Get your tissues ready readers, because we’re about to take you a bit back in time. To 2010 to be exact, to the first night of Death-Cast calls.
That’s right, we’ve got a sneak peak for The First to Die at the End, the prequel to the heartbreaking They Both Die at the End.
Now, you don’t have to have read that book to start reading this one. You’d be more prepared for the level of heartbreak to expect, sure, but this can be your first introduction in the Death-Cast World.
Meet Orion and Valentino, two boys who haven’t yet met. They will though, and romance may or may not ensue. But be warned, because one of them will be…the first to die at the end.
July 30, 2010
ORION PAGAN
10:10 p.m.
Death-Cast might call at midnight, but it won’t be the first time someone tells me I’m going to die.
For the past few years I’ve been fighting for my life because of a severe heart condition, straight scared that I might drop dead if I live it up too hard. Then an organization called Death-Cast appeared out of nowhere and claimed they could predict when—not just if—we’re about to die. It sounded like the premise of a short story I’d write. Real life never hooks me up with wins like that. But everything got really real, real fast when the president of the United States held a press briefing where he introduced the creator of Death-Cast and confirmed their abilities to predict our fates.
That night, I signed up for Death-Cast.
Now I’m just hoping I won’t be one of the first to get an inaugural End Day call.
If I am, at least I’ll know it’s game over, I guess.
Until then, I’m going to live it up.
And that starts with attending a once-in-a-lifetime event: the Death-Cast premiere.
Death-Cast is hosting so many parties across the country, I think to lift people’s spirits and get them hyped about this program that will change life and death as we know it. They’re already underway in so many places, like the Santa Monica Pier in California and Millennium Park in Chicago and the National Museum of the United States Air Force in Ohio and Sixth Street in Austin, to name a few. Of course I’m at the best one—Times Square, the heart of New York and home to the first Death-Cast offices. I love my city, but you’d never catch me out in Times Square on New Year’s Eve—it’s way too cold to do all that. But I’m chill hanging out on this hot summer night for something so historic.
It’s wild how much bank Death-Cast must be dropping across the country. Or even in Times Square alone. These jumbotrons are always promoting a million things at once, everything from soda products to TV shows to new web addresses, but not tonight. Every screen has been replaced with a digital black hourglass with a radiant white background.
The hourglass is almost full, signaling the End Day calls that will begin at midnight. But it feels bigger than that. It’s almost like the product that Death-Cast is pushing is time itself. That marketing is working because people are lining up to the information booths as if a new iPhone is on sale, all to talk to the Death-Cast customer service reps.
“Imagine working at Death-Cast,” I say.
My best friend, Dalma, looks up from her phone. “I could never.”
“For real. It’s like every call is saving someone’s life, but also, not really. How do you sleep at night knowing everyone you spoke to that day is dead?”
“I know you always got death on the brain, Orion, but you’re killing me.”
“I got death on the heart, technically.”
“Oh my god, I hate you. I’m going to get a job at Death-Cast just so I can call you.”
“Nah, you can’t live without me.”
I don’t add how she’s going to have to at some point. No one’s banking on me living another eighteen years. Not even Dalma, even if she’ll never admit it out loud and always
talks about everything we’ll get to do together in life. Like her dreams of my first book signing whenever I get serious enough to pursue publication of my super-short stories or the
novel I’d love to write if only I believed I’d live long enough to finish it. Or cheering Dalma on as she takes the tech world by storm. And ragging on whatever dates we bring home, which has always felt unbelievable because there’s no way we’d ever be bold enough to say what’s up to guys we think are cute and/or interesting. If I didn’t have this stupid-ass heart, we could have all that and more.
I just got to be present. I might not make it to the future, but I can live in the now.
Though it’s kind of hard to get death off the brain—yeah, brain, not heart this time—when some fortysomething dude walks past us with a sign that reads Death-Cast Is Ending The World. Like, okay, he’s not a fan of Death-Cast, but claiming that they got the power to end the world? That’s a lot. He’s not alone, though. Since Death-Cast was announced at the start of the month, these doomsayers have been running their mouths about boiling oceans and sweeping storms and crumbling grounds and burning cities. I get that apocalyptic and dystopian novels are hot right now, but people need to take a breath and chill.
Freaking out about death every minute isn’t a good life, and yet, tons of people are freaking out about death every minute.
It’s like the end of the world is actually beginning.
In the past few days there’s been a record number of supermarket break-ins as looters stock up on canned goods and gallons of water and toilet paper. There’ve been too many
killing sprees because life sentences won’t last long if the world ends as quickly as the doomsayers are predicting. But nothing hits harder than hearing stories about those who’ve taken their own lives because we’re speeding toward a future with too many unknowns.
