Leap Before You Look
Nicole Clevenger (October 2014)
Notes: I certainly don't need to pick up a new fandom - another excuse to avoid real life - but I've never been able to resist James Spader and the captivating characters he inhabits. So against my better judgment here's a bit of The Blacklist from me: a hint of backstory for Luli, but mostly just an excuse to play with Red. Set about twelve years preseries, putting it close to mid-way through Reddington's time off the grid. A look at Raymond through a different set of eyes.
I make no money, because they don't belong to me.
The girl looks up from the scuffed toes of her sneakers, stealing another glance at the man still sitting on the park bench. It's been close to twenty minutes now, and he hasn't had company. He hasn't stretched, hasn't twitched. She can't quite get a handle on him.
His shoes look expensive, and that fact alone has been enough to hold her attention this long. Surely someone with shoes like those is going to have cash waiting in his wallet. Luli swallows the saliva flooding over her tongue at the promised possibility of food. The last thing she ate hardly counted as a meal; she can still taste that greasy artificial butter, oozing off the popcorn she stole out of the theater trash can. Her stomach had not been grateful.
She can't see his eyes, not from this distance and shadowed by the brim of his hat. It's one of those she's seen only on black and white people in those old-fashioned films, something nobody wears any more. A fedora? Maybe. Her stomach gurgles hungrily and she decides it hardly matters. The chain link supports of the swing are cold, the rounded metal burning icy into her palms where it presses against her skin. She rocks absently as she studies him. He seems an easy mark, slumped there alone inside his big coat; no obvious problems she can see. He isn't even looking around. Hasn't once lifted his head.
It's getting late, the park nearly empty. The man doesn't appear to be going anywhere.
Luli watches his head dip lower, his chin sinking toward his chest. It's only for a moment; a quick jerk of his neck rights things again. Drunk? She's smiling now, squinting a little against the sharp orange of the sunset. This is going to be even easier than she'd hoped. She can already taste hot melting cheese and salty pepperoni, the pizza place down the block open late and selling by the slice. Luli swallows again, slides off the thick rubber seat of the swing. Might as well do this now. The sooner she gets his wallet, the sooner she can eat.
She zips her thin sweatshirt up against the thickening breeze, wrinkling her nose at the smell that wafts from the dirty cotton. She pulls the deep hood over her hair, buries her hands in its pockets. Her eyes stay on him as she walks slowly up the path.
He doesn't appear at all aware of his surroundings; his neck remains bowed at her approach. The comforting weight of the folded blade in her jeans rests ready, and she starts to reach for it as the distance between them closes into a matter of feet. But she sees the woman now, a jogger heading this way. Luli's fingers spasm around empty air; she drops to one knee, and pretends to be tying her laces.
She counts to ten silently as the woman passes them by, wanting to make sure that this time things are really clear. The dim of twilight is taking over the world, and no one's ever bothered to put up lights here. It's not really an area decent people spend much time in after dark. She usually tries to be out of the park by the time the sun's gone down. But those shoes are too good of an opportunity to give up.
"Are you hungry?"
His voice rolls through the growing darkness; he hasn't yet lifted his head. She wouldn't think he was talking to her at all really, except there's no one else here. Luli stares at him, frozen crouched on the sidewalk. "What?"
"I have half of a pastrami on rye. Not quite up to my usual dining standards, I'm afraid, but all I can manage under the circumstances." The man tips his head enough to peer at her from under his hat. "You look hungry. Little waif of a thing."
Luli gets to her feet. Pulls the blade out of her pocket and flicks it open, holding it between them as she moves closer. The man doesn't even glance at it, just nods toward the bench beside him. His eyes fixed on hers. "Please sit," he says politely, like they're meeting somewhere for coffee. Like she's come to get better acquainted. It's not a tone people are supposed to use when they have a knife pointed at them.
It unbalances her. She thrusts the blade in his direction; his gaze doesn't waver from her face. "Stop talking to me. I want your wallet."
He laughs, and somehow the short burst of sound vibrates amused rather than dismissive. "You're welcome to it, my dear. Though there's little good it will do either of us at the moment. You'd be better off taking the sandwich."
Who is this guy? "I said give me your wallet." The repetition echoes stupidly in her ears. Shaky and without conviction. Luli tightens her grip on the knife. She's never had to use it; the threat has always been enough.
A heartbeat. Two. It's like this man doesn't need to blink. She's beginning to sense what a mistake this was, the realization seeping damp into her exposed skin. If she turns and runs, will he follow? Luli squares her shoulders, checking her peripheral vision for routes of escape. Her fingertips tingle. A tiny voice whispers to flee.
Her stomach betrays her, grumbling loud in the silence. The man gives her a small smile. Reaches into his coat pocket.
He withdraws a long leather wallet, tossing it to her with a flick of his wrist. She fumbles it, almost dropping her weapon in the process, but manages to snag a soft corner before it can fall to the pavement. It's empty. No cash, no plastic, no pictures. Not even a driver's license. Just a delicately stitched shell, smooth under her fingerprints.
"Is this a joke?"
"Sadly, no." He's digging into an outer pocket now. "Call it… a miscalculation. On my part." His hand reappears with a paper-wrapped rectangle. "One that will soon be rectified."
He holds the sandwich out to her, his stretched arm parallel to hers and only inches from the blade. It's a bizarre tableau, and she feels trapped in it. Her mouth begins to water again as the wind picks up the scent of pastrami. Mustard. She could just grab it, grab it and run, and at least she'll have gotten something from all this. The sudden smell of food - so close - is disorienting, and this strange scenario does nothing to help. Just a turn of her hand and her knife could slip sharp through his sleeve.
