After Curfew

It started with a phone call. Three minutes and all of her resolve had vanished. Lilah shook her head. It was pointless to fuss about that now. She had made up her mind, so she was going.

She huddled tighter in her sweater. The island usually never got this cold, but the chill seemed to match the mood. Nature had coordinated. She came to a stop at the end of the block. Turn right, and she would have to walk through Wolfe Street. Turn left, and she would have to go through the main street.

In the day, the answer would have been obvious. She would never cross Wolfe Street—especially alone—but it had tons of more parks and allies she could cut through. Less chance of getting arrested that way than walking out in the open.

There was an argument to be made for the other side. The Police cruised regularly through Wolfe Street. They weren’t dumb, either.

She kept her head low and turned right. She was still in one of the nicer neighborhoods. Tons of families with bikes laying across their driveways. If one of them caught sight of her, they would probably report her. Anyone walking alone this late after curfew was probably up to no good. She hurried her pace and sighed when she walked into the part of town with less space between houses and brown, unkempt grass.

If she could only explain, they would probably be more forgiving. He needed her right now. God knew that he could do almost anything that drunk. He was usually mean and tired. Prone to do something stupid. But, instead, he had decided to call her—crying—and let her do something stupid.

No. She shouldn’t think like that. He needed her, so she would take care of him until he was able to think clearly again. After that…

After that whatever that was bound to happen would happen. Would she ignore his cry for help only because in the morning he might not want her? She couldn’t be that selfish. A little pain on her part was worth keeping his safe.

He could wander out to the street. In the state he was, he didn’t have a chance of not getting caught. She paused. A dog started barking furiously. A guttural yelp that demanded attention. She twisted her head to the left and saw a brown dog that was as tall as her hip. When she didn’t move, he jumped and tried to fit its snout through the chain-link fence.

A light went on in the owner’s house, and she ran. Sprinted forward without even having the conscious thought to do so. Her worn sneakers pounded against the ground and the wind blew through her thin hair until she found an alleyway. She pressed he back against the wall and panted until her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm.

Darn it. Why did he have to call her? If he hadn’t she would have to feel responsible for him. Then she thought about the possibility of him getting caught. They would throw him into jail for the night, which would happen to her too. But he was drunk. They wouldn’t let that go. He would be sent to prison with a joke of a trial.

She treaded carefully back to the opening of the alley and inspected from left to right. The night was quiet, dark. There weren’t any of those distinctive red cars she despised. Sometimes—even now—she had nightmares. She heard the sound of the sirens playing over and over again.

She took a deep breath and headed in the right direction.

If she had known he was descending towards depression again, she would have come sooner. Forced her way in if he didn’t want to speak with her. And where had he gotten alcohol, anyway?

Who would be so dumb as to sell it? Who would be so dumb as to buy it? He would. She hadn’t realized he had a dependency on the thing. They both had drunk back when it was legal, but it was a playful thing. Neither of them had aimed to pass out—at least she hadn’t.

Why should she feel surprised, though? It wouldn’t be the first thing he had kept a secret. Funny how she knew more about him now than when they had had an actual relationship.

She reached Blossoms Park. Cutting directly through it would leave her in front of his apartment. Cutting directly through it would mean encountering prostitutes and drug dealers.

She took her hand to her mouth and chewed on her nails. Not doing it, though, might mean she would encounter the police. She locked her jaw and walked into the park. The prostitutes had no reason to hurt her, but the police did.

She remembered when Blossoms Park was beautiful. Since the drought, nothing grew in here, not even grass. The ground was only dirt with cracks like scars. The pond was twice as shallow, and it always reeked of dead fish. There even was a duck with scabies.

The only things here that resembled life were the trees. So old and tall that it seemed unlikely that a mere three year drought would take them. But leaves barely grew anymore. The colors were dulled out and the ground crunched with their dead remains. Like fall in a tropical country.

She heard a choking sound and gasped. Her heart doubled its speed. She whipped her head around until she found the source.

A hobo. Just a guy snoring on a bench. He had his arm draped across he eyes and was wearing decent clothing. It made sense. He wouldn’t live in the streets long enough for his clothes to get ruined. Something would take him.

She tried to make her step light as she walked in front of him. Always keeping her eyes focused like he might suddenly spring. Ugh, he was so loud it seemed like a beacon. I am here! Completely defenseless while I sleep. It would attract attention and she didn’t want attention anywhere near her.

She was some good twenty meters away from him already, but she turned to look back. She was sure she was being followed. The tale-tell sign on the nape of her nack was an instinct you developed when you lived like her. She scanned and nothing. The guy was still snoring.

She was losing her head. She was only one person and there must have been hundreds of criminals out right now. Why would the police catch her?

She righted her head, but there was someone there. She took a step back, but then her eyes focused. It was him. He was scrawnier than the last time she had seen him, but his shoulders, the back of his head, his hair...it was definitely him.

“Jacob!” she called out in a loud hiss. Her fears seemed to have manifested themselves, but she wasn’t too late. She would just walk him back into the apartment and they would be okay. Everything would be fine.

He turned around and spread his lips into a smile. “Hi.” His eyes were still red and watery, his shoulders hunched.

She hurried and when she had him in front of her, she enveloped him in an embrace. “Everything is all right now.” She kissed his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.” They released each other, but he had a tight grip in her upper arms.

“Don’t be.” She searched his eyes, but his gaze wasn’t focused on her. Instead he kept it up, seeming incapable of meeting her eye.

“I did what I had to do.” His last word was sob and his shoulders started shaking.

“What are you talking about?”

He dropped his head and started shaking it. “I relapsed, Lilah. I—I needed it. But I had no money, so—”

“Shh, shh.” She tried to hug him again, but his hands had become restrains.

He finally looked down at her and tears flooded his eyes. “I am sorry.”

She frowned, opened her mouth to say something, but the world went dark. Somehow a corn sack had gotten over her head and Jacobs hands weren’t the only ones touching her. Blood started pounding in her ears and she screamed. A high, shrill sound that was bound to the hobo, at the very least.

She registered being hit in the temple with a long rounded stick. Then she was out.