THE DEATH TRADE

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6:32 PM

November 23

Tijuana, Mexico

Gabriela lifted her hazed eyes to what hung above her and saw the truth of her wretched nature in the break of the moonlit clouds. The darkness that enveloped her was who she became – there was no doubt about it.

There was a new obsidian core that settled into her heart, ensuring that light never resides again.

Scarlet pooled beneath her, draining her of her own blood as seconds passed by. Even with the last of her breath escaping her lungs, and the zion of what could have been lingering within her hazy memory, Gabriela knew one thing:

Had she been given another breath – another day, by the God she barely believed in, she would have chosen to slit her own throat again.

At long last, she would meet eternal sleep without a dream to remind her of her past and the agonizing promise of waking up.

–

6:32 PM

November 23

Rublyovka, Russia

It was raining for the fourth time today, the droplets that escaped the grey clouds that hovered over the Reznikov residence had been solidifying. As the liquid dribbling onto the mansion turned to shatter ice, the voices from within began to mimic as the household turned to complete havoc.

Lilia Reznikov's heart had stopped hours ago. She was covered with the silk white cloth of death, surrounded by 99 candles, a tradition held by the family to help the soul travel to the afterlife with ease. The Russian flags had been lowered out of respect for her passing.

She was a loved woman. It was evident from the loud prayers of the workforce outside her chambers; housekeepers, butlers, gardeners, chauffeurs – they had all gathered to send their condolences.

Lilia Reznikov was dead.

So when her pale eyes opened to the feel of light cloth on her eyelids, and her mouth mumbled rushed curse words, the household went into absolute chaos.

She slowly moved her hands to yank the cloth off of her. When she did, her line of vision was met with eyes of bewilderment from a woman who had been fixing a makeup stand by her bedside – she was the person who had deafened her with her scream. Beyond that were people huddled up by the door, their expressions alike.

"This is impossible," they murmured among each other.

Alarmed, Gabriela jumped off of the bed, only to have her legs entangled with the sheets, and land face-first onto the ground. "Mierda."

A man rushed towards her from the door, dressed in a long suit that resembled a butler's. When she saw him come towards her, she began looking for the closest thing she could use to fight him. Though, the sight of something else completely stopped her in her tracks.

She sat frozen on the cold, marble ground, her eyes fixated on her exposed legs. They were pale, almost ghostly white. The complete opposite of the melanated body she was used to. At that moment, a quick rush of memories hit her: Alcaraz. Gun. Suicide.

She killed herself. She was certain she did; even with her memories hazy, she could still remember the feeling of the blood being drained out of her.

"Miss Reznikov, are you okay?!"