by M L Sparrow
When he comes back, Sin walks over to stand beside the table, holding a hand out to me. I hesitate, but only for a second, before touching my fingertips to his palm. Instantly, his fingers close over mine and he exerts enough pressure to bring me to my feet.
“You okay?” he asks as I slide out from behind the bench.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, but my voice is husky. He studies me closely for a second, scanning my face, before glancing around the room, taking in all the pairs of eyes watching us. “Maya, Dan’ll take you home,” he nods at an older man standing nearby.
Stepping forward the man speaks to Maya, “Come on, luv, I bet your folks are tyin’ themselves up in knots by now. If my girl stayed out this late I’d be worried sick.”
Reaching across the table, she gives my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before uttering a quiet goodbye and saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With his hand on my lower back, Sin ushers me from the room after them, but whereas they turn right towards the front door, we go left.
Once we’re alone, he asks again, “You okay?” This time I just nod; the exchange scared me a little, but Sin had interfered before anything went too far and I was physically fine. What was bothering me was the way Sin had handled the situation; he had been protective, furious on my behalf. It had felt personal, like he was defending someone important to him.
“You said I was a guest,” I say instead of asking the question I really want to. His only response is a vague sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat, so I expand, “Guest implies I’m free to come and go as I please.”
“Poor choice of words,” he shrugs.
“Surely I’ve proven I can be trusted by now, I’ve been helpful and cooperative, haven’t I?” I challenge, stopping in the middle of the hallway; Sin carries on a short way, then stops and turns back to face me.
“What, when you were climbing down the drainpipe?”
“That was a mistake.”
“The mistake was getting’ caught.”
“No, I’m glad I was. I want to stay, I want to help. I never realized how bad things were in the Ghetto, or how undeserved it all was. I want to help you.”
“Why should I believe you?” He steps closer, until I have to tip my head back to look at him, “You could just be waitin’ for us to relax our guard so you can escape.” Immediately I flush, my cheeks burning, because that had been my plan. Noting my guilty expression, Sin nods as if all of his suspicions have been confirmed. “Today was a test,” he informs me in that emotionless tone that grates on my nerves, “you passed, but it won’t be the last.”
“It sounds to me as if you’re just waiting for me to screw up.”
Again, he hikes his broad shoulders, before he begins walking once more, “Maybe I am. Come on.”
Once he has escorted me safely to my room, Sin goes to leave, but hesitates in the doorway, as he has a habit of doing, looking like he’s about to impart something deathly important. However, all he says is, “Be careful of Eli, he’s dangerous.”
Slightly disappointed that those are to be his last words to me tonight, I frown, “I think you scared him sufficiently, don’t you?”
He shakes his head and a lock of blonde hair falls over his eyes. Shoving it back, he warns gravely, “Ely’s a sneaky little bugger. Don’t give him the chance to hurt you, be smart, don’t go anywhere on your own.”
The last part makes me snort, the derisive sound causing his eyebrows to lift. “Like you are ever going to let me wonder around on my own anyway.”
One hand on the doorframe, he shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough’, then walks away. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and my heart lurches unsteadily. I watch the door closing between us, not quite sure what I expected from him. Just before the wooden shield can close completely between us, I hear him say one word and my heart jumps happily back into its normal rhythm and I realize I had been waiting for that word, expecting it as you might from a family member or a friend.
“Goodnight,” I call back, a secret smile tipping my lips.
Chapter 9
It’s several weeks before I’m next presented with an opportunity to escape, if I wished to take it. Summer has well and truly ousted spring and the weather is now pleasantly warm, the sun shining down on the Ghetto. Despite what I had said to Sin all those weeks ago, I find myself alone, wondering the narrow streets. People call out greetings as I pass. It’s nice, it feels like home; no one shoves a camera in my face, or bombards me with questions about my dads’ political policies. Regardless of the poverty it is peaceful here… or at least for me it is, because this isn’t really my life.