There's no concern about this; he simply waits, watching her. His mouth working without words, like he's chewing on his thoughts. Still offering her the sandwich.
"There's a man coming," he says casually, and Luli's head snaps up to scan the area. About a hundred feet away, a hunched figure shuffles vaguely in their direction. "I suggest you put the knife away, on the off-chance he's one of those pesky good Samaritans." The approaching shape looks twisted, broken. A threat to no one. "A remote possibility, I grant you," continues the stranger from the bench. "Still. Better safe than sorry."
Luli's attention bounces between the two men, the evening having long since spiraled out of her control. Why wouldn't this man welcome the chance for assistance? Is he… helping? God, what is she even still doing here?
"Sit," he tells her.
And now her body's obeying before she understands that it's going to; she drops the wallet on the bench to snatch the sandwich from his hand. The heavy paper crinkles in her fingers. She sits as far distant as she can on the short wooden bench. Keeps the knife open beside her, half hidden by her leg.
He reaches across his body to retrieve the leather wallet, the awkwardness of the motion catching her notice. He's not moving his left side at all, she realizes, his bent arm rigid against his stomach; he ignores her scrutiny, eyes looking out over grass that's almost too dark to see. Luli returns to her prize, pawing at the paper. She gives up and tears into it when she can't immediately find the piece of tape that's keeping it closed.
"Tommy Zukov's father made the best pastrami sandwiches," he tells the shadowed park. "Owned a little neighborhood deli in Queens. There was this old, squeaky gumball machine that used to sit in the corner. Always dusty. I haven't had a gumball in years…"
She's starting to think this guy might be a little south of sane, but the world disappears into her first bite as the flavor melts savory on her tongue. She's barely swallowed before her teeth rip into it again. It doesn't take long to finish it. It only makes her more hungry. The other man nears them; he looks homeless, lost to an alternate universe. Luli doesn't recognize him, but then it never pays to give too much attention to the ubiquitous bodies crumpled alongside the city's streets.
They sit in silence as he passes. Darkness settles in the air around their heads.
The man on the bench beside her rubs roughly at his eyes. "Forgive me - my conversation skills feel a bit sub par. It's been something of a long day." His hand falls to rest on his thigh; he frowns into the night. "And my manners are atrocious. I haven't yet asked for your name."
"Luli," says a voice that sounds remarkably like her own. She bites at her lip. Why did she tell him that?
"Luli…" He rolls it around in his mouth. "Dewy jasmine."
There's a jolt at this – she's never met anyone who's known the Chinese meaning of her name. When she was still in school the teachers couldn't even get the syllables right, always wanted to called her 'Lily.' She likes the way it sounds, rumbling from his lips. Like something beautiful, precious. A taste to invoke the richest of memory.
He searches through his coat again, produces a bottle of water. The plastic cracks in protest under his grip; he wedges it between his knees to brace it while he unscrews the cap one-handed. His arm is shaking when he lifts it to drink, a motion more sensed than seen. In fact, focusing now she can tell his whole body is trembling, tiny unsettling vibrations she can feel through the wood of the bench.
"And is there no one who would object, Luli, to your being out here in the dark, holding up strangers at knifepoint?" He retightens the cap, offers her the bottle. She shakes her head. If this guy's sick or something, she wants no part of it. The man shrugs with one shoulder, returns the water to the depth of a pocket.
"No." Shit, she shouldn't have said that either. Now he's going to kidnap her, drag her off to some creepy basement to die.
Her muscles tense with a wave of adrenaline. The sandwich paper crumples In her hand.
"Then I am truly sorry." It's achingly sincere, and not at all what she expected. Who is this man that he would even be interested? His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he looks sideways at the rumpled wrapper. "And I do so apologize for that," he says, his tone instantly lighter. Like a snap of her fingers. "Had I known you were coming, I would have saved you the other half."
She feels like she must be dreaming this odd man, that any minute she'll awake alone in the dark. "Who are you? What are you even doing here?"
"See? Atrocious." He shifts himself around so he's closer to facing her. "It's my head… a little fuzzy. Though I find blood loss will do that, don't you?" He holds out a hand. "Raymond."
Luli looks down at his hand. Back up to his face. It's too dark now to see much of anything with the only lighting being the moon's dull glow.
Blood loss?
She needs to get out of here, leave this man to his problems. If he's hurt there might be cops involved, and she hasn't survived out here for this long by lingering around things that are likely to bring on the police. His empty hand is still outstretched in the space between them; it reminds her of the knife waiting under her leg. She folds the short blade closed, slips it back into her jeans.
Seeing she has no intention to shake on their introduction, the man withdraws his hand. Pulls the lapels of his coat together, bringing it closed against a chill. "As to why I'm here: I'm waiting for a friend. Unfortunately, it'll be some time before he arrives."
He turns away slightly to cough into his fist. Luli's eyes drop to the paper in her hands. She uncreases it, folds it in half. Folds it in half again.
"What happened to you?" she asks, not looking up.
His laugh barks through the air. "Oh, a minor disagreement, nothing to worry about. I'm sure it'll all come out right in the end." She can't understand why he sounds so cheerful. He's smiling as he surveys the stillness of the park, glancing around like they're sitting here friends on a sunny afternoon. He's obviously nuts; she really should go. Luli reminds herself that he could still be a serial killer, playing a con. A psycho using sandwiches to lure hungry street kids to their doom. But her instincts are usually good, another reason she's lasted this long. And while she doesn't feel exactly comfortable classifying this man as safe, she gets no real sense that he has any plans to harm her.
