Wisp
Chapter 01
"December 24th, eleven PM, Eastern Standard Time. Zoom in on the empty chairs," Mark Cohen spoke as he held his camera with slightly shaking hands.
He counted six. This time last year, five of those were filled. This time next year, only four would be. And the next year? Would it really be down to three? And then two? And even then… Maureen and Joanne were never a sure thing.
"A beer'd be nice," He heard a soft voice say. Scanning the room with his camera, he stopped at a small girl he's never seen before, tucked into the corner and shivering. How could she shiver? The room was so warm. Probably some junkie…
He watched as she pulled off her gloves and blew on her hands to warm them. She stopped and stared at her palm in disgust then quickly pulled her glove back on. Her hair was red, but dirty. It looked as if it hadn't been washed in awhile. There was a gray knit hat on her head that looked as though it might have once been white. She was so little…
Mark turned his camera off and approached her. "Hi, are you cold?" He asked her.
Her head snapped up at him, wide green eyes staring back at him in terror. "P-Pardon?"
"Are you cold?" Mark repeated slowly.
"Oh, um-" She noticed how much she'd been shivering. "Yeah, kinda."
"Want my coat?" Mark shrugged of his plaid coat and held it out to her.
She hesitated. "You don't need it?"
Mark shrugged. "Not now."
"I-" She refused to meet his gaze. "I don't usually accept anything from strangers…"
Mark plopped down in the chair across form her. "I'm Mark Cohen."
She tentatively reached across the table and took the coat, careful not to let it touch the candle. "Thanks. I'm Winnie."
"Winnie…?"
"Just Winnie," She said firmly. She slid the coat around her thin shoulders, still shivering.
"Hey," Mark reached across the table to put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you OK?"
Winnie shied away from his touch and nodded. She pushed her chair back and spoke in a shaking voice.
"Don't ever touch me. I-I'll be right back." She got up and pulled the coat tighter around her as she looked for the bathroom.
* * *
Winnie let herself into the bathroom and closed the door, not even bothering to lock it. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and nearly started crying. She looked like the bag ladies that she used to stare at when her aunt would bring her into the city. Her skin looked like she'd never seen the light of day and she had dark circles under her eyes. A slight bruise was forming around her cheek bone.
She took off her gloves and tossed them onto the floor. Her hands were so cold… Except for her right hand. It was just numb, except when she moved it. She clenched her fingers into a fist and nearly screamed because of the pain. Her palm was blistered and white like lilies, the sores open and oozing pus and blood.
She grabbed a few paper towels and wrapped them around her hand. She was still so cold. She sank to the floor, leaning against the door, absentmindedly sticking her left hand into the coat pocket. She fingered the few things in the pocket, humming a small tune.
Her fingers grasped a small box, like the type that jewelry was gift-wrapped in. Curiosity got the best of her and she pulled it out and removed the top. There, on a bed of cotton, glinting in the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom was a silver razor blade.
She shivered, it was such an ominous thing, razor blades were…
The end of Winnie Wielkopolski… It would serve her father right. It would be the end of her pain. She wouldn't be so cold anymore… Her hand would stop hurting.
No more cold, no more pain, no suffering, no hunger, no cold, no pain, no growling, no fighting, no cold, no pain, no screaming, no cold, no pain, no cold…
Her thoughts ran together all at once and she could determine one thought form the others. It kept echoing in her head: no cold, no pain, no cold, no screaming… She gingerly held the blade in her right hand and pushed the long sleeve of her coat up her arm, then the sleeve of her sweater.
She pressed the razor to her wrist, pressing just slightly to see how sharp it really was. A small trickle of blood appeared; a tiny wisp of what would soon run in rivers from her wrists. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then took a slow but firm swipe at her pale skin.
It stung but she knew it would all be over soon. She held the razor in her shaking left hand and pushed her other sleeves up, cutting an identical line in her right wrist.
