Death of Innocence
Day 4
Day 4: "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes."
Cattle prod, shock, "you in there?"
Lower Manhattan, same day
The drizzle had kept up, and now Reese shuffled with more of a pronounced limp on one side. Kept under the awnings again as he walked, face tipped down – away from the cameras. Didn't talk, not to anyone – because eyes were in the skies and could pick him up on the cameras – take notice. They were everywhere, nowadays.
Down in the subways he'd have a better chance. Headed down and away, out to Sunset Park. An old place he knew down there, stretched like some ancient finger, jutting like a dock out on Bay Ridge Channel. Bleak, an abandoned warehouse there – empty, except for the nightly influx of lost and weary souls – exhaled onto the streets at light, and inhaled back again at night.
Daytime, but the mist had rolled in so heavy that the day had nearly turned to night. Raw and cold there, too – a bad combination for Reese, who didn't care for the cold.
House Rules at the Camp: don't walk right in when you get there, and don't stare. It puts people off.
People down there – suspicious of strangers – and Reese hadn't been there for more than a year, coming up on two soon. But maybe some of the regulars were still around.
Aware of the Rules, at first he'd stayed at the edges, let 'em get used to seeing him there. Dressed like he was – definitely out of place at the Camp. But then, people didn't tend to ask – 'cause anyone could've come to this; no one's immune. Lots of homeless in the City, if ya just care to look around.
Reese'd stopped for a little food at a bodega on the way. Hot sandwiches wrapped in foil, three of them, and a carton of soup. Good for taking the chill away and good for trading with a friend.
Still a little early, so some of the regulars were still on the streets. By dusk, they'd be making their way back to Camp for the night.
Reese scanned to see what'd changed. That huge wall of windows? Still there – a little grayer with more layers of City-grime on top. Could never quite see the Bay through them, anyway, but you knew it was out there. Inside, that sprawling warehouse floor – all concrete and cold on your feet, or whenever you tried to sleep. No heat down there, except for the burn barrels – rolled around to shed a little warmth in the night, and a little light on them, too. A place like that'd get scary at night.
Nobody much bothered them there. So, for Reese, a good place to land for tonight. They'd be looking for him by now, but maybe not the first place they'd look. Need to move on by tomorrow.
Sure enough, as dusk came on, more of the people filtered in. The floor'd filled up around him. Fires got started in the barrels. They'd looked at him kinda funny at first, wondering what he was doing there.
But by the time Reese had sidled up to one of the barrels and they could see him – shivering in the cold, like them – they'd made some room at one of the barrels for him. He'd offered a little of what he'd brought; it got around, seemed to go a long way with the people.
Noticed a woman who kept glancing at him. Then she'd disappeared for a while. Could be trouble, he thought. Getting himself ready to leave if things went south. Ten minutes later, two of them coming – that same one who'd been watching, and her urging another woman to follow.
That second one hustled along, eyes scanning, the floor filled now with more than a hundred bodies – all engaged in whatever ritual their strategy was for getting through the night. He saw her approach, but she hadn't seen him yet.
Joan. His friend from before and one of the regulars. Swinging her head from side to side, obviously searching for someone. Reese stepped out in front – twenty feet away.
Their eyes met, she squinted at him, then her eyes flew wide. Stopped in her tracks, and the people looked up.
"Is it you?" in her same raspy voice. In her eyes: "I can see the danger, it's written there in your eyes. Who are you, now?" she was thinking.
Reese nodded. "It's me."
Tipped her head to one side, and her face fell into something of a smile, her eyes full of feeling.
For four long months – once Reese had started roaming the streets, doing his best to drink himself to death – Joan had watched over him. Tried to give him a little hope, when she didn't have a lot of her own. Make him believe things'd get better.
"Don't give up," she'd whispered to him – curled on the ground in his coat, clutching his fifth in his hand.
Well, better days had come – at least for him. Reese smiled and moved in a little closer. Would this be okay?
