Chapter 6: Blood on the Beat

After dance practice, I saw Mason hurrying upstairs and followed him. The elevator stopped at the 18th floor—a music studio. What was he doing there? My curiosity got the better of me.

I pressed the button, curiosity getting the better of me. My reflection in the elevator doors looked nervous, but excited. I bit my lip, wondering what I’d find.

I stepped out quietly, trying not to draw attention. The hallway smelled like old carpet and stale coffee. I wrinkled my nose.

The elevator doors opened to chaos. Shouting, the thump of fists, and the crash of a chair. My heart leaped into my throat.

I froze, unsure what to do.

I stepped out to see Mason pinning someone down, punching him over and over—blood everywhere. Someone pulled him off and punched him to the floor. The scene was brutal.

The sight shocked me. Mason’s knuckles were raw, his face twisted with rage. The other guy—Big Mike, I realized—was bleeding from his nose. I felt sick.

As that person raised their hand again, I ran over and shoved him away from Mason. My adrenaline spiked.

I didn’t even think—just acted. My hands shook, but I stood my ground. I wasn’t letting anyone hurt him.

He tried to get up, but people held him back. I heard them say, "Stop, the police are on their way. Check on Big Mike." The chaos was overwhelming.

The room buzzed with panic. Someone dialed 911. I knelt beside Mason, my heart pounding. I reached for his hand.

"Mason, are you okay?" I helped him sit up. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging, blood at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He looked lost.

He looked at me, not really seeing me. I reached for his hand, but he jerked away. The rejection stung.

He shook off my hand and walked out. On one side, a crowd; on the other, just him alone. I turned and chased after him. I couldn’t let him go.

I hesitated for a second, then ran after him, my sneakers squeaking on the tile. My chest hurt.

"Hey, Mason." My voice was soft, but determined. I wasn’t letting him disappear on me.

I caught up and grabbed his wrist. "Come with me to the hospital." I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He yanked his arm away, jaw clenched. I grabbed him again, refusing to give up. He tried to shake me off, but I held on.

The hallway echoed with our scuffle. People stared, but I didn’t care. I was fighting for him.

"Stay away from me!" He finally exploded, yelling at me. The pain in his voice cut deep.

His voice cracked, raw with pain. I flinched, but didn’t let go. I wasn’t giving up.

"No." He had such a bad temper, I almost gave up. But when I heard his trembling voice, I hesitated. He was hurting.

I saw the fear in his eyes, the way his hands shook. I softened my grip, wanting to comfort him.

After I finished speaking, he seemed to lose all strength, dropped to his knees, and started sobbing. The sound broke my heart.

The sound was gut-wrenching, echoing down the empty hallway. I knelt beside him, unsure what to do. I wanted to help.

I stood there for a long time. He looked like a stray dog curled up in the wet grass on a rainy day, with nowhere to go. I couldn’t leave him like that.

I couldn’t leave him like that. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him as he cried. I rocked him gently.

He stiffened at first, then melted into the embrace, sobs shaking his whole body. I held him tighter.

"Mason, it’s okay. It’s okay." I whispered the words over and over, rocking him gently. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.

I called my driver to take us to the hospital, then brought him home. The ride was silent, Mason staring out the window, face streaked with tears. I kept my hand on his knee, offering silent support.

As soon as I opened the door, the white Samoyed rushed out. Luna jumped up, tail wagging, licking Mason’s face. He managed a small smile, the first I’d seen in days.

I put the medicine on the entryway table. "I’ll go now. Take care of yourself." I lingered at the door, not wanting to leave him alone.

He nodded, eyes downcast. I lingered for a second, then slipped out, closing the door softly behind me. My heart ached.

The elevator doors opened, and I saw the girl I’d met at Westgate Mall. She was clutching a bag of groceries, her face pinched with worry. She rushed past me without a word.

She hurried to Mason’s door and knocked. I paused, listening.

I heard her voice—soft, urgent. I hoped she could help where I couldn’t. I swallowed hard, wishing things were different.

As the door opened, the elevator closed. I caught a glimpse of Mason’s silhouette, then the doors slid shut, cutting off the scene. I let out a shaky breath.

At home, my parents were having dinner. The kitchen was warm, the smell of roast chicken filling the air. I washed my hands, trying to shake off the night’s events.

Mom set a plate in front of me, her eyes searching my face for answers. I looked down, not sure what to say.

"Autumn, what happened?" Dad put down his fork. The concern in his voice made my throat tight.

His voice was gentle, but I could hear the worry beneath it. I took a deep breath.

"My classmate got beat up. I took him to the hospital." I kept my voice even, not wanting to worry them more than necessary.

"Where are his parents?" Mom asked, frowning. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, waiting for my answer.

"He seems to live alone." I told the truth. I hated how sad it sounded.

