Burn Down, Rise Up: Prologue–Part One

Desperation ebbed and flowed.

“He expected some people to have cars.” I didn’t elaborate on which people those were.

I watched Aaron’s hand work fast and hard, to the detriment of his own handwriting. I couldn’t tell his Rs from his Hs, and the grip he had on his pen made my own hand cramp up.

People flocked to Charlize naturally. A crowd of students surrounded her like a bubble. If it weren’t for Aaron’s forlorn stare and the way her curls peeked up over the crowd, I wouldn’t have known she was there at all.

Tentatively, the doctor continued.

It was a stark contrast from Mami’s house—my house.

“It’s like a little charm. A totem full of spiritual energy that protects you.”

He sauntered into the kitchen and began opening and closing cabinets, the fridge, the pantry before poking his head out.

The possibility of undue violence made my chest ache with despair.

I wanted to know what was going on with Cisco, but I didn’t want to open myself up to a barrage of questions.

The memory of Charlize’s disheveled look swam to the forefront of my mind.

And yet, I couldn’t parse out the words anyone was saying. Even while yelling, they sounded muffled, like they were trapped behind glass.

Black words painted on white: FALSAS PROMESAS. The look of it felt ominous, so I focused my eyes on Cisco and tried to keep them from blurring.

The last thing anyone needed was more speculation, so I kept my mouth shut to avoid feeding the rumor mill.

A cursory glance told me he was distracted by the updates of the Hazel Boon case.

He got tongue-tied around pretty girls he wasn't interested in.
Which I guess said something about me.
I waved that thought away and waited for an answer. He floundered—and that was all I needed to see.

I somehow felt relieved and yet dejected. Conflicting emotions, but hey, what was I gonna do?

Why did I have to sound so callous? It was like my nerves couldn’t differentiate between fight or flight, so it made everything come out harsh by default.

She was quiet for a moment. Contemplative.

It was probably a little naive to call this “rekindling an old friendship,” and I knew this.

His body jerked forward with every hacking cough.

A large section of the wall was broken through, revealing unfinished scaffolding and an electrical wire bitten to hell by rats.

It didn’t take long before I heard small footsteps gingerly making their way through the previous room.

There was a palm-sized burn mark right at the cusp of my neck.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe something like an impromptu lesson about how science only gets us so far and sometimes we had to put our trust in something that goes further.

“Do you at least know what redlining is?”
I nodded. It was the practice of banks avoiding any investment in areas depending on the community demographics (which were usually Black inner-city neighborhoods). I remembered being shown why it was called redlining when Mr. Chan took a red marker to a map. Everything inside the red area he drew was shunned by banks, investment-wise.

The government decided they would help subsidize mortgages for anyone moving to the suburbs—but only if you qualified.

“The seventies, I guess. Papi told me a little about the Bronx burning, but he didn’t tell me much about how it ended.”
“Ah,” Xiomara said, a wistful smile on her lips.

“Your father tell you how it was the slumlords and bureaucrats setting fire to buildings just to collect the insurance money?”

Right now, she looked nonchalant enough, lips curled slightly and eyes staring off into the distance.

“Sometimes Xiomara can be cryptic, but what she meant was that we had to pick ourselves up. We had to rebuild the Bronx, literally. A few grassroots organizations formed. They taught residents carpentry so we could actually renovate our homes. We took special care of it because it was ours. And we had no one else—only each other.”

“I know you don’t believe in the spiritual stuff like your mother and I do, but I’d always feel like there was some underlying negative energy around. Like there were ghosts trapped in every brick.”

I followed Papi in silence as if he didn’t just say something poignant.

I glanced up to the cops, who were still scrutinizing me.

Officer Bored launched into an inquisition. “Charlize, you were the last one to see your cousin. Were you aware of any particularly biohazardous material he may have been carrying at the time?”

Not many people I knew would ever try to conjure Bloody Mary or use spirit boards.

In fact, one person passed through him, and he dissipated just as easily as smoke.

It was a large, redbrick building that stood tall next to a plaza and just in front of a modest cathedral.

It seemed so odd that anyone from the Bronx would bother being up at 3:00 a.m. if they actually had a choice. The white kids from Fordham were more or less an anomaly, but it fit in with their sense of reckless adventure.

“And honestly—Mario? Of all people, you had to choose the most obnoxious person in the history of the world? That was the worst possible decision you could have made. I cannot believe the absolute gall of you right now.”