Unlike some of his friends, Caleb is an 80s baby. He grew up in a poor Hispanic community in Harlem.

Cocaine and opioids had just hit the streets; Reagan's lies played on every television and radio station across the States.

Though a little boy at the time, Caleb had witnessed more dead bodies, corruption, and drug dealers than a procedural cop show.

His foster parents came and went; gangsters from every street corner begged Caleb to be their lookout. He knew they were using his telepathic abilities for their benefit, but he allowed it to happen because he wanted a family to look up to.

But now he has one.

As soon as the children woke up, they devoured their breakfast, collected their weapons, and put them in their bags.

After that, Caleb had called his foster mother-Bianca Salazar-from Argentina to give them troubling news.

"Oh, Hijo." she frowned. "I am so sorry to hear that. Would you like me and your father to come to the funeral?"

"Nah." Caleb smiles sadly. "My friends are going to be there for me. Even Enrique's parents bought our train tickets."

Silence came from the other end, prompting the telepath to press his ear against the speaker.

"Mom?" he inquired. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." her voice returned, but the tone is hollow as if she had been crying. "I am sorry, I was busy talking to my employer. Anyway, is there anything you want? Candy? Advice? My homemade Arroz con Leche?"

Caleb's stomach almost rumbled at the sight of his adopted mother's home-cooked meals.

"Oh, wait." Bianca groaned. "You have already eaten breakfast, right?"

"Yeah," said Caleb. "But maybe when we come home, I am sure Brooke and the others would love it."

"Speaking of Brooke, when can we meet your girlfriend?" asked Bianca. "It's been a while since your father and I saw her.

Caleb smirks a little. "Soon, Mom. I promise."

"Okay, so are you two still using protection?"

"MOM!"

"What? I am your mother! I am supposed to know these things. Also, are you still taking your medication?"

Sweat formed on Caleb's forehead as his voice grew quiet. "What medication?"

"You know, for your explosive diarrhea."

Overhearing their conversation, Nessa could barely hold her laughter.

For the trip to New York, she sports a denim jacket, a black tee with a Joy Division logo on the front, faded jeans, and Doc Martens.

Caleb scowled as the happy tears swelled in Nessa's eyes; he couldn't believe that this girl had the nerve to eavesdrop on their private conversation.

"Mom," said Caleb through his clenched teeth. "Can you not say that out loud?"

Her sweet and caring voice became stern.

"Caleb," Bianca said calmly. "Diarrhea is a very serious issue."

"Yeah," Nessa agreed with a condescending tone. "Diarrhea is a serious issue."

A disgruntled Caleb flipped her off. "Mom, I have already put it in my bag."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Caleb said quickly. "Okay, I have to go right now. Bye!"

After hanging up the phone, Nessa collapsed on the floor, wheezing and laughing much to the boy's irritation.

"Oh, fuck off!" he shouts at her.

Nessa did a puppy pout, and said in a baby voice: "Aw, does Caleb have problems taking a shit in the potty?"

"It's okay, Caleb. Having explosive diarrhea is very tough." Johnny agreed, bobbing his head solemnly.

Marching downstairs, Brooke arrived in the kitchen, carrying her soft green backpack and suitcase.

Her Afro leaped on her shoulders. She wears a white baby tee, blue Capri pants, and brown penny loafers.

She looks at Caleb, who had on a red flannel, overalls, and brown Timbaland boots. His dreadlocks are contained in a blue bandanna while wearing a heavy, black bomber jacket.

"How is your mom, Caleb?" she asks, walking towards him. "Is she doing alright?"

"Yeah," he answered. "She wants to meet you for lunch sometime."

"Aw, I would like that very much." Brooke beamed.

Johnny washed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. He wears a black leather jacket, a long-sleeved dark gray shirt, worn jeans, and black combat boots.

His backpack is filled with a fresh change of clothes, weapons, and small boxes of ammunition.

Clutching his black katana in his left hand, Johnny informs his team to get going.

"Since the Sanchez family bought our train tickets, let's head over to the abandoned barbershop."