"Joan," he'd said, and watched her. She reached out, like always – squeezed his arm with a hand – thinner and grayer than he remembered her. Life on the streets in New York wasn't kind.
She stepped back to look him up and down, never asked what he was doing there. Plain in his face to her. He'd run out of room wherever he'd been and needed a place to be. Like most of the rest of them here.
"Come on, then, let's git you over by the fire. Don't look so good, friend."
Reese passed her a hot sandwich. Well, it had been hot a while back. She lifted the foil away and gave it a little sniff. Her eyes danced, and a smile turned up at the corners of her mouth. Didn't like showing her teeth much, he recalled.
Pulled her long coat around her and took him back to her own part of Camp. Joan had a section of cardboard rolled up, next to a little lean-to she'd made of more.
"Use that one, if ya like," she said, pointing to the roll. Reese lifted the roll and let it out, a flat sheet on the concrete floor.
"Bring it in, closer, 'er you'll catch your death tonight," and Joan pointed. She'd share the edge of her lean-to with him, keep the wind off, if it sprang up overnight. Reese watched her down the sandwich and lick her fingers for the crumbs, while he warmed his hands next to the flames. A couple of old withered men clustered together on the other side. Little eye contact among them. They all mostly stared at the fire.
Time wore on, and people settled into whatever shelter they'd made from the colder weather coming in. The mist rolling in had thickened, and muted the sounds of Camp around them. No light coming in at the window wall, their fires the only lights inside. A quiet had settled in for the night.
Reese shared the last of the coffee with Joan, and turned to the cardboard he'd rolled out. Had to get down on it; wouldn't be easy. She watched him take a knee in the middle of the sheet, and roll himself down to sitting. Saw the grimace cross his face, and how he braced with his hands. He'd placed his pack at the head of the sheet for something to lean on – and lowered himself to rest on the pack.
Sometimes, in situations like this, he remembered that getting up was even worse than getting down. Let it go for now and he'd face it tomorrow.
Reese was shivering again. Starting to sweat a little.
Dust swirled in the middle of the night. The breeze had picked up, rattling the shelter and threatening to blow it down over the top of them. Joan seemed to be sleeping through it.
He'd leaned against his pack for a while. And though he was cold, didn't much feel like eating anything more – wished there was coffee, though, to take the chill away. Remembered it like that, back in the war, too – Afghanistan. As hot as it could get in the day, it'd get so cold in the nights. Bone-chilling cold, especially up in the mountains. Snow and cold, skies as clear as night could get.
An unholy place, that. Full of hate, violence. Some of the rules had died there. Shock and Awe gave way to worse. Cattle prods, water-boards, worse. Shouldn't have been there, after all.
Shaw found it quiet on the street near Reese's place. She'd startled a skinny cat on his porch in back, then noticed the broken glass. A few shards on the ground, and the window gone. Clicked her light on and knelt to take a look inside. Glass, and a lot more of it, inside. Must have kicked the window in to get inside.
Right. Didn't have a key.
Well, if Reese could do it, so could she. Maybe he'd still be inside. Sounded too easy, for Reese. He'd be gone for sure, and hadn't left a note, she smirked. This is where being short could matter. Easy enough to slip through, coat on the bottom of the frame to keep the glass at bay. Wiggle in, drop her feet along the wall, and then the bigger drop down to the floor. Right in the middle of the glass. Watch your step. Don't slip. Grab your coat. Damn! Another slice in the leather.
What was it with him? Every time she'd saved his ass, another slice in her leather coat! He owed her – again. She'd make him pay! And payback was gonna be good this time. She'd put her mind to it, come up with something really good.
Made her way up the stairs. Hmm. Smelled coffee. He'd been here.
Kitchen first. Looked untouched, until she looked closer. Grounds in the trash, sink was wet, cup in the drainer. He'd even rinsed out the pot.
Down the hall, next.
"You in there?" she wondered.
He'd hear her coming. Gun in her hand, just in case. Maybe it wasn't him, inside.