CHAPTER 4

That became the pattern for the next day or so. Drink up the liquor he bought, sleep it off in a park. He got into fights almost daily. He never started them but he always seemed to win and found out it was an easy way to get money for more liquor. He never took all their money. Just under half. He only felt bad about the stealing til he could get that first swallow of liquor at the liquor store. After that he didn't care. Until next time.

Sometimes he would buy something to eat but he hated wasting the money on food. Each day it was taking more and more liquor to numb the pain.

Walking into the homeless shelter, Joan's eyes swept over the crowd already in line for food. She was searching for the tall guy in the suit. He'd been so out of place last time that he'd stayed on her mind; he intrigued her. But he hadn't been back to eat here yet. She'd asked around but nobody had seen him.

Her days were spent the same almost every day. Taking care of the group she lived with. Somehow she had become their de facto leader. It was a group that grew and shrunk on a regular basis. New people joined them, others left to go it alone or join up with another group. Very few ever actually got 'off' the streets. Once you reached here, there was seldom any going back.

Joan was hard when you first met her. She protected what was hers, what she had earned, and didn't take to thieves. They were all down on their luck on the streets and didn't need to be stealing from each other. But she had a big heart that cared for those new to the streets and alone. Her reputation was well known among the people that lived on the streets. She was highly respected in her group. Being fair when squabbles kicked up had gone a long way toward people coming to her for help instead of fighting about it. Most of the people in her group were good, hardworking people down on their luck. Not a lot of drinking but there was some but she refused to help anyone with a drug problem. She'd tried before but found that those people would sell their soul and anything that was of value whether it was theirs or not. When you had very little, both space and possessions were jealously guarded at all times.

There was a core group, of about twenty people, that had been together for a couple of years. Others came and went as needed. Some were politely asked to leave, others more forcefully told to leave.

Leaving her buggie with Ralph again, Joan felt safe enough to spend more time at the shelter than usual. Getting her breakfast she sat down with others. The conversations around her were lively and she joined in with some of it, but mainly she kept looking for the man in the suit. It had been two weeks since she'd seen him. There was something about him that drew her. Something that kept him in her mind, made her care what happened to him.

Suddenly she saw him. Or at least she thought it was him. The man that had just walked in was tall. Taller than a lot of the folks here. He didn't yet have that stoop shouldered stance that so many people on the street had...like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

But he certainly looked different. His hair was longer and he had a full beard going on now. But it was his clothes that made her sit up. The black suit had dirt caked on it. There was a big rip at the top of one sleeve next to the shoulder. As he walked by her she noticed that the pants were even dirtier and had rips on each leg. He had definitely been through some rough times since she'd seen him last. He'd also lost a good bit of weight. Shaking her head she knew what that meant. What money he had was going toward liquor or worse and not food. She hoped for his sake, it wasn't the 'worse'.

Again he got his food to-go in a paper bag. Nodding his head he turned to walk out. His eyes swept over the people eating at the tables and he made eye contact with Joan. She was caught off guard by the intelligence she could see in his eyes. He broke the eye contact and walked quickly out the door. The was something else in his eyes but he'd turned away too fast for her to read it.

Asking the person next to her to watch her food, she got up quickly and made her way to the door. Even though she was only a few moments behind him, he'd once again disappeared. Checking both directions down the street showed her nothing. Walking back in to her table, she promised herself if he showed up again she was going to get close to him while he was in line. He wasn't going to get away from her again. The concern she felt when she saw him was getting stronger.

Reese's mental state was deteriorating. His days were spent as drunk as he could afford to be. Depending on how much money he could scrounge up it would be four bottles of barely acceptable liquor or 6-7 bottles of pure rotgut liquor. Most of the time the alcohol would drown out the hunger pains. But if his money ran out before he could reach that blind drunk threshold he'd be forced to get something to eat. He hated using his 'hard earned cash' on food. Food wouldn't help him forget, food made him remember.

Dreams of Jessica were getting harder to come by. When he was able to sleep he just passed out, not really sleeping. It was a dreamless sleep or, it was nightmares. Nightmares where he was helpless once more. He would see Jessica being beaten to death and he would be unable to save her. All he could do was watch and hear her call his name. He'd wake himself up screaming. Seeing her die over and over was slowly killing him...one nightmare at a time. Soon there were no more good dreams of their times together. Those seemed to have disappeared no matter how hard he tried to remember. Maybe those remembered good times WERE the dream and this hell he was stuck in was the true reality. He just didn't know anymore and sometimes, deep down, he found he didn't care, he knew he was only getting what he deserved for all the blood he had on his hands.

The lack of food was finally having an effect on his health. He'd gotten beaten up twice in the last two weeks. Weak, his reflexes were slow. The last one he'd only survived because of his training. He knew how to protect himself even when he wasn't able to defend himself.

Sitting in an older part of a park by the river he stared off in the distance. Leaning back on the bench he tipped the bottle up and took a big swallow. Liquor went down his throat like water. Didn't even burn anymore. Keeping the bottle wrapped up in the paperbag he tucked it inside his coat. He'd finally given up his suit jacket, or what was left of it. It offered no protection from the elements and seemed to set him apart from other street people, making him more of a target. He'd stolen his current jacket off a guy who'd tried to mug him about a week ago. The other guy was in as bad a shape as Reese but Reese was younger. The jacket fit him but it was filthy. And smelled pretty bad too. But at least he looked more like he fit in and was not so much of an easy mark. Pretty soon he'd have to get some new pants, his were about to become indecent.

It had been a month since he'd arrived back in NYC.