I was pissed after hearing about those deaths.
How could Death-Cast have access to this info and not prevent the murders, or intervene with the suicides? But apparently that’s never been in the cards. Death-Cast claims they can’t pinpoint someone’s cause of death, only their End Days to prepare them. And unfortunately, once someone’s name comes up in their mysterious system, their fate is written in stone—and later on their headstone.
Death-Cast may not be all-knowing, but they’ll do wonders for my anxiety. If I don’t get the End Day call, I’ll be good to live more boldly instead of second-guessing, tripleguessing,
quadruple-guessing every damn thing I do out of fear of pissing off my heart and triggering cardiac arrest. I’ll also never be caught off guard again by loved ones dying. Like I was at nine years old when my parents went into the city for a meeting and were killed after a plane was f lown into the World Trade Center’s south tower. My parents obviously didn’t have Death-Cast back then, but I’m forever haunted thinking about how there must’ve been a clear moment when they were certain they were going to die.
I swing at those heartbreaking thoughts, knocking them all back.
Death-Cast will make sure I’m never denied a goodbye ever again.
Well, the chance to say my goodbyes.
I know I don’t have all the time in the world, I feel it in my heart.
I got to go live my firsts—maybe even lasts—while I can.
VALENTINO PRINCE
10:22 p.m.
Death-Cast can’t call me because I’m not registered for their service. Not that they would anyway since my life is only getting started.
If anything, I feel like I’ve been reborn today.
Rebirths feel appropriate as someone born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. Now it’s time to restart my life in none other than New York. From the Valley of the Sun to the Big Apple. I’ve been dreaming about this city for so long that after I printed out my boarding pass at the airport and saw PHX ➔ LGA, I broke down and cried. That one-way ticket meant I would never have to see my parents ever again. That I could build a new home with my twin sister.
I probably shouldn’t have booked the window seat on my flight over. I did my best to keep it together as the plane bulleted down the runway and shot into the sky. It turns out my best is awful. As all the buildings and roads and mountains kept shrinking from view, I cried in the clouds. My seatmate seemed judgy, admittedly. It made me wish even more that my sister was next to me as she should’ve been before a last-minute work opportunity came up. Thankfully, Scarlett will be on the first red-eye out to join me in our new apartment.
Five hours later, when New York came into focus, everything felt right, even though I’d never stepped foot among those skyscrapers and parks. Then we landed and I rolled my suitcases straight to the taxi line, where everyone else seemed miserable waiting, but I was so excited to finally ride inside these classic yellow taxicabs that I’d seen on TV and as props in magazine ads. The driver could tell I’d never been here before since I never stopped watching the street life. That first step onto the curb felt like a movie moment, as if cameras should’ve been flashing; there will be time for that later.
As of tonight, as of now, I can call myself a New Yorker.
Or maybe I have to wait until my landlord finally greets me with my apartment key so I can be certain that I wasn’t scammed after finding this studio on Craigslist. While I’m waiting, I’m taking in my little corner of the Upper East Side. There’s a tiny pizzeria right next door that’s trying to lure me inside with the smell of garlic knots. Honking cars pull my attention back to the street, where someone old enough to be my grandfather is screaming into his phone to be heard over the music blasting from the bar on the corner.
This city is loud, and I love it.
I wonder if I’ll ever miss the quiet of my old neighborhood.
The door opens behind me, and there’s a man wearing nothing but a white tank top and basketball shorts and slippers. He has a thick mustache and thinning black hair, and he’s glaring at me.
“You going to come inside?” he asks.
“Hi, I’m Valentino. I’m a new tenant.”
The man points at my suitcases. “I can tell.”
“I’m waiting for the landlord.”
He nods but doesn’t leave. As if he’s waiting for me to come in.
“Are you Frankie?”
He nods again.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
He reluctantly shakes my hand. “Are you moving in or what?”
I was warned that not every New Yorker will be nice to me, but maybe Frankie is tired since it’s pretty late. I grab my suitcases and enter the building. It’s a warm night, but once I’m inside, I understand why Frankie is dressed like he’s grabbing the morning paper in Arizona. It’s so hot in here it’s as if I walked straight into the pizza oven from next door. The hallway is narrow, painted this mustard yellow that is not fun on the eyes, but I respect the choice. There are steel mailboxes built into the wall with packages on the floor waiting to be picked up, and a trash bin overflowing with junk mail including Death-Cast flyers. I take it many people in this building aren’t registered for the End Day calls. I’m personally not either, because my parents are total skeptics, but that paranoia is another inheritance of theirs I need to abandon.
