The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  The twenty-one foot rule. His old cadet teacher’s voice blared in his head, warning him that a man with a knife could clear the space of twenty-one feet in the time it took for an officer to raise his gun. Jasper’s gun was already out of its holster. But the way this man could move, the speed with which he’d closed the distance between himself and the Giant...

  He moved anyway. The gun was up in record speed, peroxide hair between the sights. The man didn’t look up.

  “OCPD, hands where I can see them.”

  “I believe you can see my hands just fine.” Balancing the knife with a thumb, he waggled his fingers at Jasper without lifting his chin.

  “You’re under arrest on suspicion of drug trafficking.” Jasper took a step forward. “You have the right to—”

  “What’s your name, kid? There aren’t many like you on the force these days.”

  Jasper forced himself to take another step. His gun trembled. “Show me your hands.”

  The man laughed, that same gut-chilling timbre from earlier. “Two heroes in one night. You’re like one of those cartoons people draw at the fair. Too large for real life.”

  You have a gun, Jasper told himself. He does not.

  “Put your hands in the air, and get down on the ground slowly.”

  The blond man lifted his head. A grin split so wide over his face, Jasper’s feet stuck to the concrete.

  “You’ve never shot a man in your life.”

  The trigger sweated under his finger. “You want to bet your own life on that?”

  “I can see it in your eyes.” Black pupils flickered over him. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Another siren screamed in the distance, this one closer than before. The man looked out across the street and sighed.

  “Tell you what. I’ll give you some real fieldwork experience. Shoot me in the back as I walk away.”

  Jasper tensed. “You have three seconds to—”

  The knife sang through the air. Instinct slammed him sideways a breath before the blade would’ve sunk into his ribs. Its squeal across the sidewalk behind him echoed off the buildings. Regaining his balance, Jasper scrambled to get the man back in his sights—he would pull the trigger, he would kill him now that he’d shown lethal force—

  But all he saw was the edge of the man’s coat, flipping around the corner. The mocking notes of an upbeat tune whistled back to him.

  He charged. The two seconds it took him to cover the thirty feet between himself and the edge of the next building felt like ten. By the time he’d skidded around the corner, he faced an empty alleyway. Dumpsters and trash piled up against the walls. Low rooftops. A dozen places for the bastard to leap up and disappear.

  Jasper lowered his gun. His breath clouded the air, ragged and fast.

  The echo of the man’s tune hummed in his ears.

  6. SMALLNESS AND SNOWSTORMS

  THE ALLEY COURTNEY cut through on her route to work blocked the wind from the Great Lakes. The Wall did most of that, at least for part of Westside, but the way the concrete framed the city created a wind trap that looped the coldest gusts back around to buffet from all directions. The shorelines of Lake Michigan had already begun to freeze, at least according to the news streamed in from Chicago. It was only October. The leaves on the maples beside the café hadn’t fallen yet, still clinging to the last traces of autumn orange. But she could feel the ice on the air. The weather forecast for the weekend urged people to get ready to stay indoors.

  Courtney played with the fraying edge of her fingerless gloves. Maybe she’d take the weekend off. She could have Dina over, they’d stock up on pizza and red wine, watch reruns of Friends all Saturday long—fun adult stuff. That sounded a whole lot nicer than waking up hung-over after Dina’s idea of a girl’s night.

  A clatter from the end of the alley snapped her chin up.

  The sound echoed out from behind one of the dumpsters near the entrance to the street. Slowing, Courtney slipped her hand into the hidden pocket in her purse, where she kept her pepper spray. It was probably just a cat. But it was early enough for a drunk to still be wandering around from the night before. She knew better than to let her guard down this side of Orion.

  Rounding the cluster of dumpsters, she tensed when she came upon two human figures sitting by the brick wall. A child sat cross-legged on the filthy pavement, back to her, stringy hair draped over her shoulders. A stack of empty soda cans stood in a pyramid before her. About an arm’s reach away, a man in a threadbare fedora squatted by the wall, elbows on his knees. From a pile of scattered cans he handed the girl one after another, saying nothing. The child delicately placed them atop her growing tower.

