Mateo left work two hours early. He doubted anyone would notice. He’d been silent all day, hiding behind his computer screen as emails rolled in. He tried not to look at the one from HR, the one congratulating Eric on the promotion. The job Mateo had been waiting for, had worked late nights for, had believed—known—was his.
He walked for blocks, letting the city noise drown out his frustration, until he found himself on the edge of downtown. The neon glow of the club sign flashed in the distance, pulsing in time with the beat of his own resentment. This place—a low-lit club tucked between warehouses—was one he frequented about once a month. Here, he could be anonymous, just another man nursing a drink.
The club’s heavy doors swung open, and he stepped inside, feeling the familiar weight of the dark press around him. Music pulsed through the room, deep and steady, wrapping around him like a heartbeat. Red and violet lights flashed in slow, hypnotic waves, bathing the room in an eerie glow that turned the dancers on stage into silhouettes—shadows moving against the neon backdrop.
Mateo slid onto a barstool and ordered a whiskey, neat. The bartender placed it in front of him, the amber liquid glowing under the faint overhead light. He took a slow sip, feeling the burn slide down his throat, settling low in his chest like a warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks. Around him, men sat hunched at the bar, silent or speaking in murmurs, their faces half-hidden in the shadows.
On stage, the women moved like figures in a dream, their limbs blending with the low lights, their bodies casting soft shadows across the dark walls. The music thrummed through the room, a steady beat that rose and fell in time with their movements—click clack boom. Mateo watched, letting his mind go quiet, letting himself dissolve into the rhythm, feeling the beat fill the spaces inside him he tried so hard to ignore.
“Long day?”
The voice startled him. He turned to see Reina, one of the dancers, sitting beside him. He knew her well enough to notice the wisdom in her eyes, the lines that softened the hard glitter of her makeup. She was older than most of the other women here, though she moved with the same grace, carrying herself with a confidence that made her seem ageless.
Mateo nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. You could say that.”
She tilted her head, a faint smile on her lips. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. It’s not just work, is it?”
He looked down at his glass, watching the light play across the amber liquid. “You ever feel like you’re stuck?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered. “Like you’re doing everything right, but it’s not… enough?”
Reina’s chuckle was low, almost bitter. “Every day, honey. We all got our cages. Sometimes, you don’t even see the bars until you’ve been in there too long.”
He didn’t respond, but her words settled into the silence between them, sinking deeper than he wanted them to. He finished his whiskey, savoring the burn, the brief warmth that reminded him he was alive.
“You know,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “it’s not just the job, right? You’re carrying things that aren’t yours, things you can’t fix.”
Mateo looked at her, surprised by the quiet understanding in her eyes. She’d seen it, too—the things he tried to hide, the weight of it all pressing down on him, threatening to swallow him whole. She held his gaze, unflinching, as if daring him to deny it.
“Don’t let it eat you alive, Mateo.” Her hand reached out, warm and grounding against his own. “Trust me. I’ve seen what that does to people.”
He nodded, a faint attempt at a smile, but her words echoed in his mind, a warning that lingered even after he placed a couple of bills on the counter and stood to leave.
“Take care, Reina,” he said, his voice a low murmur.
“Yeah,” she replied, watching him with a look that felt like goodbye. “You too, Mateo. Don’t go getting lost out there.”
He left the club, stepping into the cool night air, her words gnawing at him like the low hum of the music that still pulsed through his chest. Click clack boom. The rhythm followed him down the empty streets, pressing in on him, a beat he couldn’t escape, echoing in the silence like a warning.
He turned into the alley a few blocks away, pulling his collar up against the chill. The street noises grew fainter, the night pressing in around him. He could hear only his footsteps now, slow and heavy, each one echoing off the walls. The rhythm was familiar, like something he’d known long before tonight—click clack boom.
He stopped, the silence stretching, thick and unyielding. A shadow flickered at the far end of the alley, shifting as though it had a life of its own. Mateo squinted, but the darkness only seemed to deepen, twisting and reshaping itself, forming a figure that made his chest tighten.
“Mateo…”
The voice was low, rough like a scrape on metal, yet it wrapped around him like a memory he’d tried to bury.
“Who’s there?” Mateo’s voice barely broke the silence, but he felt the figure’s gaze on him, penetrating, as if peeling back layers of skin to reveal something hidden underneath.
“You already know me,” it murmured, the words dripping with dark certainty. “I’ve been here a long time…waiting.”
