Chapter 1 #3
She started to walk away, but I reached out, gently catching her wrist before she could go. She glanced down, surprised.
“Thank you,” I said immediately and gestured to the food. “I really appreciate everything.”
She’d been kind and generous, more than most. Usually, people took in my worn clothes, thin frame, and wind-chapped skin with thinly veiled disgust. A time or two, I was even asked to leave.
“We don’t want any trouble.”
“Get a job.”
“Stop being lazy.”
“We don’t give handouts here.”
I’d heard it all and more. It was humiliating, demoralizing, and usually untrue.
But this woman looked at me instead of through me. Her smile was genuine. She didn’t have to give me the grilled cheese, but she did. And even if I were in a hurry to get out of here, I wouldn’t marginalize her kindness to do it.
“You really do have the best chili in the city.”
She smiled, and it reached her eyes as she laid a hand over mine briefly. “You’re welcome, hun. Stay warm out there.”
Sometimes it was hard to remember good people still existed. But it was also really important not to forget. I wasn’t very old, but in my experience, cruelty began where kindness was forgotten.
I packed up every bite, including the packets of crackers, sugar, and creamer. When that was done, I counted out four dollars and laid it on the table for a tip. It was really more than I could afford but less than she deserved.
Suddenly, I was a little sad to be leaving so soon, but that voice in the back of my head kept urging me to go.
I lingered another moment, summoning the nerve to walk to the door.
I’d have pass those three guys to get there.
Maybe it seemed like I was making a mountain out of a molehill, but in the past few years, I’d learned to trust my instincts.
Only once had someone ended up not being what I assumed. Everyone else? Worse.
Life tip: If you expect the worst, you’ll always be prepared.
Gripping the top of the paper bag with one hand and the Styrofoam cup with the other, I slid to the edge of the booth. Heart beating too hard, I dragged in a shuddering breath.
“Order up!” the waitress who’d served me said cheerfully, approaching the thugs’ table with a large tray of food.
Thankful for the distraction, I stood from the booth and walked quickly to the door, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
“Hey—” a deep voice called out, and every muscle in my upper body tensed.
“Can I get you a refill, doll?” the waitress said instantly.
“You can get me something, all right,” the deep voice replied.
The other guys laughed, and I slipped out the door.
I barely noticed the sharp slap of the frigid wind but was surprised at how dark it had gotten.
I didn’t have a phone or watch, so I had nothing on me to see what time it was, and I’d forgotten to look at the diner. Judging from how dark the sky was, it had to be past five. And it was snowing again.
Tugging up the fur-lined hood, I started in the direction of the shelter. It might not be open for the night yet, but I could get there early and get in line.
“Hey!” The deep shout came from behind, scrambling my thoughts with panic.
Maybe that wasn’t meant for you. It really wasn’t hope that whispered through my addled mind but more of a wish.
Cautiously, I peeped over my shoulder, stare instantly colliding with the three thugs standing in the wide-open door of the diner.
The second he saw me look, his chin lifted, and he stepped farther onto the sidewalk. “Come here,” he ordered as if I would tuck my tail between my legs and slink back like some whimpering dog.
I am not a whimpering dog.
But I was most definitely a scaredy cat.
My worn shoes slapped the unforgiving pavement as I sprang forward, the burst of movement blowing the hood back from my head. Snow pelted me in the face, and my eyes watered as I raced over the sidewalk, the to-go bag and coffee still clutched in my hand.
“Let’s go! Get him!” the man shouted, and all three of the thugs bolted after me.
Frankly, I thought it was a waste of food. They didn’t even get to eat. Probably didn’t pay their bill either.
As I darted around a couple strolling through the snow, I strained to hear my pursuers’ pounding footsteps over my own ragged breaths. The coffee in my hand sloshed through the small hole in the lid onto my bare fingers, the warm liquid reminding me of the wintry air.
I took a chance and glanced back, only to nearly trip and face-plant when I saw how much closer they were.
Willing myself to run faster, I pumped my legs with wild abandon, knees and bruised hip screaming in protest and threatening to give out with every step.