  It was a funny sight. His long, lanky frame hunched over to reach the girl’s level, and he was so far away from her he had to fully extend his long arm to hand her the cans. His angular face was pale enough to glow in the shadow.

  Courtney blinked, loosening her grip on the pepper spray. “W?”

  “C. Top o’ the morning to ya.”

  She stopped a few feet away. “What... are you doing?”

  The bit of his face she could see beneath the hat looked focused on the little girl’s tower. “Construction and demolition.”

  The child took the last soda can from his outstretched fingers, and balanced it atop her pyramid. Then she turned and grabbed a short metal pipe.

  BAM.

  She hit the tower of cans square in the base, and the whole stack came tumbling down. Courtney flinched. The sound ricocheted off the walls, cans crashing and bouncing off in all directions. One rolled to a stop beside her foot.

  W rose and began picking up the cans that had gotten away. The little girl sat and poked at the few that had landed near her feet with the pipe. Her shoes looked several sizes too big.

  Hesitating, Courtney bent down and scooped up the can by her own foot. She took a few steps forward and held it out to the little girl.

  The child froze. She looked up and stared at Courtney’s hand for several seconds.

  “Thank you,” W said from behind, and Courtney jumped when a long arm reached around hers to pluck the can from her fingers. “Margo, this is C. C, Margo.”

  The girl went back to poking at the cans with her pipe. W sat back against the wall. Somehow he’d managed to gather six or seven cans into his arms without dropping them. He tossed one into the air, followed by another and another, and began to juggle. Margo paused to watch.

  “Off to work?” W asked without taking his eyes off the flying cans.

  “Um.” Courtney couldn’t take her eyes off them either. “Yeah.”

  “Ever been late?”

  “Never on purpose.”

  “No? You strike me as a rebel.”

  She shifted on her feet, glancing back toward the street. “Don’t know where you got that idea.”

  W shrugged. “Well. Don’t let us keep you.”

  She watched the arc of the cans through the air. He maneuvered them with such effortless grace, it was hard to tear her eyes away.

  “I’ll... see you later, I guess.”

  He didn’t respond. Just kept tossing the cans, catching them. Pressing her lips together, Courtney swiveled on her heel and continued on her commute.

  She didn’t get far. Her shoe kicked something that clattered, stopping her short. A soda can lay on the storm drain grate, caught in the space between two moldy bars. She stared at it for a moment. The smell of coffee and the clamor of grumpy early-risers swirled around in her brain, so far removed from this wordless, oddly peaceful little alleyway.

  Stooping, she picked up the can and walked back to the odd pair by the dumpsters. She set the can down a little way from Margo. The girl waited until she had backed up, then grabbed it. Her little tower began to grow again.

  “Are you from around here, Margo?” Courtney asked.

  The child kept stacking cans.

  Squirming a little, Courtney tried again. “What are you building?”

>   W chuckled from behind her. She looked back at him, confused by the sound. He caught the last can in the air, pushed himself off the wall, and tossed one to her. She caught it on instinct.

  “Margo builds masterpieces,” he said. “And knocks them right back down since they’re too good for these dirty streets. Aren’t they, Margo?”

  The child glanced up. W smiled at her—a softer smile than the one he’d given Courtney a moment ago. Margo returned her concentration to the soda can tower.

  Slow and careful, Courtney crouched down in front of her, a safe distance away. She picked up one of the loose cans.

  “May I?” she asked.

  Margo made no sign that she’d heard her. Courtney reached forward and hovered the can above the pyramid. Margo went still. Aware of the wide dark eyes following her every move, Courtney placed the soda can gently atop the tower. The girl stared at it for a moment. Without a change in expression, she leaned over, grabbed another can, and continued building.

  Encouraged, Courtney reached for another. Her eyes lifted to encounter a pair of searing ashen ones. W stood leaning against the wall, watching her with an unreadable expression.

