We dodged hanging laundry and upturned crates, turning left and right without any real sense of direction, just trying to get away.
I turned on Jean, my arm hot as the blood dripped down onto my wrist.
"This is part of your script, right?"
Jean didn't answer; he gripped my hand tighter as he pulled me forward, practically dragging me as I struggled to keep pace with his strides.
But then our path ended abruptly at a high stone wall, a dead end.
I pressed my palms against the wall and pushed, certain that it was a prop wall made of cardboard and that it would topple over, revealing a group of actors and cameras. But the stone was smooth, cold, and immovable. My frustration peaked, and I banged my fists against it. Pain shot through my fingers. Dumb. So dumb.
"I don't want to play this game anymore," I shouted at the wall, as I spun in my spot and looked and prayed I could spot cameras in the shadowed corners.
The world around me wasn't my own.
My stomach lurched as that thought entered my head and took residence there.
"No, no, this can't be happening," I muttered to myself. Jean grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to look at him. His face mirrored my panic, though he was trying to hide it.
"We need to turn around, there is a turn we missed, if we go down that way we can —"
"Trapped like rats," the short man sneered as they caught up to us. Both of them fanned out, blocking any chance of escape, their eyes gleaming with cruel intent.
I pressed my back against the cool wall, hands cradling my head as I couldn't stop myself from unraveling.
Get it together. There is a logical explanation. They grabbed the wrong prop. This is all still part of the game. You will be home soon.
"Stay behind me," Jean murmured, his voice barely audible as he positioned himself between me and the two men.
"If you'd just handed over the Xoltecan wench, you wouldn't have gotten hurt, boy," the short man said again, pulling out the knife.
Hurt?
The word pierced through my jumbled thoughts as I finally took a good look at Jean. I had assumed the red spots on his hand and shirt were from me, but then I saw it — a wet crimson splotch on his abdomen, and a dark pool spreading at his feet.
I rushed toward him, unable to believe what my eyes were seeing. It had to be fake. Jean stuck out his arms and held me back.
"It's fine, just stay behind me." His voice was strained, pained. "I will create an opening for you, and you must run and get far away from here."
I tried in vain once more to plead for what now seemed clear: "Stop this game. I don't want to play. I promise I won't sue you or whatever company you work for, please stop."
"I don't know what game you think this is, darling, " The taller man said, as he sneered, "But we will love playing with you after getting rid of the boy."
The men advanced, and I saw Jean brace himself, ready to fight.
My heart seized at his words. A sudden relief fought against the panic. This wasn't real; no one actually spoke like that. It was a game.
The reasoning was hollow, flawed, and I knew it.
Desperately, I reached into my hood, hoping to find something, anything that might help. That would confirm I wasn't going crazy.
My fingers brushed against something smooth and round in the inner pocket. Inspiration struck me like a bolt of lightning. With a fluid movement, I drew forth the Sunsphere, its core pulsed with a warm, ethereal light that bathed my face in a soft golden glow.
"Back off," I commanded, my heart pounding like a wild drum in my chest. "Or I swear, I'll release the sun's power and burn you all to ashes."
I'll keep playing along, then. I'll be the Xoltecan, the villain.
I heard something snap, and my head felt lighter.
The men advancing toward us came to an abrupt halt, exchanging wary glances. Skepticism flickered in their eyes, but so did fear. The short one took a daring step forward, his demeanor challenging me to make good on my threat.
"I see you don't value your lives," I shouted. Whatever bravado I had a few seconds ago was wavering. I raised the sunsphere higher, above my head.
"Sana, sana colita de rana," I began to chant, pouring every ounce of courage into the words, hoping they would resemble some ancient incantation.
"Wait," the taller man shouted, his eyes showed panic and fear as they locked onto the sphere in my grip. "I've heard stories…the Xoltecans possess evil magic."
"If that were true, why didn't she use it on us earlier?" the short man scoffed, continuing to move closer.
"Si no sana hoy," I continued, my voice growing louder. "Sanara manana. Sana, sana colita de rana!"
