After her friend Sandy Mangual tragically falls to his death, Bailey Cohen discovers images of his grisly corpse have been uploaded and shared through social media, by someone very close to her.
Fed up, in a stagnant relationship with an emotionally-abusive boyfriend, Bailey enlists the help of quiet, unnoticed, underappreciated Bernardo Castillo, who works the luxury Miami Beach high rise in which she stays.
Bernardo will have to dredge up the shady past he’s long worked to tamp down in order to set off on a journey of vengeance that will reshape and morph each person engulfed along its way.
Icarus Over Collins is a short, punchy revenge story as cracked and slivered as hot Miami pavement.
Tras la trágica caída accidental de su amigo, Bailey Cohen descubre que imágenes del cadáver han sido clandestinamente descargadas a redes sociales. Por alguien muy cercana.
Bailey contara con la ayuda de Bernardo Castillo, empleado del condominio lujoso en Miami Beach cuya Bailey habita.
En nombre de su amigo fallecido, Bernardo y Bailey tendrán que excavar sus pasados umbríos en camino hacia la venganza. Un viaje que reformara a todos envueltos.
Icarus Over Collins es un cuento de venganza tan caluroso y rajado como las aceras bordeando todo Miami.
Por fin, veo la razon that everyone’s out here on the middle of busy Collins, in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. El chamaquito is lifeless, staring up to heaven, both eyes open. One fully intact, the other bloody and jellied. Blood trickles from his ears. A woman screams. ¿La misma de antes? So many screams, there’s no way to tell.
Bailey says, “Gabe?” There he is, on his phone, calling for help.
Y ahi, me viene la sensación. Black bars, like in DVD movies, come into view and box the picture in. Once those bars close, they open again with me en el piso como un saco de papas. I have to calm down and not pass out. There’s not enough oxygen in the room. ¿Que cuarto, mongo? Estas afuera.
Emergency sirens pierce the air as people scream for cops, paramedics, the boy’s parents. For someone, anyone, to do something as if it will help this chamaquito who is too dead for anyone to do anything for.
No se callan esta gente. Their voices merge into a cacophony of worry, hysteria, tears, and panic. Son muchas voces. Too many people huddled together, all gathered around el chamaquito muerto, pushing us farther back until we’re far from el muerto, let alone Gabriel. ¿Donde carajo se metio?”
“All the way from up there.” Someone points up to the sky.
I look up and The Landings is the edge of a cliff and I’m Wile E. Coyote.
We have to get out of here.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found HERE
Hector Duarte, Jr. is a writer/educator out of Miami, Fl, where he lives with his wife, son, and cat. His fiction has been published widely online and in print, like the recent anthologies Pa Que Tu Lo Sepas: Stories to Benefit the People of Puerto Rico, and Shotgun Honey Presents Volume 4: Recoil. In September of 2018, Shotgun Honey Books published his full-length short story collection Desperate Times Call. He welcomes you to follow him on Twitter.