Things We Lost - 2. Chapter 2

It was raining, so I elected to stay in the relatively dry space of my building. I'd decided to splurge and wore nothing but the new clothes as I read—and I felt decidedly weird. First off, I usually wear most of what I own. If you take it off, you run the risk of not getting it back for one thing, and for another it can make you nice and warm and provide some soft comfort when you're sleeping on a hard surface. Plus, you know...it's yours.

These clothes, though...they felt soft. Mine sometimes got stiff, but even new they were never really soft, not like this. They also smelled good—a mix of soap, light cologne and maybe a deodorant or something. I liked the way they smelled and, frankly, wearing my own clothes would overpower that smell in no time. So, Id' stripped out of my old clothes and I just wore the new stuff, read my book and enjoyed smelling good for a change.

Besides the fact it was raining, I thought laying low for a day or two might be in order. After all, Buster would likely be looking for me and not bothering to think that, since they'd chased me, they hadn't actually committed robbery or rape. True, the cops would likely charge them for the attempt, but if crime novels had taught me anything it's that no one believes the kids—and definitely not the street kids.

So I waited things out for a few days, at least until the good smell started to dissipate, and I decided to venture out. As I'd read, my mind had frequently wandered to Emily and wondering how she was, if she was all right. Now that I was out of my hiding spot, I headed in the direction of her store.

To say I took the long way is a definite understatement. I went so far as to climb up a fire escape just to make sure Buster wasn't on a rooftop waiting to gun me down. I was probably giving him too much credit, but it never hurt to be paranoid. After sitting on the roof for about twenty minutes—I really do need to get my Rolex fixed—I finally made my way to the store. From my vantage point I'd seen it wasn't open and there had been no movement inside, which didn't bode well. Usually when a store did something like that someone had died.

Still being careful, I pressed my face to the glass and looked inside. The back of the store was unlit and the bathroom door was closed. Making my way toward the front I stopped short of the pane that Buster had shot out, now covered with plywood, and studied the counter. It seemed like it had been tidied, but I struggled to remember what the counter had looked like when I'd last seen it. As I thought about that, I glanced around again to ensure I was safe—or had room to run, if need be.

Turning back to the store, I was surprised to see a light on in the far side of the room, past the end of the counter. A woman appeared, maybe Emily's age, and approached the door. Glancing at me she nodded, unlocked the door, and beckoned to me. Cautiously, I took a few steps toward her.

“Ehren?” she asked. I glanced around, again, and nodded as I returned my gaze to her.

“I'm Beth, Emily's girlfriend. She said you might come by and asked me to keep an eye out for you.”

“Is she okay?” I asked, stepping forward. Beth jumped and then relaxed, giving me a tired smile and nodding. “Why don't you come in?”

I slipped inside and she closed and latched the door. She motioned me to follow her and I stayed out of arm's length as I trailed her up the stairs and into an apartment. I know, paranoid—but if she can't reach me, then I can get away.

“Here's that rakish fellow I told you about, Beth,” said Emily. Scanning quickly, I spotted her on the couch, legs tucked up under her and in a nightgown. “Come, Ehren, sit.”

Smiling I went to the couch and, on impulse, embraced her. I sat back and schooled my face to neutrality. “So, what's up?”

She gave me a lop-sided grin. “From a hug to 'tude in under ten seconds? Color me impressed.”

I grinned and tilted my head to one side. “I was worried, but I wasn't sure it was safe to come check on you. How are you?”

“Hit my head but,” she said, tilting her head forward and looking at me as if over glasses. “They were focused on a pretty brave kid. Might have saved my bacon.”

I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable with her gaze and the...praise, I suppose.

Beth approached with a mug and handed it to Emily, who thanked her.

“So...is the store going to stay closed?” I asked, growing uncomfortable in the strange environment and the dynamic that, frankly, was foreign to me. Stopping by to visit was something other people did. People with jobs and homes and...video games.

“For now. The owner is working with the police and some neighboring stores to see about some cameras being installed and some kind of alarm system—a silent one—that can be placed behind the counter. I guess those guys, they've been hitting a lot of local businesses, and the police want them pretty badly. We might move farther into downtown, too. One way or another, you'll have to trade those books back in, Ehren,” she said, smiling.

“Um. One of them is a little damaged.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

I shifted. “Um, small bit of metal in it.”