"I have a place," Luli hears herself say. She can't remember the last time she's exchanged this many words with another human being. It's like he's drawing them out of her. Without even looking her way.
"Do you. And how sweet you are that you would be willing to share."
He doesn't move, though, just sits there watching the night. The wrapper has been folded as many times as it will allow, thick sides bulging on a tiny square. She plays her thumb over one of the sharp corners.
"It isn't far," she says. She's not sure why she's pushing for this. Other than her own need to get back before one of the local gangs finds them here - it's early yet, but the park usually ends up part of somebody's rounds. If he doesn't want to come with her, she's going to have to leave him to fend for himself. She's already been here way too long.
The man sighs, finally turns his focus back to her. He looks her over for a long moment, his head cocked to one side. Seems to come to a decision. "I suppose it would be comforting to have a wall at my back for a few hours. And I'd hate to think the time has come for us to part ways so soon." He nods. Gestures vaguely at the darkness. "Lovely Luli. Lead on."
She springs to her feet, anxious to go; there's a smashed grunt as he pushes himself up, a wince that disappears as soon as it's seen. He's wavering, trying to find his balance in the moonlight, and she wonders if she's supposed to try and help. But he sucks a measured deep breath in through his nose, and when his head comes up he blinks at her impatiently. Like she's the one they're waiting on.
"Well. Shall we?"
Their progress out of the park is slow. Luli's trying to look everywhere at once, certain that every shadow signals danger; the man at her side is so far from her routine, his appearance enough to leave nothing feeling familiar tonight. He's cradling his elbow, his left arm held tight to his body, and his breath is already coming heavy by the time they finally exit the gate onto the street. Luli stops, stuck with this first real look at him out, here in the yellowing light. He's sweating, pinched. She hopes this Raymond guy can walk the three blocks they have to go.
"Um… are you okay?"
He looks at her placidly, head tilted. "This neighborhood had a vibrant jazz scene back in the twenties," he tells her, as if she'd asked for a history lesson instead. "All those wonderful little underground clubs." His eyes slip close with the imagined memory, a smile playing across his lips. "They say you could hear the horns, wafting out into the streets. What that must have sounded like… the night made of music."
A car drives past, rolling by too slowly to be anything but suspicious; he opens his eyes, though it's only hers that flick that way. The car doesn't stop. He's watching her, waiting. There's the definite impression that he's said all he's going to. That the next move is up to her.
So she doesn't ask again. Luli turns and heads down the side street; without a word he follows behind.
Two long blocks later there have been no further stories, and it comes to her that she already misses the sound of his voice. Ridiculous. He's walking beside her; his head hangs low when he thinks she's looking elsewhere. She wishes he would say something, really – it's way too quiet out here. Just the rasp of his breathing and the swish of the traffic a few streets over, whispers deflected and angling off the crumbling brick walls that tower around them. She hates this cruel illusion of isolation, with the city pulsing less than a mile away, the knowledge that those people have no thought for one like her. The lonely understanding that, no matter what happens to her, their lives continue completely unaffected.
So near to one another. But not.
They round the last corner, and something ugly twists in her stomach at the sight of the two big guys drinking against the hood of a car. The urge to flight rushes warm through her; she wills the man beside her to move more quickly. Pointlessly she thinks about crossing the street, to put more distance between them, but she knows this will do no good. Luli keeps her head down, her eyes on the pavement. She can feel their attention. Hungry and crackling through the air.
One of them says something to her they pass, something slippery and suggestive that she can't really hear through the blood pounding in her ears. But it's like his hands are on her, crawling down her shoulders. She sees Raymond's lips twitch into a scowl, and for a terrifying moment she thinks he's going to stop for this unnecessary confrontation. Luli resists the impulse to grab his arm to keep him moving forward. In the end she doesn't have to; she lets out a tiny breath as they keep walking.
She's almost breathing normally when a thrown bottle sails by his head. It explodes against the curb, a drop of moisture landing cold on her cheek.
Raymond instantly stops, spinning back to face them. All of Luli's nerve endings scream for her to run. Her fear glues her to the road as he takes a few steps toward them, pinning her to this time and place; her throat closing useless around its frantic warning. She doesn't want to watch what's going to happen next. What could he possibly be thinking? There's no way this fight's going to be fair.
"Gentlemen," he greets them casually, his arms loose and relaxed by his sides. "You seem absolutely determined to interfere with our stroll. Is there something I can do for you?"
It's nearly the same tone he'd used when facing her knife, but there's a hint of something else now, dark and tightly coiled. She's struck even through her panic by how he seems suddenly a different man. Strong. Steady. She thinks he might look a bit taller. It's captivating, if she's honest. And a little scary. She doesn't know this man at all. How can she be sure which of these faces he wears is really his?
"Gimmie your money," the taller of the two growls. He's probably only a few years older than she is.
Raymond laughs, sharp and short. "Goodness, that does seem to be the theme of the evening." A hand comes up, a gun pointed lazily at his head. "As does that. Luli, dear," he calls pleasantly over his shoulder to her, "perhaps it's time for you to run along."
She wants to listen. She doesn't want to watch him die.
Her feet won't move.
