Chapter 1
Two Years Ago
Streets of DTLA
It is 2:10AM. No color, everything is grayscale. Jenny Price speeds down the city streets playing 80’s R&B from the car’s Bluetooth. It was her father’s favorite song, he used to sing it with them when they were kids.
She belts the lyrics but she’s no singer.
She approaches an intersection, but the traffic light is red. She’s too drunk to pay attention. So, she zooms right through it.
Ahead, headlights slice through the darkness. Another small white car approaches, attempting to make a left turn. A small white car.
Dorothy Watkins—a 68-year-old grandmother just trying to make it home from work, unaware that fate was about to collide with her. Dorothy Watkins had just gotten off her second shift, her fingers sore from hours of typing. She was thinking about warming up her leftover stew. She was thinking about her grandbaby’s school play next week.
“Sweet Jesus!” Dorothy shouts in horror. She honks her horn, hoping Jenny would hear.
Jenny shrieks, music blaring from her speakers. “AHHHHHHHH!” She slams her brakes.
It was too late.
The world shatters in a brutal impact of glass and metal. Both cars slam into each other head-on, immediately coming to a halt.
Dorothy sits in her car as smoke fills the cabin. Her eyes are bloodshot as she gasps for air, her mouth is full of blood. Blood flows from both the gash on her forehead and .
She takes her last breath and her head slams onto the steering wheel.
*
Present Day
Price Residence, Calabasas
“No! No!” Jenny cries. “I’m sorry! Please, don’t die!”
She shakes violently in her bed.
*
Seventeen Years Ago
Cedars-Sinai Hospital, Los Angeles
Then, another vision. Ashley Price lays in a hospital bed, her pale-white skin now wrinkly. Her once long, red, curly hair has withered away. Around her are her husband Harold—a brown-skinned African-American man—and their two daughters: fifteen-year old Jenny and ten-year-old Gina.
The air inside is bitter, like tar. Machines hum and beep. On the TV above them is the international news.
Ashley is in a coma, her eyes closed.
The Doctor walks in. A tall White-American man with black hair and glasses in a lab coat.
“The cancer has spread throughout her body,” he says. “Her brain, heart, and lungs are no longer functioning. We’ve done everything we can do. I’m sorry Mr. Price—”
“No!” Harold says. “There’s gotta be more! Is it money? You know I can pay!”
“Money isn’t the issue, sir. We’ve done everything we can. You have to pull the plug. She’ll only continue to suffer the more we prolong this.”
“Mommy!” Gina says, her face on her mother’s abdomen, crying. “No!”
Jenny places her hand on Gina’s back, rubbing it, tears running down her face as she sniffles. She is quiet, stoic—even at this age. She has to be strong for her little sister.
“Jen,” Gina says, turning to face Jenny. “Our mommy is gonna die!”
Jenny says nothing. She cannot bare to look into Gina’s eyes, so she closes them and puts her head down.
Then, Jenny can’t hold it anymore. Her lips curl downward, her eyes close, and she sobs. Her sister turns quickly into her chest, and the two of them embrace each other for dear life.
“Doctor please,” Harold says. “She’s all we’ve got!”
“Harold I’m sorry.” The doctor walks out of the room.
The doctor walks out of the room. Then, Harold walks over to his two daughters as they embrace each other. He wraps his arms around them and cries, as he looks at his unconscious wife. He kisses both of his daughters on the forehead.
*
Three Weeks Later
Living Room, Price Mansion, Calabasas
“Gina, baby, please,” Harold begs, his hands in the air. “You have to calm down.”
Gina stands in the middle of the room. Her eyes are wide, as if she is possessed by something. She has a knife to her wrist, as tears run down her face.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I wanna be with Mommy!”
“Gina don’t do this,” Jenny cries. “Please! We need you! We’ve already lost Mom, we can’t lose you too! I need you—”
“No Jen!” Gina screams at the top of her lungs. “I wanna be with Mommy! I hate this place!”
Jenny turns to her father. “I’m gonna call 911.”
Harold nods his head at her. “Okay Jen.”
Jenny runs off before Harold turns to face Gina.
“Gina, I know this is a lot for you,” Harold says as he moves closer to her.
“Get away from me!”
Harold flinches.
*
Ten minutes later, ten police officers storm into the house. Jenny comes in behind them, running to the back.
“Hey,” one officer says. “It’s okay. Just… put the knife down.”
Gina shakes her head and clenches her teeth.
The lead officer goes to Harold and whispers in his ear. “If we can’t get her to calm down, we’ll have to physically restrain her. Do we have your permission?”
There is a beat.
“If that’s the only way, yes,” Harold says. “Just… take it easy. She’s only ten; I just lost my wife, and it’s been hard for all of us. I’ve never seen Gina like this before.”
Gina screams again, splitting the air.
“Now!” the lead officer says.
One officer wraps his arms around Gina.
“Nooo!” she shrieks, dropping the knife.
The officer gently puts Gina on the ground as she screams and cries. He handcuffs her.
“Wait!” Harold says. “What the Hell do you think you doing?! You taking her to jail?! For what?! She’s just a little girl!”
“It’s for her own safety,” the lead officer says. “She’s not going to jail, she’s going to a psychiatric facility for seventy-two hours.”
Harold says nothing. His jaw tightens. His eyes glisten.
The officers pick Gina up, she struggles for release.
“No!” Gina says. “Let me go! Let me go!”
They carry her out of the house. Jenny walks toward her dad, and the two of them watch Gina get escorted out.
*
Price Residence, Calabasas
Jenny sits up from her bed, hyperventilating. Her eyes wide open. Her bed and body are all drenched in sweat.
“Oh my God,” she says. She shakes her head and palms her face. “This is my fifth mattress in two months.”
Naomi appears. “Another nightmare?”
Jenny looks at her and squints. “Yeah, several.”
Naomi places her hand on Jenny’s shoulders. The tension slowly eases out of Jenny’s muscles like an air mattress deflating and she gently lays back down to her bed.
“You’re doing your best Jenny,” Naomi says. “Everything you’re doing counts for something. Lucifer is testing you, using your past against you.”
Jenny is already sound asleep.
