The World We Live In

By A.T. Rayana

About the Book

Daniel Peters was a standard teen living a standard life. Until he wasn’t. The day his father disappeared, his life would never return to a sense of normalcy again. As he races against the deadly Shafaiks, Daniel finds himself stuck in a new life of trying to save his father from his ultimate demise with his best friend by his side. However, as more complexities arise in his quest, Daniel finds his journey to be plagued with atrocities that he never imagined possible. Death. Accusations. Arrests. Abuse. Blood. And the most gut-wrenching of them all, BETRAYAL.

About the Author

A.T. Rayana is sixteen years old and lives in New Jersey with his parents and little sister. He is currently a junior in high school. This is his debut novel and strives to publish at least one more book before he goes off to college. He got into the world of writing after realizing his love for it through school assignments and digital projects. Along with his passion for writing, A.T. loves to play/watch soccer, read books in his free time, and go traveling across the world.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890275790

Book preview

Prologue

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A story to be told

Of broken trust

Of dire circumstance

And of vile unjust

A tale of a teen

Life stripped away

At every corner

Every single day

An anecdote of betrayal

And much weeping sorrow

A mission with a risk

Of no tomorrow

This chronicle was left unsung

But now the birds shout

Belting the direct perspective

Of a tragic account

Chapter 1

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Life as a police officer can be tough. Scary, even. It’ll require hefty amounts of unprecedented, late night duty. Mom used to say these things on repeat every time Dad was not home by 10 PM. As days went by, it kept happening more often. Until one foggy Friday night. I was chilling on the couch, messing around with Abby, my little sister. It was well past 10 PM when Mom came downstairs and started panicking a little. Dad’s not here yet? What?

Mom, chill out, it’s normal.

She opened her mouth to protest, but just went back upstairs.

I don’t know why, but that night just felt different. Like the foggy air that clung to the atmosphere was altering what was a standard reality. Like the eeriness of a Friday night beckoned for a tragic ending. I had settled myself into bed manifesting the fact that my brain was perplexing itself more than it needed to. But by the next morning, there was no trace of him ever entering the house the night before. The lasagna that Mom left in the fridge, untouched. The beer was left in the freezer, all six of them still on the rungs. The TV remote left where it was the night before, perched on the countertop, pleading for Dad’s firm, familiar grasp. I turned on the TV, but it clicked to a cooking show off of some random channel. I had known Dad like the back of my hand, and he would have never been caught dead watching food channels. For someone who hated food shows, he sure consumed a lot of it. But the biggest giveaway was the couch recliner being left closed. He never left it closed. Every single day Mom complained to him about it, and he always broke his promise when he said he would close it the following night. It had gotten to the point where it was sort of ritualistic, as if it was out of place for Dad to close it. Everything was left the way we left it that night when we retired to our bedrooms.

Mom called the Trenton PD, hoping to find some answers. Despite her best efforts to stay calm for Abby and me, I still caught the visible trembling of her fingers as she dialed the digits. The Nec 9A she had bought that year was still in pristine condition, and I was slightly concerned she would drop it with her shaking. As the line rang, she pursed her lips like she always did when she was anxious. She may have fooled the seven year old in the house, but I knew her too well. In fact, I knew everybody a little too well. Namely Dad. The father son relationship we had was more of a friendship, the one you have where you tell each other all your secrets and do stupid stuff together. The one where you would shoot each other in the leg if offered money but would throw hands if anyone else were to touch the other. At that point, I was still convinced that Dad had some big call and was still tending to it. I was never one to worry quickly, and I really just wanted to get on with my Saturday schedule of sitting back and doing a whole lot of nothing.

The-the line’s busy. My mom’s voice shook. The damn police department and their line’s busy. She slammed her fist on the counter and the remote came falling with a crash.

As Abby picked up the batteries, I put my hand on Mom’s shoulder.

Mom, calm down. Calm. Down. Take a deep breath with me, okay? We both inhaled and exhaled in a synchronous manner. One, two, three times. We did this every time one of us got riled up. The exercise barely worked that time around. Mom’s fingernails dug into my skin, penetrating my epidermis with worry and anticipation.

Daniel-what if they got him?

