Chapter 2

The Winter City used to have ten homeless shelters, each catering to one of the city’s ten districts. As climate change grew worse, and more people had to seek sanctuary in the cities, homeless shelters became a lifeline for those who couldn’t afford their own accommodations. People of different races or genders would take refuge in the shelters, especially during the winter months when the icy breeze made it nearly impossible to sleep outside. From families to single people, those on the fringe of society flocked to the last glimmer of hope.

Over time with budget cuts, and governmental desire to bring cost down, only two shelters remained, one in the city’s northside, while the other was the city’s southern edge. The mayor gave conflicting reasons for closing the shelters. He claimed the council could put the money into more worthy causes – which usually ended up going to the already bloated police force. In another interview, the mayor said it was to tackle the drug epidemic, which he claimed was being fuelled by the presence of homeless shelters. Whilst it was true the shelter did allow drug addicts to sleep there, the shelters had a strict policy of no drugs. Drugs would occasionally be found from time to time, and the volunteers at the shelters were very good at detecting the drugs and confiscating them. Nonetheless, the mayor used this as an excuse to continue closing homeless shelters, forcing more people and families to brave the winter’s frost.

Travis knew the real reason for the shelter’s closure. He remembered hearing one of his superiors discuss it once. They probably thought they weren’t being overheard, so Travis guessed he would get in trouble if he mentioned it to anyone else.

“The mayor don’t like black people,” Travis remembered his fellow police officer saying. “It’s simple as that.”

“Damn, that can’t be the only reason,” the other officer was remembered saying. “You’re telling me the mayor’s only doing this for racist reasons.”

“It’s not the only reason,” the first officer said. “The mayor thinks the budget can go to better things.”

“Hopefully a new HQ,” the other replied.

It was true the homeless shelter did cater mainly for people of color, since black people were more likely to suffer from poverty, the shelter was known to have people of other races, including white. The mayor, however, was dead set on his way and didn’t care about the white people he also hurt. To make matters worse, the white people will go along and vote for him for re-election. Travis hated the corruption and felt hopeless that he couldn’t do anything about it. He joined the force to protect and serve, not cover up crimes and write reports. Travis knew his boss had given him the case because he knew Travis might not solve it. Travis was eager to prove his boss wrong.

Travis parked his police car in a parking lot a few blocks away from the homeless shelter. Although he could park it out front, Travis had heard of gang members and hooligans purposely damaging police vehicles. At least in the parking lot, his car would be watched. Travis placed a few coins into the toll booth. That would give him at least an hour, Travis guessed. He wasn’t too keen to stay here long.

Entering the building it quickly became apparent just how dilapidated the rundown homeless shelter had become. The building’s weathered façade revealed exactly what people thought about the people clinging to the margins of society. The foyer’s walls were once painted with hopeful hues and pastel yellow and blue. The wall’s paint was peeling back revealing harsh cold bricks, revealing the building’s former past as a storage house. The walls not made of brick were revealed to be decaying wood. Behind the front counter was a faded sign saying: “ALL IS WELCOME!” The sign was wavering causing the rusted hinges to creak.

Travis could feel a sense of despair and thoughtlessness, as a flickering fluorescent light cast uneven shadows on the battle-scarred linoleum floor. A woman sat at the receptionist’s desk. If it wasn’t for her uniform, Travis would have mistaken her for one of the many homeless occupants. Travis walked up to greet the woman, but she seemingly ignored him and instead was transfixed on the magazine she was reading. THE WOMAN’S DAILY. Travis’s wife used to read that. It mostly contained idle gossip about B-list celebrities. Mainly a distraction from our mundane lives, Travis thought. Travis noticed an old used hotel bell, its metal brass slowly fading away. He pressed the button hoping to get the woman’s attention. The disjointed chime caused the woman to stir. She looked other to notice Travis.

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“Welcome to South District City Mission, how can I help you?” she said cheerfully and politely.

