The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(101)

For the first time since this morning, Frankie is very tempted to slam the door shut—right in Rolando’s face.





Valentino


6:27 p.m.

Why walk toward your own death when you can drive?

Floyd is driving us down the FDR, a ten-minute journey between his house and my building. But there’s a catch: I’m alone in the backseat of the van as Orion sits shotgun. It’s a safety decision and one I chose to respect when I got in the car and accepted this generous offer.

Transportation is really tricky on an End Day.

Orion and I tried leaving for the subway, but his family wouldn’t allow us. There were too many risks between here and the station, and then the train ride itself presented its own dangers. I thought we could take a taxi, but his guardians didn’t trust any drivers, especially since just last week Floyd had to provide medical attention to a cabbie who was responsible for the accident. What if fate was cruel enough to put that man behind the wheel again with us in the backseat? Floyd volunteered to drive but refused to let Dayana, Dalma, and Dahlia get in the car too. He tried suggesting there wasn’t enough space for all of us, but it’s a van. Everyone could fit. I just know he doesn’t want to risk their lives. I’m sure he wishes Orion were in Dayana’s car with the girls, but the best he could do was suggest Orion sit up front with him to help navigate a freeway that has been a pretty straight shot.

I’m not upset. I want Orion close to the airbags. The best protection I have back here are comforters and bedding and pillows that Dayana has given me to leave behind for Scarlett. Now Scarlett won’t have to sleep under my clothes like I did with Orion.

I love that memory. The first time I shared a bed with a boy.

I reach over as best as my seat belt allows and hold on to Orion’s shoulder like it’s the edge of a cliff. He turns and kisses my knuckles before covering them with his hand.

The entire ride has been quiet. There’s already a level of care that goes into driving without factoring in a confirmed Decker in the backseat. I’m sure Floyd is nervous that this act of kindness he’s showing me can lead to everyone’s deaths. Orion is paying attention to his side-view mirror for any rogue cars that might spin out of control.

No matter what happens, I still can’t help but feel like I’m in a hearse, being driven to my funeral even though my heart is still beating.





Orion


6:30 p.m.

My phone rings, and for a second I feel like I can’t answer it, as if I’m the one driving the car and not someone sitting shotgun. Floyd’s got those steel nerves thankfully. I check my phone, and it’s not Dalma or Scarlett calling. It’s a number I don’t know.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling to speak with Orion Pagan. This is Dr. Emeterio from Lenox Hill.”

“Oh my god, hey! It’s me.”

“How are you?”

“I’m okay, I’m really good, actually.”

“Does that mean Valentino is still alive?”

“Yeah, we’re together right now.” I look over my shoulder and tell Valentino that it’s Dr. Emeterio on the phone. “So what’s up?”

“Is it possible to speak with Valentino?”

“Totally.” I pass the phone back to Valentino.

I’m trying to figure out if Dr. Emeterio calling is a good thing or bad thing. I watch Valentino from the rearview mirror, hoping to get a spoiler of some sort. He’s just saying, “Yeah” and “No” and “Uh-huh” and then finally, “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see you soon.” That doesn’t tell me shit either, we were already planning on going back to the hospital.

Valentino meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.

And smiles.

And nods.

And tears up.

“The board approved the surgery,” Valentino says.

It would be a bad idea for my heart to explode right now, but I’m bursting with happiness.

We can’t save his life, but we can hook him up with a gentler death.

Death-Cast for the win.





Gloria Dario


6:34 p.m.

Gloria has lived too much of her life in fear.

There was the first time Frankie laid a hand on her, furious after losing money during fantasy football, as if Gloria had been the one who drafted the players on his team. Then Frankie beat Gloria when she was pregnant so bad that she was bleeding and thought her child may have been killed by his father. There was also the time Frankie’s temper was igniting, over something Gloria has forgotten about, only remembering how she ran out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and grabbed three-year-old Pazito and hid in a neighbor’s apartment as Frankie tried finding her, a puddle building around her bare feet as she clamped her hand over Pazito’s mouth so he wouldn’t respond to his father as he called out his name, like the worst game of hide-and-seek. And Gloria certainly can’t forget about when she was out late for Rolando’s birthday, and how Frankie wanted her home sooner and sought her out when she didn’t answer her cell phone, as if she was in bed with Rolando, something her heart has called for many times before but she never acted on it because she wanted to be better than Frankie, who had no problems cheating on her—as if she didn’t know about the neighbor downstairs. When Frankie demanded she get in the cab, Gloria refused, seeing how furious he was. But Frankie left the cab like it was a cage and hurled himself on Gloria like a wild animal, attacking her in public, in front of Pazito, who cried from the backseat. Hospitalized while Frankie only spent one night in prison, Gloria was scared she might die.