Despite the adrenaline, panic coiled in the center of my chest.
They’re going to catch me. Take my money. It’s three on one…
A hard hand slapped onto my shoulder, and I yelled, twisting and ripping free.
A sneering face filled my line of sight, and he reached for me again.
I flung the coffee at him, the lid popping off and splattering his face.
He roared and cursed, but I didn’t wait around, darting down a nearby alley.
With any luck, I could cut over to another street and lose them.
Shadows engulfed me as I fled deeper into the alley. I ran even as I blinked hard, trying to adjust my eyes to the lack of light.
Out of nowhere, my body slammed into something thin and icy, the force of the collision knocking me to the ground while the air vibrated with a metallic clatter. Still drunk on adrenaline, I lurched up, fingers gripping the iced-over metal making up the fence.
“Turn on a light,” one of the men demanded, and I knew they were closing in.
My stomach leaped into my throat, and I looked up, noting the fence was at least eight feet tall. This left me with two choices: start climbing or take my chances with the criminals.
“There he is!” one of them yelled as the bright beam of a flashlight made me squint.
The night was filled with a rattling clang when I hurdled onto the fence. Every joint in my fingers and toes ached and protested as I scrambled to gain vertical distance.
My foot slipped, and in my desperation, I dropped the paper bag I’d been determined to keep. It thumped on the ground as I coiled my fingers around the sharp, slippery metal and regained my balance.
I spared one moment of sorrow for the bowl of Buffalo’s best chili I wouldn’t get to finish.
Laughing, the men trampled it while grabbing the fence and shaking. Beneath my tenuous grip, the metal trembled, and pain sliced through my fingers with every jolt.
Gritting my teeth, I climbed a little higher, and then someone threw their entire body weight into the fence. My foot slid again, but at the last minute, I caught myself and dangled above them, my safety hinging entirely on one weak, shaking hand.
Guess I wasn’t a cat after all.
I couldn’t climb for shit.
A hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked, my precarious grip no match for something so steady. I plummeted as the bodies made room so I could splat spectacularly on the pavement. Listen, I hadn’t made it that far up, so why did it feel like I hit from twenty stories high?
Before I could recover, I was dragged to my feet.
“Hold him!” someone ordered.
Arms pinned behind me, I watched one of the men move closer. The flashlight illuminated the flat, resolved look in his hollow eyes and the determined set of his jaw.
“Where’s your cash?” he demanded.
Using the weight of the man pinning me, I leaned back and kicked with both feet. The soles of my shoes hit him dead center in the chest and sent him stumbling backward, though not enough to knock him down.
His incredulousness only lasted a second before he straightened and laughed.
He laughed. As if I hadn’t put every last bit of my strength into that defense, as if practically slumping into the man who held me hostage, too drained to stand on my own, was a joke.
Thank God it was dark in this alley because the tears that filled my eyes were a useless embarrassment.
I was saved from humiliation when a meaty fist slammed into my face, rocking my head on my shoulders and sending me sprawling onto the pavement like a dead starfish.
“Search him.”
At least I wouldn’t die hungry, I thought as they grabbed the front of my jacket, ripping at the zipper and forcing it down. I knew I should fight back, but honestly, what was the point of fighting all the time if all I ever did was lose?
Rough hands jammed inside my open coat, recoiling a second later. “Christ! He’s ice-cold!”
Halfway to a corpse.
“Hurry up!” someone else complained.
The morbidity of the thought infused me with panic, and I began to struggle anew. A fist slammed into me again, the force of it scraping my cheek over the uneven ground.
“Not even two hundred,” the guy spat. “Damn. Why you so broke?”
One thing about bleeding is it’s warm. The oozing blood felt kinda nice on my wind-chapped cheek.
“Check his jeans,” someone urged.
With blurred, dizzy eyes, I watched them pocket my money and lean over me again.
“You better pray you got more on you.”
Definitely not a cat, I thought groggily. No nine lives here. Just a short, sad one about to end.