Frankie pauses while going up the first flight of stairs. “Where’s the other one?”
“The other one?”
“Your twin.”
“Oh, she’s f lying in tomorrow morning.”
Frankie continues ascending. “Make sure if any other big boxes arrive you handle them in a timely fashion. Carrying all your deliveries up these stairs was bad on my back.”
“I’m so sorry.” I had to ship some things early, like an air mattress, blankets, towels, pots, and pans. Though I’m guessing the biggest culprit for his back pain were the five boxes of
clothes and shoes and accessories, which are just as essential as making sure I have somewhere to sleep until my proper mattress can arrive on Tuesday. “Is the elevator broken?”
“It’s been broken since my father ran this place,” Frankie says.
I see. I’m not sure how legal it is to advertise the building having an elevator if it’s purely decorative, but I’m going to make the most of it. All those years spent in my family’s small home gym have prepared me for this life. I haul the suitcases, knowing they’re about fifty pounds each, since I had to weigh them at the airport. Frankie makes no offer to assist, which is okay. By the third f light up I’m remembering that my new apartment is on the sixth f loor. Sweat is building on my lower back, and I’m positive I can skip leg day during all future workouts. I’m out of breath at the top, but—actually, no buts. This is all part of the initiation of the city. Nothing makes me feel like a real New Yorker than being able to say that I live in a sixth-floor walk-up on the Upper East Side.
There’s no ceremony when I’m led to apartment 6G. No welcome to the building, no congratulations on my first home away from home. Frankie simply opens the door, and I follow him inside, leaving my suitcases in the narrow entry hallway. The bathroom is to my immediate left, and while I know I’m going to spend hours in there every week doing my extensive face routines, I’m interested in exploring the space where I’ll be doing most of my living. The wooden f loor creaks under my boots as I step into the studio. My delivered boxes are up against the left wall where I’m planning on putting my bed. There are two windows facing the street and a third above the kitchen sink that offers the view into another neighbor’s apartment. That’s not a problem. I’ll buy curtains this week.
However, the biggest problem is how small this apartment is. Scarlett and I are using the money our parents reserved for college to pursue our dreams—modeling and photography—and we’re hoping to stretch it as long as possible, hence the studio.
“The photos online made it seem bigger,” I say.
“I took those pictures,” Frankie says.
“They were really pretty. Are you sure you uploaded the right photos for this listing? We were expecting more space.”
Frankie stares. “You had the option to visit before leasing.”
“I didn’t live here yet. I only just arrived.”
“That’s not my problem. You and your sister shared a womb. You’ll figure it out.”
Here’s hoping this studio apartment expands to fit our needs like our mother’s uterus.
Luckily for Frankie, I’m not confrontational. I can’t say the same for Scarlett, but that’s a lesson he’ll learn once she arrives. On the bright side, it’s only my first night in New York and an iconic feud with my landlord is already beginning. This is a yearlong lease, and I’m sure by the end of it I’ll have so many stories to share with all my new friends about this time in my life.
There’s a knock on the door, and a young boy walks in. I’m bad at guessing ages. Is he five but really tall for his age or ten but really short? There’s something familiar about him, but I honestly can’t place why.
He’s wearing pajamas and waves. “Are you our new neighbor?” he asks with a smile.
“I am. My name is Valentino.”
“I’m Paz.”
“Cool name, Paz.”
“It’s short for Pazito, but only my mom calls me that. I like your name too.”
This is the most welcomed I’ve felt tonight.
Before I can thank him, I notice Frankie glaring at Paz.
“Why are you out of bed?” Frankie asks.
“I’m scared because of Death-Cast.”
Frankie rubs his eyes. “Death-Cast is not real. Go to sleep.”
Paz starts tearing up. “Okay, Daddy.” He drags his feet toward the door, looking over his shoulder as if he’s waiting for his father to change his mind. Nothing. He goes down the hallway without another word.
I really want to stop Paz and comfort him about Death-Cast, but I suspect I shouldn’t try to undermine Frankie in front of him. I’m sure another opportunity will arise.
“Nice kid,” I say.
Frankie doesn’t acknowledge Paz again. He only places two sets of keys on the kitchen counter. “Big key is for your apartment, medium for downstairs, small for mail. I’m directly down the hall, but don’t knock before nine or after five.”
“Understood. Thanks so—”
Frankie leaves, closing the door behind him.
“—much, Frankie,” I say to no one.