Joan found herself thinking about the mystery man at the soup kitchen. He stood out in her memory because he looked so out of place. Not only the clothes he was wearing the first couple of times she'd seen him, but also there was something almost familiar about the way he moved and when he was standing in line, the way he held himself. Or maybe it was the intelligence, the awareness she had seen in his eyes the one time they actually had made eye contact. For the life of her should could not figure out why he continued to pop up in her memory over and over.

He never talked to anybody and was always alone. She watched his clothes get shabbier every time she saw him. Things were not going well for him. He didn't seem to be adjusting to life on the streets. She wasn't sure exactly what bothered her the most: why she noticed this or why she seemed to care. Both were out of character for her and for anyone living on the streets. Life was hard enough taking care of yourself without worrying about someone else who you didn't know, who hadn't even spoken to you. But that was exactly what she was doing, worrying about him.

Apparently he didn't live in her 'neighborhood' because she never saw him except at the soup kitchen. Finally giving into her own worries, she asked some friends to keep an eye out for him. Not necessarily do anything for him or to him, just let her know if they saw him. He was easy to describe because he stood out to everybody. Most remembered him from soup kitchen.

The suit pants he'd been wearing for the last month were not made for living in the streets. They were made of thin material, not much for warmth and tore easily. The Salvation Army location was a welcome surprise. He'd stumbled upon it one night when he was almost too weak, or too drunk...or both, to stand or walk much further. There was a sign on the door that said their doors were locked every night at 10pm for safety and security. Banging on the door til his knuckles were bloody he finally gave up. He had slowly slid to the ground leaning against the door. Holding his bag with his bottle in it he had turned it up and drained it. He figured he could just sleep in the doorway til the next morning.

Somebody heard the banging and heard the thump when he slid down the door. An aide worker opened the door carefully and seeing the pitiful excuse for a human being huddled by the door, immediately summoned one of the Salvation officers.

Together they brought him inside. He was offered a cot to sleep on but only if he agreed to take a shower. While he was in the shower they found him some clean, but well worn, clothes to put on. They threw away the clothes he'd had on. They weren't worth saving at this point.

"Son, is there anything we can do for you? Anyone we can call for you?" the Major asked, sitting across from Reese while he ate a sandwich. Reese shook his head and refused to look him in the eye. Eating half of the sandwich he wrapped up the other half and stuffed it in the pouch of the new hoodie they had given him.

"You're welcome to spend the night if you like. No one will bother you here."

Reese looked across the room and saw several cots with people sleeping on them. He hadn't slept in any type of bed in a long time. Sure would feel better than a park bench. Or brick sidewalk in an alley. And he was just so weary, so tired of it all. He nodded his head yes, but still making no eye contact.

Reaching across the table, the Major tried to grasp Reese's mangled hand but John jerked away from his touch.

"Let me at least bandage your hands. Looks like you were hitting something more than just our door." Looking at his hands John was surprised to see how raw and swollen they looked. Slowly he stretched his hands back across the table. With a couple of swabs of alcohol, which made him wince, it didn't take long before both hands were bandaged. He was amazed at how good his hands felt. They'd been hurting for so long he'd become immune to the pain.

"Come on over here. You can sleep on the one near the door. Think you'll feel more comfortable there." said the Salvation officer. Watching Reese shuffle over to the cot and carefully sit down, he shook his head. Another lost soul, new to the streets, not knowing where to get help if he even wanted help.

"You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. We have lots of ways to help you if and when you are ready. My name is Robert. I am a Major in the Salvation Army and this is the shelter that I run. Please know you are safe here."

Reese gave a quick nod while looking down at the floor. Slowly he lay down on the cot and curled up on his side. Kept his back to the wall and facing out toward all the other sleeping forms in front of him. He wasn't turning his back on anybody no matter where he was.

"Good night son. Sleep well. We serve breakfast at 7am. You are welcome to stay." Again, getting no response from the man curled up on the cot, the Major walked away.

Falling into a deep, exhausted sleep, Reese found the dream he'd been searching for: the vacation he'd had with Jessica in Mexico just before 9/11. His whole life had changed in that moment along with all those people that had been in the Towers and later the entire world...but for a little while he'd been happy. He could almost see Jessica's blonde hair, kissed by the sun and her sunburned shoulders, warm to the touch...

Instinctively, Reese's internal clock let him know when it was 6AM. He woke immediately but stayed perfectly still til he could assess where he was. Slowly the night's activities came back to him. He was on a cot and was where? Salvation Army. And clean. He felt clean for the first time in weeks. He hadn't cared for so long that it was almost a shock to his system to be clean. And clean clothes, he'd forgotten how good that felt too.

But with that realization he remembered his dream. Jessica. The pain was immediate and physical. He curled tight into a ball, clenching his teeth trying to hold in the animal wail that threatened to escape. It was too much. He could hardly breathe. He had to get out. He had to get away.

Sitting up, he realized a few other people near him were waking up. Frantically searching for a way out, he saw the door near his cot. He stood up too fast and swayed on his feet. But he forced himself to breathe deeply and get control. Walking over to the door he realized it had a deadbolt on the inside. He unlocked it and was out the door within seconds.

Having no idea where he was, he just took off running as fast as he was able. He was surprised at how weak his legs felt and he was gasping for breath before he'd gone a block. Stopping around the corner he leaned against the building to get his breath and gather his wits about him.

He was sober for the first time in over a month? Two months? Everything was crystal clear and too bright around him. He'd been in a drunken stupor for a long time, doing anything to kill the pain. Fumbling with the hoodie he had on, he found the half a sandwich from the night before. Wolfing in down he hardly even chewed it. Now he needed something to drink. Something alcoholic. But he had no money. But he knew how to get some...with his fist.