Mission from God
She hurried down the ally holding her perfumed scarf against her lips and nose to filter the stench of the garbage, urine and stale sex. The hard soles of her boots made a hollow clack-smack sound, echoing until it sounded as if she lead an army of vigilante ex-girlfriends. I should have worn softer soles she muttered looking around to see what shadows she might have roused from the sleepy piles of garbage. The buildings all looked the same from the back, except for the originals, the older looking gothic ones. Was it 34th or 36th? She didn’t remember, she had lost count but there was another break up ahead, she’d just look for landmarks. If it was 34th there would be Jimmy’s bar and that ramshackled fruit and vegetable stand. If it was 36th Willmores huge store front would stare her down with its big blank eyes.
The clack-smack sound suddenly changed with a sickening sloop. Marie looked down at her leading foot half covered in a mixture of what she hoped was feces and rusty water. She shuddered shaking her foot free from the mess, Gross, gross, gross She looked up at the sky As if it wasn’t enough already, I have to go through this. She looked around the corner. 36th street. Two blocks from Tim’s. She fingered the gun in her pocket hoping she’d be able to manage it. The lit advertisement flashed, laughing and mocking her. Willmores vacant look mirrored her own as the lights across the street stabbed into the darkness of the windows. Horn’s blared and car alarms wailed their redundant warnings like rabbit screams from when she was six and her brother took her trapping. Futile but loud all the same. She covered her ears with the scarf and shook her head to clear her sight. Aliens walking under the cities ever changing mood, red and blue, green and yellow, Red and Blue. A cops lights moved slowly towards her moving with a watchful and purposeful roll. She flattened herself into the wall for support feeling a slight gagging. I must not throw up. They’d think I was on junk, they’d find the gun, they’d know, they’d stop me. The lights grew bolder searching out her shadows spinning them as they tried to escape, pinned down by garbage cans, buildings, boxes, feet and bodies. She covered her mouth with her scarf
breath
As the lights passed and the shadows became less desperate she relaxed a bit. She ducked her head and hurried across the street leaving herself open and exposed. She was identifiable, an easy target in her over zealous attempt to be inconspicuous. Back to the safety of the tall buildings set close together to protect her. Two more blocks, and then just six back again.
Images swam in front of her, Tim’s face; garbage; a woman’s figure; police lights; the rabbit. The woman’s figure twitched and stayed before her, walking towards her. She moved almost hesitantly, staggering, dressed in shadows, approaching. The word slipped from her “Shit” and the figure echoed with an intake of breath. It was the first person Marie had run into in the ally. just keep walking. Marie clutched her scarf closer to her face. Twelve feet. The woman edged closer to the wall watching the ground. Seven feet. Marie fingered the bulge in her pocket, safety. The woman’s hand fluttered to her neck. Three feet. Clack-smack, clack-smack, they passed each other without looking up. Another moment of fear and wave of nausea passed over her. She released the scarf to hold the wall of the building, that was swaying in front of her, steady. What if the woman remembered her tomorrow? She straightened up pushing against the brick, fingered her safety and then began to move again. Faster now: clack-smack-clack-smack. The army of echoes followed at double time.
Tiny beads of sweat formed at her temples and at the back of her neck. Another open street before her. The things to overcome, one fear at a time, one risk at a time, one step-
She was in the middle of the street when the shadows began to pulse again, Blue-Red, a siren wailed, a plane flew by overhead, the rabbit screamed. She fled before the headlights, too late to turn back, into the ally. The lights passed looking for someone else’s shadow. One block left. More sirens, more lights.
They know
Marie paused gripping the bulge in her pocket. Then slowly again the clack-smack as her feet clack- began to move –smack.
She looked up the side of the building to the row or rooms on the fourth floor. His light was still on and she could see his shadow moving around almost frantic in its movements.
Maybe there is someone with him, maybe a woman.
She felt the gun press into her left thigh. She loosened the scarf, now around her neck, hoping that it would be easier to breath and swallow. The shadow passed by the window again. Four flights up and six blocks back.
She turned the corner suddenly facing three police cars and an ambulance in front of the building. One or two people wandered around the cars but no cops. They were prepared for her. They did know. He wouldn’t be alone. They would be waiting for her. As soon as she stepped through the door they’d haul her away. Maybe they would let her kill him first. She was on a mission from God. Clack-smack up the front steps. The army gone, no longer supporting her. Through the front doors. She could hear the radio voices communicating, floating down the hall, their thump-thud as they came down the stairs to get her.
They aren’t even going to wait
She stopped, holding the gun in her pocket. The shiny shoes peaked down from the top of the stairs, then the creased navy, the gun belt, the hands, face and hat. He smiled at her. He must not recognize me. Clack-thunk-thump-thud-clack-thunk the stretcher followed.
But I haven’t been up yet.
She reeled, swaying in time to the sound. It was Tim. She’d seen his form under sheets often enough to know.
Why is it getting dark in here? She felt arms wrap around her. He isn’t dead! She struggled up from the darkness, gripping the gun. A blue creased uniform held her. It’s over
You alright Mam? His smile was concerned.
Tim’s dead? Already?
His smile faded. You knew him?
Dead already. Someone beat her to it. No…Yes…Well, once.
Is there anyone to notify?
God knows.
Pardon?
No, I don’t suppose there is anyone left.
posted by Perdita @ 3:42 PM
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