It's like they're all on pause, a still shot against the backdrop of night. The street lamp glints wicked slivers off the gun, the broken glass, the teeth lining the kid's mean grin. The noise of the traffic gone, now it's only her breath she can hear. She can't see Raymond's face, but he's not backing away from the weapon aimed at him.
"This is a mistake," she hears him softly say.
"Grab the girl," the first guy says to his friend, and she sees a new gun slide free from a waistband. He's going to have to come around the car to get her. If she takes off, will he be able to catch her? Or maybe he'll decide the drunken exercise isn't worth the effort, and just drop her with a bullet to the back. How good is this guy's aim?
She might be better off dead than face what they'll do if they get their hands on her.
It's an impossible decision overruled before she can make it; the scene flares into motion with a fluidity only processed in retrospect. Raymond with his scarf around the man's throat, a crack splintering the silence. The hollow bang of a gunshot, noise ricocheting off the walls. She can't say which comes first, moments compressed and doubling back on themselves. She can't tell who it was that fired.
She realizes she's closed her eyes only when they snap back open. She fully expects to find him on the ground, gasping in a puddle of blood.
Not bent over the body, coolly draping his scarf back around his neck and slipping the fallen gun into his coat. The other guy's down too – she can see his puffy basketball shoes from here, sticking out past the front wheel of the car. Both dead? The picture slams into her like a physical thing, and Luli gags. She's seen plenty of things out here on these streets, but it's the first time she's been witness to a shooting.
Raymond straightens, but his attempt to stand is less than successful. With a groan that cuts through the reclaimed stillness, he goes down on one knee, holding his shoulder. He's got his back to her. Luli swallows hard – regardless of the rest of it, she's got no doubt who her savior was here. She takes a few shaky steps in his direction. The streetlamps reflect glassy off the spreading inky blood.
She tries to keep her eyes on him instead of the blood, the bodies. Jagged breaths ripple the sloping line of his neck and shoulders; each inhalation feels fought for. His head jerks up as she reaches him, something dangerous sparking in his eyes. A beat. Recognition. Now a few of the pained lines on his face dissolve into a taut, if seemingly genuine, smile. "Ah. You're still here. Wonderful. We need to go."
It takes an obvious effort for him to get to his feet, but he does it without her help. Unspent adrenaline keeps her mute and trembling, her arms wrapped constricting around her ribs. He's frowning, biting at the inside of his lip as he studies her; she flinches when he raises a hand, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. There's a thin smear of blood when he takes his hand away, dark against his pale skin. She can feel the tiny cut now, stinging in its revelation.
Luli refuses to cry. Not even when he pulls her against him in an unexpected, one-armed hug.
It's the briefest of things, but it's been so very long since she's had any kind of human contact - a loss she hasn't felt the weight of until its abrupt return. The cashmere of his coat is downy and warm against her face. His heartbeat thuds sluggishly beneath the rapid fire of her own.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," he murmurs into her hair.
She refuses to cry. Not even when he lets her go, and the night rushes back cold without the bubble of his heat.
"Time to go," he reiterates, scattering the moment and its lingering twining threads, and she understands that this is her cue. Luli nods, turns. Holds her focus on the end of the block as she navigates through the carnage at their feet.
They make it to their destination without further incident. The broken front door creaks open easily at her touch; she's not the only one to call this abandoned building a temporary home. Her companion stops when they reach the bottom of the uneven staircase, peering up into the shadows of the murky second floor. He sighs, a soft resigned noise. She wishes she had better news for him, but her spot is up on three.
These stairs are a hazard even during the day, when lit by the patches of sunlight that claw their way in through gaps in the window boards. She generally tries to go up or down as quickly as she can, convinced that the sagging wood will at any moment collapse under her; the placement of her feet guided by almost a year of habit, she doesn't need the light here. But it's a dragging procession they make now, the man beside her not so accustomed. He leans heavily on the railing, having to search for every step.
It feels close to forever before they reach the first landing. It smells like piss and rotting garbage, and neither of them want to loiter. He makes no comment as they start up the next flight. She can hear the distant sirens finally headed this way. Her legs want to run ahead; her hands want to grab his arm and tug him into faster motion. He's just a dark hunched shape beside her now. He hisses through his teeth as his foot comes down hard on the unlevel surface of the next step. She doesn't know what she'll do if he can't make it all the way up there.
But eventually they do; the third floor is smothered with silence. He stumbles over the raised sill of her doorframe, catching himself on the peeling wall just inside. She hears herself apologize, as if she'd left the obstacle intentionally for him to find.
"Been far worse places," he mumbles. She finds she's surprised when he doesn't elaborate.
There's a little more illumination here – she's managed to pry off a few of the planks blocking the windows, letting a bit of the moonlight trickle in. It's enough for him to be able to find the outline of the musty sofa by the far wall. Luli busies herself with lighting a couple of candles, pretending she doesn't hear the muffled groan as he lowers himself onto it.
When she turns around he's sprawled in a corner of the sofa, his head resting limply against the wall behind. Her shoe squeaks a loose floorboard, and he blinks his eyes open. She can tell that it takes him a few moments to find her in the gloom; he pats the dusty fabric beside him. An echo of their meeting, an event that seems now days rather than just an hour before.
The ancient cushion caves under her, and she sinks deeply into it. His eyes are only half open, his hand languid with exhaustion as it gropes for hers. "You have been an angel," he tells her seriously, and she struggles not to laugh with the weight of the knife still in her pocket. "I regret I have to impose further." His eyelids slip before being wrenched open again. The flickering light plays tricks with his features.