A chill ran through Mateo. “I don’t know you,” he said, his voice firm but laced with uncertainty.
The figure tilted its head, almost mocking, yet it held something in its stance, an aura that made Mateo want to look away. “You’ve called me, over and over,” it replied, its voice layered with something deep, something almost sad. “Every beat, every click—click clack boom. It’s the rhythm you feel in your bones, isn’t it?”
Mateo clenched his fists, the words seeping into him like smoke, filling him with an unshakable sense of recognition. But he pushed it down, forcing his voice to steady. “Why are you here?”
The shadow took a step forward, slow, unhurried, like it had all the time in the world. “I’m here because you’re ready,” it said, almost gently. “Ready to see.”
The world around him began to blur, shifting, and suddenly Mateo was no longer in the alley. He found himself in a vast, desolate landscape, a stretch of barren earth under a darkening sky. Figures dotted the horizon, hazy and spectral, like mirages wavering on the edge of reality. Mateo felt his breath catch as he realized he recognized them—not by their faces, but by something deeper, something in the way they stood, their shoulders slumped under the weight of things unsaid.
One figure stepped forward, his clothes ragged, his wrists bruised. He carried a look of quiet defeat, his eyes hollow and haunting. Mateo felt a jolt of recognition, the ache of something passed down but never spoken of.
“Who are you?” Mateo’s voice shook as he asked the question, though a part of him was terrified to know the answer.
The man’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Who are you?” he replied, his voice echoing like a warning. “You’re just like us. Bound to a life you didn’t choose, carrying things you can’t escape.”
More figures stepped forward, each one carrying an air of resignation, of exhaustion. Mateo’s heart raced as he recognized pieces of himself in each of them—the quiet anger of an uncle, hands trembling from years of addiction, eyes hollow from battles lost. A cousin, fists bruised and knuckles scarred, who’d been in and out of jail since he was a kid, his gaze filled with bitterness and defiance. And then, a friend he’d known since childhood, once full of laughter, now carrying a face hardened by years of disappointment and unmet promises, his spirit worn down to a dull resignation.
The shadow was beside him again, watching him with a gaze that pierced through him. “Do you see them, Mateo?” it murmured, voice softer, almost coaxing. “These are the men who came before you. Men who tried to walk your path.”
Mateo took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of their eyes pressed down on him, heavy and unyielding.
“You think you’re different?” one of the figures sneered, his face lined with bitterness. “You think you can escape?”
The shadow stepped closer, its voice a whisper in Mateo’s ear. “Strength isn’t found in escape, Mateo. These men—they fought their demons, only to fall. They held onto things they couldn’t change, things that crushed them in the end.”
Mateo swallowed, his throat tight as he took in the broken expressions, the quiet despair etched into the faces around him. A part of him wanted to turn away, to leave them behind. But another part of him was drawn to them, bound by the weight of their silent suffering, their unspoken fears.
The shadow’s voice wrapped around him, soft but unyielding. “You carry them with you, Mateo. Their anger, their regrets, their dreams that never took root. They are you.”
Mateo closed his eyes, feeling the truth of the words sink in, an ache that went deeper than anything he’d ever allowed himself to feel. “Is this it, then?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Is this what’s waiting for me?”
The shadow was silent for a long moment, its presence heavy beside him. “That depends,” it murmured finally, voice laced with something almost gentle. “It depends on the choice you make. The weight you choose to carry.”
The figures began to fade, their forms dissolving into the darkening landscape, leaving Mateo standing alone in the vast emptiness. He opened his mouth to call out, to ask one last question, but the words caught in his throat. He felt a hollow ache, a heaviness that settled in his bones, reminding him of everything he’d seen, everything he’d lost and inherited.
“You could be different,” the shadow whispered, its voice barely audible. “But you have to choose.” The words echoed, fading into the darkness, leaving Mateo alone in the silence, the beat of his heart echoing like a warning—click clack boom.
As he turned to leave, he looked over his shoulder, searching for the shadow one last time. But he saw only the vast, empty plain, stretching on forever, haunted by memories and the remnants of lives he would never fully understand.
The rhythm followed him, each beat reverberating in his chest, a reminder of the choice that would follow him, of the shadow that would never truly leave.
He walked, feeling the weight of that rhythm, the echo of his ancestors and his own silent fears—click clack boom—guiding him, haunting him, a promise or a curse he couldn’t quite define.
And as the night swallowed him, Mateo realized he might never know if he’d escaped the shadows or if he’d simply become one of them.