They exchanged a look—one I’d seen a thousand times before. The kind that says, Should we get involved? I waited, heart pounding.

"Go check on him when you can. Poor kid, all alone." Mom sighed. She squeezed my hand, her eyes soft. "Not everyone has what we do, honey."

"Okay." I kept eating, wondering if Mason had eaten tonight. The food tasted bland.

I pushed the food around my plate, mind miles away.

The next day, he didn’t come to school. That night, I bought a meal and went to his place. The walk over was quiet, the city settling into its nighttime hush. I clutched the takeout bag, nerves jangling.

He opened the door. He looked tired, eyes ringed with dark circles. I offered a tentative smile, hoping to lift his spirits.

"Here, have you eaten?" I handed him the food. He hesitated, then took it, stepping aside to let me in.

I followed, the apartment neat but sparse. Luna wagged her tail, happy to see me. I set the food on the counter, trying to act normal.

An awkward quiet settled in.

Luna curled up in her bed. I poured her some dog food. She yawned, stretching luxuriously before digging in. I smiled, grateful for her easy company.

"Does your injury still hurt?" I tried to keep my tone light, but I couldn’t hide the worry.

No answer. He just stared at the floor, shoulders tense. I bit my lip.

"I was going to bring you dinner last night, but you had company, so you probably weren’t hungry." I tried to sound casual, but the words felt clumsy.

Mason took a bottle of milk from the fridge and handed it to me. The gesture was oddly sweet, like he was trying in his own way.

"I thought it was you." His voice was quiet, almost shy. I took the milk, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

I took the strawberry milk. It was cold in my hands, a small comfort.

"You haven’t eaten all day?" I looked around. The place was spotless, no sign of takeout. I glanced at the trash—empty. My stomach twisted.

He still didn’t say anything. He just sat down, picking at the food without looking up.

"Hurry up and eat." I brought the food over and opened it for him. I pushed the box toward him, trying to sound bossy. He smirked, just a little.

"You’re not scared of me?" He looked up at me. His eyes searched mine, like he was waiting for me to flinch.

"Scared of what? Boys fighting isn’t a big deal." I shrugged, trying to play it cool. Truth was, I’d seen scarier things.

"Do you know why I went to juvie? For murder." He stared at me. His words hung in the air, heavy and cold. My breath caught.

"Huh?" This time, I really was scared. My voice trembled. My mind raced, trying to reconcile the boy in front of me with the accusation.

He didn’t say anything else, just started eating. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

The atmosphere felt eerie and tense. I made an excuse and left. I mumbled something about homework and slipped out, my heart pounding.

But I never went inside—just knocked and hung the food on his doorknob. I’d leave the bag, sometimes with a note. I hoped he knew I cared, even if I couldn’t say it out loud.

I left him a note:

"My mom says you live alone and have no one to take care of you while you’re hurt, so she made food for me to bring over. It’s really good—try it! PS: We’re good people. Remember to feed Luna."

I doodled a little heart at the bottom, just in case he needed a reason to smile.

After school one day, that girl was waiting for me at the gate. She wore a bright yellow sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She waved when she saw me.

"Hi, I’m Riley, Mason’s friend." Her handshake was firm, her smile genuine. I relaxed a little.

"Hi." I tried not to sound suspicious, but I couldn’t help it.

"I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day. Let me treat you to dinner." She seemed earnest, so I agreed. We ended up at a little diner, the kind with sticky menus and bottomless coffee.

That afternoon, I learned that Mason, Big Mike (the one who got beat up), and Riley had all been good friends. They’d grown up together, bonded over music and late-night jam sessions. I listened, fascinated.

They were all into hip-hop and got along well. Later, Big Mike and Mason fell out because Big Mike stole a song Mason wrote and sold it to a company. The betrayal cut deep—deeper than I realized. I could see the pain in Riley’s eyes as she told the story.

That cost Mason his chance to perform on stage. He’d been so close, only to have it ripped away by someone he trusted.

I tried to hide my shock. "Why are you telling me all this?" I wasn’t sure if she was warning me, or just needed someone to talk to.

Riley smiled. "I see you can still talk to him. I hope you can persuade him. Big Mike already knows he was wrong. You guys grew up together—no need to stay enemies." She looked hopeful, but I shook my head.

"First, I’m not as close to him as you think. Second, it’s his decision, not mine. Third, if you’re really his friend, you shouldn’t be asking me to do this." I tried to be gentle, but firm. Some wounds take time to heal.

After talking to Riley, I couldn’t stop thinking—what did being betrayed by a friend have to do with killing someone? What about his parents? Why had I never heard anything?

Questions swirled in my mind, but I knew better than to push. Mason would tell me when he was ready.

I didn’t know what else Mason had been through, but my decision to repay him wouldn’t change.

No matter how complicated things got, I was in this for the long haul.