A Lovely Mess

A Lovely Mess

Brandon Trask

Copyright © [2025] Brandon Trask. All rights reserved.

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Cover design by: https://www.fiverr.com/kasun2050?source=inbox

Contents

1.DEDICATION

2.AUTHOR'S NOTE

3.ONE

3. SWAN

4.TWO

4. URBAN PHANTOMS

5.THREE

5. LILITH

6.FOUR

6. FRANCIS

7.FIVE

7. THE PARTY

8.SIX

8. BONDING & BETRAYAL

9.SEVEN

9. FRIENDS, ENEMYS & LOVERS

10.EIGHT

10. CONVERGENCE OF FATES

11.NINE

11. THE DECISION

12.TEN

12. THE SURGEON

13.ELEVEN

13. COLLATERAL FATE

14.TWELVE

14. THE HEART'S RETURN

15.AFTERWORD

DEDICATION

To Peck, for being a true friend; and to my mother and father, for their love.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This story contains depictions of violence, grief, medical trauma, and other mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.

ONE

Squawking seagulls slice through the crisp, misty night, their wings ghosting through the fog like phantom dancers above the glittering Santa Cruz Boardwalk.

I tilt my head, eyes catching the swinging feet of passengers suspended above on the high-tension cable cars, their laughter lost in the wind.

Logger’s Revenge slams brutally into the water, a cascade of white spray drenching everyone in the car, their joy twisted into shrieks.

The air pulses with pandemonium, the distant roar of the Giant Dipper roller coaster echoing through the park. Its towering frame shakes as cars plummet into their next death-defying drop. Panic and exhilaration collide, swirling into the humid air like a symphony of mayhem.

I inhale deeply, the cool air mixing with the gritty taste of my vape as braided strands of woolly hair tumble over my hoodie emblazoned with Grill ‘Em Crazy. My Zed longboard juts from my tattered backpack as I carve through a swarm of tourists, feeling the pulse of the pier beneath my feet.

Arcades burst with life, erupting with a frenzy of flashing lights and ringing bells, while I steal a glance upward at the Giant Dipper, electrifying the air with thrill and wild joy.

Ka-boom! Fireworks explode overhead, drawing my eyes back to the coaster. In a heartbeat, I’m that kid again strapped into a seat, screaming beside my dad, hearts racing in sync. That fleeting burst of ecstasy, where the world narrows down to just you and someone you love.

I’m broken now, alone, desperate, but not dead. My name’s Swan Singleton, and today I turned eighteen.

Click-Click! Click-Click! I staple a missing person poster to a wooden post with a flickering lamp above:

PAUL SINGLETON, 37, FLANNEL SHIRT. LAST SEEN, OCEAN VIEW PARK. CALL 555-4567 IF YOU’VE SEEN HIM.

I vault over the wooden barrier, crashing into the damp sand with a thud reverberating through my bones. I move under the boardwalk, where shadows cling to the worn planks like secrets, barely touched by the sliver of moonlight slicing through the gaps.

The sound of the ocean echoes around me, a steady rhythm that matches my pulse. I stick my tongue out, savoring the sting of saltwater dripping from the weathered beams above, cool and sharp against my skin.

Gripping a can of fluorescent red paint, I shake it furiously, the rattle like a countdown to chaos. With a fierce hiss, I unleash it, the spray crackling in the air as I scrawl across the stone wall:

DEATH IS MY LAST REFUGE

A low moan cuts through the night, like icy fingers clawing my tissue. I whip around, and that’s when I see it. A figure, or something draped in blue scrubs, with steely white hair and hollow, lifeless eyes. The moonlight glints off the blade of a scalpel clutched in its hand, cold and sharp as death.

I blink, and before I can even move, the figure dissolves into the swirling mist, swallowed by the night as if it never existed. I grimace in agony, raising my hoody and running my fingers along a jagged scar tracking down the right side of my abdomen. Oh, fuck…

***

I weave down the sidewalk on my skateboard, moving through the cool night air until I drag my foot to a stop. My gut tightens as I make a sharp detour into a dank alley. The stench hits me first. The rotting garbage, urine, and decay. I push deeper, skimming through the makeshift tents, searching for my dad.

The weathered faces of the homeless stare at me, eyes hollow with delirium, shadows of humanity huddled around fire barrels that flicker like dying hope. I swallow hard and approach a gruff man with tattered clothes, holding up the crumpled missing poster of my dad.

Yo, I’m trying to find someone. Seen this dude around anywhere?

The man slams me against the cold brick wall. His face inches closer, his slimy, snake-like tongue lashing across my neck.

I gag at the reek of sweat and stale cigarettes, making my stomach churn. I drive my knee into his groin and bolt into the night, heart hammering in my chest, his foul scent still clinging to my skin.

***

I tear down Pacific Avenue, my skateboard slicing through the crisp night air, the salty breeze stinging my face like tiny needles.

Bang! A deafening crack like a gunshot splits the night. My heart slams into my throat. The distant sound of a car backfiring barely registers. Too late. I’m already off my board, instinctively throwing myself under a 4-wheel drive truck, muscles locked in fear.

I claw at the pavement, fingernails scraping the rough concrete, desperate to find something solid, something real, but it’s slipping. The world around me warps, distorts, twisting into that sickening, dream-like haze where nothing makes sense. I’m flung into a flashback, trapped between reality and nightmare.

I’m strapped to a rusty gurney, blood-soaked, flailing as it screeches down the dim hallway of a dingy hospital. Flickering fluorescent lights dangle above, swaying from frayed cords, casting jittery shadows that crawl across the filthy walls. I fight to free myself, thrashing until I crash to the cold, grimy tiles. I crawl, tears streaking down my face, pooling into twisted Rorschach blots of fear and confusion beneath me.

I look up, breath hitching in my chest, and meet a doctor’s gaze. Her red hair, tied in eerie pigtails, contrasts with the white lab coat that flutters as she looms over me. Her eyes, distorted and glassy, reflect my terror. She grips an IV bag of Vancomycin in her hand as if it’s salvation.

What’s happening to me?

You’re not delusional, my lovely, she purrs. Just over-medicated.

She presses her lips to mine. The world fractures again. Boom! I’m ripped back to reality, lying beneath the truck. Shaking, I pop several Xanax from a Wonder Woman PEZ dispenser into my mouth, my body buzzing with adrenaline as I swallow them down. Slowly, the panic fades. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, grounding myself in the present, the lingering taste of fear bitter on my tongue.

In the distance, a bouncing headlight cuts through the dark, catching my eye as I crawl out from under the truck. A woman on a motorcycle speeds toward me, her grip loosening on the handlebars as she closes her eyes, surrendering to the rush.

Watch out! I scream.

Her eyes snap open, wild and disoriented. She grabs the wobbling bars just in time, but it’s too late to correct fully. She jerks the bike, sending it skidding toward me. I’m pressed hard against the truck, pinned for a breathless moment as the metal scrapes my skin. With a screech, she wrestles the bike to a shaky stop, inches from disaster.

Fury explodes through me. I launch toward her, fists clenched.

What the fuck was that?

She slumps over the handlebars, her face drained of color, eyes heavy with something darker than remorse. Her lips barely move as she mutters, Lilith.

What? Who the hell’s Lilith?

But before I can get an answer, she dumps the clutch, revs the