The studio doesn’t seem any bigger without Frankie, but it’s not as cold thankfully.
I look at the time—10:31—and want to FaceTime Scarlett. New York is three hours ahead of Arizona, so I call now, hoping to catch her before she leaves to photograph the big Death-Cast party happening in Phoenix. That job is going to pay one month’s rent and leave enough change for train fare and modest lunches. I sit on the counter while I wait for Scarlett to answer, spotting Frankie through the kitchen window. Of course it’s his apartment that I can view. Frankie grabs a beer out of his fridge, and hopefully he’s a sleepy drunk because he’s already pretty insufferable.
The call goes through, and Scarlett’s face cheers me up.
“Val!” Scarlett props her phone on the bathroom sink as she does her makeup. “Are you in our new home?”
“I am indeed.”
“Let me see, let me see!”
I flip the camera around to reveal our space. It doesn’t take long.
“Is it just me or—”
“It’s not just you. It’s smaller than advertised.”
“Did our rent shrink too?”
“The landlord literally said that we’ll make it work since we shared a womb.”
“If I had time to stop putting on my mascara to roll my eyes, I would. I need to jet in a minute. Please tell me you’re going to Times Square.”
Between Scarlett’s gig and this huge modeling campaign I booked, our dreams have gotten in the way of celebrating Death-Cast Eve together. But that hasn’t stopped Scarlett
from pushing me to attend the Death-Cast party in Times Square.
“I don’t know, Scar. The jet lag—”
Scarlett makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong answer. You lost three hours, but you’re not tired. Try again.”
“I should still rest for tomorrow’s shoot.”
“You’re going to be too wired to actually fall asleep, Val. So instead of tossing and turning on that cheap air mattress, go experience what’s either going to be a historic event or the biggest prank that’s ever been played on this country.”
“I’d love to see Mom and Dad’s faces if Death-Cast is proven to be real.”
“Me too, but I’m not hanging around to photograph them.”
“You’re leaving straight from the party?”
“Absolutely. Especially after how they treated you earlier.” I’m still a little in shock. It’s like the sting that comes from scraping my elbows and knees when I’ve fallen during my runs. “I appreciate the solidarity.”
“I’d be a horrible twin—and human—to not be on your side. But let’s not give them the power of thinking about them tonight or ever again. In the very near future, Mom and Dad won’t be able to ignore you as your face pops up all over the country, including their magazines.”
“I bet they’ll unsubscribe.”
“Which means you’ve won. Now get out to Times Square before you take that over too.”
I take a deep breath, knowing she’s right. “I wish you were here with me.”
“Same, but the money I make tonight will buy us frontrow seats to our first Broadway show.”
“Don’t you mean one month’s rent?”
“We need to live a little.”
“That sounds like living a lot.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Val.”
“Good point.”
I moved because life has been suffocating with my parents ever since I came out. They made me feel like a stranger in my own home. I thought it would be different when I was rolling my suitcases through the living room. But they didn’t say anything, not even when Scarlett said it was their last chance before we were leaving for the airport. Mom and Dad stayed quiet, as if they had only one child. I stared at the cross on our front door, praying it fell off as I slammed the door shut and left that life behind.
Freedom should be freeing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be heartbreaking.
I’m going to find my own way now.
“Keep me posted on your party,” I tell Scarlett.
Scarlett grabs her jacket and turns out her light. “Speaking of, I have to leave five minutes ago. I love you.”
“I love you same,” I say, our favorite saying born out of our twinness. “Drive safe.”
“Always do!”
She does always drive safely. The same can’t be said for everyone else.
Back in May, Scarlett was almost killed because of a reckless driver. I was forced to imagine this nightmarish world without her shine, something I haven’t experienced since being born two minutes ahead of her. I’m never going to exist without her again. Even tonight feels weird, since she’s not in New York, but I’m okay knowing she’s alive and well in Phoenix. I’d rather be planets apart as long as she’s still breathing on the other side of the galaxy.
Surgery saved my sister’s life, though our parents claim it was all God. At the time I thanked the doctors and God, but these days I’m struggling with mysterious forces. That
includes Death-Cast, an organization that expects us to trust them with no real proof. Part of me wants to be a believer and the other half has experienced firsthand how faith can
backfire. Unlike my parents, I’m open to having my mind changed so that I never have to be scared of losing my sister out of the blue. Maybe we’ll all know more in a few days.
God bless those—
I stop myself, still recalibrating everything in my head and heart.
Good luck to those who are basically going to be the Death-Cast test subjects.
As for me, I’ve been reborn.
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