by Jeyn Roberts
She was lifeless too back then.
This time is different.
She’s been here awhile. The rats have nibbled at her fingertips and her hair has leaves and bits of garbage stuck in the fine blond silk. Her eyes are dull and filmed over.
A day, maybe? Two?
I’ve walked down this alley twice since I’ve been looking for her. Why the hell didn’t I think to look behind the Dumpsters? It would have been the most obvious place to look. It should have been my first choice. So why not? Maybe because I was I afraid that I would find this?
Clutched in her small white hand is the empty bottle of Heam. I wonder where she got the money to buy it. It’s possible she stole from someone at the center. I wonder if Ramona would have told me. Or did she sell something of value? Maybe Joshua gave her some money the last time he came to visit. Of course the “how” doesn’t really matter anymore. She’s still dead. Poor Beth. She tried so hard but the addiction managed to eat away her last ounce of willpower. The war was too strong inside her and the bad guys won. I wish I could have taken her pain away and put it inside of me. I think I could have been strong enough for the both of us.
“You don’t want to do this, Faye.”
I remember almost doing the exact same thing six years ago. In fact, I tried doing it three times over the years. But Gazer always came after me. Always. This time he found me in the basement of the church, the bottle of silvery evil clutched in my hand. I’d managed to get it from one of the gutter rats who dealt over by the schoolyard.
“You don’t know what it feels like,” I said. “I wish I were dead.”
Gazer knelt down beside me, gently reaching over and taking the bottle from my hand. I wanted to kick out and scream, bite him, whatever it took, but in the end, I simply handed it over. That’s the problem with Heam. It takes all the fight out of you and replaces everything with emptiness. Pain. Addiction.
“I love you, Faye, and I don’t want you dead,” Gazer said after a while. “I’m here for you always. We will get through this together. You’re never alone.”
“I can’t make it turn off,” I said. “I can’t make it go away.”
“It will always be a part of you,” Gazer said. “So let’s find a way to use that addiction to your advantage. Let’s reclaim your own body for yourself. Let’s give you power.”
“Can we do that?”
“We can try.”
“Miss?” The police officer has come over. “Do you know her? What’s her name so I can call her parents?
His voice is kind and soft and I think he’s probably a lot like Gazer was when he was a cop. I turn and there’s no anger or boredom in his eyes.
“Beth,” I say. The tears are falling freely now and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my jacket. “Her name is Beth Vincent. I don’t have her phone number but I can tell you where she lived.”
The officer nods and pulls out his notepad. I give him the information. I wonder how Beth’s parents will take the news. Will they be relieved? How about my own mother? Would this have been better? Maybe I should have died all those years ago. How different everyone’s lives might have ended up.
When I see Ming Bao watching me from the end of the alley, I know what I have to do next. Rufus and Ming probably didn’t give Beth the drugs personally but Rufus is to blame. He’s the middleman in this neighborhood and all the Heam dealers go through him. As far as I’m concerned, every time a child dies on these streets, they are somehow involved.
Chael thinks my life would be better if I gave up on my revenge. But this isn’t about me anymore. Anger, bright hot and red, spreads throughout my body. I allow it. I close my eyes and let the hatred in. It builds, removing any traces of doubt I’ve been feeling these past few weeks.
I nod curtly to Ming and turn away. I start walking down toward the docks. I have no doubt that he’s going to follow me. Someone like Ming won’t be able to resist such an easy target.
This revenge won’t just be for Christian and me. This will be for Beth. For Jessica. For Joshua and all the others who have suffered. For my mother. My little sister that I never knew existed until tonight.
You see, Heam doesn’t just affect those addicted. No, it goes further than that. Just like the scars on my chest, it spreads out, its weblike branches touching everyone and everything in its path.
I’m going to make him pay.
The water is dark and endless. I stand on the wooden dock, looking out into the bay. I’m feeling very peaceful. The wind blows against my face. I can smell the saltwater and decay of the ocean in front of me. A seagull calls out somewhere above me and another one answers it.
I breathe deeply.
And again.
Then I turn to face him.
Ming stands about twenty feet away. He’s smiling. He blocks the path that heads into the maze of containers. There’s nowhere for me to go.
That’s okay. I don’t plan on running.
A switchblade appears from the beneath the folds of his jacket. Ming steps forward, inviting me into the fight. I smile back at him. I can feel the weight of my own knife in its sheaf. It waits, tucked away in the small of my back. I won’t use it yet.
Ming may have the extra weight over me. He may be a professional boxer and he always fights dirty. But none of that matters. I have the strength. I have the souls of Beth and the hundreds of gutter rats he’s already destroyed. I have the power of the afterlife on my side. I’ve seen hell. I’ve seen everything there is to fear. Now there’s nothing left for me to be afraid of.
Men like Ming deserve to die.
He lunges forward without warning, raising his fist to try to punch my head, but I’m quick enough to duck to the side, barely dodging both the blow and the slash of the knife. I spin around, raising my foot, kicking him in the back of his knee. He staggers but doesn’t go down.
