Without A Bike

Dark. Mysterious. Unknown. That was all anyone would see as Dominic Jones ran down the street—cursing himself for the black skin that covered his body. The skin that blended him into the night while simultaneously thrusting him into the spotlight. But there was only one word ringing in his mind.

Run.

So that’s what he did. It was not the allure of victory that usually kept him running on the track, but when covering a wide receiver, it was the gunshot from a few yards back. He had been walking home after a long, hellish practice, but it had quickly turned into every other day in Skyline. Typical that the one day he didn’t bike, he would somehow witness a murder, or an attempted one at least. On a bike, Dominic wouldn’t have looked twice at that black car with tinted windows.

He didn’t know who was inside the car, and frankly, hoped he never would. All he prayed was that it wasn’t one of his friends or cousins, or even worse, his father. Because it would’ve been his father who pulled the trigger.

Dominic barely stopped, hand pressed against a whitening stone wall in an attempt to salvage some breath. A loud pop echoed from a distance. His entire body shook.

Run. Run. Run!

His legs worked fast as he scaled over the wall, ignoring the ache in the balls of his feet. Glancing back to the car for a second was enough to see the passenger door open and a body fall out.

The body didn’t even hit the floor before the car was out of view, his feet sinking into the muddy ground of the stranger’s backyard. A stinging sensation shot through his legs, but the pain became more of a faded dream as he ran through the backyard. His mouth was dry, every ragged breath scratching his throat like embers sparking over and over again.

Five backyards to run through. Ten walls to jump.

Wind brushed his Jheri curls back with each successful leap over a wall. The neighbors could scream and call the men in their families to take care of the mysterious boy in their backyard. All that mattered was that they wouldn’t call the police. They never did. Even though the police needed to see the truth around the corner, not Dominic.

But that was wishful, unnecessary thinking. Especially right now.

His palm scraped against the stone of the next wall, and although it stung, his steps never faltered. Faster. His heart was already ripping through his chest. If the man with the gun saw Dominic—followed him—there was no escape from the hell he would impose on his family. So Dominic had no choice but to get home first.

Finally, he scaled the tenth wall, landing in his familiar backyard with dolls scattered along the ground and some model cars barely visible under the dirt. His mom thought he still played with those toys, but games were more of a luxury now. The only games he cared about were his sports, his future—the way out of this hellhole.

Dominic banged on the back door, bits of blood staining the metal screen, which he immediately rubbed away. Hopefully, his mother would keep the questions to a minimum. She never investigated his activities too thoroughly.

The door swung open, and there was his little sister behind the metal screen with a plush elephant in her hands, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. Freshly baked cookies washed through his senses. It should’ve been comforting, but all it did was make his stomach turn.

“What are you doing?” Galyn asked, tilting her head to the side. The only thing separating them was a metal screen that his sister also needed to unlock.

“Nothing. Open the door, Galyn,” he urged, twisting the doorknob. God, his heart was moving too fast. Fear coated his tongue, and he couldn’t seem to swallow it.

“Where were you? And what happened to your hand?”

Dominic stuffed his hand into his baggy jeans. “Can you just open up? I’ll tell you inside.”

She shrugged. “No.”

If the killer in the car saw me jump in here, he may be at the front door. He may have that gun loaded already—about to break it down at any moment—

“Come on,” he dragged. “I’ll clean your room for a week. Two weeks, how about that?” He tapped his foot on the stone pavement. I need to check the front door. Right. Now.

“The whole month,” she giggled. This was not a damn game.

“Fine, fine.”

She smiled, unlocking the door. He shoved himself inside, bumping her in the process. “Hey!” she said, her voice squeaky, but Dominic didn’t look back as he made the short journey to the front door, peering through the peephole.

No one.

He let out a relieved breath. Then breathed in another. He was safe. His sister was safe. They were all safe.

Galyn appeared behind him, clutching the doll tighter now. “What happened?”

Dominic stifled a chuckle, praying she would never see through the facade. “Douggie and I were playing a game, and it was a dare.”

She laughed. He never wanted that sweet, innocent voice to fade away. “You two are so stupid.” Galyn walked to the living room and plopped to the floor next to a few sheets of paper with multiplication problems.