Mom, don’t be ridiculous. He’s an officer. They don’t mess with officers.

No, no. Daniel, you don’t know these guys. The Shafaiks stand down to NO ONE. You hear me? NO ONE. What if he had upset them somehow... Oh god…

I rubbed her shoulder multiple times. I had always known it was a worry for Mom, and although she was good at hiding her emotions, I could tell that years of constant contemplation were pouring out of her mouth as she panicked.

Dad has no business with them, Mom. Officers and Shafaiks generally don’t clash. Don’t sweat it.

Ever since the year when the Shafaiks had started causing problems in our city, Mom had been worried about Dad getting on their wrong side. I’ll admit, Dad’s a tad aggressive and nosy, but even he knew not to screw with them. They’ve been implementing their own rules in neighboring cities and taking over these cities with violence and bombings. The only reason Trenton was spared was because we were a capital city and we had somewhat established peace with them over the year prior. The news was always filled with something fresh about the Shafaiks. Shootings, bombings, riots, military funding to stop them, theories that they caused Chernobyl the year prior, the whole nine yards. That was just a part of life, and the New Jersey area hadn’t been that affected yet.

Where is he, then?

Abby and I responded with silence.

Mom looked into my eyes, almost trying to fish an answer out of them, as if Dad’s location was embedded within my pupils. Her eyes were pleading with mine to give her some kind of reassurance, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t lie like that. Her eyes diverted to Abby, but she returned the same lost, hopeless gaze.

There’s a feeling that exists when a mass sense of impending doom feels like it’s about to crash down. A feeling of a lump in your throat, there’s sweat pouring out your armpits, and intense jitters coursing through your veins. A feeling too complex to stick a name to. All of which I was feeling at that moment, combined with a feeling of loss even though I hadn’t lost anyone. The way it always goes is someone goes missing, but there’s a logical explanation for where they were and they return safely. This didn’t feel like there was going to be a happy ending.

Mom turned around in a dazed hurry and grabbed the car keys off the counter. Even though she still had her PJs on and her hair still messed up, I wasn’t about to stop her.

Come on, we’re going to the police station.

I took Abby’s hand after brushing her hair and rushed out. Abby was always very particular about looking decent in public, even though I tried to explain to her she shouldn’t care about people staring at a blonde mess when her dad was nowhere to be found.

Mom started the engine to be met with hoarse sputtering. Goddamnit, you bullshit wagon of a car! Start! Desperation oozed out of her voice.

Abby and I just stayed silent. We always told her to get a new car, but for some reason the new but defunct Ford Taurus seemed to have a sentimental value to it, despite her acquiring it no less than a few months prior. It took a few minutes, but eventually we got moving.

Mommy, where are we going? Abby quivered.

I looked at her small hands, and they too were shivering. Considering it was over 90 degrees out, I came to the conclusion that she was also scared. I laid my hand on hers to soothe her. In reality, it was also to help my own hands from seizing.

Don’t worry, Abby, we’re-we’re just going to find some answers, okay?

Okay, Mommy.

The rest of the ride had a surreality to it that I don’t think I’d ever felt before. Mom and Abby were sniffling and sighing, while my mind was racing faster than the vehicle itself. The thoughts in my mind weren’t exactly coherent, to say the least. It was like being high off anesthesia, without actually going to sleep. Nobody wanted to say it, but we were all fearing the worst. Like a little thunderstorm with dark clouds brewing just over the roof of our car, but it hadn’t started pouring yet. The anticipation was nothing short of agonizing.

After fifteen minutes of this, we eventually pulled into the parking lot. As Mom shifted the gear into parking, all of us just sat there for a second. It was almost as if we were mentally bracing ourselves for the worst case scenario. Or trying to delay the inevitable as much as possible. Mom eventually opened the door, and I followed. I helped Abby down and we made our way to the entrance of the department. It felt as if we were visiting the grim reaper to inquire of someone’s fate.

I let Mom take the lead as I held the door for her. She slowly made her way in, scoping the insides before we spotted someone at a desk, and proceeded to rush over to them. I was right on her tail, clutching onto Abby’s wrist.

Hello ma’am, can I assist you? The woman at the desk asked, without her eyes leaving the screen of her computer.

