Impetus (8 page)

Mick
followed his gaze. Across the street was another longer alley that ended at an old movie theater that looked vaguely familiar.

“
You live in the theater?”

“
N-no,” he said, hushed, almost in a whisper. “B-Behind. P-police S-s-station.” It was at that moment that Mick put his finger on it. Solomon was special, challenged further than most folks should ever have to be.

“
Have you lived there long?” Though Mick rarely came to these parts of town, he didn’t remember seeing anyone around there before. He knew that other parts of town were more populated. This area bordered the savages’ zone.

Solomon shook his head no, and then
he gently pushed past Mick and back down the alley toward the street.

“
Wait. Solomon.” Mick hurried up behind him. He figured if Solomon lived around here, then maybe he knew where to find some food. It was a long shot, but what did he have to lose?

Solomon kept walking. His shoulders were tight and rigid and his ste
ps were short and jerky, but he moved with a purposeful stride. When Mick caught up with him, he tapped his back to let him know he still wanted to talk. When he did, Solomon pushed out his chest and moved his back away from the tap, almost as if it was instinctive. Solomon then turned around toward Mick. His jaw locked and his face transformed from that of a timid man to that of one anguished by something that ran very deep into his soul.

“
I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I just wanted to get your attention.”

The look on Solomon
’s face softened a bit. He turned and walked straight from the alley into the street.

“
Solomon,” Mick said louder than he would have liked. “Do you know where I can find any food or water?” Keeping up with Solomon was proving more difficult than he would have guessed it would be.

S
olomon nodded and kept walking at his own quick pace.

A tiny pebble of happiness formed in
Mick’s belly, only to have common sense pulverize it back down to nothingness. Solomon seemed to do a lot of nodding. And who was to say that Mick could even trust him? After all, he had just met the guy not more than five minutes ago hiding in a Dumpster in a dark alley. Not exactly the best jumping-off point to a trustworthy relationship. Yet, for whatever reason, he felt as if he could trust him.

“
Can you tell me where it is, Solomon? Can you show me?”

Now halfway down the alley, Solomon continued forward
silently. No nod. No response.

“
Please, Solomon. There are children …”

Solo
mon stopped. With his back to Mick, Solomon stared straight down at the ground for a long minute. He then gave three nods in quick succession, almost angrily it seemed, and crossed the next street and over to the cinema. Before Mick had a chance to follow him or try to stop him, Solomon disappeared into the darkness beside the theater.

I
guess that’s that.

As he s
tared at the theater, it hit Mick where he knew it from. He had been there once, before he met Sue, back when his only worries were how to pay for gas and where the next party was. He vaguely remembered the experience.

Much to
Mick’s surprise, Solomon suddenly lurched back out from the dark path to the left of the theater and across the street. He seemed to throw all caution to the wind as he walked, almost as if he was unaware of what the world had become. He reached Mick in a matter of seconds and stopped in front of him.

Solomon
again stared down at the ground, averting his eyes. He then raised his right hand. In it he held what remained of a stuffed bunny rabbit, brown and what Mick assumed used to be white. Now it was closer to a filthy gray. The stuffed animal’s left leg was gone and a bit of whitish stuffing protruded from the hole. One of its black button eyes dangled precipitously from a thick black thread that looked to be nearing the end of its time.

“
Ch-children,” Solomon spit out.

At fourteen, the kids were long past needing
or wanting a stuffed animal. And while the gesture was most unexpected, it was surprisingly heartwarming. It was the first drop of civility, aside from his own group, that Mick had seen in quite some time. Maybe there was hope for the world yet.

Mick
reached up and gently grabbed the stuffed animal. “Thank you, Solomon.”

Solomon nodded, but h
e did not look at Mick. He then lifted his right hand again and pointed down the street. “Y-y-yellow house,” he said. “Eight eight. P-please d-d-don’t take m-much.” He then quickly turned and again vanished into the darkness beside the theater. This time Mick had a hunch that he was not coming back.

