Chapter Text
“THIS MUSIC IS FROM THE DEVIL, I SAY! THE DEVIL!”
Chamberlain Heights, 1996. The saying around here is: “If it ain’t Memphis, it’s Chamberlain Heights”.
Grover never understood why people said that. He heard it from his older brother Montrel and his group of wannabe-rapper friends. Montrel always stayed up late into the night, just making beats and brainstorming rhymes. He didn’t have time for serious relationships or college. So…he dropped out and got a job at a local record store downtown. It was located in a more gentrified area, a lot of snowbunnies roamed the streets. Some of them stayed out past their curfew and they found out what that saying meant.
“If it ain’t Memphis…it’s Chamberlain Heights.”
If you asked someone a would you rather question with those two cities, they’d ask if death was an option. They knew if they lived in either place, it might be just around the corner. Especially if you’re out too late at night.
The preachers preached, the sirens blared, the news headlines scared all. “YOUNG GIRL FOUND DEAD IN ALLEYWAY.” Many thought it was foul play, but there wasn’t a drop of blood at the crime scene. It was obvious she was suffering, her eyes were rolled back into her skull! The skin on her chest and torso was badly burned, too. And her jaw? Well, it was broken badly. Her mouth was hanging open and some of her teeth were chipped. Her tongue piercing was still there, shining in the pale moonlight. When the morticians cut her open, they immediately noticed that her guts were charred and her heart was missing. The cops just said she overdosed, they didn’t want people to really freak out. But the Chambers family was terrified.
Dave and Honey Chambers kept their son Milton (aka Milk) on a tight, tight leash. No going out past 8pm in the summer-fall and no going out past 4pm in the winter-spring. He thought it was stupid. He wasn’t some dumb bimbo like the one that was killed, he had some logic in that brain of his. He thought he was tuff…but he wasn’t.
Students and staff whispered in the halls of Michael Clarke Duncan High School. April Martin was a junior. She had good grades and a good circle of friends. But, she was out too late. You know how the saying goes.