I felt a twinge of anger immediately off of the vibes the lady was emitting. She had reeked of day old doughnuts and stale coffee. For being an officer, she looked like she couldn’t care less. My grip around Abby’s arm tightened.

H-hi, I-I’m looking for Officer P-Peters, Mom trembled, H-he hasn’t come home after duty yesterday…

Hold on, first tell me your name, she asked.

L-Linda.

The lady heaved a heavy sigh, as if Mom’s name didn’t sit right with her and clacked away on her computer. She clicked a few things with her cursor, but still had the attitude of I couldn’t be bothered. In a second, though, that seemed to change. Her eyes slightly widened and she slowly looked at us, with a concerned expression. I knew what that meant even before she uttered another sentence.

W-w-what’s wrong? Mom was near tears at this point. I felt the lump reemerge in my throat as the officer told us what she found.

Officer James Peters, correct?

Mom couldn’t seem to respond, so I said, yes just as the lump encompassed my vocal cords.

The officer was looking straight at Mom now. Ma’am…Officer James Peters…he wasn’t on duty at all yesterday.

Chapter 2

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So there we were. The weekend was spent in Hell. I guess you could say I was a little more numb to it by that point. As numb as I could be with the leading figure of my life nowhere to be found. Even though I was the closest to him, Mom and Abby were taking the situation far worse than I was.

Abby, breakfast! I yelled.

No response. I called out again. I sighed as I poured the Cheerios into the garbage. I set the bowl in the sink along with the mass of dishes cluttering it, all over four days old at that point except for the bowl itself. Doing the dishes was usually something Mom and I would do together, but she’d been practically in bed rest other than traveling down the hall for an occasional bathroom visit. I’d only managed to catch a glimpse of her a few times when she’d made these trips. Each time she looked increasingly disheveled and depressed, with the plaid button up and black joggers she was wearing being the only thing that remained constant.

I felt like I had to be some sort of embodiment of Dad over those few days. When he wasn’t on shift, he was always taking care of random things in the house, stuff most dads wouldn’t consider doing in their free time. That’s also what made him special to us. To me. Not everyone can say they’ve fixed toilets and cooked dinner and inspected their own fridge with their father. I could. I’d found myself making food that’d been going uneaten and looking for things to fix that most certainly were fully functional. I guess Mom’s coping mechanism for the situation was to lock herself away, and mine seemed to be trying to become Dad? It sounded strange. It WAS strange. But whatever it was, it seemed to be working for me because like I said, I’d been taking this a whole lot better for being as close as I am to Dad.

So that was the rundown of the situation we’d been having the days since we went to the department. The only other social interactions any of us had been having were in direct contacts with the police. Both the elementary and high school called the home phone, but I hung up as soon as I heard them identify themselves. School was the last thing I was worried about at that point, it was already mid-June with less than a week left.

As the seconds dragged on, it felt like I was spiraling further into an abyss of depressive thoughts, a state of constant overthinking, and a realm in which my mind was regurgitating and replaying memories, good and bad, of Dad. The grandfather clock in the living room seemed to be further destroying its relationship with my brain’s sense of time, making every minute warp in on itself, lengthening moment by moment. The time in between its reverberating chimes increasingly felt inconsistent and prolonged.

The clock was slowly making me lose my mind, and my coping mechanism of trying to fill Dad’s role was slowly descending in its efficiency. Random objects scattered around the house resulted in random memories from years ago to come flushing back.

The Winchester hunting rifle, perched on the wall in the living room, adjacent to a huge deer’s head. I stared at that thing for a good fifteen minutes at the minimum. My eyes were fixed on the rifle, but my mind both miles and years distant, in the past, to the forest Dad took me for my first hunt. I remembered the way my mind felt at ease. I didn’t like bustling areas like the city; the peace and serenity of the woods was what I had fallen in love with. The sound of the flowing creek and chirping birds. The strong smell of oak accompanied with the mistiness of the spring air.

Listen closely, bud, Dad said. He adjusted his rifle to point at a deer some hundred feet away and passed it onto me. Aim. I turned my body to the deer after adjusting the oversized rifle onto my fragile shoulders. Hold your stance, take off the safety. I followed what he said. Aaaand…shoot!

The sheer force of