As I repeated the chant, a sudden pain coursed up my left arm. The sunsphere hummed, growing louder; I felt it reverberate through the narrow alley.
"She doesn't scare me!" The short man shouted before charging full speed at Jean.
The sunsphere's gentle warmth transformed into an unbearable inferno against my palm. A sharp gasp tore from my lips as the heat surged down my arm, controlling my muscles like a puppet to an unseen master. I was compelled beyond my control, and I launched the sunsphere to the ground.
It shattered upon impact, unleashing a blinding explosion that flooded the alley with a brilliance that devoured everything in its path. The light's onslaught swallowed the men's cries as they tried to shield themselves from the unleashed energy, realizing it was too late to escape the radiance enveloping them.
Jean threw his body on mine, using himself as a shield against the flash.
Blinking rapidly, my eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness that followed. When my vision cleared, the sight before me made my stomach turn. Sprawled on the ground in front of us were the charred bodies of the assailants, burned beyond recognition. Each figure was frozen in a macabre dance of death, blackened and brittle, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of scorched flesh.
Had I just killed, no, I was just playing along, they weren't… I couldn't finish the thought as I tasted bile rise into my mouth.
I turned to Jean, desperate for some semblance of understanding. For him to break character and tell me I had just been punked. It was all an elaborate prank.
He stood unsteadily, clutching his stomach, his face pale and covered in sweat. He looked at me through eyes glazed with pain, offering a crooked smile that was forced for my benefit. He swayed and fell forward. I caught him, barely, before his knees hit the stone ground. My stomach churned as the scent of copper reached my nostrils, and the warmth of his blood spread across my palms.
"You're going to be alright," I whispered, throwing his arm around my shoulders.
Our progress was painfully slow as we navigated the labyrinthine alleys. Every turn seemed wrong, every alley a dead end.
The lack of direction kept my mind occupied, though. It kept my thoughts focused, rather than letting them loop and spiral if I stopped.
"A left.. ahead," Jean managed to gasp out. Following his directions, I saw the end of the alley, opening up to a brightly lit plaza. I bore the brunt of his weight, dragging him forward as his feet barely scraped the ground. It was heartbreakingly clear that Jean's strength, his life, was ebbing away with each second.
"Just…just leave me," he pleaded, his voice strained, barely audible as I struggled to move us forward.
"I'm not going to leave you," I said firmly, though I felt utterly helpless.
"You…have to. You'll move... faster," he was struggling to speak now, "Go get help."
My heart twisted in agony at the thought of leaving him alone to face the encroaching shadow of death. Yet, the logical part of my mind whispered cruel truths; Jean's chances dimmed with each passing second, and he needed help fast.
"Alright," I finally conceded, easing him down gently against the cold stone wall. "But you have to promise me you'll hold on until I return." I fought back tears as I looked at his tall, muscular build, crumbling before me. He was only 18, and I remembered everything he had mentioned on the ride into town. It had all been true; it had been his life, and I had only half listened to it. Guilt gripped my heart.
"I promise," Jean whispered, his attempt at another reassuring smile warped into a grimace of pain. His golden eyes, clouded with suffering, held onto mine, their light fading.
My heart hammered against my ribcage as I bolted from Jean's side. The cobblestones beneath my feet blurred as I dashed toward the alley's exit, my hood falling off my head in my frantic movements.
"Help! Please, someone, help us!"
My voice was raw with desperation as I ran into the plaza, hoping to find a kind soul in the bustling crowd. But the sea of faces remained impassive, their eyes sliding over my pleading figure only to quickly dart away as if acknowledging me would bring them misfortune.
"Please," I begged, stretching my hands toward them. My appeals met nothing but further cold stares and brisk steps.
I didn't have much time left. The image of Jean against the stone wall flashed across my mind, and my knees grew weak. The charred bodies stole the breath from my lungs as I whirled around looking for an anchor.
It was a pair of silver eyes. Their gaze steadied and sparked hope in my heart. I rushed to him and seized his hand without warning, grip ironclad as I pulled him into a run toward the alley.