CHAPTER
9
 

Solomon climbed the rusty fire escape in the dark alley adjacent to the old cinema. The third floor was his secret. He had discovered it the day after King decided to expand his kingdom further by moving a good chunk of his men into the police station. Their old place, a beat-up row house, was closer to Boston Harbor, where King would have preferred to stay. But every kingdom eventually outgrew its borders. King’s faux kingdom was no different.

When they
’d first moved here, King’s men were so busy trying to appease him by searching the police station for anything useful that they did not mind Solomon’s comings and goings. He had used that time to find a way out of the hell he lived in. He always came back. Not that he wanted to. Not in the least. But he had to. In his mind, there was no choice. His journeys to the outside had helped him stay alive this long. And he needed to stay alive for her sake. Without him, she would die. And if she died, he did not know what he would do.

After e
ntering through the broken window of the third-floor fire escape, Solomon shuffled over the worn wooden floor and through a broken door frame at the back of the room. This room was small and dark. It was probably a closet at some point. But he did not need light to know where he was going. At the base of the wall was a hole. Exposed brick jutted out from beneath what little remained of the drywall.

Solomon we
nt headfirst so he could push himself into the adjacent crawl space. There he headed to his left, sideways so he could maneuver the cramped space, and along the thick wall separating the cinema and the old police station. A few feet farther and another hole appeared. This one broke into the police station, and it took more skill to enter. He stole a quick glance through the hole to ensure he was alone. Thankfully the room was just as empty as it had been when he’d left.

From a standing position, Solomon made his way down to the
narrow floor below him, lying on his side the best he could, his feet pointing toward the hole in the wall. He used one of the exposed studs in the wall to push his feet toward the hole and eventually through and into the police station’s third floor.

A
sense of relief washed over him once he was back inside. The third floor was off-limits to most. That was where King stored the food and supplies. Only King could enter this room. It was locked from the outside, or so King thought.

He next walked slowly through the room, keeping an eye
on the only door. If he was caught in there, he was not sure what would happen, aside from it being very bad for him. He slowly shifted to his left and through the maze of varying supplies, which seemed to grow each time he left. The supplies consisted of cans of varying foods, cases of bottled water, and cartons of cigarettes to name a few. He did not dare take anything from this room as much as he wanted to. As primal and savage as King’s group was, they still maintained a certain level of organization, much like a pack of wolves. They would surely know if anything suddenly went missing. And if they found out he was in this room, they would undoubtedly question him as to why, followed shortly thereafter by a beating. Of course, the beatings would come regardless. It’s just that their severity would undoubtedly increase.

Like most of the police station, this room held its own secrets. At his feet and to his left
, a grate rested loosely against the wall behind a broken crate. He carefully lifted the light crate an inch or so off the ground to avoid unneeded sound and pushed it to the side. He then shifted the grate and entered through another small hole where the air ducts used to be. Now it was just another hole that Solomon used to his advantage. And since only a handful of people were in the police station at that moment, he knew he could move more freely, while at the same staying alert for anything unexpected.

Most of the group
had gone with King on the salvage mission. He feared for those that held the supplies. It rarely ended in their best interests. The few that remained behind would jump at the chance to rat Solomon out. They would do anything to please their faux king, move up in the ranks of a hierarchy that existed in the mind of one man.

There was only one person in this
entire building that was on Solomon’s side, and he was headed to her now.

Down the desolate stairway he went. From floor three to the basement
, where few entered. This is where they kept what remained of her. Solomon could take the abuse that King and Clyde constantly dished out his way. He was still relatively young. His body still bounced back a bit. But she did not fare as well. Her frail body had become incapable of moving far, really at all. So King and his cronies did little to keep her there, aside from the bars they kept her behind. Solomon found a way to visit her every chance he could.

“
M-M-Ms. S-S-tella,” Solomon whispered as he approached her cage. He looked around to make sure they were alone.

If only she had not
met him that day in the alley. Ultimately that day led her to this point, caged and withering.

