Chapter 2: The Fracture

The safe made a satisfying clunk when it latched shut. Willie spun the dial out of habit, though Noe always said it was pointless—no one was ever going to rob a store this far out in the sticks unless they were just bored or high. Or both.

He turned off the office light, grabbed the deposit bag, and headed toward the front where Ram was wiping down the coffee bar for the third time and Joseph was eyeing the expired scratch-offs like they might confess something.

“You ever wonder how much unclaimed money we throw away every month?” Joseph asked.

Willie didn’t stop walking. “No. And if you scan one of those tickets again and try to use it as a coupon, I’ll write you up.”

Joseph grinned. “You sound just like Noe.”

Willie opened the register drawer. “Good. Somebody has to.”

Noe had always done the deposit run at night. He said it gave him a reason to get out of the store, to “clear the mental gunk.” Willie didn’t mind taking over, even if it meant walking out in the dark to drop a bag full of cash into a box bolted to a wall next to a dented ice machine.

He pulled open the door to the dark Texas night. The heat hadn’t let up, and the air smelled like ozone and alfalfa, like a storm had passed through and decided not to announce itself.

The deposit box sat where it always did, half-shaded by the rusted roof overhang. Willie stepped outside, squinting up at the stars. Clear as a windshield. Too clear. The kind of clear that felt artificial. A little too perfect.

He slid the key into the box.

Click.

Behind him, Ram opened the freezer door with a grunt.

And then everything broke.

A low, bone-deep thrum hit them—like the air itself had been struck by a tuning fork. The fluorescent lights inside the store flickered, then stretched like someone had pulled them into spaghetti strands. For a second, the ceiling looked like water. The walls shimmered.

The sound bent, folded, reversed.

And then silence.

Willie blinked.

The deposit bag was gone from his hand.

He looked down. The key, still in the lock.

He turned slowly.

The front of the store was unchanged—but the neon Memo’s: Ya Comieron? sign buzzed a slightly different pitch. Inside, the freezer door was wide open. The hot dog tray had vanished. Joseph was standing near the coffee counter, frozen, holding a stir stick in the air like a sword.

Ram was gone.

Willie opened the front door slowly.

“Joseph?”

Joseph lowered the stir stick. His face was pale.

“What the hell just happened?”

Willie stepped inside. “Where’s Ram?”

Joseph shook his head. “He walked into the freezer. I swear to God, he was just right there.”

They both turned toward the freezer.

Still open. Still empty.

Willie moved to it cautiously, like it might bite.

He stuck his head in. The cold hit his face, sharp and thin. Shelves of frozen burritos, pizzas, and a half-empty box of taquitos sat undisturbed. But no Ram. Not even footprints on the rubber floor mat.

He turned back. “Call Noe.”

Joseph was already pulling out his phone. “No bars. That’s weird.”

Willie frowned and reached for the landline at the register.

No dial tone.

The lights dimmed again—just for a second—and something inside the cooler cracked. The back shelf dropped three inches with a clatter.

Willie took a step back. “Okay. This isn’t just a power surge.”

Joseph looked around. “It felt like—like we got stretched. Or something.”

“Ram didn’t just vanish,” Willie said. “We saw stuff move. Lights bent. The air... folded.”

“You know what this is?”

Willie looked back toward the freezer.

“No. But I think Ram just got pulled through something. And I think it started right there.”

Joseph was silent for a beat.

“You think he’s okay?”

“I hope so.”

Willie reached for the broom handle and poked it gently into the freezer. It didn’t vanish. Didn’t stretch. Just... sat there.

Whatever happened had passed. Or paused.

He turned back to Joseph. “We keep the doors locked. Lights on. No one leaves until we figure this out.”

Joseph nodded. “And Noe?”

Willie glanced at the deposit box.

“Gone. Mid-drop. Just like Ram.”

Joseph leaned on the counter, eyes scanning the shelves like they might hold answers.

“You know what this means, right?” he said, voice low.

Willie raised an eyebrow.

“No more adult supervision.”

Willie cracked a grin. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Joseph said. “You and me, man. We’re middle management now.”

Willie sighed and stared at the freezer.

“I’d settle for middle reality.”

They both stood there, quiet, the hum of the cooler creeping back in like it had been waiting its turn.

Outside, the stars still looked too perfect.