"I'm going to pass out in a minute," he says calmly, holding tight to her hand as surprise wants her to pull away, "and I still have to meet my friend. I need you to wake me in a few hours. I'd be most grateful." He lets his head fall back against the wall.
"Um… sure." She doesn't know what else to say.
He squeezes her hand, but doesn't open his eyes again. "Luli, I'm in your debt…"
The statement slurs into his unconsciousness, but she senses a gravity to it that can't be entirely attributed to the odd candlelight, to the circling of this weird night. The lines of his face slacken, smooth. He was here, now he's not.
Luli finds herself alone, and in need of something to do.
It's early still, despite the darkness outside; she's more than a little wired, and there's a stranger in what passes for her bed. Luli slides her hand out from under his, fights her way out of the cushions. He doesn't stir. There's a new travel magazine waiting where she left it, lifted from the street stand this morning in the daily pedestrian scramble. She pulls one of the candles closer as she settles with it on the floor, her back against the sofa. It's the only piece of furniture in the room.
It's too dark to enjoy the pictures tonight, but she can just make out the words bold against the white of the pages. She's able to lose herself for a bit in this dream of foreign soil, only sucked back into the room when a rotation of blue and red splashes across the ceiling. The police arriving onto the block. They've killed their sirens. There's no one here worth warning out of the way.
Luli gets up and goes to an unboarded window. The glass is chipped and thick with dirt, and from this angle and distance she can only see about half of the miniaturized action. There's no urgency down there; ten minutes more of watching does nothing to dispel this impression. Just a handful of people standing around. Their body language the absence of interest.
The coroner's van shows up; even it manages to look as if it has somewhere else it would rather be. Luli shudders as she shoves down the memory of a toothy grin. They would have raped her, she knows, the only question being whether or not they'd have shot her when they were done. Her eyes jump to Raymond, slumped in the shadows. Not safe. And still she feels safer with him than she has in a long time.
The paradox makes her head ache.
Eventually the cops begin to poke around; she sees two of them duck into the doorway of a condemned wreck nearest to their crime scene. Like everyone else around here she's familiar with this game, rules of minimum effort in their confidence that their killer will never be caught. They won't spend much time here, she assures the nervous flutter in her stomach. And anyway, they're all the way at the other end of the long and empty block.
Nearly an hour later, Luli hasn't moved from the window. She's tired of standing here, leaning against this mildewed wall, but these cops are unnaturally persistent. With every exit she expects them to give up, to get back into their cars and go. Not turn to enter the next condemned structure. They're inching their way down the street, and she reminds herself that she's all the way up on the third floor. They won't bother to come up here. Even if they do make it this far.
There's a low moan behind her, a soft, hurting noise. It spins her around, the candle flames wavering in the breeze she creates. The light dances over his face; it's bright enough for her to see that his eyes have not opened. Not awake then. Though this sleep is clearly far from restful; his lips move, but she can't pluck any real words from the whispered sounds he makes. A nightmare? The thought makes her shiver. She doesn't want to meet the demons who would dare to torment this man.
She goes back to her sentry duty, her cheek against the glass now in an effort to get a better view. His murmuring is a background ebb and flow that drifts around the room. It itches at nerves stretched thin; part of her wants to go over there and shake him, desperate to make it stop. In the end the choice is made for her – the cops are only two doors down when the mumbling morphs into a horrible strangled shout. If he keeps doing that, they'll find their way up here for sure.
She's over there before she knows she's even crossed the room; his eyes shift violently behind pale lids, his forehead creased and cringing. Another garbled cry, and she kneels on the sofa beside him, tentatively reaching out. Her fingertips disappear into the folds of his coat sleeve. His eyes fly open as he reflexively yanks his arm away.
He's disoriented, breathing fast; a moment later and she sees his face change, as he remembers where he is. There's a conscious gathering of the shreds of his control. Luli sits back on the sofa, putting some space between them. He works at becoming more upright, blinking at her in the flickering light.
"Whas'matter?" he gets out, his words thick and stuck together.
"Cops."
He pulls in a deep breath, grunting as he pushes himself all the way up against the cushions. His overcoat slips on his shoulder, and even in this dim she can see the dark stain coming through the cream-colored suit jacket underneath. His eyes follow hers; he tugs the coat back into place. "Flesh wound," he assures her, as if it's possible to simply brush off all that blood. Her gazed is fixed to the spot.
Blood loss, he'd said. No kidding.
Raymond snaps his fingers in front of her face. "The police, Luli," he prompts. "How close?"
Her eyes dart to the window across the room, back to his pinched but expectant expression. "A few buildings over."
"How annoyingly diligent of them." He's already sagging back into the sofa; he coughs, a dry scratch of a sound. "Unlikely they'll come all the way up here…" His eyelashes flutter. "Talk to me. Keep me awake."
She doesn't know what tales she's supposed to have to tell. Her days are survival and sleep, each one so similar to every other. Except for today, of course. It brings the slow death of her existence into a sudden stark relief, and she gets to her feet as if this revelation is something she can physically move away from.
She can't look at him. She goes back to the window.
"This does bring back memories…" he finally says to the back of her head, taking it upon himself to break through the silence. She thinks there's a hint of something strained under his lazily wistful tone. "Two years ago, caught in a crossfire outside a village in Ghana. Spent a few days in a muddy hut while my body debated if it wanted to go on. Big brute of a man stitched me up. He had the kindest eyes."
She remembers his comment about themes as the word crossfire bounces through her brain. "Somebody shot you?"
