Chapter 1

 

            Las Vegas High School, Las Vegas, Nevada, Present day

 

Brock McMichael was a star wrestler.  Having already won a State Championship, the junior was poised to be one of the greatest high school wrestlers in Nevada history.  He was in place to do what few could even dream of achieving in three straight state titles. 

He was also sound asleep in the back of Mr. Lewis’ history class. 

Mr. Lewis stood over the sleeping athlete as the student’s around him did their best not to laugh too loud.  Everyone loved this game, none more than Caleb Lewis.  It was one of the reasons he was always among the list of favorite teachers in the school.  He was funny, fun and always made history seem interesting to the bundle of jaded students who had grown up in a city that said all the wrong things mattered.

Giggles floated through the all-but silent room as slowly his hand lowered, placing the last of the 28 empty pop cans students had ‘donated’ for such an occasion.  Backing away, he smiled big, looking to the students he grinned gleefully at the tower of empty soda cans built around the sleeping giant of a junior.  Nodding to Elizabeth—the girl who had been chosen to light the fuse under this particular bomb—he stepped back and watched, as did the other students.  Elizabeth stretched one arm out, the long pink feather (of doom as the students had taken to calling it) reached out, prodding lightly into Brock’s ear.  The wrestler’s face scrunched up and his head titled, threatening to topple the cans but only causing them to wobble.  The class held their breath as she tickled again and his arm came up to brush the itch away.  Cans tumbled all around him, crashing to the ground in a cacophony of clangs that woke the snoozing student.  Brock jumped in his desk.  “Wha…phu…gah!” he sputtered as he waved his arms like a tribesman making warding gestures at the evil cola spirits haunting his dreams.

The bell rang as the classroom erupted into laughter.  One of his fellow wrestlers smacked the back of Brock’s head as if to say he should have known better.  Students grabbed books and began leaving the class, the moment of mirth overcome by the fact that it was Friday and this was the last period of the day.

“Sorry Mr. Lewis.”  Brock muttered as he passed the teacher.

“You can make it up to me by acing the final next week.  Deal?”

Brock nodded and smiled a bit sheepishly as he left the classroom.  The teacher turned back to his desk and sat down, grabbing the stack of tests from today.  Normally he would be taking them home, but he intended to have a long and full night.  He and Tiffany had been dating for 6 months now, a virtual lifetime for him, and they were going to celebrate.  Well, he knew they would celebrate; all she knew was that they had a date.  Usually they met at 8, but tonight they’d meet earlier, have a romantic dinner and maybe catch a movie—though more likely just head back to his place and play some sort of card game she’d destroy him at.  He didn’t mind, tonight.  He had bought her a necklace that he was sure he couldn’t afford to commemorate their 6 month ‘anniversary.’  She might not know they were celebrating, yet.  But she would soon enough.

A couple hours and cups of coffee later (drinking hot coffee in the late Nevada spring still garnered him raised eyebrows), he finished grading the tests, genuinely happy at only handing out one ‘F’ and one ‘D.’  He blamed himself if less than 90% of his students didn’t pass a test.  Stretching his back and checking his watch, he smiled.  He had about an hour to head home, shower, change, and make his way to Tiffany’s for their date.  He quickly locked his classroom door and made his way to his car—an old army green jeep he had bought in college.  It didn’t always run the best, but he loved being able to take it into the desert and drive almost anywhere.  Few things appeased his soul like overlooking the desert as it stretched into mountains.

The old engine flared to life and he pulled out of the parking lot and moved into traffic.  Most people saw Las Vegas as a city of glamour, shows, lights and money—mostly losing it.  But there was a suburban aspect to the city.  Track housing; streets that turned in non-linear and confusing ways; cul-de-sacs and soccer moms all lived and worked in Vegas.  Sure a handful of them were strippers, showgirls or budding comedians, but just as many held ‘normal’ jobs like accountant, plant worker or high school teacher.  The only major difference between Vegas and any other city was the presence of glowing beacons of greed a mile or two away. 

Caleb pulled into the small apartment complex where he had spent his last 4 years since getting a teaching job here in Vegas.  Parking his jeep and hopping out he darted up the stone stairway, skipping every other step in his excitement.  He unlocked the door and quickly tapped the button on his relic of an answering machine, but nobody had left any messages.  Nobody ever did anymore, not with cell phones and voice mail.  Sometimes he wondered why he kept the thing.  But he figured the day after he threw it away, someone important would call his home and he’d miss the call. 

