PULSE
By Steven Laidlaw
© Steven Laidlaw 2015 All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. Cover art: Steven Laidlaw Cover Model: Darcie Hitchcock Building Photographer: David Iliff www.stevenlaidlaw.com
For Anja, Alyssa, and Katie.
ONE
Being a pickpocket is not like other acts of thievery. For one thing, there's less planning involved. It's more about instinct than any other method of stealing. I wouldn't say you had to be born a pickpocket, but it wasn't the kind of thing that you picked up in a weekend. To be good, you must not only have lightning fast reflexes and minute precision, but also have spacial intelligence and always be on the lookout for a score. You don't want to let something pass you by because you don't know the layout of the streets around you well enough to make a quick getaway. The moment you see an opportunity you grab it. An opportunity like the one in my face this moment, for example.
The tourist walked in front of me, eyes skyward, staring in open-mouthed awe at the height of the buildings around him. His wonder at the city pulled a few frustrated glances from the commuters on their way to work, but for the most part he was ignored. Just another part of the scenery in New York City. After a few years of living here it was easy to block out the world around you.
People like the newbie I was now trailing are how I make a living. His bag might as well have had 'wallet here' signs on it for how obvious the pockets were arranged. While people around him slid through the crowd with ease he was stumbling past others barely missing them with his arms swinging wide and head swiveling around. Yes this would be easy.
The first time I stole something I'd been nine years old, and it was a conflicting thing. On the one hand I felt awful. This person had probably worked hard for their money, maybe saved for months or even years to go on a holiday to the city of dreams, and here I was doing nothing at all and reaping the fruits of their labor. On the other hand I hadn't eaten anything for three days, and wasn't really in the best place to be making rational decisions. The worst part of it was how good it felt. It was the first time I had ever been in direct control of my own life and well being, and it was amazing. It had been easy to justify continuing to do it. If those people weren't smart enough to hold onto their possessions then they didn't deserve them. That was how I justified to myself what I did. What I needed to do to survive.
I stepped closer to the man as the press of people became thicker. I could see he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, and it was only a matter of time before he bumped into someone. I was ready for it. Not thirty seconds later I was proven right as a suit on his way to work collided shoulders with the man. It wasn't dramatic. No-one fell over. Just bumped arms, a little spin, and they went about their business. The tourist called over his shoulder to apologize to the man who likely didn't even notice the bump. That was when I struck.
As they hit one another I pressed myself up against the man, placing his bag between my body and his. My hand flashed up with razor blade I was holding and slashed open the side of his pack. Within half a second my free hand was in and out, now holding a wallet which I tucked away into my back pocket. The tourist stumbled a little and turned to look at me, but I was already pushing away from him and melting back into the crowd. A grin split across my face as I started to congratulate myself on another job well done. I wasn't in the free and clear yet, but if experience taught me anything then I would be down the nearest alleyway before the man even noticed something was missing.
I made it fifteen feet before a hand grabbed me by the upper arm.
"Hold it right there young lady."
I winced and turned to look up into the face of a uniformed officer. My eyes widened and a feeling of dread filled me. I had been so caught up following the man I hadn't checked my surroundings for the cops. I grimaced and gave the man a weak smile.
"What seems to be the problem, officer?"
He glowered down at me and turned his head to call to the tourist who was now clutching his bag and looking around at the crowd with a confused look on his face. I looked the policeman up and down. He looked to be in his late thirties. Not overweight but also not in as good shape as he once was. He didn't look like the type of man who liked to run. I felt a smile slide onto my face.
The policeman raised his free hand into the air to wave down the tourist. "Sir, I believe this is the—"
I slammed my free elbow into the larger man's solar plexus, cutting him off mid sentence. He doubled over in surprise and pain, and his grip on me weakened. I jerked my arm free and ran off into the crowd, the officer cursing and leaping after me. I heard the tourist shout as he realized what was going on and joined the chase with the officer. I cursed as I ran, dodging through people and doing my best to keep from falling over.
It's hard to run full speed during rush hour with all the people around, but such a thing could be used to my advantage. I was short and slender, and had spent most of my life running through these streets. I threw myself through every gap I could and made my way toward an opening in the buildings around me.
I ran down the alleyway, chancing a glance behind me at my pursuers. The officer was almost off the street, the look in his eyes murderous. The tourist was also following up behind, but was so far back he was almost a non-factor. I grinned as I realized there was no way the two men would be able to catch me. Once I was out of the alleyway I would be a free woman.
The alleyway turned halfway down and I looked up toward my exit. My stomach fell out from under me. The exit was blocked by a large delivery truck that was backed in to unload its wares onto a loading bay. I cursed and turned to look behind me and saw the cop gaining fast. As my head spun back around I caught a glimpse of my salvation.