He comes at me again and I’m too slow. The first punch slams into my cheek, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. The second punch knocks me back several steps and I stumble, refusing to go down. I dodge the next few blows, bad move on my part. I should have been watching my feet. My shoulders smack against the metal container. There’s nowhere else to go.
Ming throws his body against me, pinning me to the wall, using his weight as a weapon. Several punches slam into my already-wounded rib cage, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.
I see the glint of steel coming in from the right and I barely manage to squirm out of the way before the knife pierces my skin. It tears the fabric of my jacket as I shove Ming as hard as I can. He steps backward and it’s my turn.
Uppercut to the jaw. Ming’s head snaps backward but he’s agile enough to block the next three punches. I crouch down and kick at his kneecap but my foot hits only air. Ming comes in again but I’m beginning to notice a pattern. Either he’s so arrogant that he thinks I’ll never beat him or he’s just a crappy fighter. I’m beginning to understand why he fights dirty.
Ming always uses his left hook first.
Time to get rid of that knife.
I dodge the blow and throw myself at him. We both go flying backward onto the ground. Luckily for me, Ming takes most of the fall. I land right on top of him. I go straight for his hand, grabbing at the blade and slamming his knuckles hard against the pavement. He grunts but doesn’t let go of the weapon. He bucks his body upward, sending me straight into the air and onto my knees. It takes a second for me to get my balance.
“Was that gutter rat your friend?” Ming says. He’s smiling as he climbs to his feet. He’s barely winded at all while I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon.
I don’t say a word. My mouth is full of blood. I turn and spit, clearing my throat, trying to remove the metallic taste from my teeth.
“Who do you think sold her the drugs?”
He’s trying to get under my skin but I won’t let him.
First rule of fighting. Never lose your cool.
“Shut up,” I finally say. “Neither of us is here to talk.”
His smile grows even wider. He raises his switchblade and lunges at me. I duck to the side, managing to land a kick to his hip. Grunting in pain, he brings his hand around and the knife slices through my jacket. My skin burns as the blade slices through the fabric and hits flesh. Another punch sends me back and I fall hard, landing on my now-bleeding arm.
Ming doesn’t let up. He’s on me again and the blade is going straight for my throat. I manage to block him and there’s a tense moment where the blade almost sinks in. But I twist my body around and punch him in the head in order to get away. I scramble to my feet, trying to pretend that I haven’t slowed down.
I’m swaying. Dizzy. The last blow to my head has stunned me a bit.
Ming knows. He moves in and I do the only thing I can.
I run.
He’s fast but I’m faster. I race through the containers, wincing when I turn a corner too sharply and my shoulder bangs against the metal wall. Right. Right. Left. I can hear Ming a few containers behind. Our footsteps pound the pavement and the noise becomes confusing.
Ming’s lost me. I can hear him several rows down, swearing loudly. His fists slam into a metal wall in frustration.
I move to the end but don’t round the corner. I’ll wait for him to come to me. I pull the knife out and hold it tightly in my hand.
I can fight dirty too.
It’s not long before I hear his footsteps grow louder. He’s coming straight for me and he’s running. He won’t have time to stop himself.
Readying myself, I wait until the last possible second. I spring out from behind the container and throw myself against his body, slamming the knife into his chest.
Chael’s chest.
I try to stop but the momentum’s taken over. The knife hits home, burying itself into Chael’s body. I let out a short shout of surprise and Chael’s hand shoots out, covering my face.
“Be quiet,” he says.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper. I’ve let go of the knife and the handle is sticking straight out of his chest.
Chael looks down and then back at me. He grabs it and yanks it out with a quick motion. I swear, my stomach lurches at the squishy sound that follows.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I quickly press my fingers against his wound, trying to keep the blood from pouring out.
“I’m fine,” he says. “You know this can’t hurt me.” His hands encircle mine, pulling me closer to him.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I heard your pain.” He looks me over to make sure everything is fine. When he sees my face, he reaches up and gently touches my lip. “I followed it to the ambulance. I saw Beth. Then I felt your physical pain and it led me here.”
“You can’t have him,” I say. “Ming’s mine. He killed Beth.”
Chael doesn’t get a chance to respond. We both hear the noise behind us at the same time. Ming is running toward us, knife raised, and he’s probably going to try to kill the first thing he stabs. Chael pushes me out of the way and I turn as Ming slashes down at me. I grab his hand at the last second and manage to use his own momentum to slam him into the container. His fingers smash against the metal and he releases the switchblade. I bend down and grab it.
Chael gives me a sad look but doesn’t do anything. He backs away and lets me finish the job.
Ming gets the first punches in, rapidly, one right after the other. My face begins to burn. I manage to land a blow squarely on his nose. I feel the cartilage break beneath my knuckles. He throws himself against me, fingers clawing at my hand as he tries to reclaim his weapon. I bring my knee up and shove him off me. He hits the ground, does a quick roll, and comes back for more.
He dives at me. I raise the knife up at the last second and it sinks into his chest as if he’s made of jelly and not flesh. When I feel the metal scrape bone, I let go in disgust.
