Rachel shook her head to clear it, and realized she was downtown./i"That was some high,"ishe thought, blinking. She was in front of the public library, a few feet from the bench where the homeless man, "Patches" always slept. He wasn't there now, however, so she felt safe enough to sit on the steps.
She opened her purse, and dug through it, looking for the bag she knew was in there somewhere. "Where is it?" she exclaimed to no one in particular. Realizing she must have already snorted the stash, she slumped backward, elbows on the step behind her.
"I got some'in oughta cure yer shakes." A voice from behind her startled her into alertness. "Come on back behind the lib'ry, I'll share."
Rachel followed, curious, and the man led her behind the building, and down a flight of stairs into a basement. "Me 'n my boys, we keep warm here," he explained. "Have a seat, make yerself comfor'ble"
Rachel sat on an upended milk crate. "I assume you have a name," Rachel said quietly.
"Name's Peter, but they call me Patches." He turned over another crate, and opened a zippered case, setting it on yet one more crate. He set a candle down, and lit it, pulling out a bent spoon from the case. "You got one too, I'll bet."
"Ra...becca. Rebecca." She wasn't sure why she didn't give him her real name, she just didn't. She watched as he tapped some powder into the spoon, and pulled a syringe out, uncapping it with his teeth, and setting the cap down.
"Don' worry, it's jus' fer liquid. I got clean shit over here." He patted a small box next to him. "Always got t'have clean ones," he said more to himself than to Rachel. He drew in some water, and squirted it into the spoon, capping it and sliding it into the case. He reached down into the box, pulling out a bag of syringes. "Grab one outta there, fer me?"
Rachel took the sealed package, and tore it open with her fingernail. Extracting one, she passed it to him, and wrapped her arms around herself tighter, the shivers beginning to set in. She watched him hold the spoon over the flame, until the liquid bubbled and the powder dissolved.
He picked up a tiny cotton ball, dropped it into the spoon, and drew the liquid into the syringe through the cotton. "This'll fix ya up real good."
His hand went to his belt, and Rachel felt sick. "Here we go again," she thought. But Patches just undid it, and slid it out of the loops, as he turned to her. "Lemme see yer arm, pretty girl."
Rachel held it out, and winced as he rolled up her sleeve, the scars bright and prominent. He took no notice, however, and wrapped the belt around her bicep, pulling it tight. She grit her teeth, and he slid the needle into her vein, pushing the plunger.
Rachel felt herself sink into a feathery bed, surrounded by warm, fuzzy things. She sank deeper, her limbs beginning to feel heavy, and let her mind wander. It felt like she was falling asleep, but her mind was racing.