I ran toward a stack of pallets, blocked my momentum with my feet, transferred the force upward, and threw myself high onto the blocks of wood. From there I took a step forward and ran a few steps up the side of wall, catching onto the bottom of the large steel fire escape. The staircase fell down under my weight, but I managed to pull myself up before steel touched concrete.
I had made it to the top of the stairs when the policeman grabbed the base of the fire escape, pulling it the rest of the way to the ground. The tourist had caught up to us by then, and was pulling himself up the stairs after the cop. I threw myself up the stairs as fast as I could muster, conscious of the fact that my breathing was getting heavier. I wasn't unfit, don't get me wrong, but I wasn't 'running full speed up a flight of stairs without getting winded' fit.
I stepped onto the roof of the building and, after a brief glance around, took off running toward the far side. Usually there were rooftop entrances to apartment buildings like this one, and you'd be surprised at how often they were unlocked. I could hear the police officer clanging up the stairs behind me, and didn't want to waste any more time than I had to. I reached the rooftop entryway to the building and tried the door.
It was locked.
My breathing was labored now as I looked around at the adjacent buildings. Four of the five buildings that surrounded us were mini-skyscrapers with no convenient way to scale them. The building on the fifth side was the same height as the one I was on, but that was the alleyway side I'd come up on so there was a twenty foot gap separating me from it.
"Nowhere to run now."
I turned to look at the policeman who was now drenched
in sweat and breathing heavily. In his hands was a stun gun trained on my chest.
His mouth twisted in distaste. "I know your type, kid. Probably would have let you off with a warning, but assaulting an officer?" He shook his head.
"I didn't know you were a cop. I just felt someone grab me. I was defending myself." It sounded as weak as it felt.
The cop shook his head at me. "Save it for the judge."
The tourist had caught up with us now. "Is she the one that took my wallet?"
The police officer turned his head to look at the man. "Please stand back, sir."
While his head was turned, I took three large steps backward. His head flicked back around to me when he heard the movement, but it was too late. I was standing up on the edge of the building.
He lowered the weapon to point it toward the ground. "What are you doing?"
I turned to look behind me at the ground below and my stomach flipped. Four stories down. I shivered and turned back to look at the cop who was frowning at me. I took a deep breath and shuffled back an inch.
The cop dropped his gun to his side and held up a hand signaling me to stop. "This isn't worth dying over, kid. Come on, step away from the edge."
The tourist cleared his throat. "Uh, officer? I don't want anyone getting hurt. If I could just get my wallet back, I won't press any charges."
The policeman tilted his head to the side, not breaking eye contact. "You hear that? No charges pressed. Come on. Step away from the edge."
I considered for a moment. While the tourist was probably telling the truth about not pressing charges, I doubted the cop would let me go free. I'd hit him, and no judge in the world would believe me over him. Especially with my family history. I winced and looked again over the edge of the building, before coming to a decision.
I took a deep breath and look back at the cop. "Looks like I don't have a choice, do I?"
The cop's shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. "You're doing the right thing."
My mouth quirked at the corner. "The right thing?" I gave him a flash of teeth. "Where's the fun in that?
I turned and stepped out into the open air.
TWO
A lot of people think human beings can't fly, but they're wrong. It's easy to fly — it's just slowing down before you land that's the hard part. In a normal circumstance plummeting toward the earth at what would eventually become the speed of gravity would have filled me with dread, but I would have been foolish to attempt to pull off surviving a four story fall without some kind of plan.
Of course I had a plan.
I flew through the air, falling toward the canvas I had aimed myself at. There had been a market set up on the street, and a large tarpaulin had been erected to shade the sellers and their wares. I had tried to aim myself toward the center of the canvases mass, while also avoiding the poles that held the thing up in the air. Landing on one of those would be worse than hitting the ground flat, but in either case my escape would be short lived.
Look, I never said it was a good plan.
Luck was on my side, and I landed as close the center as I could have hoped, but that was where my luck ended. The initial impact had robbed a lot of my momentum, but there was still enough to splinter the poles that held it up on either side of me. I kept falling a few more feet and collided hard with something odd shaped. The air flew from my lungs and I crumpled to the ground clutching at my ribs.
After a few seconds of gasping I climbed up to look around. The market was in pandemonium struggling to work out what had happened, and helping those whose markets had collapsed. It looked like my fall had caused a small chain reaction, knocking down the poles of stalls as far as forty feet away.
I swiveled my head searching for the fastest exit, grimacing from the pain in my side. I stepped forward and climbed off the edge of the canvas, careful to step over a moving shape that cursed from beneath me. Once I was on solid ground again I slipped into the crowd and made my way past the rest of the people who were rushing to help. Some were pulling people from the wreckage, while others were pulling goods. Two men had even begun a fistfight at one corner of the collapsed structure. The mayhem gave me the perfect chance to escape unnoticed, which was good since there were already people looking for the cause of the destruction.