"Somebody did." He fishes the water bottle out of his coat pocket.
She watches a repeat of his one-handed routine to get it open. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital?"
He takes a drink, a loose wave of the near empty bottle calculated to banish her concern. "I'm fine." It's rumbling but rounded, a lie so often told that it's become polished at the edges.
She doesn't know what to do, other than take his word for it. She hasn't seen the policemen for a while now, isn't certain where they are. This old window hasn't opened in years; if she were to knock some of the glass out to try and gain a better view, it's going to get awfully cold in here when winter sets in. Not to mention how far the sound of breaking glass will carry, out there in the still air. Okay, dumb idea. Luli rubs at the glass with her sleeve, anxious for a clue to their location.
Several long minutes of silence, as she watches the empty street; she wonders if he's passed out again. A glance over her shoulder shows him staring up at the invisible ceiling. She has no idea what he's looking at, but his eyes are open. Black slits sunk deeply into the white of his skin.
"How old are you, Luli?"
"Sixteen." It's automatic, a believable number she's aspired to for years. She realizes with a start that it might now actually be true. She thinks she saw somewhere that it's October already, meaning her birthday has since come and gone, unnoticed a few weeks past.
"Mmmm… Sixteen. Such a very long time ago…"
Luli braces herself for the inevitable lecture, the virtues of family and schooling always lovingly belabored by those who deign to take the time to talk. But there's no follow up of the usual questions, no pulling at her story's strings. In her head, she thanks him for this. Outside, the two cops exit the doorway next door.
And cross the street.
She lets out a breath she feels she's been holding for hours. "I think we're good," she tells him, turning back to face the room. "They're going the other way."
"Excellent. What time is it?" He hooks the cuff of his sleeve with a finger, has to twist his left wrist to get a look at his watch. A twitch in his jaw is the only sign of how much even this small movement costs. He squints at the glass face. "You're going to ruin your eyes trying to read in here."
Luli shrugs, flips the magazine on the floor closed with her toe. She returns to the sofa beside him. "Who shot you?" she asks.
"A long and boring story." He removes his hat. Runs a hand over his cropped hair. His motions are slow, drowsy.
"What'd you do?"
His laugh bounces off the walls. "The refreshing bluntness of youth. Such a shame we're encouraged to let that go." He pulls his coat more tightly around him, almost burrowing into it. Closes his eyes.
Luli stares at his profile, even after he seems to have fallen asleep. She finds she's disappointed when he has nothing more to say.
She drifts off sometime after he does, curled small into the other corner of the sofa. She hadn't intended to, had meant to keep watch; he'd asked her to wake him, and she'd fallen asleep. Her failure floods her awareness as soon as she opens her eyes, the molten stump of a burnt out candle being the first thing to come into focus. She curses herself for this as well – she'll miss that wasted light until she can come up with a way to grab more.
Raymond is clammy and still beside her, and she looks to his chest to make sure that he's breathing. There's a stuttered rise and fall that's not completely comforting, but she tries to soothe the flash of fear with the understanding that at least it's something. Luli glances at the window. Not quite dawn yet, but the sky is definitely brightening. She has no idea when he was supposed to meet up with his friend, or where. The park, probably, but this does little to help.
Luli pokes at his uninjured shoulder, hoping this will be enough. No reaction.
She shakes his arm. His head lolls against the cushions.
Shit. She doesn't want this guy to die here. She starts plunging her hands into pockets, searching for a phone. Maybe there's someone in his contacts she can call. The last person he talked to. It'll be his friend, won't it – he would have called his friend to tell him where he'd be. She'll redial and talk to the guy and tell him where to come find them…
Her panic grows as she's running out of pockets.
No phone. How can this man not have a phone? She doesn't have one because she's got no one to call, but everybody these days has a phone. Half the kids she knows out here have a data plan. And her rifling hasn't roused him, frantic as it was.
She tries to tell herself this isn't necessarily a bad sign.
This mystery friend feels like her only hope. "I'm coming back," she tells him. "Don't die."
Desperation carries her back down the stairs, out into the hushed street; her mission seems futile even before she steps off the sidewalk. An absurd long shot at best. What if the park's not their meeting place? Even if it is, how will she recognize the other man? She doesn't even know Raymond's last name. Luli ducks a block over, unprepared yet to walk down last night's blood stained road. She won't let herself think about what happens if she can't find this guy.
If it's even a man. Urged by the hissing whisper of all these uncertainties, Luli breaks into a jog.
She sees the tall black man as she approaches the bench, his eyes the only feature she can make out as he stands backlit by the rising sun. He's glancing around the park, clearly searching for something. Someone.
Could it really be this simple?
Her steps slow as she approaches him. She feels like a movie screen spy, like she needs some sort of silly code phrase to prove her credentials. It could just be a coincidence, this guy waiting by this bench. And she has no idea what she's supposed to say anyway.
Excuse me, sir – did you lose a friend? I happen to have a spare…
Those eyes lock onto her, piercing and suspicious. Reflexively she ducks her head. She'll keep walking, double back further down the path and see what this guy does. Luli forces herself not to hold her breath as she passes him, his stare like a physical connection. She remembers this sensation from last night, this sticky syrup dragging her steps and slowing down time. It's like she'll never get past him.
This is different, though. Despite his intensity, there's none of the terrifying sexual tension she can still taste from just hours ago. Maybe this is why she stops when his deep voice cuts through the dawn air.
"Raymond. Where is he?"