On the day King
came to gather Clyde from the orphanage, he’d decided on the spot to take all the children with him and his small band of misfits. After all, a kingdom needed future generations. Ms. Stella had vehemently opposed it. As the voices grew louder and the reasoning dwindled, Ms. Stella had ended up striking King across the face, her ring slashing the skin beneath his right eye. Since then, King made it a point to show Ms. Stella who was in charge.

S
adly, most of the children, their minds still malleable and easily influenced, had adapted to their new surroundings and become part of his kingdom, as King had wished. Some had not. Some had had courage beyond their years. They’d questioned the reasoning behind all of it. Why could they not stay where they’d built a life? Why must they leave Ms. Stella’s side? They had pleaded for King to release them and Ms. Stella, return them to the life they loved despite the carnage that surrounded them. Solomon was the only one of those brave little men that was still alive. Though, at times, he wished that was different.

Ms. Stella sat slumped in the corner of the large cell, her back against the bars. Her knees were pulled up to her emaciated frame
, and her head was slumped down on her knees. Her stringy white hair hung down and covered her face. This was how he usually found her. At times he was not sure if she would answer when he called. And at times he wished she would not. He wished she would escape her captivity in a way King could never prevent.

She raised her head slowly.
The muscles in her neck, easily noticed as they pushed from beneath her thin skin, strained to keep her head upright.

Solomon went to his knees beside the bars.
He reached in and brushed the hair away from her wrinkled face. While Solomon was kept under lock and key at night, this was his true prison: seeing Ms. Stella in this condition and forgotten by all but him.

“
Hello, my dear,” Ms. Stella said, raspy and weak but somehow still full of joy to see her Solomon.

Solomon reached into his jacket.
“I b-b-brought this for you,” he said, removing a can of beans from his jacket. He had found it inside the Dumpster in the alley, right before he’d met that man with the gun. He’d also found a recently dead rat. He had picked pieces of that off for himself, having not eaten in days. Dead and uncooked rat was not something he’d ever thought he would have to eat. But he needed to keep some semblance of strength if he was to help Ms. Stella. His stomach still churned with the rotting flesh inside, reminding him that not all decisions were the correct ones.

Solomon went to the far side of the hallway that lined Ms. Stella
’s jail cell. At the end was a pile of brick from a destroyed interior wall. Solomon placed the can of beans on its side. He picked up the largest whole brick he could find and, with an uncanny precision for such a crude tool, he burst the can at its top seam, losing only a small bit of the grayish-red mass inside.

He hurried back to Ms. Stella.
“P-p-please eat,” he said, holding the can of beans through the bars.

Ms. Stella smiled as sweetly as
her state of being would allow. “Thank you, my dear.” She took the can and quickly glanced at its contents before putting it beside her. “I’m afraid my stomach is not feeling well at the moment.”

He looked
at the can of beans by her side. He realized why she was not hungry. The beans had turned into a pungent goopy gray puddle inside the tin can. A far cry from what they used to be. What was left was most likely inedible and even made the raw rat meat inside his belly seem like a delicacy.

“
I’m s-s-sorry, M-Ms. Stella.” He shook his head, angry at himself for not providing something of sustenance for her.
Stupid. Stupid.

She smiled. With her
fragile left hand, Ms. Stella reached through the bars and caressed Solomon’s cheek. Her skin had a gray tone to it and had become so thin that her veins were displayed prominently wherever her skin was exposed from beneath her ragged clothes. She wasted away more as each day passed. And as she did, so did Solomon’s heart.

“
Don’t you ever be sorry, Solomon,” she said, lifting his chin ever so delicately so he had to look into her eyes. “You are a good man. Far better than those around you.” Solomon tried to look away at the ground like he did with others. But Ms. Stella would not have any of it. She nudged his chin up again. “I mean it, Solomon. You have never been able to accept how great of a person you are, even when you were a child.”

As much love as he had for Ms. Stella, his mind had already begun to wander. He needed to get her food. Without it she would die soon. He did not want to imagine this horrid world without her in it. She was his hope.
And he was hers. He knew what needed to be done. He would have to act fast, as he was not sure how much longer King would be gone.