“Where’s mom?” he asked, checking down the one corridor that led to the rest of the rooms.

“At the store,” she said, pushing the stuffed animal to the side. She picked up the wooden pencil, her shoulder-length braids swinging as she looked in his direction. “Can you help me? I hate multiplication.”

His lips twitched as a smile threatened to emerge. Partly from the work she wanted help with—did she not learn anything from my tutoring last week?—but also because she still didn’t know the truth. Of his life, their father’s life, and the life a block away.

And it would remain that way, even as Dominic made his way to the living room floor, plopping next to her and running her through the basic steps of long multiplication. His wide smile never faded. Not one crack in the shield.

The shot rang through his ears in the darkness. Then again. And again. And again until he shook himself awake in his bed. His throat was parched as he lay in the darkness, a hint of cloudy moonlight filtering through the sheer brown curtains. Dominic breathed heavily and placed a hand on his chest, trying to prevent his heart from bursting out of his chest. He’d seen so many things—drugs, gangs, drive-bys—but something about the interaction two days ago nagged at his mind. Trying to think about the upcoming day did no good either. So, he tugged the thin blanket over himself, turning to his side, staring at the clock on his nightstand, reading half past two. He shut his eyes tight, like a kid on a rollercoaster for the first time, and stirred in bed as the images of that night returned. The man falling out of his car replayed on a loop. His features grew clearer in the darkness behind his lids. Dark skin, buzz-cut, baggy red clothes—yes, he could know him. Had Dominic waited an extra second, he could have been certain. Maybe he would’ve done something—should’ve done something. But what could Dominic do? Fight? If he did, his blood wouldn’t have been easy to wipe away with the flick of a hand.

But the past was the past. Nothing happened. Everyone was safe.

Unable to fall back asleep, he slipped out of bed, his feet finding the icy wood floor. Walking on the balls of his feet so the waves of cold never fully reach his body, he strolled to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tap water, using the refrigerator light to see the kitchen instead of the overhead ones. He leaned on the counter, chugging his water, as his eyes wandered to the photo above the silver fridge. Dominic, Galyn, and his mom at the park three years ago. His mom was carrying Galyn in her arms, and Dominic was posing like a superhero about to take off the ground. There was a ghost in the photo, too—

Glass broke. Dominic shook as his eyes wandered around the kitchen, examining everything in a second before shutting the fridge door and taking off quickly to the rest of the house. His nostrils burned from the smell that invaded his body. Smoke. He had barely made it to the main corridor of the house before he saw it trailing up the bottom of the door at the furthest end, like tendrils of a monster he’d never seen before.

“Mom!” Dominic screamed, his voice more akin to a child’s than a teen’s. “Galyn!”

He rushed into Galyn’s room, and she was breathing heavily, eyes shooting rapidly between her green walls that had blackened in the night. Their eyes met, and in a second, he was by her bed, grabbing her hand.

“Come on,” he said, opting for a softer tone, though it took everything in him not to scream. She understood the urgency of the situation because she shot out of bed and slipped on her shoes.

“Dominic…” she coughed, and he coughed too, tugging her even faster. Smoke had gathered in her room and in the hallway, blurring every feature of the house.

“Go, go!” a sweet voice said from behind. His heart nearly fell out of his chest from relief. He didn’t look back, and in a second, Dominic and Galyn were out the front door, footsteps following closely behind.

When they were on the cobbled road, he barely turned around before his mother embraced both him and his sister. He dug his face into her gray t-shirt, savoring the familiar coconut lotion his mother tried to make him wear. He never liked lotions that smelled. It was too recognizable. Too easy to track.

He lifted his head to see smoke gathering above the house, casting a shadow the darkness always wished it had. The flames on the far end of the house began to surface on the roof, too. His mother let them go, rushing over to the neighbor’s house, begging them to call the fire department. His eyes remained glued to the house—his home—that he’d lived in his entire life. And that backroom, the room with all their albums and family photos…gone. Like they never existed. All of it was a victim of the flame—the intentional flame. But who? Who would want to ruin a family home? Who would want to hurt a little girl? Who—

A car drove past the intersection at the end of the street. A gray and red striped car with all tinted windows that swerved ever so slightly before going out of view. Dominic didn’t waste a second. Even as the flame spread to other parts of the house, he held part of his black shirt to his mouth and nose, ran to the front porch, and yanked the bike’s fragile lock off the wheel. He swung onto the wet bike seat and peddled as fast as he could. His mother screamed at him, but it was a mere breeze in the wind as he moved faster. All to follow that car.

