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Harold almost ran me over when he laid his eyes on the body closest to the kitchen table.

“Nah, nah, nah. Chase!”

Harold dropped down beside his brother’s body, shaking him hard even though it was obvious there wasn’t shit left to save.

I just stood there staring around the apartment, trying to process what the fuck I was looking at. I had seen dead bodies before growing up in this neighborhood. Seen niggas get zipped up after shootouts. Seen addicts laid out on sidewalks. Even been to funerals where mothers screamed over caskets.

But this shit?

This was a massacre. This scene screamed betrayal.

“Yo man, we need to call the cops.”

I finally snapped out of my daze.

“Fuck no, we can’t. I’m eighteen now, and I’m not supposed to be anywhere near guns or drugs. The judge said he is going to send me to Rikers if they catch me in another environment like this, man. Fuck!”

Harold was panicking hard now, rocking back and forth on the floor while holding onto his brother’s body.

As my eyes kept moving around the apartment, something suddenly caught my attention near my feet. Money.

A thick ass stack of cash on the floor beside the couch, almost hidden between two bodies, like whoever tore through this place dropped it by accident during all the chaos.

For a second, everything else around me got quiet.

The blood. The bodies. Harold crying. All that shit faded into the background once my eyes locked on that money.

I had no idea how much it was, but it looked like more cash than I’d ever held in my hands before.

And before I could even stop myself, my mind immediately told me to bend down and grab the shit. I wasn’t sure how much it was in this stack, but I’m sure it was enough to make my situation better at home. After putting the money in my pocket, I felt blood on my hand and wiped it against my pants by habit.

“Yo, Harold, we really need to roll, bro. We can’t be here when the police come. Who’s to say no one has called the cops already?”

He sat there on the floor shaking his head, staring at his brother’s body as if he looked long enough, the shit would somehow change. His hands trembled before he finally eased his brother’s head down onto the floor carefully, almost gently, like he was scared to do any more damage to him than what had already been done.

Harold pushed himself up without saying another word and jogged out of the living room, and I followed behind him in a daze, my legs moving even though my mind still felt stuck back inside that apartment. Everything that had just happened was replaying in my head over and over again so fast it was making me feel lightheaded.

Once we ran through the back alleyway, passing by feens and hitting corners to put distance between us and the apartment, my stomach suddenly folded in on itself.

I bent over near the side of the building and threw up onto the concrete. My whole body jerked while spit hung from my mouth and sweat gathered across my forehead. I kept coughing, trying to catch my breath, but every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was blood on the floor all across the apartment.

That was some shit I never expected to see in real life, and deep down, I already knew it was going to stick with me for a long ass time.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before leaning against the wall, trying to pull myself together. My chest was pounding so hard it damn near hurt. Had I not had that stack of money stuffed deep in my pockets, I would’ve deeply regretted even going over there in the first place. But every time I thought about the money, I pictured my mama dragging herself out of the house before sunrise every morning to go clean up rich people's homes while we stayed back at ours, missing her all day.

At least now I could help her out some. Even if the money came attached to stomach pain and a memory I knew I’d never forget.

7:30 pm

I was pacing back and forth in my room, trying to catch my breath and clear my head. Most of the time, I hated having the bedroom that faced the front street. Between sirens flying down the block at all hours of the night, people yelling outside, car horns, loud music rattling windows, and police lights flashing through my curtains every other hour, it always felt impossible to really relax in there. Even when I was tired, Brooklyn had a way of keeping my ass awake.

Tonight, though, I appreciated the window more than ever because my paranoia was through the roof after seeing those bodies and taking that cash. Every few seconds, I found myself peeking through the blinds, checking the block like somebody was about to come looking for me next.

Death was real to me now, and before tonight, street shit just looked like money, chains, fresh clothes, and fast cash. Nobody talked about how quick everything could end. Them niggas were probably sitting around counting money one minute, then dead on the floor the next.

“Khalil?”

My mama knocked twice before pushing the door open anyway.