There was a heavy silence and then Beth gasped, “Do you mean...?”

“See?” Emily said in a challenging tone.

“What?” I asked.

Beth and Emily ignored me, however, and just stared at each other. I shifted, growing more uncomfortable by the moment, and then fell still as Emily raised her hand, palm flat toward me. Shifting her gaze to me, she said, “Ehren, it's not safe around here right now. But...” Glancing at Beth, who nodded subtly, Emily continued, “When this gets wrapped up, we're going to have a serious discussion with you.”

“About?” I asked, warily.

Beth leaned her hip into the back of the couch next to Emily, who reached up and placed a hand behind the small of Beth's back. Beth looked down on me with an expression I really couldn't identify and said, “Your future.”

I opened my mouth, but Emily cut me off. “Ehren, not now. Just...not now. For the next little while I have to rely on your smarts to keep you safe. Can you stay hidden for a while? I can load you up with some food...”

“Um, I'm good. I got a care package.”

“What?”

I shrugged. “Some girl. She can't stop thinking about me,” I said, smirking. “She left me some food and clothes.” I stood and spread out my arms, showing off my new items.

“She has nice taste,” Beth said, after a moment. “But more importantly, will you be all right out there? I feel pretty guilty not making you stay here as it is.”

“You can't—“ Emily began.

“Make me?” I said, cutting Emily off. “You can't make me do shit. I've been looking out for myself for a long time and I don't need anyone's help.”

I stood and stalked toward the stairs, only to be stilled by Emily's voice. Or more her tone.

“Ehren.”

It wasn't a yell. There was no pleading, but it was definitely all iron. I paused, but didn't look back at them.

“Sometime you're going to have to learn that people need other people. You have to learn to trust and love...eventually.” She hesitated and then added, “In a few weeks, let's talk. Okay?”

I stood still. I was not entirely sure what she meant. I need other people, sure, to get things. Mamoud. The guys in the recycle shop. Emily. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Be safe.”

Then I bounded down the stairs and out into the evening.

~TWL~

I decided to head back to my hiding place and gather up my stuff. I was wearing several of my newer items, but I could only force two pairs of the jeans on and I wanted to make sure I didn't lose anything. Being gone any length of time from your stash was asking for someone else to find it. I circled my place cautiously a few times, to make sure it was safe—and froze outside one of the boarded up windows.

“Well, someone's living here. Clothes look about the right size.”

“This is the coat he had on,” another confirmed. Buster.

“Buster...can I get that twenty, now? We have a deal, right?”

I frowned. Someone had sold out my hiding place, but who? A dull ache gripped my stomach as I recognized Smokey's voice—he'd sold me out.

“You did such a good job, I'm going to give you a tip,” Buster said.

“R-really?”

“Yep. Not twenty. Forty-five...grains.” A gunshot roared and bounced off the walls and I jumped back in stunned fear. Heart hammering in my chest, I melted off into the deepening gloom. I had to make a conscious effort not to run like hell, which would be stupid at this point. I could easily trip in the dark over any of the crap in these abandoned areas.

Once I was clear of the general area, I leaned against a building and tried to think clearly. I'd just lost all my stuff, not to mention the bag Piper had sent with the food. I had a few bucks in my pocket and no roof over my head. There was someplace I could go to hide that was dry, maybe, but first I needed to get something to eat and some water. I made my way slowly toward Mamoud's, and nearly walked right into Lenny, who was with a few other guys.

“Hey! I want to—get back here! Get him, that's him!” Lenny cried out as I turned and ran.

His guys were bigger, so I took advantage of what I could—my size. Rounding the building I poured on the steam and did my best to zig and zag as much as I could, not only to avoid potential bullets but because they'd likely be faster running straight than they would having to adjust to follow me. Rounding a corner less than half a block ahead of them, I spotted my bolt hole. The building used to be a publisher or warehouse or something, but what was important was that they had some below-street-level windows, and I knew one that was loose enough to let me to slither into the building.

I skidded to a stop and jumped down into the little well outside the window and pushed. The window resisted initially and my muscles flared, fueled by panic, and then it gave way with a screech.

“Over there! Get him!”

I turned my head and saw them racing down the alley, and then turned and forced my way down, head first. I braced my hands against the window frame and pushed, scraping and squeezing—and suddenly there was pressure on my right foot.

