A Forgotten Tomorrow

by Teresa Schaeffer

  If I’d walked up to Elijah at that very moment, I would have been dead too.

  What if he wasn’t dead when they were finished with him? I left him there all alone, taking a bath in his own blood…

  This is why his vision haunts me.

  CHAPTER 11

  I wake up with the stench of vomit in my nostrils, in an alleyway near one of the fancy boutiques. I’m not really sure how I got here, I can’t remember. But here I am, leaning against a brick wall, still shaking uncontrollably. My eyes are almost swollen shut from all the crying and my throat hurts. I’m a bloody mess, but I don’t really care.

  I know I made a fool of myself earlier, walking down the street next to those rich people, but it’s like I can’t control myself anymore. Unless I’m high. That is what I need to do right now, take in a few lines. I need to get out of this rut and I need to stop thinking about Elijah. I can still see his face, his lips motioning silently for help. Dammit.

  I wouldn’t normally pull out a bag and sniff a line or two in plain daylight, especially on this side of town – but I need it. Two or three lines won’t hurt, and I will be on my way. I can’t rest here. I will rest when I get back to my spot by Flannigan’s.

  I sit back for a few moments, waiting for the feeling to hit and rush through my body. I know it’s only temporary, but the blissful numbing sensation is what I need right now – and to get out of this uppity neighborhood, away from the ridiculing eyes.

  A half-hour has passed and I’m still walking – but I’m close to home. I decided to walk behind the buildings, instead of on the sidewalk next to all the morning shoppers. It’s better this way.

  The block I am passing now is still considered to be part of the wealthy area. Even the backs of the boutiques are fancy – the dumpsters are clean, and there isn’t any trash to be seen anywhere. It’s spotless. The workers have sitting areas in the back, with fancy chairs and tables for them to sit at on their lunch breaks.

  The transition between the rich side of town and the poor is quite funny. In front of me, within only a few feet, the change is apparent. Trash is overflowing from the dumpsters and the area is not even slightly clean or spotless. Often enough, teenagers from this area hang out behind the stores at night, drinking and smoking marijuana. From the looks of things I’m guessing that they throw out their empty malt liquor bottles when they are finished – but not in the trash. There is broken glass all over the tarmac.

  It’s odd; my stomach is growling and I know that I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like eating. I feel sick, and my perspiration is only getting worse now that my buzz has nearly worn off. Inside I am trembling, for whatever reason; I could jump out of my own skin. I need more. I need a few more lines to carry me.

  Benz Street is a few blocks away, so I’m nearly there. I can’t wait until then, though. There is a little park, although it’s normally gang-infested, just another block up. There isn’t any playground equipment or anything, just a few picnic tables. If it’s not occupied by anyone, especially Jon’s boys, I will sit there for a few minutes and get my fix.

  Luckily, the park is abandoned at this hour. Everyone is probably still asleep, hung over from a night of drugging and partying. There is a table underneath a lone tree, which will be the perfect spot for me. It will keep me hidden from anyone who might pass by.

  My bag is nearly empty. I might as well finish it off while I’m here. Maybe my high will last a little longer.

  The wooden table is completely worn out and infested with termites. It doesn’t matter, though. The flat surface will make it easier to take in a few lines.

  I was going to be careful about it, make sure not to drop any of it onto the ground – but screw it. I pour the remaining amount into the palm of my hand, losing only a tiny bit to the mud-covered floor. With my fingers, I strategically separate the powder into six lines. There is more left than I thought. That will surely prolong my high.

  Within thirty seconds I take in all six lines, leaving only a little residue on the table. I cover my face with my trembling hands and rest my elbows on the table, until I feel the drug rushing through my body.

  This time it’s different. Inside I feel more relaxed, but my body is still shaking, trembling. If I don’t lie down on the table for a moment I might fall to the ground. I can’t stand up, and my eyes are twitching uncontrollably.

  I’ve lost all control. I can feel myself lying here, but cannot move.

  I fall deep into a dream-like state. I can’t fight it, even though I try. And it’s like I’m taken somewhere else, somewhere that is not here, not in this park.

  Wherever I am, this place has a musty smell to it, along with the scent of cigar smoke and mothballs. The lighting is dim, but I manage to see three large shadows against the wood-panelled wall. The men aren’t in the room with me, though – I don’t think. They are cackling with one another in the adjoining room, hacking and coughing fit to bring up a lung.

  I can’t make out what they are saying and don’t want to find out either – what if they don’t know I’m here?

  Something, maybe dust, flies into my nose without warning, bringing forth a loud sneeze. I cover my mouth, trying to force back another that is on its way. It’s too late. The large men must have already heard me, because their cackling abruptly stops. There is silence.

  I realise that I’m backed into a corner. I’ve been here the entire time, not realising it until now. My arms are tied behind my back and my cry is muffled by a gag that’s in my mouth. What’s going on? Oh my God! Here they come.