Nessa's eyes widen. "We're going to Poseidon Express?"

During their Aquarius case, the children had attended this unusual train.

Mortals and mythical creatures often attend this train to purchase cheap train tickets, faster rides, and they get to watch aquatic mammals in their natural habitats.

"This is crazy." Brooke beamed. "I can't believe we are going to Poseidon Express."

Caleb grinned, "Enrique's parents are there waiting for us."

"Cool."

Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder, Johnny plucks the keys from one of his jeans pockets. "Are you guys ready?"

"Yeah!" his friends called.

"Good, let's go!" announced Johnny, walking out of the beach house. "We got a funeral to attend to."

"Alright, we're coming!" Nessa moaned after marching towards the door. "Jesus Christ, stop acting like a granny!"

"Stop acting like a baby!"

"Fuck you!"

Rolling her eyes, Brooke chastises their arguments and leaves the beach house without turning back.

Caleb follows after her; hands grip around his luggage and backpack straps. Nessa, on the other hand, stretched her arms. Next, she collects her purple backpack from the couch then scurries after Johnny the couple.

Brooke is right. Nessa thought. Their friend Caleb is still languishing over the fact that his comrade is dead. The last thing they want is to miss out on Enrique's funeral.

* * * *
Like last time, Johnny drove his siblings and friends to the abandoned barbershop, where they entered the hole and found themselves standing in the murky train station.

Sneakers and worn boots glide across the damp, dark green obsidian floor.

Seawater sprinkled on the silver train tracks, whereas the ivory white caravan approached the children, spewing black smoke from a tall chimney.

Last year, the four children enjoyed taking the Poseidon Express more than boarding on an airplane. Thanks to Caleb's mind control, the train conductor hardly their artillery tucked in their bags.

Not to mention that their parents are working overseas.

"Whoa," Johnny clutches his bags and katana to his sides as mythological creatures and mortals. "Is it me, or is this place looks a lot bigger than last time?"

Nibbling his bottom lip, Caleb watched the passengers come in and out of the train like clockwork.

He doesn't believe that the train station has changed-except for the green goo spreading between the cracked walls.

"Do you know where Enrique's parents are?"

Brooke smiles and points her finger at the couple approaching them, "Yeah, they're over there."

Nessa and Johnny follow her finger to a reasonably attractive couple dressed in their funeral attire.

The wife's sleek black hair is coiled up in a loose bun, her tanned brown skin gleamed like her black eyes. But despite her beauty, the woman wore a somber black dress and matching black pumps.

Like his wife, her husband sports depressing evening wear, but his eyes match the color of seawater.

Wrinkled hands tousled the man's gray hair, as his keen brown eyes examine the children's youthful expressions.

"Hey," he exclaimed, looking at Caleb. "You must be Enrique's friend, right?"

Caleb nodded slowly. "Yeah, he and I used to be close back in the day."

"Who are your friends?"

"This is Johnny and Nessa Phoenix." he greets the sulking siblings. "And this is my girlfriend, Brooke King."

"Hi." Brooke shakes the couple's hands. "Your son was a good kid."

Mr. Sanchez studies her in surprise. "How exactly do you know Enrique?"

"Caleb, Enrique, and I got to know each other over ice cream at Dairy Queen."

"I see."

The train takes off, carrying their first batch of passengers. Clamorous noises and indignant currents of wind. Brooke and the others watch as the caravan shuffle towards the large valve blocking the entrance.

Two ogres in dirty overalls tighten their hands around the handle and swerved it in a counterclockwise motion until the valve opened its mouth.

A billow of lukewarm seawater swallows the silver-white caravan until the ogres slammed the valve shut.

"Wow," Mr. Sanchez observed the scene with fascination. "Do you always take this route?"

"Yeah." Caleb nods. His hands tighten around the straps of his luggage. "It's a lot faster than an ordinary plane."

Taking the tickets from his coat pockets, Mr. Sanchez tells the kids that their train will arrive at 9:30 a.m.

"Cool." Nessa nodded. Her eyes surveyed the clock, glued against the walls. "That'll give us time to check over our luggage."