One hour and one shower later, he was back outside, sliding into his jeep again.  He had dressed in the outfit Tiffany had always seemed to think he looked best in: black, long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs slightly rolled up and top buttons undone.  Black semi-casual pants and black boots like one would expect to find on an early 80’s punk band singer.  The shirt was just a hint too small, emphasizing Caleb’s lean but toned figure.  He had intentionally not shaven, knowing Tiff liked his strong jaw with a hint of stubble.  ‘Rugged’ she called it.  He had just realized today how many of his students were sporting the same look.  Apparently rugged was the new black.

Tiffany lived in a small duplex on the other side of town with almost non-existent parking.  As usual, Caleb was forced to park a block or so away and around the corner.  Today he didn’t mind, hopping from the jeep and checking to be sure the open-roofed drive hadn’t completely destroyed his hair.  Seeing only minor war wounds, he grabbed the necklace and flowers he had remembered (for once), and started walking.  He idly wondered if they’d make their dinner reservation.  Last time they had made plans for this early, Tiffany had completely forgotten and he had spent an hour on her couch while she frantically dressed and did her makeup.  This night had to be perfect, though, so he had called two separate restaurants, making reservations for 7pm at one and 8 pm at the other.  Either way they’d have their nice dinner.

Turning the corner he smiled.  She had remembered!  She was just leaving her house, her back to the street as she faced her doorway.  Assuming she had seen him drive by and simply decided to meet him, he opened his mouth to call her, but the words never made it out.  In the doorway stood a tall man with long, black hair and black t-shirt depicting some band he had never heard of.  Caleb’s pace slowed.  He had never seen this guy, though that didn’t mean much.  Tiffany worked at a local club and booked bands all the time.  It was possible that she occasionally met them outside of the club, especially if she was at home for some reason. 

He approached slowly, but neither of them had seemed to notice him, yet.  Then his mind shook.  He could describe it no other way.  The world in front of him blurred and shivered, then re-focused.  He stood on the sidewalk where it met Tiffany’s steps--a full twenty yards from where he had just been standing.  How had he gotten here?  He glanced up to see Tiff.  Her cheeks were streaked with black, mascara running down them as she cried.  She was saying something but he couldn’t decipher it.  Behind her, the strange man lay on his back, unconscious, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.  Caleb looked down and saw his hand bleeding from three small holes in his palm, as if he had been stabbed by a needle.  What was going on?   He shook his head, confused and disoriented. 

His mind shuddered and the world spun again.  He found himself back where it had begun, still a ways from Tiffany and the strange man.  He blinked to clear his mind and looked up.  He immediately regretted it.  Tiffany stood pressed to the strange man, their lips fused together, arms around each other, hands roaming—hers in his hair, his sliding down her back to…

Now world spun for a different reason.  Someone yelled—roared like an animal—and the pair spun.  Tiffany’s eyes went wide and she said something—his name?—as he stormed to her.  Rage danced in his stomach and he felt his teeth grit as the other man gestured to him, seeming confused.  Caleb clenched his fist; this pseudo rock star would pay for her betrayal in blood and bruises.  Pain lanced up his arm and he gasped, looking down at his hand.  The roses tumbled in slow motion to the ground as he looked at his palm.

At the three dots of red.  The three pinpricks from the thorns he had squeezed.

The vision flashed again of the strange man lying on his back, bloodied form someone’s fist—Caleb’s fist.  The rage stopped dancing and resigned itself to grumbling in the corner near the sudden pit in his stomach.  Caleb’s senses rushed back and he heard Tiffany crying, tugging his arm and apologizing frantically.  The other man kept asking her who this guy was and Caleb could see confusion on his face as well.  Caleb looked back to Tiffany, an odd sort of calm washing over him as he ran a hand along her cheek.  He leaned forward, kissing her forehead tenderly.  She calmed a bit and smiled, looking at him as if he’d forgiven her.  But she misunderstood his kiss.  It wasn’t a pardon.  It was a farewell.

He stepped back as the other man sputtered at him and he turned, walking back to where he had parked his jeep.  Tiffany called after him but he never turned.  It occurred to him that he’d always known she would do this—was doing this.  His overzealous excitement over 6 months had been nothing but a cleverly designed ruse to trick himself into thinking it wasn’t happening; that true love motivated him and not desperation.  He didn’t know how he had known; only that he had. 

Numbly, he started his jeep and pulled away from the curb.  He idly wondered if the jeweler would refund his money on the necklace as he made his way back home.  He drove to the corner, his blinker indicating left, away from downtown Vegas.  He glanced left and then right, for cars, and his eyes lingered on the glow already intruding on the night’s dark sky.

“Screw it.” He muttered and swung the wheel right, plummeting into the heart of Sin City.