The electric worry of the man beside her pulses through every step, the trip back mere seconds when compared to the trek of the night before. He pounds up the stairs behind her, the thudding echoing through the space. When they reach the door he pushes past her, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa. Luli approaches more slowly.
He searches for injury with jumping eyes and fingers; she's about to direct him to the shoulder when he finds it himself. He gently pulls back the edge of the overcoat, wincing when he sees the blood. "Raymond…" It's a sad exhale, but it holds no surprise. "I am sorry I could not arrive sooner." His hands are steady as he unbuttons the suit coat, peels away this next layer. Her eyes widen at the sight of Raymond's shirt and vest, an unsalvageable mess. The African man is unruffled. She gets the impression that some of this calm must spring from plenty of practice.
Raymond growls, a noise deep in his throat, a semiconscious hand coming up to swat the other man away from his prodding inspection. There's a tenderness in the way he traps Raymond's interfering fingers in his own, lowers his hand to his lap. A lingering look she has not the context to interpret, other than the clear surface level of his concern. He returns to his examination of the wound; Luli's the first to see Raymond's eyes blink open.
A broad smile spreads lopsided across his face as he recognizes the man leaning over him. "Dembe... you found us…" It's sleepy, slurred, and Raymond's eyes slip closed while his mouth is still forming the words. He seems to relax in a way she's not yet seen, despite all his cultivated layers of poise. It's obvious he trusts this man, this Dembe. She wonders what the story is between them.
"Raymond. There will be time for sleeping soon," Dembe promises him.
"...m'wake…" he protests, not opening his eyes.
A flinch rides Raymond's features as Dembe separates another layer of cloth from the injury. "Martine?" the African asks.
"Dead."
"Then who…?"
The questions float by casually, almost uninterested. Luli has the feeling he's trying to keep Raymond talking more than digging for actual information; if Raymond notices this, he's apparently willing to play along. "Warloon. Decided it was time to move up in the world."
The early sun is slowly brightening the room, the shadows thinning into new shapes still clinging to the memory of the night before. It's light enough to see the fresh blood bubble and trickle from the puckered bullet hole as Dembe peels away the dress shirt to expose his skin. Luli takes an unintended step backward, but it goes unnoticed by the two men. She might as well not even be in the room.
A frown crinkles Raymond's forehead as Dembe removes his scarf, brows pulling together between his closed eyes. The bigger man slides a hand behind Raymond's back, carefully leaning him forward so he can use the cloth as a temporary bandage. "Dead?" Dembe asks, winding the scarf under his arm and up over his collarbone.
"No." The answer is directed into Raymond's lap, his head hanging low as Dembe works. "Slippery, that one –" The words are swallowed by a pained grunt as the wrap tightens. Raymond's head comes up, his neck bent at an awkward angle as he squints in the general direction of his shoulder. He licks his lips, blinks a few times. "How bad?"
"There is an exit wound." Luli sees the way Dembe's attention remains on his work, as if he doesn't want to look Raymond in the eye. Maybe she's reading too much into it, imagining the crackle of emotion hidden in the balance of his voice. "You continue to lose blood."
Raymond nods, unconcerned. He drags a fistful of rumpled clothing over his bandaged shoulder, the fabric draping loose and unbuttoned as he leans back into the musty cushions. He lets his head rest against the wall, lips moving as he chews at the inside of his cheek. Staring up toward the ceiling. "Feels like it may have chipped the bone…" It's a murmur, more thought than speech. An admission - if meant to be heard - for Dembe, not her.
Luli feels like she's the intruder here.
Out of a need to reassert her presence, she picks up his hat from where it's fallen to the dirty floor. She places it on the sofa beside him, glancing up to find both men now looking at her. Dembe's focus is a cautious intensity, his new quiet scrutiny giving the impression that she'd been dismissed and forgotten in light of current circumstance. Raymond blinks at her sluggishly, before returning to his position of false nonchalance.
"Oh good. You've met," is what she thinks he says. It's difficult to decipher when his lips are barely moving.
"She found me in the park," Dembe confirms. Luli wishes he'd stop looking at her like that. "Brought me to you."
"Clever girl." His words drip lazily at their ends. "An angel."
Dembe looks unconvinced; Luli doesn't know what to tell him. She's still not certain this Raymond guy is even in his right mind. But Dembe seems to eventually accept his judgment, and he stands smoothly. "I will get the car. It will only be a few minutes."
"Take your time," Raymond tells him, not lifting his head. "Luli and I have been getting along swimmingly."
This earns her another look from Dembe. "I will return shortly," he reiterates. He exits the broken apartment, leaving them alone.
Luli wanders to the window in time to see Dembe leave the building; his muscled figure moves purposefully down the street. It occurs to her for the first time that this bizarre string of hours is about to be over. Her eyes cast aimlessly about the room, the space already feeling somehow emptier than it did this time yesterday. Maybe it's time to move on from here.
"Come with us."
Like he's reading her thoughts, except strangely he's still managed to surprise her. This hadn't been an option she'd been considering. Luli turns; he's watching her. "What? Where?"
A smile flickers past his lips. "Wherever you'd like."
His words come slowly, but they're clear. Genuine. A hundred thoughts tumble by before her mouth is able to grab one. "But… we don't even know each other."
He gives her a one-shouldered shrug. "And yet we've managed to be of help to one another. The beginning of a beautiful friendship, wouldn't you say?"
She wonders what it will feel like to go back to a life without this man. Somehow it seems like taking a step backward.