  What am I doing? The thought felt familiar. But she continued crouching there with her chin on her palm, helping this silent little girl build her soda can tower.

  Homeless people were as common as pigeons in Westside. Street kids weren’t a rare sight either. But somehow, seeing Margo sitting here on the damp asphalt, little nose reddened from the cold, grime sticking to her hair and clothes... Courtney felt guilty. She didn’t know why, but she felt the pressing weight of shame. Squatting here in her long peacoat, wrapped in a scarf and warm sweater, while this child sat with her breath fogging on the air, wearing a raggedy dress and too-big shoes with holes in the toes. Margo couldn’t be any more than five or six years old. Yet she didn’t even shiver in the cold.

  Footsteps approached. W settled back on his heels across from Margo, and began handing her cans again like he’d been doing when Courtney walked up. Most of his height was in his legs, she decided, because once he crouched next to her he seemed only a few inches taller than she was. She glanced sideways at him.

  “So...” she started. “Is this how you spend all your Tuesday mornings? You don’t have a job to get to?”

  “I work my own hours.”

  “Self-employed?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “You could say that.”

  “What do you do?”

  He handed Margo another can. “I’m a scientist, actually.”

  “Really?” Of all the vocations, she would’ve never pegged him for that. The phrase mad scientist ran through her brain, and she had to swallow a laugh.

  “Really,” he said. “I do research. Experiments. All that fun stuff.”

  “On what?”

  He flashed her a sideways grin, silver tooth glinting. “People.”

  She frowned at him, but before she could ask more, her pocket vibrated. Max, probably wondering where she was. She sighed.

  “Sadly, I’m not a self-made freelance genius. I answer to somebody else’s clock.” She rose, and the motion brought a rush of cold to where she’d been sitting on her legs. She shivered, and looked down at Margo.

  Her favorite yellow peacoat suddenly felt too warm.

  Before she could lose her nerve, Courtney shrugged off the coat. She bent forward and draped it around Margo’s narrow shoulders. The child stiffened and shrank into a ball, lips curling back over her teeth. Huge eyes met hers. Courtney ducked back out of her space, leaving the coat behind. She tried not to shiver in her thin sweater.

  “It was good to meet you, Margo.” She turned to W. He too was watching her with a somewhat startled expression. “I’ll see you at the coffee shop?”

  He nodded without speaking. Smiling one last time at Margo—who was still staring at her like she might bite—Courtney turned and headed toward the street. She felt a little foolish for getting so sidetracked. In her head, she composed a list of plausible excuses for why she was late.

  Yet, at the same time, an inexplicable sense of purpose rose: like she’d accomplished more today than an entire shift—week of shifts—at work. The chill wind pushed through her sweater, and she relished in the sting. Margo would be able to grow into that winter coat for years. From here on, Courtney would feel the loss of her favorite coat keenly... keenly enough, perhaps, to notice things on the street she’d kept her head down and walked past before. Small things, broken things she might just be big enough to mend.

  Coming into work late and freezing never felt this good.

  The skin on the back of her neck tingled, and she knew two pairs of eyes followed her until she turned the corner.

  ⬥◆⬥

  The days grew colder and colder. Friday approached, with the weekend heralding a full-blown blizzard warning. Winds began to howl late into the night, and snow nipped the air, teasing an early winter that warned Courtney she needed to start saving up for another coat.

  Ever since their short interaction in the alleyway, she’d only seen W in passing. He still came into the little café, still ordered an obscene amount of sugar, but didn’t say much. He nodded at her, unsmiling, whenever she greeted him. He’d take his coffee and head over to his little corner booth, not staying near as long as he usually did. Courtney wondered at the change. In a strange way she didn’t want to analyze, she missed the eccentricity he brought to her workday. He seemed engrossed in whatever he was doing, bringing stacks of papers and files to look over while he sipped his coffee.

  She wondered about that too. A self-employed social scientist? What kind of work was he doing that held his attention so intensely? She couldn’t help sneaking glances at him from behind the espresso machine.