I reached the edge of the crowd and was about to slip into the shadows of another alleyway, but paused to throw a glance back up at the building I'd just vacated. The policeman and the tourist stood staring down at me. I lifted a hand and waved, threw a wink there was no way they would be able to see, and turned away into the darkness.
My name is Alexandra Murray. Welcome to another day of my life.
***
The streetlights flickered to life as I turned into the street with my Mom's apartment. The sun had only just dropped below the horizon, so there was still a bit of natural light to see by. That would be gone within half an hour though, and the glow of a hundred thousand light bulbs would illuminate the city for another night.
Human beings in general are afraid of the dark. As children it is a natural fear — our imaginations conjour up monsters that move through the darkness and wait for us to sleep so they can get us. Giant and slobbering, small and slithering, the specifics matter little. It's the fear of the unknown that gets to us.
As we grow up we learn that the monsters of our imagination aren't real, and we begin to feel that the darkness isn't all it was cracked up to be. That's a temporary feeling though, as we learn all too quickly that we were wrong. Monsters are real. They just don't look like things out of a horror movie. They look like Ted down the street, or Sally from the supermarket.
This is the reason we build cities. We create massive epicenters of light that drown out the darkness. We huddle together under the light, afraid of those things out in the dark that we can't see, unaware that most of the time it's the people we are huddled up with that we should be fearing.
Yes, bad things come out in the night. They also come out in the day.
"Yo, Alex."
I turned to look to the voice. The streetlights had yet to warm up, so I had to squint through the twilight to make out the face of the man who had called my name. I didn't know his name, but I had seen him around before and knew what he did for a living. It was less he himself that gave it away, and more the scantily clad girls standing behind him. I shivered in cold just looking at them, and it was only the beginning of autumn. My attention swung back to the man.
He grinned. "When am I gonna get you working for me, girl? I know many a man who'd pay a pretty penny for someone as small as you."
I pulled my hood up and kept walking, the working girls laughing behind me.
I stopped outside the apartment building I lived in with my mom and looked up at the third floor. Light shone from the windows which meant she was home.
Most nights my mom was out doing whatever it was she did during the dark hours. I tried not to think about that too much. She would leave in the evening and come home close to sunrise. She sometimes had money, food, or household goods with her. I wasn't sure where she got them.
I swallowed and pushed open the door, making my way into the stairwell. Her being home meant I would have to deal with her before getting into my bedroom. Her and anyone else she had up there. I stepped over the legs of the man that was sleeping sitting up in front of the stairs. Beside him was a dirty needle and rubber tube.
I made my way up the stairs to the third floor, and walked down the hall to the door of the apartment that was my home. I say home, but house was more appropriate. Before entering I pressed my head against the door and held my breath. I couldn't make out anything other than muffled voices. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and pushed open the door.
"Oh look who's decided to grace us with her presence." My mom stared up at me from her place on the floor. Her long red hair was pooled out underneath her as she lay on her back at the feet of a man who was sitting on the couch. I had inherited my mot
her's hair color, but that was where the similarities ended. Her pale skin was blemish free, where as mine was awash with freckles especially across my nose. Her eyes were blue, so I had to assume I'd gotten the green of mine from my father, whoever he may have been. Where she was tall for a woman I was about a foot shorter than anyone else my age. Also unlike my mother I had taken to hacking off my hair unevenly to keep it above my shoulders.
My mom stretched out like a cat and turned to look up at the man above her. "Look, Alex is home."
I sighed. "Hey, Mom." I glanced at the man above her and felt uncomfortable as I recognized him. "Hi, Chuck."
Chuck was a tall, thin man with a pencil thin mustache and soul patch beard underneath his mouth. His dark shoulder length hair was slicked back and gelled into place. He reclined back on the couch and ran his eyes up my body. He licked his lips. I shuddered and started toward my bedroom.
"I'm going to be reading all night. Bye."
"Of course you are. Don't let the book bugs bite, or something."
I glanced back as I got to my door and saw Chuck leaning forward to pass my mom a glass pipe and lighter. As I watched as his hand slid up her skirt. I felt my eyes burn but blinked to force it away. I didn't have any tears for my mother any more.
I opened my backpack and took out the key, unlocking the deadbolt on my door and slipping into my room. I locked it again behind me and flicked on the small lamp that sat near my barred window. A large desk sat on one side of my room, and a mattress lay on floor. There was a walk in wardrobe built into the room. I emptied my pockets onto the desk. The passport might sell for something, so I hid it and the cash in a small hidden gap that was under the wall behind my desk.
I made my way over to the wardrobe and stripped off my jeans and shirt. As I pulled the cloth over my head a sharp pain ran down my side. I looked down at the area where I had landed and winced. It was a dark purple. I gave it a few gentle pokes and almost passed out from the pain. Something was moving in there.
The Pulse Series (Book 1): Pulse Page 1