  The man that appears in front of my face is very unclean and extremely large. His tank top looks ten years old. At one point it was probably white, but not anymore. It’s covered with stains, most likely because of his nasty perspiration – he reeks of body odor. His long, tangled beard covers most of his mouth, but when he smiles I notice that he is missing a lot of his teeth. Those that remain appear to be rotted, judging by his breath, which smells like halitosis.

  His long, chubby arms reach down towards my face. What is he doing? I can’t move. I can’t scream. Leave me alone! I feel his grip on my shoulder. I try to shrug him away, but cannot move…

  I convulse, shake and vomit uncontrollably. I don’t think I’m dreaming any more, but still cannot move. My eyes are fluttering. I can’t see anything of my surroundings, but briefly I notice a man standing above me.

  He looks exactly like the man I just saw in my dream – with no teeth. He appears to be upset. Why does he keep shaking me?

  “Hang on. I’m gonna call an ambulance,” he says.

  I can barely understand what he’s saying. Everything is muffled and unclear.

  I don’t want an ambulance. Why would he be doing that? I’m okay. I’m just resting for a minute, dude…

  Everything is black. My body is convulsing, yet I feel completely numb. There is silence. What’s happening?

  CHAPTER 12

  It’s pitch black.

  I can’t open my eyes, nor can I move. My body feels paralysed and the sound of people chattering in the distance is starting to make my skin crawl. I can’t see them. Where am I? What is that beeping sound and why is my mouth so sore? Can anyone hear me?

  I try to force my eyes open and after much effort I can see, but with fuzzy vision. I’m in a white room, surrounded by an odd-looking curtain and stainless steel cabinets. There is an overwhelming smell of surgical alcohol too. I start to gag. My hands are strapped to a gurney so I can’t sit up.

  “Help!” I scream as loud as I possibly can without gagging and vomiting all over the blue gown that I’m wearing. “Get me outta this room!”

  Two female nurses dressed in light blue surgical scrubs run into my room quickly. One of them is young, in her mid-twenties maybe. The other looks like she is fifty at best. They don’t say much at first, but they are calm and attentive.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask, still gagging and mildly panicking.

  “Calm down, calm down. Y
ou’re at County Hospital,” the older nurse says.

  “What? Why?”

  “You overdosed.”

  “On what?” I cough, gag. “I want to sit up. I can’t move my arms.”

  “Try to relax.” She tries to reassure me.

  I’m panicking, but at least they untie my hands. “What’s this?” I ask the young nurse, pointing to the bandage wrapped around my head.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Savannah.”

  “Well, Savannah, did you get into a fight or something?”

  “You could say that,” I mumble, trying to speak through the pain that’s burning down my throat.

  “We had to give you some stitches. You had some pretty bad cuts on your forehead.”

  I feel nauseous and try to force it back, but I can’t help it. I throw up all over the gurney and on the younger nurse who’s next to me.

  “Feel better?” she asks, trying to stay calm. If I were her I’d be out of here by now, taking a shower.

  I nod my head in silence. I do feel better, but I also feel kind of bad that I puked on the woman.

  “I’ll bring you a clean gown,” she says. And with that, they both leave the room.

  They forgot to close my curtain. They left it wide open for everyone to peek in, and I can’t handle that. I have to close it.

  My only intention as I reach the curtain is to close it, but what I see when I get closer makes me nervous. The nurse’s station is probably about ten feet from my room, making it easy to eavesdrop on the current conversations – and to notice that there is a man with a badge talking with the two nurses who were just in my room. He’d better not be here for me. I can’t stay here and I definitely cannot go to jail.

  “No it’s not cocaine, it’s meth we found in her system,” the older nurse says to the policeman. A moment passes before she continues, “We need to ask her about her family first, since she’s under age.”

  I panic, quickly getting back on the gurney. I can’t leave right now, I don’t have any clothes, and if that man wants to take me away I’ll be in even more trouble than I am now. And what’s that about my family? There is no way I am going back to Mama – I never want to see her again. I’d rather rot. I feel crazy. I’m scared, really scared and I don’t know what to do.

  Minutes later, the young nurse enters the room, interrupting my irrational plan to escape. She is carrying a sweat suit in her hands, and she places it on my lap.

  “This is from the share box downstairs. I figured you might want some proper clothing to change into.”

  “Where’s my stuff?” I ask.

  “We had to throw it away,” she responds, looking directly into my eyes. “Before you change, I need to ask you a couple questions though.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, and neither does my stomach. I feel sick.

  “What?” I hesitantly ask.

  “It’s not a lot, just a few questions that we need to ask before we let you go.”

  “I can leave?”

  “Shortly. But we can’t let you leave alone. Do you have anyone you can call – family? Relatives?”

  I’m nervous, but I can’t cry or scream – all I can do is laugh. It’s not a normal laugh either. I probably sound crazy to this woman. Oh well. “I don’t have any family,” I finally say.

  “None?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm,” she starts, “Well, we can’t let you walk out of here without your guardian, and if you don’t have anyone, there is an officer out there who will be taking you with him.”

  “What?” I ask, louder than I intended. “Why?”

  “Considering why you are here, we can’t just let you go without a treatment plan.”

  “Well what am I supposed to do?” I yell. Tears are beginning to fill my eyes. “I don’t have a damn family!”