That morning I had made good on my promise to visit Miriam in her apartment building, bringing with me more food, which I’d taken from the order that had come in the night before – I still wasn’t allowed to help with these secret collections, from a source outside the Ghetto, but I continue to assist in handing them out. Leaving the melee at Base today however, Kit and I let the others handle it as we embarked on a different mission. Armed with a scratched silver laptop, tucked securely under one arm, I hurry down the near deserted streets, Kit following a step behind. The laptop had been procured for me the same way as the TV set – I had merely expressed the need for one, as well as explaining the reason why, and several of the lads had brought a selection back from the dump, after clearing it with Sin first, of course.
The look of delighted surprise on Miriam’s face when we knocked on her door makes my heart clench. I could have carried out my task anywhere, but there seemed to be a strange kind of unnamed symbolism in doing it here; it felt right, important almost. Accepting a glass of the usual dirty water, I set the chunky old laptop up in the living room, balancing its substantial weight on my knees as I tap at the keys, finding the unhealthy whirring, which started as soon as I turned it on, strangely comforting. I’m out of touch and for a while my fingers move slower over the keys, tripping over themselves and hitting the wrong buttons, but then instinct kicks in and everything else slips away as I find myself being absorbed into the cyber-world I had almost lost touch with. Technology changes and develops from day to day, it never stays still, which is why it is so difficult to master, therefore, it takes me longer than it would have if I were well practiced to hack into the city’s electrical board. Time and time again, I run face first into impenetrable firewalls and fall into traps which I have to fight my way out of, but eventually I manage it. Leaning back against the sagging sofa, I shut the laptop down and snap it shut, placing it on the cushion beside me. My back aches from hunching over the machine for so long, as do my fingers, and my eyes sting from staring at the screen, but the feeling of triumph that crashes over me is unparalleled. I may even be more proud of this achievement than I was when I first hacked the government database, perhaps because this time I’m doing it for a good cause. Wiping away the sweat that’s beaded above my top lip, I stretch my arms above my head and grin over at Kit.
“Done!” I proclaim, bouncing to my feet, excited to test whether my tinkering has actually worked. “Hit the switch.” Kit disappears into the hall to turn on the light, while I wait expectantly, staring at the lampshade hanging from the ceiling, heavy with dust and cobwebs – it’s in complete contrast to the otherwise pristine apartment and I suppose that’s because Miriam can’t reach it.
I’m just making a mental note to offer to clean it for her when Kit calls, “Did it work?” My heart sinks into my stomach; the room continues to be lit only by the light streaming in through the window and nothing else.
“No,” I call back, attempting to disguise the disappointment in my voice, “I’ll give it another go.”
Just as I’m reaching to open the laptop once more, Kit says, “Well, something’s workin’. There’s a red light that wasn’t here before.” Excitement returning, I hurry out into the hall to see for myself, my gaze instantly settling upon the small red light blinking back at me. I recognise its’ purpose immediately.
“Maybe the bulb’s out,” Kit suggests. I hadn’t even considered that.
We both meander back to the main room and stand in the doorway with our necks craned up, staring at the low hanging lampshade. After a minute of staring, as if we both expected it to simply burst to life, I climb up onto the sofa, balancing on the arm. Reaching up, my fingers are just brushing the dusty lampshade when my vision blurs. Suddenly light headed, I wobble precariously and almost fall, but Kit steps up behind me, steadying me with his hands on my hips.
“You okay?” he asks with concern. Swallowing, I blink until the haze clears before nodding.
“Yeah,” the word croaks from my mouth, so I swallow again before continuing, “just had a bit of a dizzy spell, that’s all.”
“Probably because you haven’t eaten anythin’ yet,” Kit is frowning slightly when I glance down at him, “you shoulda had breakfast. We’ll go get somethin’ after this.”
“Okay,” I agree without argument; I hadn’t been hungry this morning, but now I could feel my stomach rumbling.
