Primer Paso: El Asesianto

                                        

                                              
When Malcolm stopped the car this last time, he was no longer leashed and bound by his anger and fear. The human psyche can only endure that state for so long and now Malcolm had slid into the embrace of a strange numbing calm. Carlitos was wired and anxious, but Malcolm had stepped aside from his emotions, just focusing on taking the next immediate move. Once there, he could worry about the move afterthat. He didn't know how to explain it beyond a sense of silent solitude in his head that hadn't been there this morning. Eventually he would give it a name, but for now they were still strangers.
                              
This time they weren't stopped outside of a house liberally coated with gang tags and markers. They both got out of the car and stood still for a moment. The scene came to Malcolm in flashes of disjointed details. The sound of hte engine ticking after the constant rumble of hte last few hours. Malcolm's breathing was calm sounding, steady compared to Carlitos' emotional rasping. The gravel underfoot crunched and rolled, making their footing dangerous. There was the sound of flies, fat and heavy and droning in the air, punctuated by the squeak of rats nearby.
                              
Malcolm's focus shifted from sounds to sensation. As his balance adjusted on the treacherous gravel, he felt the cooler breeze tickle through the curls of his hair. It was a delicate warning that they had lost the day and dusk would arrive before much longer.
                              
He felt sweat trickle down his spine, a combination of the day's lingering heat and his unending anxiety that was clinging to him like a shadow would. Unsubstansial but inescapable. Malcolm felt ridiculous as his stomach grumbled, announcing loudly to both Spainards that the young man hadn't eaten since breakfast. He felt heartless, being hungry, but some inner instinct warned him that right now it would be best if Malcolm didn't have anything of substance in his gut.
                              
Malcolm's eyes blinked into a hyper focus, almost painfully acute. The muddied colours of the setting sun cast primal shadows on the ground. Malcolm spotted the beady, soulless black eyes of a grotesque looking rat. A sheet of canvas flapped in the breeze  and Malcolm felt the tightness in his chest snap. The disjointed impressioned lined up, clicking into symphony and Malcolm was suddenly standing over a bundle of paint splattered canvas. Next to him Carlitos cried silent tears, already knowing what they were going to find if they unwrapped it.
                              
Still, Malcolm couldn't stop his body from moving. He dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he reached out and pulled the first layer of canvas, revealing the first splash of blood. It smelled different than he expected, somehow more organic. There were strands of familiar, beautiful black hair. They’d pulled loose and Malcolm woodenly took the long strands and wove it around his wrist. Carlitos knelt down next to Malcolm and helped him peel the last layer of canvas away. Adrianna’s beautiful face was beyond battered. It had been broken beyond recognition, nose flattened, cheek gashed open, great chunks of hair ripped from her scalp. They’d left her naked and the savagery with which they’d treated her was exposed, impossible not to see, to know. There were raw chafe marks around her wrists and ankles from where they’d bound her. There were clear hand bruises around her throat, black patches on her dark skin. Malcolm’s keen eyes blurred as shameless tears fell down his cheeks. The bend of his sister’s elbow was ravaged with needle marks, drugs used to tame her and keep her docile when they wanted to be able to untie her so they could use her. There was plenty enough evidence of that between her bloodied thighs. Malcolm didn’t look, giving his sister that last dignity as he pulled the canvas closed over her naked body.
                              
“Call la policia.” Malcolm said calmly, feeling numb as the street tough walked away.
                              
“I can’t stay for them Malcolm. They see me here, they’ll call her gang slut and walk away.” Carlitos said after he’d called the authorities.
                              
“Go tell my family.” Malcolm requested, taking the coward’s way out by having Carlitos tell them. Still Malcolm couldn’t feel the grief yet. It filled the air around him, an invisible cloak held off by some unknown force. He wanted to clean her up after Carlitos left but knew better. Any chance the police had to track her killers would hinge on Malcolm changing or corrupting as little evidence as possible. But Malcolm was too smart to think that the local cops would be willing or even able to help. Most, if not all, of the local cops were corrupt. Since Adrianna hadn’t been a gang banger it wasn’t so bad, but she was just a raped woman. And since the Vega’s weren’t going to be able to bribe the officers or offer any kind of encouraging compensation, the cops weren’t too likely to try terribly hard to catch the bad guys that were likely to just buy them off anyways.
                              
Reluctantly Malcolm released his sister’s corpse into police possession, stepping away to be photographed and interviewed. The cops kept giving each other knowing smirks as they examined Adrianna’s brutalized body. Although they mouthed all the right sympathetic things to Malcolm, he knew it was a pretense. If there was ever going to be justice for Adrianna and the rest of Malcolm’s family, it would have to be by Malcolm’s hands and he knew it. He would have to open himself completely to this silent solitude inside and be the judgment bringer.
                              
His parents arrived at the scene, kept at bay on the other side of the tape. His mother was weeping wretchedly, clinging to his papa desperately. His father looked gaunt and pale, grief aging him prematurely. And Diego stared at Malcolm with a shocked, almost shattered look in his eyes. He was too young to endure this but that was the reality of this place. The good died young and the brutal reigned supreme. If Malcolm didn’t have Adrianna’s blood on his hands and clothes or else he’d go over there and hug his little brother. Their family would never be the same again.