Chapter Text
He was walking out the sliding doors of his local grocery store, car keys in his hand. A gentle wind blew through the trees and-
He blinked and he was back home, in his bedroom adjusting his bowtie. Bowtie...? Why was he in formal wear? He sighed.
Typical of Cesar “Jekyll” Torres not to know. That's what those kids at school called him, anyways (before Mark quote on quote “knocked some sense into them.”)
He would black out at THE most inconvenient times, such as church or school, or today, at the grocery store.
At least he had already checked out; that decreased the chances that he said something weird to any other customers or staff. Maybe he just...took a shower and changed his clothes.
Mark, his best friend, knew both sides of him better than anyone besides his parents. Mark always said he could tell which Cesar he was talking to based on the level of energy he emanated. He honestly never could tell if Mark was joking or not.
What time was it? He was supposed to go over to Mark's house for movie night. They undoubtedly would have ended up watching Back to the Future again, but they had both been looking forward to it. They were going to make homemade popcorn and everything.
Fiddlesticks.
After a quick scan of the room, Cesar spotted his clock shattered under the bed. It didn't take long to see that it wasn't worth trying to fix. He carefully collected the pieces and set them on his desk.
By the light outside, he guessed it was fairly late...maybe around 11 pm? He flicked the lights on in the hallway and headed downstairs.
He felt like the security was off for some reason. He made a mental note to turn it back on after he called Mark.
The house was quiet. Unsettling so. Mama must have already gone to bed. He hoped he hadn't said anything weird to her. Wait, no. Where did that come from-? He knew she'd still love him no matter what he said, and he loved her the same. Mama had hugged him so tightly on the way out that you would think he'd disappear when she let go. She smelled sweet like vanilla and cinnamon. She always did. She always-
She-
She lay motionless on the kitchen floor in the moonlight, frying pan in her hand. She must have used it as a makeshift weapon. Otherwise, there was no indication of a struggle. No blood, no wounds, no attack marks. Just her. Alone.
Cesar stood frozen in the doorway, but only for a moment. He was at her side in a flash.
“Mama-?” he held her hand with his as he desperately searched for her pulse, “Mama, please no, Mama, you can't-”
Nothing.
“Nononononono...please no-!” he searched and searched, but there was nothing to find.
Mama was dead. She had died while he was- while he was- what had he been doing? Putting on his stupid bowtie? How long did she lay here? What day of the week was it?
He laughed bitterly as tears streamed down his face. How awful. Everything felt so unreal. It felt like he was in some sort of nightmare.
Nightmares. Mark had nightmares. Whenever Mark had nightmares, he would call Cesar. He gently released Mama's hand. “I am sorry,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead, “I am sorry that I was not there for you.”
He needed the phone. He needed to call Mark. Cesar rose to his feet as gracefully as he could, but he still stumbled. His legs didn't feel like his own as he forced them one after the other. He tried to ignore the deafening click of his dress shoes as he made his way across the room, but it was nearly impossible.
Click. Click. Click.
Each step cut deeper into his core like a knife twisting into his gut.
It hurt.
He needed the phone. It was just in the other room. He needed help.
He needed Mark. Mark would know what to do.
He grasped at the phone as if it could save his mother, could save him, could save his world. He vacantly dialed the familiar number. He could probably do it in his sleep. However, this was not a dream, no matter how much he wished it was.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
The last thought that passed through his head before he blacked out again was,
I hope it isn't too late.