I go to climb back onto the sofa, but he stops me with an extended arm. “I’ll do it.” Stepping back, I gesture for him to take my place. He only has one foot up when Miriam’s voice stops him.
“Just what do you think you’re doin’ climbin’ all over my furniture?”
“We’re going to take the bulb out and replace it with one that works now that the electricity is back on.” I explain, but it suddenly occurs to me that we have nothing to replace it with. I’m about to tell this to Kit and see if he has any suggestions as to where we could get new bulbs from when Miriam’s says, “Well, you won’t find a bulb in there, that things been empty since I moved in, I just keep it because it looks nice.” Crusted in dust and decorated with cobwebs, I begged to differ.
After that revelation we decide to forget about the lighting issue, until Kit can discuss with Sin about seeing if their supplier can get his hands on a few dozen packs of light bulbs, and focus instead on setting up the electronic door locks. Once we have done Miriam’s – it only takes a few minutes – she insists on getting us something to eat before we go off to ask her neighbours if they would also like our assistance in setting it up. Some say no, but the majority of people in the building embrace the new technology suddenly available to them and shower me with questions as I explain how to use it and how to add additional family members to its memory. When we’re finished, we begin the walk back to Base, only to realize that the laptop is still inside the building, lying on Miriam’s sofa.
“Damn,” Kit exclaims when I tell him, “I’ll go get it.” A second later he’s gone, rushing away down the street and disappearing back into the alley we had just exited. When I can no longer hear the slap of his shoes against the cobbles, I glance around. I‘m all alone except for a pair of watchful eyes staring at me from a crumbling doorway. Those eyes make me nervous and I glance around once more, hoping to see someone else, but the street is strangely empty. Usually the Ghetto, I have come to realize, is a hive of activity, with people hanging out their laundry, clustering around dustbin fires to cook, or attempting to sweep away the garbage that accumulates in their doorways, though all they succeed in doing is relocating it to somebody else’s. Normally there are children tearing around, with their mothers hollering after them, and groups of old men squatting at the side of the road playing ancient board games. But none of them are here today. It is eerily quiet. Like a ghost town. The man continues to stare at me, assessing. Shifting uneasily, I decide that Kit won’t mind if I move a little way.
Walking up the street, forcing my steps to remain measured and unhurried, I wonder how long it will take Kit to return; surely he was already on his way back by now? Along with this thought, it also occurs to me that mere weeks ago a opportunity like this, where I was alone and unguarded, would have seemed like a godsend, the perfect chance to make my escape. A fair distance away, I pause and glance back over my shoulder, pleased to find that though the man’s eyes continue to follow me, he has made no move to leave his shelter. Chances are he was just curious; I have learned that most people in the Ghetto tend to know each other, they are a close knit community, helping and looking out for each other for the most part, therefore, when a newcomer appears in their midst people tend to be both wary and interested.
For several more minutes I wait for Kit and the man soon loses interest. I’m considering going to see what is taking him so long when a strange rumbling roar reaches my ears. Turning towards the sound, my eyes widen at the sight of a large white van turning the corner and trundling up the street towards me, rocking over the uneven ground. Gaping, I scramble out of the way as it gets closer, pressing myself back against the building behind me, concealing myself in shadows. The driver looks absolutely terrified as he stares at the empty road, with his brows drawn, his whole hunched over the wheel, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles are white. I would laugh if I didn’t know that I would be exactly the same way if someone suddenly asked me to drive one of those things, after nobody had driven a car in many, many years.
The van passes me; the body is plain white with a simple red cross and the words AMBULANCE stencilled across the bottom in bold red capitals. It passes me and I watch the twin crosses on the back door as it moves further away. For a minute I just stand there watching and then I start to follow, though I don’t recall making the conscious decision to do so. The van is easy enough to keep up with if I jog; the driver doesn’t dare go very fast and whenever I lose it around a corner all I have to do is stop for a minute and listen for the noisy rumble of the engine. I realize where it’s heading before we get there; all the main roads lead to the Square in the centre of the Ghetto.