Ming grunts once and collapses on top of me. His mouth opens and blood splashes against my face.
It’s over.
Chael is there instantly, pulling Ming’s body off of me. I scramble backward on my legs and hands until my body hits the container. Sitting there in shock, I watch as the last of Ming’s life disappears on the concrete ground.
It doesn’t take long.
Then the tears come. They pour from my eyes and I don’t do anything to try to stop them. Chael comes over and helps me to my feet. He wraps his warm arms around me and holds me for the longest time.
I cry for Beth. I cry for the thousands of nameless gutter rats I’ve seen over the years. I cry for Gazer and his dead wife and child and the revenge that didn’t solve his problems. I cry for my mother and the sister I never knew I had until tonight. I cry for Arnold Bozek and his sister, Jessica. And I cry for Chael, who should be holding me with his own body and not one that makes him feel like he’s on borrowed time.
Most of all I cry for me.
I killed someone tonight. I took his life.
Finally, when all the tears are gone, I pull gently away from Chael, who has been holding me all this time without saying a single word. Without speaking, he reaches down and tears a strip of his shirt away and hands it to me.
“I don’t have a tissue,” he says.
I try to laugh but out comes another sob. Pressing the cotton to my face, I wipe away the blood and the last of the tears.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Stupid,” I say. “Dumb. Empty.”
“You’re not.”
I look down at the dead body of Ming Bao. A pool of dark blood has spread beneath his back, staining the concrete, leaving a mark that will take a long time to wash away.
“He deserved it,” I say. “He killed you. He took you away from me.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I don’t feel any better,” I say. “I thought I would but I don’t.”
“That’s not how the healing process works,” Chael says. He puts his arms around me again and pulls me close. But suddenly I’m repulsed at the idea of him touching me. I shove him back.
“No,” I say. “Don’t act like it’s okay. It’s not.”
“I didn’t say it is,” he says. “But you’ll heal if you allow yourself to.”
“He won’t.” I go over to the body and kneel down beside it. Ming’s eyes stare up at the sky. He looks peaceful. Younger. As if all the anger and violence has been erased from his eyes.
I wonder where he is now. Is there his own personal hell waiting for him? Or is there nothing but darkness? Is he being judged? I hope so.
In reality, I haven’t done a thing. Tomorrow another man will take his place, standing on the street corners, peddling Heam to the gutter rats. I could go out with my knife and kill them all, but more will just pop up in their places. In superhero movies, the masked man always stops the bad guys and saves the world. They stick to that version of happily-ever-after. No one points out that the sequel isn’t far behind. Or the trilogy. And so forth.
A never-ending problem. Suddenly my revenge seems rather small.
What exactly have I achieved?
“So that’s it, then,” I say as I turn around and get up off my knees. “Now I’m really going to hell.”
Chael smiles. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Life isn’t that black and white, Faye. Death isn’t either.” Chael comes over and takes my hand and it’s so warm. My own fingers are icy cold. “You are a good person. You can’t live your life trying to undo all the wrongs done to you. Or me. All you can do is go on and make a difference in the lives you’ve yet to meet.”
“But I saw hell,” I say.
“You saw what you needed to see,” he says. “Do you rem
ember that night? Ming gave me the drug first. You fought like a wildcat. The last thing I remember before I died was you screaming my name and begging me not to leave you.”
“Did I?” I say. “I don’t remember that.”
“It was the guilt and fear that sent you where you went,” he says. “And if there’s one thing I know, our life is never written in ink. We can change our future. Free will, Faye. You choose your own path. You are in charge of your future, even in death.”
“I want to go home,” I say. Suddenly I need to see Gazer. I need to give him a hug and tell him how truly sorry I am about his wife and child.
“I’ll walk you home,” Chael says.
“Stay with me,” I say. “For tonight.”
“Absolutely.”
We don’t talk much on the way home. There are no words to describe how I feel. Chael holds me. We get a few odd stares from people but I don’t care. We must look a mess, both covered in blood. What amazes me the most is that no one bothers to ask if we’re all right. No one calls the police. They avert their eyes and look everywhere but at us.
No one cares.
There’s something really wrong with this picture. Have we become so jaded that we can’t be bothered? Is it possible to make people care again? How can I make them listen?
We need our pain to be heard.
It should be shouted from the rooftops.
My anger is gone. I have no idea where it went but I’m not mourning it.
We get off at my stop and I duck into a gas-station bathroom for a few minutes before going home. I stand in front of the sink with an insane amount of paper towels and try to remove the last traces of blood. Considering I just got my ass almost kicked, I don’t look that bad. My lip is slightly swollen but not enough that Gazer will see. I dab at the dirt on my jacket and rinse my mouth out a few times with tap water. My hair is a mess but I manage to comb it out a bit with my fingers.
Finally, I decide this is the best I’m going to get so I turn out the light and head back to Chael. He’s been in the men’s room himself and has managed to clean up a bit. He’s even turned his shirt around so the ragged hole isn’t visible.