Mrs. Sanchez takes hold of the telepath's face and brushes his cheeks with her thumbs. "It is so good to see you!"

Caleb blushed. "Yeah, you too."

After releasing his soft face, Mrs. Sanchez takes note of Caleb's fashion choices and asked if his parents are aware that he is attending the funeral.

"Yep," he smirks. "My parents allow me to go because they knew how much Enrique meant to me."

Mrs. Sanchez smiles in delight, whereas her husband's paper-thin lips stretch into a wan smile. It's not that Mr. Sanchez hates Caleb; it's just that he has a feeling that the boy is bad news.

Caleb has a history of gang violence, drugs, and God knows what else. Mr. Sanchez thought. He even doubts that the boy even has parents taking care of him.

And when he noticed Caleb's trio of friends standing behind him, Mr. Sanchez is surprised to see that California has changed Caleb's perspective in life.

If only there was a way to encourage Caleb to wear something that doesn't make him look like a street rat.

"So, how did Enrique die?" Johnny spoke up.

Mrs. Sanchez blinked at the solemn boy for a moment, then said, "Monster attack."

"A monster attack?" Nessa isn't too confident that the couple was telling the truth. "What kind of monster is it?"

"Nessa," Brooke says with a malice tone.

"I am sorry if it came out rude." Nessa blushed. "But I don't think your son was attacked by a monster."

"Me neither." Mr. Sanchez agreed. "To be honest, I have no clue what happened to Ricky."

Placing his comforting hand on her fragile shoulder, Mr. Sanchez reassures his wife that everything is going to be okay.

"We will arrange a beautiful funeral for our son, and allow Caleb and his friends to stay at our place for the night." Mr. Sanchez turns his attention back to the children, then asks, "You guys would not mind if you stay with us, won't you?"

An attentive Johnny shakes his head. "No, of course not, Mr. Sanchez. We will be honored to accept your invitation."

"Excellent."

A few hours passed as the Poseidon Express returned to the station, soaked in salty water, and tormented by loathing barnacles.

Tapping his pudgy finger to the beat of the train whistle, the conductor boomed: "Oy! Humans, gargoyles, leprechauns, ghosts, fairies, warlocks, etcetera! There is no time to dawdle!"

"It is time to go, right now!"

Shit. Caleb thought. Enrique's parents and the children scrambled inside the train, then pushed through the stagnant passengers.

Fancy silverware and polished ivory teacups.

Red carpet absorbed the dirt and water flowing from the children's shoes. Butlers came now and then, filling the passengers' orders.

Shifting around the bustling crowd, Nessa threw her hand around the metal door handle and jerked it to see vacant seats in the second car.

Thrilled, the children and the Sanchez couple infiltrated the car, sat down, and waited patiently for the train to move.

Unlike first-class, the middle-class car has no fancy chandeliers, luscious carpets, or warm tea.

Strange graffiti scrawled all over the train, whereas movie posters like Face/Off, L.A. Confidential, My Best Friend's Wedding, and G.I. Jane flourished behind the passengers.

In the background is rap music polluted with profanity and aggressive beats.

Grime and trash tarnished the metal floor; odors of cigarettes and whiskey made Johnny winced. Is this the second-class car Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez recommended?

While the kids sat by themselves, the adults got settled behind the disgusting goblin, who is busy spitting puddles of slime on the floor.

Crumpled pieces of paper tumbled past Caleb's feet. Putrid smoke hovered in the air like distant rain clouds.

But even though the atmosphere is sketchy, it reminded Caleb of home. If you ask the boy if he was feeling homesick, Caleb would laugh and flat out deny it.

He hated his neighborhood more than the bigots and socialites he had dealt with all his life.

But if he hadn't lived in Harlem, Caleb would have never met Enrique, fall in love with the girl of his dreams, or discover an academy full of outsiders and rejects like him.

Caleb would be living in the gutter, smoking a pack of Melbourne until his lungs caught on fire.

Harlem is the place where he can't turn away from until he finds the bastard who stole Enrique's life.