His breathing is audible in the silence of her consideration, its rhythm sounding forced in its controlled evenness. Raymond peers at her. When he speaks, his voice is soft but undeniably serious. "But last night was not an aberration. Do you understand?"
Luli nods. She'd sensed this. Still doesn't understand how he did it, but it obviously wasn't some first-time fluke. Unarmed and injured he'd taken down both of those guys. She has no idea what she's getting herself into if she leaves with him.
Safe. Not safe.
But what is there here? More of the same? There's nothing in this life for her to cling to, not really. Nothing more than the fragile comfort of the known, dark though it may be. Is it enough to pass up the chance at what might be something better?
She doesn't know; she's still trying to figure it out when Dembe walks in. She'd thought Raymond had dozed off during the wait, but he blinks his eyes open at the other man's entrance. His right hand finds his hat, and he replaces it on his head. He holds his jacket closed across his chest as he pushes clumsily to his feet.
Dembe grabs his good arm when he staggers, his long fingers easily encircling Raymond's bicep. The older man pulls his arm away to stand unsupported; it's hard to say if the tight lines around his eyes are etched in pain or irritation.
A breeze picks up, whistling its way through one of the cracked window panes.
Dembe bends to speak quietly in Raymond's ear, but the rich timbre of his voice carries enough words across the small room for her brain to fill in the missing pieces. "Our friend is on duty at the clinic near the safehouse. I will take you home, then bring him."
"Yes, yes. In a moment." It's peevish, short. Raymond's looking at Luli; she's the only one that sees the frown dart over Dembe's face. It's gone almost immediately.
"You have lost too much blood, Raymond," he tries again. Softly. Gently. Woven with a concern obvious even to her, a stranger. "We should go."
A scowl darkens Raymond's face, and Luli's reminded of flopping shoes attached to limp legs, sprawled on a nighttime street. Dembe seems unaffected when the glare is directed his way. "Done playing doctor? Hmmm?" The other man says nothing, just looks back at Raymond calmly. "Good. Because I'm waiting for an answer to my question."
He turns to face Luli again, eyes glinting as they're caught by the light. He's still got his lapel bunched in his fist, holding the thick wool across his chest and using it to brace his useless shoulder; he's hunched slightly in that direction. A shudder runs through him, and she sees Dembe twitch. Unsteady as his body might be, however, his attention is focused and narrowed in entirely on her. He's waiting. Waiting for her answer.
She's back in the park. He's offering her a sandwich.
Like they have all day. Like she's not holding a knife. She tries to remember the last time someone was kind to her, especially a stranger. Everyone looks out for themselves here, and those rare few with the desire to help usually have nothing available to share. Luli pictures these two men walking out of here, lets herself feel the reality of having to go back out on the street sometime today, without so much as a plan as to how she's going to eat. Imagines finding food, only to have to come back here and eat in the lonely shadows. And what if someone saw what happened last night? No one may be talking to the cops, but that doesn't mean word won't get around to the wrong people.
Her gaze jumps over the apartment's angles, the warped floorboards and fractured glass. The sad stinking sofa. The creased magazine mocking glossy from the floor. It's the cleanest, newest thing in here. The morning light plays over the island paradise sparkling on the cover, and she wonders if he really does mean anywhere.
She can feel the tropical sun warm on her skin, can almost hear the ocean waves crashing against the sand. She's only seen the ocean once, a misty memory from when she was young; it's a fantasy plumped up by travel magazines and TV, no doubt, more than shaped of her singular experience. But she thinks she remembers what they sound like. That hissing, spitting roar.
Very unlike the sound that Raymond makes, a sudden bemused exhale that instantly tears her from the dream. Luli turns in time to see him sway dangerously, Dembe's arm shooting out to stabilize him. Stumbling inertia swings Raymond around so the two men are facing one another. It takes a minute for him to find his balance, even with the firm grip on his arm.
"I'm sorry," he tells Dembe. The other man shakes his head. Raymond blinks up at him for a moment, before leaning forward to rest his forehead on the other man's chest. Dembe just stands there, rock solid and watching her over the curve of Raymond's fedora.
"Luli," Raymond calls, not shifting from his support. His voice is strained but unaccountably sunny, even muffled by the fabric of Dembe's t-shirt. "I'm afraid I need your answer. I'm guessing we have less than five minutes before I lose consciousness again, at which point this man will carry me out of here and make the decision for you. You're a bright girl. Make... make your own choices."
He isn't able to completely squash the groan, and Dembe's eyes flip away from hers to the top of Raymond's head. The African man is definitely frowning now, and Luli gets the clear message that she's got a lot less than five minutes.
"Okay." The word flings itself off her lips, an independent thought high-diving from her tongue. She didn't know she'd decided, but there it is. Leap before you look. The only thing she really knows is that she can't go back to the way things were, to the existence she's been surviving.
"Splendid." Raymond wobbles a little as he moves away from Dembe, but he stays upright. "Now, Doctor, we may go."
It doesn't have the sting of before; Dembe appears only relieved that Raymond is finally surrendering to reason. Luli takes a last look around the room. There's nothing to pack. She's uncertain if the bubbling in her stomach should be labelled anxiety or anticipation, isn't even sure what name to give this place she's about to leave. Home? Shouldn't home be a place that you actually want to stay?
"Okay," she says again. "For now, anyway." Her choice, he'd said. It doesn't have to be forever.
The corner of Raymond's mouth pulls up into a smile. His eyes are shadowed by the brim of his hat.
"Luli, my dear. 'Now' is all we have."
end.