Travis wondered if there was a tint of fear in her voice. Nothing usually good ever happens whenever the police officer visits a homeless shelter. Quite often it would end in an arrest, and it was common for the person being arrested to be innocent. Travis wished he was one of those detectives that could go undercover, and not wear a uniform – that way people wouldn’t judge him.

“I’m working on a case,” he explained. “Is it okay if I interview some of the occupants here?”

The woman’s demeanour quickly changed.

“You have a warrant?” she asked.

“No,” Travis replied. “I’m not going to arrest anyone. I’m just here to ask questions.”

“Ask questions… that’s how it always starts,” the woman mumbled under her breath. Travis was unsure if he was meant to hear that or not. “Go ahead. Not like I can stop you.”

“Did a kid named Robert Sandifer frequent this place?” Travis said, holding up the case photo. It was of the boy’s corpse, but it was the best Travis could find.

“I assume this Robert here is dead,” she remarked.

“Sadly, he is,” Travis replied. “I’m investigating his murder.”

The woman’s demeanour changed yet again, probably sensing Travis's determination for justice.

“Robert would occasionally come here, whenever he ran away from home.”

“Robert had a family?” Travis said perplexed. Nothing like that was mentioned in the case file. Travis assumed Robert was one of many orphans in Winter City. Travis wondered if he could track down the family. The reception’s next remark quashed that notion.

“Father was gunned down a few years ago,” the woman explained. “Last time I checked his mother was found OD’d only a few blocks away from here.”

“Anyone else who was familiar with Robert?”

“There’s Andre,” the woman said, “but I doubt you’ll get anything from him. The two used to hang out a lot.”

“Can I talk to Andre?”

“You can,” the woman replied. “Just be gentle on him, okay? And no arrests.”

“I promise.”

The woman led Travis down a corridor. He glanced into each room. Every room in the shelter seemed uniform: overcrowded dormitories consisting of old metal-frame bunk beds (at least ten per room – Travis had counted), and storage containers (Travis wondered how safe it was to even keep anything in them). Each bunk bed contained incredibly thin mattresses and only the most meagre-tattered blankets. Entering one of the dormitories, Travis could sense the heaviness in the air. The room felt damp as if there was a leak coming from somewhere. There was a wet patch on the wall, so Travis guessed the dampness came from there.

“Andre, someone here wants to talk to you,” the woman said, sounding kindly.

The Latino boy looked up. The moment he saw Travis he was about to flee. Travis carefully placed his hands on the boy’s shoulder.

“You’re not in trouble,” Travis tried to assure him. The boy still seemed restless. “I’m told you were friends with Robert.”

The boy nodded. “I knew him,” he replied. “Helped me out, I guess, from time to time. What ‘bout him?”

It quickly dawned on Travis that the boy might not know about Robert’s fate. Perhaps it was best not to mention this detail to the boy, Travis thought.

“What’s your relationship with him,” Travis asked. “Who else associated with him?”

“We weren’t really friends,” the boy explained. “Not like that close. I never met any of his friends. He was always, you know, by himself.”

Travis wondered if this boy knew anything. He seemed to have only known Robert slightly. Travis was about to talk away when the boy said some peculiar.

“He talked about his boss,” the boy said, now mumbling more than talking. It appeared he didn’t want to say anything but somehow blurted it out. “La Llorona… I remember him saying once.”

La Llorona? That was a new name, Travis thought.

“Do you know who she is?”

“Everyone does,” the boy continued as if in a trance. “She knows everybody. She has her fingers in everything. La Llorona seeks us kids to be slaves – to join gangs and make us addicted to crack.”

Everything? Travis had never heard of this woman before. Perhaps a lead, he wondered. The woman sounded like a drug dealer. Travis speculated whether there would be more information on the police’s database. It was worth a check.

“Thanks for answering my questions,” he told the boy.

“I’m not under arrest,” Andre seemed perplexed.

“I was never going to arrest you,” Travis again assured the boy.

Feeling somewhat confused at the boy's remark, Travis left the shelter. He finally had a lead, but he wondered if that was enough. It was time to check the database, Travis decided.