Dropping the bloody razor on the cold tiled floor, she leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the end.
* * *
Mark shook his head at the girl's – Winnie's – quick exit. Girls always tended to do that around him. He got up to go sit back at his usual table. Six empty seats. Wait – no, five…
"Marky!"
"Hey Maureen," Mark sat down next to her. She looked like she wanted to cry, but Mark knew Maureen. She was too proud to cry. "Fight with Joanne?"
Maureen shook her head in disbelief. "I'm never good enough for her! Everything I do, it's always 'That's stupid' or 'That's impractical!' I think this might be the end. I actually made her cry."
"You kicked her?"
Maureen glared. "No. We were yelling and she just started sobbing. I've never seen her cry. It was scary. People always look so ugly when they're crying…"
Mark sighed and downed the beer he'd left sitting on the table. "Have you heard anything about…?"
"No," She shook her head. "Roger's locked himself in the bathroom in the loft. I'm worried about him. Collins is trying to coax him out."
"But what about Mimi?"
Maureen raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Mimi? Mark, I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" Mark demanded, leaning forward onto the table, knuckles gripping the edge.
Maureen refused to look him in the eyes. "The doctor said she has a month, two at the most."
"Oh," Mark deflated. "I knew about that."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds around them. Maureen tapped her fingers on the table; Mark stared at the camera in his lap.
"Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Why aren't you back at the loft with Roger and Collins?"
Mark sighed. "Roger kicked me out."
Maureen raised an eyebrow. "Kicked you out?"
He cringed. "More like ordered me out. He was going crazy. He started screaming at me and he nearly smashed my camera. And when I dove to catch it, he started screaming that I care more about that fucking camera than I do about him. So I left and came here. I figured I could cool off."
"Speaking of cooling off, where's your jacket? It didn't get stolen, did it?"
Mark immediately remembered Winnie. "Oh, I lent it to this girl. She was really cold. Speaking of which, she's been in the bathroom an awful long time. Do you think she's OK?"
Maureen shrugged and stood up. "Well, I'll see. I gotta take a leak anyway."
* * *
The bathroom door wouldn't open. It wasn't locked, but there was something blocking it. Odd…
"Excuse me?" Maureen called through the door. "I really gotta piss! I don't care if someone's fucking in there, I'm not about to wet my pants in public." She shoved the door open and felt was ever was blocking it move aside. There was a thump and the door swung open.
The first thing she noticed was the blood on the floor. Then the bloody razor. So much blood. Maureen's jaw dropped. She let go of the door and the body of a young girl pushed it back so that it would have slammed if Maureen's foot hadn't been in the way.
Blood ran in rivers form the girl's wrists. She was bundled up in what Maureen recognized as Mark's plaid coat.
"Mark?" Maureen stammered. "Mark?" She yelled a little louder. "Mark!" She screamed, grabbing the girl and pulling her up off the floor. She had to get to a hospital. "Mark, help me!"
* * *
Mark heard Maureen call his name and set his beer down on the table gently. But then he heard her yell again. She was sounding frantic. Something was up. Where had she gone? Oh, the bathroom, right, of course.
She kept telling his name louder and more frantically. She needed help.
Mark ran over to the bathrooms to see what was wrong and froze in his tracks when he saw Maureen pulling the girl – Winnie – out of the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. And on the bathroom floor…his razorblade.
"Mark! Snap out of it! We have to get her to the hospital! I'll go get a cab, I can't carry her." Maureen passed her hold on Winnie to Mark and ran to hail a cab.
He picked her up easily. She was tiny and so thin. He found himself face to face with her, her eyes were open slightly and she was blinking every now and again.
"Winnie," He whispered, carrying her to Maureen outside on the street. "Winnie, don't die. Fucking Christ, don't die. There's too much death here already."
Maureen managed to flag down a passing cab and opened the door for Mark. He just cradled her in his arms, begging her not to die. Oh, this was all his fault. He knew it…