Chapter Three

The night was colder than the last. It was going to be a brutal winter. She rubbed her hands together and breathed into them. The plethora of tents mocked her with their shelter. Their relative warmth. A man approached her and without a second thought, she pulled out her pockets to reveal nothing in them. The man gave her a sad look. She could see the hunger, not only in his skeletal body, but in his eyes, too.

I’m sorry, she thought as she walked away, I’m so fucking sorry.

As she approached her neighborhood, another man walked up to her.

“Hey, Shay,” he waved.

“Hey, Joe,” she tried a smile, “How the hell are you?”

He shrugged, “I got half a sandwich and four dollars today, so I can’t complain.”

Shayla smirked, “Yes, you can.”

“I guess you’re right,” he laughed, “How are you?”

That was the worst question you could ask someone in Shayla’s shoes. She began tearing up but swallowed it.

“I’m holding up,” she said.

“Have you eaten today?”

She shook her head.

“Well, come on,” Joe beckoned, “I’ll buy you a 7/11 dog.”

They walked to 7/11 arm in arm. They bought the hot dog in loose change and shared it on the sidewalk near the neighborhood of tents. They ate in ravenous silence. When the hot dog was gone, their stomachs were still growling for more. But, of course, there was none to be had. Shayla tried to distract her hunger by looking out at the vast sea of tents and makeshift camps. Joe looked over at her and asked the question that had been on his mind since meeting her.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?” Shayla shifted her gaze to him.

“Coming here,” Joe said.

“No,” she said, “Not a bit.”

Joe gave her a skeptical look, “Really?”

“Well,” she thought for a moment, “yeah. I never would have been happy in Idaho. I would have been living a lie there. In Seattle, I’m homeless, but at least I’m myself.”

“Interesting.”

“Although,” Shayla said, “I do wish she was here.”

“Can I ask?”

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Shayla’s throat clenched up. Hot tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She stared at nothing for a long time before speaking again.

“Her name was Grace,” she began, “We met in high school. We managed to keep our relationship a secret for a while, but when my mom found out, Grace and I came here.”

“Why?”

“They were going to send me away,” Shayla felt the old anger rising up again, “They were going to keep us apart. It was her idea.”

“Where is she now?”

The memory came back in such vivid detail, it was like she was there again. From the first day Grace disappeared, to that horrifying moment in the alleyway three days later. She was leaning on the wall by the dumpster. Her skin was a placid white. Empty syringes were on the ground around her. One protruded from her right arm. Shayla remembered staring at her beloved before falling to her knees and howling. She stayed there until the cops showed up and an ambulance took the body away.

“Gone.”

Joe put an arm on her shoulder and gave her a sincere look, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shayla said with glazed eyes, “It was a long time ago. Anyways, I should probably find a place to shack up for the night. It’s getting late.”

“Good luck,” he said and stood.

He put out a hand and helped her up.

“You, too.”

Shayla found a spot outside an old apartment building near Chinatown. She put her bag down and made herself as comfortable as she could. However, sleep would not take her. She stared at the awning above her through a small peephole in the bag. She flinched as something hit her eye. She rubbed it and examined her hand. It was clear liquid. Of course, it was beginning to rain. Shayla tucked her hand back into her bag, rolled over to her side, and closed her eyes.

In that moment, she was a young girl again. Lying in her twin-sized bed, in her farmhouse, in the middle of nowhere Idaho. The rain began to create a cacophonous rhythm. It lulled her to sleep just as it had when she was an ignorant and hopeful child. But as always, her dreams brought her back to that dreadful day in the alley. Grace’s once vibrant eyes glazed over. The eyes that once saw the world in such marvelous hues staring at nothing. The needles on the ground telling her final moments. And the question that haunted Shayla even in her dreams. Why?

She woke up soaking wet. Some combination of sweat, tears, and the rain dripping through the space between the awnings. Shayla was freezing. Her throat was a desert from dehydration and, she guessed, screaming. She sat up and coughed a dry, hoarse cough. The street was empty as it had been when she had lied down, but when her coughing subsided, she could hear voices. They were close, but not close enough to see.

Shayla stood and rolled up her bag. She tucked it in her pocket and listened. She heard the cheering of a small crowd coming from the alley across from her. She walked in that direction and the cheering grew louder. The sensible part of her was telling her to stop, but she kept going, because the part of her she was listening to was putting up a better argument: what do you have to lose?

She followed the noise until she saw an orange glow. Shayla hugged the wall and peered around the corner where the light seemed to be coming from. There was a sizeable fire circled by a group of naked people. Their clothes lie at their feet. A man with a drum between his legs sat at the corner farthest from Shayla. He beat on it once with his palm and the people in the circle fell to their knees. He hit it again and they put their arms up. On the third beat, they bowed their whole upper body.

Shayla began to step backwards. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t want to be a part of it. Not paying attention, she tripped over her own ankle and stumbled forward in an effort to find her balance. She hit the ground and felt every eye fall on her. Shayla rubbed the elbow that hit the ground and stood.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “I’ll just go now.”

The man with the drum pointed to her and began beating his drum. The beat was steady and ominous. The crowd stood and pointed at her. It was at this moment that Shayla noticed the rain had stopped. Considering what was happening, this sudden realization was funny to her, and she began to laugh. She continued to laugh even as the crowd mobbed together and lifted her above their heads. Laughed still as they tore of her ragged clothes piece by piece as they carried her underground. She was even giggling when they shackled her to a mine cart and pushed her into the darkness.

I’m coming Grace. I’m coming.