  Madeline caught her at it a couple of times, and finally gave her an odd look.

  “You seem off,” she said. “Is he finally getting to you like the rest of us?”

  Courtney redirected her focus to the coffee grounds. “Maybe.”

  “You know, I’m kind of glad he’s toned it down a bit. He’s not as scary when he doesn’t smile.”

  “I wonder why,” Courtney said without thinking.

  “Why? Because it’s creepy as hell. No sane person should make that expression.”

  “I mean the sudden change in behavior. A little strange, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, if normal is the new strange, I’m okay with it.”

  Courtney finished steaming the milk and topped off the next customer’s latte with a foamy swirl.

  “Have you seen the news?” Madeline asked. “That blizzard’s supposed to roll in by tonight. We might wake up snowed-in tomorrow.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “Nice? It’ll mess up the roads and shut down the city.”

  Courtney shrugged. “I think it’s kind of exciting. Didn’t you ever wake up and find out school was canceled for a snow day?”

  “This isn’t just a snow day, though. They’re saying it could be really dangerous.”

  Margo’s cold-reddened nose filled her mind, and Courtney’s excitement for a white winter dampened.

  “You’re closing tonight, right?” Madeline nodded toward the windows. Thick white flakes whispered past the glass. It seemed darker outside than it should be for three o’clock, even this close to the Wall. A thick pile of white had already gathered at the base of the door.

  “Yeah,” Courtney said.

  Madeline shook her head. “Good luck.”

  “Hey.” Max walked up behind them. “You guys hear about that storm? Looks like it’s already starting. Maybe you should close early tonight, Court.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It doesn’t look like it’s coming down that hard.”

  “Yet,” Max said. “But they’re telling everybody to stay indoors. Chicago’s already got thirty-mile-an-hour winds up north. It’s blowing south, so we’re going to catch the worst of it pretty soon. Hope I can still get my motorcycle ou
t when I get off.”

  Courtney peered outside at the snowfall. It already seemed a little thicker, the fat flakes coming down faster. Hm. Perhaps Max had a point.

  But what would she do at home alone if she got off early? Call Dina? Her friend might not be able to make it over from the hospital with all the snow on the streets. Dina worked as an RN at St. Barnabas’ trauma unit... the same place Courtney would’ve been now if she hadn’t dropped out of med school two years ago.

  She shook the thoughts away and did her best to smile at Max. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for worrying though.”

  Max sighed. “Up to you. Jess is out for the weekend, but if she were here she’d tell you to go home. Other shops on the block are closing up for the snow. It’s dead in here anyway.”

  He was right. Only a small trickle of customers had come into the café today, and the few who were left were looking more and more antsy. One woman tried to push open the door past the building wall of snow. She had to lean her full weight against it, inching it open far enough to let her squeeze out. Nobody wanted to be out in this weather.

  “I’m off at five,” Madeline said. “Could I get a ride home, Max? I doubt the bus is coming in this weather.”

  “Sure. I’ll clock out early. That okay with you, Court?”

  “There’s hardly anybody here. I think I can handle it.”

  Both of her coworkers’ eyes slid to the shadowy corner both. The unspoken question was obvious.

  “He’s stayed ’til closing before,” Courtney said in a low voice. “I don’t think he’ll stay here that long, but even if he does, he’s never caused trouble.”

  Max jerked his chin toward the back room, where they kept their personal items. “You still got that mace, right?”

  “I’m not going to mace a customer.”

  “Doesn’t hurt a girl to be safe,” Madeline chimed.

  “And I can totally stay,” Max offered.

  “You guys are too sweet. I’ve got an idea. Let’s shut up and work.”

  Max chuckled. He and Madeline moved out of her personal space and started cleaning things up around the station. Courtney snuck a look at W. He hadn’t moved from when she’d glanced over twenty minutes ago. He was wearing the hat again, so she couldn’t see his eyes at this angle. Taking a slow sip of his coffee, he turned the page in the file he was studying.