When we reach our destination, I’m surprised to find the Square alive with people. There are several more ambulances parked here and there, but what really shocks me are the men and women in white coats amid the crowds of Ghetto Folk that flock to them. Doctors. Slipping into one of the many darkened alleys which lead to the Square, like veins that lead to the heart, I watch as the doctors select patience from the masses and lead them to the back of the vehicles. I don’t know how long I crouch there, watching as they disinfect and bandage wounds that have gone septic, administer what I assume are vaccines and do general health checks, but I find myself watching one over all else. He has his back to me, but there is something familiar about him which I can’t quite pin-point. It is only when he turns around several minutes later, having finished wrapping a little girls arm in white gauze as she sits on her dads’ knee, snot and tears running down her dirty face, that I recognise the stooped, frail old man as Dr Wong. Instantly, I recoil, shrinking back into the shadows, terrified that I may have been spotted, though I know it is almost impossible. Why would he be looking for mine amid all the faces surrounding him? Charitable work is not something I ever imagined the old doctor doing, after all, he attends some of the city’s richest and most famous stars. However, thinking about it, I’ve always detected compassion in him, even when he made me feel like a human pin-cushion, a piece of meat to be poked and prodded, because even then he’d had my best interests at heart. For the second time in less than an hour, my feet start to move without my brains express permission.
Before I know what I’m doing I’m easing my way through the crowd – except for a few with serious injuries, like cuts and broken bones, the majority of people gathered have some variety of the common-cold or flu, made worse by malnutrition. Slipping past an elderly woman who coughs and splutters all over me, I get closer and closer. He scans the crowd around him, selects a woman holding a tiny baby wrapped in filthy cloths, with another young child clutching at her legs.
“Thank you, Doctor,” the woman sobs, stepping forward, “thank you, she’s so ill, I can’t even get her to feed anymore. She was born too early, she’s too small. Please, please, save my bab
y.” My own throat constricts at the utter desperation in her voice, as she thrusts the tiny bundle into Dr Wongs’ arms. Holding the baby in the crook of one arm, he uses his free hand to brush aside the blanket, revealing the child’s face, pale and lifeless. For one terrifying moment I think it’s too late, I think she’s already dead, but then her lips tremble and single small, mewling cry escapes. A plea for help.
“Hush, little one,” he croons softly, running a crooked finger gently over her cheek, “we’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
“Thank you, thank you,” the mother gushes, tears streaking down her face.
Smiling ever so slightly, a sad, tired smile, Dr Wong motions them towards the back of the ambulance, saying, “Please, come this way.” As they head towards the vehicle, he happens to glance my way and our eyes meet for a brief moment. Instinctively, I lift a hand in greeting. He nods back at me in polite acknowledgement; he doesn’t recognise me straight away, but then he does a double take. Stops dead. His mouth opens and closes like a landed fish gasping air, eyes wide with surprise.
“Sunny?”
After staring at me for long, drawn-out seconds, he hands the baby back to its’ mother, he murmurs, “Here, go on in. I’ll be right there.” Once he’s free of his chance, he hobbles quickly over to me, gripping my arm with thin, bony fingers. “Sunny,” he breathes my name like a prayer, “my girl, what are you doing here? There were rumours that you had been kidnapped by Ghetto revolutionaries, but I didn’t believe it. How are you? Do you need help?” Without awaiting an answer, he looks around, half lifting a hand as if to summon a guard, opening his mouth slightly to call out.
Grabbing his hand, I drag it back down, leaning forward to hiss, “No.” When he meets my gaze, I reiterate, “Don’t, I‘m here of my own free will.” Again, he does a fish impression, his eyes seeming to bulge in his face. Smiling slightly at his expression, I murmur, more to myself than anyone else, “I don’t really know why I came over to you, but when I saw you I just had to come and say hello. I guess I just wanted to see a familiar face, someone from my old life.”