“Got ya!”

I yelled and began to kick and push harder, trying to slither out of his grasp. Another hand grabbed my pantleg, but lost its grip with my kick. Even so, I was slowly sliding backward. With a desperate push, my shoe came off and I fell, hard, onto the basement floor. I scrabbled to my feet immediately, in case the guy was wrong and could fit through the window. Oh, yeah, and because panic and stuff.

“Shit, get in there!” Lenny roared.

“I won't fit!” protested one. The other stuck his head through the space I'd just passed through and I shoved the window down as hard as I could. It broke under my push, my hand lighting up in pain as it crashed through the glass—but the frame moved with it, and the unlucky guy had his head pinned between the rusted frame and the wall. Gasping in pain I backpedaled, stepped on something hard and angular, yelped and then whirled to flee before they found a way in.

Their yells faded behind me but were ever present from the echoes inside the building. I picked my way as quickly as I could, all too aware that a nail in my foot could doom me—a sliced up hand was enough to deal with. I paused, pulled my outer shirt off, and wrapped my hand up quickly. There wasn't enough light to assess my hand or foot, but the foot wasn't hurting as much and, touching my foot, I felt no blood. I started to ascend the rusted metal stairs, and then paused.

They would be looking for a place I could exit the building. But...what if they didn't watch the way I went in? Could it be that simple? I paused and thought for a moment. As pursuers, they might think that I had a way out—if so, they'd want to find it and catch me. Would that be enough to make them assume I wouldn't double back? If I went up, I'd be at street level and those windows were all covered with heavy wood. There was always the second or third floor, but going up there would only trap me. Damn, if only I'd gotten through that window unseen!

Gingerly, I turned back toward the rusted and now broken window. I crept forward, careful not to step anywhere that may give me away and also to avoid additional injury. As I approached the window, there were no voices to be heard. The window had been pushed back, nearly to the point where I could push through and back out to the alley—but I'd have to move it a little to fit.

What worried me was the rusted hinge.

I approached the window, pausing to listen every few steps. There was very little to be heard—a tree in the breeze, the hum of an electric streetlight— but one thing I was thankful I didn't hear were voices. I ducked down and looked out into the limited view of the alley. Leaning forward to try and see better, a boom from behind made me jump as something hit one of the boarded windows. Another boom, and then a screech of nails protesting. They were prying one of the windows open!

I waited and, as the next boom sounded, I yanked up on the window. It squealed, but I thought it was swallowed up in the noise that followed the boom—more squealing of nails as they were protesting being pulled out. I pulled my way up, glanced both ways, and then climbed out. I spared a moment to look for my shoe, but they had probably thrown it somewhere in frustration, so I moved away as fast as I could. Now that I was free, where could I go?

Keeping to side streets and alleyways I made my way farther east through the city. I knew I couldn't double back to Emily and Beth's—there was some weird vibe floating around them for one and for two, it just wasn't safe. Even with the bookstore closed, if Buster figured out Emily and I were actually friends or something...no, better Buster keep looking elsewhere.

I fetched up in a park about twenty minutes later. My foot was sore, one ankle felt tender and my hand was pulsing with my heartbeat. I plopped down by a tree and pulled off my remaining shoe. I removed the sock and doubled up my shoe-less foot, then put my shoe back on. It was really annoying trying to move with one shoe—it felt very unbalanced. Also, the sock wasn't enough to protect my foot from crap on the ground. A second sock wouldn't help that much, but it was better than nothing.

I walked down to a fountain, which probably gurgled during the day but was silent at night. I unwrapped my hand and washed it, then examined it by a nearby streetlight. The slice looked fairly clean and wasn't too deep, in my estimation. I wrapped my shirt back around my hand to help keep it clean and to bind it in case it was deeper than I thought.

I took quick stock of where I was and then continued east. This area was largely residential and unfamiliar to me—usually there were not many recyclable cans lying around on the streets in this kind of neighborhood. These areas usually had people who recycled all on their own, so I'd not had any reason to come this way more than once. It also had a distinct lack of places to hide—at least obvious ones, like abandoned homes. I kept hunting for a place to lie low and finally settled on a garage with a bunch of vehicles that looked like they hadn't moved in a very long time. Pulling a van door open, I climbed in the back and shifted some metal junk around until there was enough room to lie down.

Exhausted and hurt, I slept.