Dominic didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even know where to start looking. But the man in that car—his father—was responsible for all of this.

It took Dominic three hours to know exactly where his father went. And now he was in front of his cousin’s house, a few blocks away. Every reasonable thought was stripped from his mind. Only left with one thought. One desire.

After banging on the wooden door for a minute, someone was finally alerted as one of the lights flickered to life inside. It wasn’t Douggie who opened the door, but Tyler, another member of his gang, who often crashed when he committed some crime.

“Wassup, Lil D?” Tyler said in a low voice, crossing his thick, tattooed arms across his bare chest. “Why you here so early?”

“Can you get Douggie?” Dominic tried to lower his voice to match, but it sounded like a child playing with a toy speaker. Tyler shrugged, yelling Douggie’s name into the house.

His cousin emerged in the doorway with no shirt and loose boxer shorts. Being nearly five inches taller than Dominic, he loomed over him like a skyscraper. “It’s early, Lil D,” his cousin said.

Dominic didn’t wait a second to explain what happened and who was responsible. Douggie and Tyler just stood, wide-eyed and mouths parted, absorbing all of it. They must’ve been as shocked as him. They’d all seen the worst parts of this neighborhood, but hurting family—mothers and sisters—was a line none of them could justify.

Dominic’s mom’s room was closest to the office.

When Dominic finished, Douggie took a deep breath. His blank stare was nothing short of malicious, a lion ready to hunt. And he asked the question Dominic had dreaded, but fully expected. “Do you want to kill him?”

Dominic waited in the driver’s seat of his cousin’s car, parked at the corner of the street, surrounded by bushes. The faintest shade of blue started to peek through the parting clouds, but darkness was still upon them. A thin blanket, but a cover nonetheless.

It was easy to track his father to the house down the road. Dominic’s uncle would always hide his father, some type of twisted brotherly love. He couldn’t wrap his head around why his father would do this. Was it his mother rejecting him again? Revenge? Fun?

Douggie was currently at the front door, convincing his father to talk to “someone” in the car. His father shouldn’t resist—Douggie has always been his favorite nephew. He probably liked Douggie more than Dominic because of how similar they were.

Dominic stared at the orange and pink house he was parked in front of, his fingers feeling along the hilt of the gun in his pocket. The cool metal was foreign, yet comforting in a way. Like he was always meant to hold it.

His father had done many things in his life—many unforgiving things that Dominic would try to forget about if it meant he could have a father. As a man, his father was born to be in a gang. Selling drugs was only the tip of the iceberg. Derek Brown and his crew were known to be unforgiving. Cross one of them, they’d jump you. Fight someone they care about, they might just kill you. That was why Dominic learned to roll joints at eight, because being the son of a man like that meant obeying, following, listening without question. Though now, his hand trembled in his pocket—not from what he might do, but because he would not obey his father. Not this time.

He didn’t know which one of those crimes landed his father in prison for seven years. Maybe it was as simple as selling drugs, though no one ever told him. And he was smart not to ask. But as his eyes fell on his father, drunkenly strolling around the corner—scruffy dark facial hair, skinny, with a dark red hoodie and jeans that sagged to his butt—the questions were ready to spill.

His father narrowed his eyes as he neared the passenger side, pressing his face against the tinted window. He grunted a noise of recognition as he opened the door and plopped into the worn leather seat.

“Whatcha doing here, Lil D?” his father’s words slurred together, though, coherent and clear. Anyone else would’ve thought he’d be weak and an easy target, but Dominic knew better. His father’s reflexes weren’t just sharp, they were perfect, even when intoxicated. With a scar from the tip of his ear to his jaw, his father had no choice but to be aware at all times.

