

The needle came next.

I barely felt it initially—just a sharp sting in my neck.

Then the warmth started creeping through my veins, like a slow, heavy fog. My limbs felt sluggish, and my thoughts dulled like someone had stuffed cotton into my skull.

No.

I knew what this was.

They were trying to make me one of them.

And then—

Rap. Tap. Tap.

A sound. Faint, distant… Wrong.

At first, I thought it was just my heartbeat, distorted by the drugs seeping into my system. But no…it was something else.

Rap. Tap. Tap.

The store lights flickered—not like before. This wasn’t the weak, cheap buzz of dying lights.

The shadows stretched.

The Merchants stopped.

The one holding me cursed, turning toward the door.

“The fuck was that?”

The light dimmed more. Not just the shitty store bulbs—all of it. The world outside the windows blurred, the streetlamps growing hazy and distant like the store sank into a deeper, darker place.

The walls groaned. The glass doors rattled in their frames. The air smelled… wrong.

A whisper slithered through the room. Not in my ears. Inside my head.

A chuckle. Low. Amused. Hungry.

The shadows twisted. Something shifted in the corner of my vision.

I tried to avoid looking in that direction. I couldn’t.

Then I saw him.

Or should I say… I saw me.

A shape peeled itself out of the darkness.

Tall. Too tall. My height, but stretched, just slightly off.

My clothes. My face. But wrong.

Blacker than black, skin the color of darkness, edges blurred like static. It moved wrong, its limbs bending in ways that didn’t make sense.

And its face—my face—grinned.

Too wide. Too many teeth.

The Merchants saw it too.

One of them made a sound—a garbled, choking whimper. Another backpedaled toward the door.

The door wasn’t there anymore.

I tried to breathe. My lungs felt tight. Like something was watching from inside my own ribs, pressing against my bones.

Rap. Tap. Tap.

The thing tilted its head at me, eyes glinting with something I couldn’t name.

"You’ll do, kiddo."

Then everything exploded.

The lights shattered, raining glass onto the floor. The shelves collapsed in on themselves, twisting like paper in a fire.

The shadows came alive.

They latched onto the Merchants, dragging them down.

They screamed.

Not like typical screams. Not human. Something deeper, rawer, broken.

One of them clawed at the floor, nails peeling and leaving bloody trails as the darkness swallowed him whole.

Another thrashed, his body distorting—his jaw stretched wide, his eyes bulging—before he simply… folded inward. Like he had never been there at all.

The last one—Greaseball—tried to run.

He made it two steps before the thing looked at him.

I saw his face for one last moment. Mouth open, eyes wide, silent, frozen in absolute horror.

Then he was gone.

The store was empty.

The shadows settled, the walls stopped groaning, and the world outside returned, flickering back into place like someone flipping through static channels.

I was alone.

No.

Not alone.

The thing still stood there.

It was me.

Same face. Same eyes. I used to give the same smirk in the mirror before the world started grinding me down.

Only now, it was too sharp. Too knowing.

It smiled wider—my smile, stretched too far.

"Get up, kiddo."

I couldn’t move.

"Come on now," it cooed. "Don’t go dying on me now. You are just perfect."

Then, the darkness swallowed me, too.