The rain in Chicago never really stops; it just gets quieter sometimes, like the city's holding its breath before the next sigh.
I sat in the unmarked sedan on the corner of 47th and Halsted, windows cracked enough to let the cold seep in and the smell of wet asphalt settle in my lungs. Coffee in the cup holder had gone cold an hour ago. The radio crackled with dispatch chatter, routine calls, nothing urgent. My eyes stayed on the warehouse across the street: rusted doors, flickering sodium light, two guys in hoodies loading crates into a panel van. Same routine as last week. Same crates. Same guys.
I rubbed the scar on my cheek, old souvenir from a domestic gone sideways three, almost four years back. The guy had a bottle. I had a badge. Bottle won that round. I still won the case. Can't say the same about the kid who watched it all from the hallway, eyes wide like he'd seen the world break a little, watching his parents relationship boil over. The last thing any child should see.
My phone buzzed. Maria, oldest sister. I answered.
"Alex, you better not miss Sunday dinner again," she said, voice sharp but warm. "Mamá's making pozole, and she said if you flake this time, she's disowning you. I know she doesn't mean it, but I can never truly fault her for it."
I snorted. "Wouldn't dream of it, Sis. Tell her I'll be there. With bells on, a side of guilt and a Flan, to sweeten her up."
"You better. And bring the good Tequila as well not that gas-station swill you grabbed last time."
"In my defense, that was a gift from my boss after my last case," I said defensively. "But, yeah, I'll bring the wine and the flan. Wouldn't want to disappoint y'all."
She paused. "Be safe out there, okay? It's pouring."
"Always am. Love you."
"Love you too, dummy."
I hung up, staring at the warehouse. Sunday dinners were the one thing that still felt solid. Growing up in Pilsen, strict parents who worked doubles, five kids crammed in a two-bedroom. Dad ruled with an iron fist, "No talking back, no shortcuts, work hard or get out." Mom balanced it with quiet love, extra food on your plate when no one was looking. Maria bossed us around like a second mother. Sofia slipped me books. Miguel got into fights I had to break up. Lucia laughed like the world couldn't touch her.
As we grew, so did they. Awhile back, dad had a heart attack, that scare softened him. Mom smiled more. They became the parents they always wanted to be underneath the exhaustion.
I helped where I could. Beat cop days, walking those same streets, talking down drunk fathers with bottles, pulling kids like Miguel out of gang bullshit or any type of shenanigans. Detective promotion after busting a fentanyl ring that turned good kids bad. Delivered groceries to Mrs. Alvarez when her son was locked up, she was our neighbor who looked out for us when my parents were out growing up, repaying that favor. Sat with the Ramirez family after their daughter OD'd, friends of my parents who they grew up with. Never pretended I could save everyone. Just tried to save the next one.
That's who I was before the van doors slammed. I looked up, the same two guys. These two guys: first was Ricardo Ortiz, who was hauling drugs in crates, trafficking them. Couldn't prove it, the arresting officers ended up searching without probable cause or a warrant, which caused him to walk. The other: Raul Camacho, he was out on parole after serving some time with amicable behavior. He and a couple of his gang buddies robbed a liquor store with masks.
Engine coughed to life. I keyed the radio.
"Unit 47, suspect vehicle moving. Black panel van, Illinois plate 847-Baker-Victor. Heading north on Halsted."
Dispatch acknowledged. No backup yet. Fine. I'd tail them. Wait for the drop. Call it in when they met whoever was buying whatever was in those crates. Probably drugs. Maybe guns. Didn't matter. Someone was getting hurt if I let it slide. Or worse.
I pulled out slow, headlights off. The van turned right on 51st. I followed, keeping two cars between us. Rain drummed harder, wipers sloshing. Taillights blurred through the downpour.
They turned left on Morgan, right on 55th - erratic, paranoid. I matched them turn for turn. Heartbeat steady. This was the part I lived for: the chase, the puzzle, the moment when everything clicked and the bad guys went down.
The van blew through a red light. I hit the gas, siren off. Tires squealed on wet pavement. Van swerved into an alley off 55th, too narrow for the sedan. I slammed the brakes, skidded to a stop, threw the door open. Both suspects running into the alley.
Rain hit like a cold slap. I bolted after them, boots splashing, radio in hand. "Unit 47 in pursuit, alley off 55th and Racine. Van ditched, suspects fleeing on foot. Pursuing as we speak."
Van totaled and abandoned, crates spilled with driver and passenger seat opened. Two figures darting into shadows.
I chased. Lungs burning. Rain blinding. One perp glanced back, tripped on a pothole. I tackled him, shoulder to midsection, both of us slamming into wet concrete. He swung wild, fist glancing off my jaw. I pinned his arm, knee on his back, cuffs out.
"Stay down," I growled. "You're done."
He went limp. "Man… it's over."
One down. Then pain.
A sharp, sickening crack from behind, something heavy, wooden, connected with the back of my skull. The world tilted. Stars burst. Knees buckled. Cuffs slipped from my fingers. I tried to turn, but the second perp was already swinging again, baseball bat, rain-slick and dark with rust.
Second blow caught my ribs. Air punched out. I hit the ground hard, cheek scraping concrete, rain pooling around my face. First perp scrambled up, laughing high and panicked. "Hurry up and get up dude!" I can hear one, telling the other to continue to run while I was distracted.
I rolled, vision doubling. Tried to get my feet under me. Bat came down a third time, aimed for my head.
I was prepared, threw up an arm to protect myself. Wood cracked against forearm. Bone sang with pain. I lunged upward, shoulder slamming into the perp's gut. He wheezed, stumbled back. I followed, fist connecting with his jaw - once, twice. He dropped. Bat clattered. "Shit!" He muttered.
Both suspects were down. And I used that moment to cuffs both of them. As I did, I staggered, breathing wet gasps. Rain washed blood from my lip. Vision swam. Alley stretched, walls leaning in. Not sure if it was the blow to the head but something was happening.
Then the ringing started. Definitely head trauma at first. Low at first then it got louder. I looked at both perps, laying where they were cuffed. The ringing stopped. Suddenly what happened next was out of this world
I looked down. Ground under my boots… rippled. Golden light bled up through cracks in the concrete, it looked like a rune, like in those RPG video games, glowing runes carving themselves into reality like someone had taken a knife to the world and decided to write my name. A giant circle underneath me.
I staggered back, onto the floor. "What the -"
The ringing came back, the suspects that were laying there were gone. It seemed like I was gone.
*Finally. Looks like this is going to be lots of fun, eh, Reyes?"
I froze. "Who the hell -"
*Sit back and relax dude, a whole new world is coming. Don't worry I'll explain everything once you're there.*
The runes flared brighter. The alley vanished. The rain vanished. Chicago vanished.
I was falling.
Not down. Not sideways. Just… away.
Nothing but darkness and silence. No rain. No radio. No suspects. Just me, the rune that lit up beneath my feet, the dark, and the faint echo of a laugh that wasn't mine.
I didn't know it yet, but everything I'd ever tried to protect was already behind me.
And the worst roommate in the multiverse had just moved in my head, rent-free, snark included, and zero plans to ever shut up.