  “Where are you from, Savannah?”

  “Under a rock.”

  “Under a rock?” she asks. “Where is your mother?”

  “I don’t have one! Can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “I’m sorry to upset you, but we need to have some more information. Either you tell me, or talk to that nice officer outside your room.”

  They’re flowing now, my tears. My stomach is turning and my anxiety level is increasing every moment. I can’t stop my hands from shaking, or my entire body for that matter. Rocking will help. I need to rock myself back and forth. This isn’t happening.

  “I – I don’t know,” I cry. “I don’t wanna talk to him, I just want to leave. Why can’t I just leave?”

  “I’m sorry sweetie, but you need some help.” She tries to comfort me, but I don’t let her. I don’t want her near me. She’s looking at me all funny too – they are all judging me, laughing on the inside, I just know it.

  I rock myself, tears falling, odd noises escaping from my mouth. It’s a cry, a loud and uncontrollable cry that has been waiting for the right time to surface. I feel more alone than I ever have. I feel vulnerable and forgotten. I don’t have a family, I don’t have anyone. I did have Elijah, but he was the only person in my life I could count on. So how the hell am I going to get out of here if I don’t have anyone to call? I don’t want to go with that man.

  “You have some time, okay Savannah?” the nurse continues. “Get dressed and sit here for a little bit, maybe something will come to mind. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  She touches my arm, trying to comfort me. I don’t respond. I sit in this same spot, rocking.

  Minutes pass before I can even think about anything, or calm down. All I can do after she leaves is cry. I feel a little calmer now, but I’m still scared because I can’t figure out how I’m going to get out of here. Who can I call?

  I think harder and harder, trying to find a solution. I’ve been on these streets for over a year, with little to no contact with the normal, outside world. I can’t call my old case worker because I’d be sent back to yet another hell-hole, with another crazy foster parent. No way.

  Finally – I’ve got it. As much as I don’t want to, maybe I can call Jonah. After the way I acted towards him he might not want anything to do with me, but I can try. He probably would help me get out of here, if he’s truly all about helping kids like me. Honestly, if he does pick me up though, I don’t plan on staying. I don’t think so anyway. I will use him to break out of this damn hospital, and once I’m in the clear – I’m running.

  That’s it. I will call Jonah.

  CHAPTER 13

  The pale white wall of this hospital room is about as comforting as Jonah’s office. I hate sitting here waiting. I’d rather just leave – but I can’t. There are a dozen or more doctors and nurses outside, carrying on with their daily routine. As well as that stupid policeman who is still standing at the nurse’s station, waiting to see what’s going to happen with me.

  I finally speak to the younger nurse and tell her about Jonah and the City Community Center. He’s the only one I could think of to get me out of here – the only other person I have really talked to, except for Elijah, during my time in this forsaken city. It works, though. She calls him and he agrees to come by to talk with me. Great.

  I don’t know what’s taking him so long. It’s been at least a couple of hours since she called him. It’s not like the Center is that far away from here. He could walk it in five or ten minutes if he wanted to.

  I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing him, either. I mean, I look like I just got run over by a truck, and by now I’m sure this entire hospital has heard about me – the overdosed junky prostitute. That’s not who I am. Who’s to say that I overdosed anyway? Thanks to that insane client, I was already a mess before I got here. It could have simply been the after-effects of him beating me. Whatever.

  Here comes Jonah. He hasn’t entered my room, but I can see his face through the small opening of the curtain. He’s at the nurses station talking to someone. I don’t know who, all I can see is a finger pointing in my
direction. That same compassionate look is still on his face. Does anyone else think that that’s weird, I wonder? Who walks around smiling and looking like that every day? I’ve never known anyone else to, but then again, who am I? No one.

  Jonah opens the curtain at last, peeking in before entering. “Savannah?”

  “Uh-huh,” I respond. He knows I’m in here. That nurse just told him. So why didn’t he just walk in? Again, I swear he’s nuts. But if he can get me out of here, I don’t care if he has schizophrenia.

  “Glad to see you again, although not in these circumstances,” he says, as he pulls up a stool next to the gurney. “I was sure you’d forgotten about me. I guess some things happen for a reason, and I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  “Can you just get me out of here?”

  “Well, we need to talk about a few things first. I can probably get the police officer and nurses outside to let you come with me, but we need a plan of action.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. A plan of action? Why would we need that? Just get me out of this room! It’s making me crazy.

  “In order to take you with me, you will have to agree to take any assistance I can give you – whatever that may be. And I will have to let the authorities know.” He stops talking for a minute, waiting for my response, but I have nothing to say.

  I guess things aren’t going to be that easy – me just walking out of here and getting back to my life, I mean. I don’t know if I want to stay with Jonah. Either way I’m a lost cause, up the creek without a paddle. I’m lost to this world of chaos, stuck in this city of harm. Who is Jonah anyway? Not God, that’s for sure.

  “How old are you again? Sixteen, you said?”

  “Yup.”

  “I see. Well, that’s why we would need to have this agreement with the proper authorities.”