Dominic opened his mouth, but no words came out. What was he going to say? If anything at all. Dominic’s hands remained in the pockets of his jacket. This act would alert his father if it were anyone else. But his own son…no, he’d never think twice that Dominic would do something to him.

“Eventful night?” Dominic opted for the low voice.

“What do you mean?” His father’s black eyes fell on him in a dangerous glare. Like he could see every thought running through Dominic’s head.

“Where were you?”

“None of your damn business.”

“It is my business,” Dominic said, swallowing hard.

His father scoffed, shaking his head. “I was with Jay all night. You can ask.”

“Yeah, I bet he was your getaway driver.” Dominic barely controlled the shudder that ran through his body. All Dominic could imagine right now was his father’s fist against his nose as his father reached into Dominic’s pocket to retrieve the gun and point it at him.

Would his father shoot his own son? Would a son shoot his own father?

Dominic’s fingers edged closer to the hilt of the gun.

“Don’t act a fool around me, boy,” his father groaned as his rugged hand reached for the door handle.

“What? We can’t talk like grown men?” Dominic shot back.

His father turned around, bringing his face closer to Dominic. Liquor and weed flowed through Dominic’s nose, but he didn’t back down. “You? A man? Spend some time behind bars, and maybe you will be worthy of that title.”

If Dominic got caught, he would. But his father would never see it.

His fingers inched toward the trigger. Hundreds of men probably dreamed of a moment like this with their father—to make him vulnerable, an easy target. Though it was Dominic—his own flesh and blood—who held some ounce of power over his father for the first time in his life. This moment was meant for him. To protect his mother and sister. To protect others whose blood was bound to stain his father’s hands. No one would ever need to experience the man of death who called himself Derek.

“Just tell me why.” Dominic’s voice cracked, and he was reminded, yet again, that he was fourteen talking to a thirty-year-old gang member.

Then, like all of it fell into place, his father smirked, barely showing some yellow teeth. “Saw your mother at the grocery store the other day. Beautiful woman. All I wanted was to take her home.” Dominic’s jaw clenched. “So I followed her into the parking lot, and that crazy bitch hit me with her car. Told me she never wanted to see me again. I thought—fine, don’t gotta see me or any memories for that matter, starting with that house. But you’re fine, right?”

They weren’t fine. Dominic might’ve lost every piece of memorabilia from his youth, and worse, they might’ve lost their house. A house they could barely afford. So now what would they do? It was because of this man, his father by blood only.

“Just needed to teach y’all a lesson,” his father finished with that same, malicious smile.

That was it. Dominic was born for this moment. To protect his family.

A light turned on in the pink and orange house. Dominic barely glanced at it to see a shadow behind the yellow curtain, stretching their arms out to the floor and picking up a baby, cradling and swaying it back and forth.

His heart dropped.

That was him once upon a time. That was his sister. That was all of them on the block. They were once babies with nothing but the world at their fingertips. It was the person cradling the baby who decided which part of the world they’d see. For many of them, it was this world. The world of violence and anger and hate, none of them could escape. Bound to the roots of tradition with no light to grow.

His father showed him this world, but never his sister. His father wanted Dominic to become him—to be feared yet the most intelligent man in the hood. His mother was different. She didn’t just want Galyn to be like her; she wanted Dominic to be like her. To be the person who would fight for what was right and fight for themselves. No matter how many threats his father made to his mother, she never caved under the pressure. Never fell into death itself.

And in a second, he let go of the gun. Because this was not the way to protect his family. This would only tear it apart.

“I never want to see your face again,” Dominic snarled, slightly against his will. He removed an empty hand from his pocket and stared forward as the earliest parts of dawn filled the sky. His face stung in an attempt to hold back his tears. Because seeing death was one thing, delivering it was another, but becoming his father was the worst punishment imaginable.

His father grunted a response Dominic didn’t care to hear before the door opened and slammed shut. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited until Douggie came back and interrogated him about what had happened. Waited until they drove to Dominic’s blackened house in silence. Waited until Douggie told his mother the truth about his father’s interference.

And waited until he was in his mother’s arms on the curb, staring at the flashing red lights on the fire trucks, and bawled until there were no more tears left to cry.nes