The Bodies We Wear (24 page)

I remember this alley.

I turn the corner and head toward the medics. They’re not rushing. They’ve got their equipment, but bringing it out was a wasted effort. The only necessary item is the stretcher but they’re not using it yet. They must be waiting for the green light because they’re standing around talking to each other. One of them lights a cigarette and spits in the gutter. The other wrinkles his nose and comments on the stench of urine.

“Gonna smell like crap all night now,” he says.

The alley stretches out before me. I first met Beth here. She was hunched in the corner with Joshua between the metal Dumpsters and the wall. I almost missed them because they were so well hidden. I remember how they were huddled together, secretive gutter rats, trying to survive the pain of living. Searching for heaven.

“Hey!” One of the medics notices me. I ignore him and push my way past and in between the Dumpsters.

The child in front of me is curled up in a small ball. In her hands is the small empty vial that once held strawberry-flavored poison.

She’s so pale.

Beth lies with her back against the brick wall. She’s only wearing a thin shirt but she’s not feeling the bitter cold.

Her lips are blue. Just like her eyes that stare out into nothing but darkness.

“Hey! You can’t be here.” One of the ambulance attendants tries to grab my arm but I shake him off.

“I know her,” I say. “She’s a friend.”

Kneeling down on the cold cement, I’m thankful that it’s not raining, because that would be too much déjà vu for me to handle. It was pouring the first night and Beth’s eyelashes were wet and shiny.

She was lifeless too back then.

This time is different.

She’s been here awhile. The rats have nibbled at her fingertips and her hair has leaves and bits of garbage stuck in the fine blond silk. Her eyes are dull and filmed over.

A day, maybe? Two?

I’ve walked down this alley twice since I’ve been looking for her. Why the hell didn’t I think to look behind the Dumpsters? It would have been the most obvious place to look. It should have been my first choice. So why not? Maybe because I was I afraid that I would find this?

Clutched in her small white hand is the empty bottle of Heam. I wonder where she got the money to buy it. It’s possible she stole from someone at the center. I wonder if Ramona would have told me. Or did she sell something of value? Maybe Joshua gave her some money the last time he came to visit. Of course the “how” doesn’t really matter anymore. She’s still dead. Poor Beth. She tried so hard but the addiction managed to eat away her last ounce of willpower. The war was too strong inside her and the bad guys won. I wish I could have taken her pain away and put it inside of me. I think I could have been strong enough for the both of us.

“You don’t want to do this, Faye.”

I remember almost doing the exact same thing six years ago. In fact, I tried doing it three times over the years. But Gazer always came after me. Always. This time he found me in the basement of the church, the bottle of silvery evil clutched in my hand. I’d managed to get it from one of the gutter rats who dealt over by the schoolyard.

“You don’t know what it feels like,” I said. “I wish I were dead.”

Gazer knelt down beside me, gently reaching over and taking the bottle from my hand. I wanted to kick out and scream, bite him, whatever it took, but in the end, I simply handed it over. That’s the problem with Heam. It takes all the fight out of you and replaces everything with emptiness. Pain. Addiction.

“I love you, Faye, and I don’t want you dead,” Gazer said after a while. “I’m here for you always. We will get through this together. You’re never alone.”

“I can’t make it turn off,” I said. “I can’t make it go away.”

“It will always be a part of you,” Gazer said. “So let’s find a way to use that addiction to your advantage. Let’s reclaim your own body for yourself. Let’s give you power.”

“Can we do that?”

“We can try.”

“Miss?” The police officer has come over. “Do you know her? What’s her name so I can call her parents?

His voice is kind and soft and I think he’s probably a lot like Gazer was when he was a cop. I turn and there’s no anger or boredom in his eyes.

“Beth,” I say. The tears are falling freely now and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my jacket. “Her name is Beth Vincent. I don’t have her phone number but I can tell you where she lived.”

The officer nods and pulls out his notepad. I give him the information. I wonder how Beth’s parents will take the news. Will they be relieved? How about my own mother? Would this have been better? Maybe I should have died all those years ago. How different everyone’s lives might have ended up.

When I see Ming Bao watching me from the end of the alley, I know what I have to do next. Rufus and Ming probably didn’t give Beth the drugs personally but Rufus is to blame. He’s the middleman in this neighborhood and all the Heam dealers go through him. As far as I’m concerned, every time a child dies on these streets, they are somehow involved.

Chael thinks my life would be better if I gave up on my revenge. But this isn’t about me anymore. Anger, bright hot and red, spreads throughout my body. I allow it. I close my eyes and let the hatred in. It builds, removing any traces of doubt I’ve been feeling these past few weeks.

I nod curtly to Ming and turn away. I start walking down toward the docks. I have no doubt that he’s going to follow me. Someone like Ming won’t be able to resist such an easy target.

This revenge won’t just be for Christian and me. This will be for Beth. For Jessica. For Joshua and all the others who have suffered. For my mother. My little sister that I never knew existed until tonight.

You see, Heam doesn’t just affect those addicted. No, it goes further than that. Just like the scars on my chest, it spreads out, its weblike branches touching everyone and everything in its path.

I’m going to make him pay.

The water is dark and endless. I stand on the wooden dock, looking out into the bay. I’m feeling very peaceful. The wind blows against my face. I can smell the saltwater and decay of the ocean in front of me. A seagull calls out somewhere above me and another one answers it.

I breathe deeply.

And again.

Then I turn to face him.

Ming stands about twenty feet away. He’s smiling. He blocks the path that heads into the maze of containers. There’s nowhere for me to go.

That’s okay. I don’t plan on running.

A switchblade appears from the beneath the folds of his jacket. Ming steps forward, inviting me into the fight. I smile back at him. I can feel the weight of my own knife in its sheaf. It waits, tucked away in the small of my back. I won’t use it yet.

Ming may have the extra weight over me. He may be a professional boxer and he always fights dirty. But none of that matters. I have the strength. I have the souls of Beth and the hundreds of gutter rats he’s already destroyed. I have the power of the afterlife on my side. I’ve seen hell. I’ve seen everything there is to fear. Now there’s nothing left for me to be afraid of.

Men like Ming deserve to die.

He lunges forward without warning, raising his fist to try to punch my head, but I’m quick enough to duck to the side, barely dodging both the blow and the slash of the knife. I spin around, raising my foot, kicking him in the back of his knee. He staggers but doesn’t go down.

He comes at me again and I’m too slow. The first punch slams into my cheek, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. The second punch knocks me back several steps and I stumble, refusing to go down. I dodge the next few blows, bad move on my part. I should have been watching my feet. My shoulders smack against the metal container. There’s nowhere else to go.

Ming throws his body against me, pinning me to the wall, using his weight as a weapon. Several punches slam into my already-wounded rib cage, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.

I see the glint of steel coming in from the right and I barely manage to squirm out of the way before the knife pierces my skin. It tears the fabric of my jacket as I shove Ming as hard as I can. He steps backward and it’s my turn.

Uppercut to the jaw. Ming’s head snaps backward but he’s agile enough to block the next three punches. I crouch down and kick at his kneecap but my foot hits only air. Ming comes in again but I’m beginning to notice a pattern. Either he’s so arrogant that he thinks I’ll never beat him or he’s just a crappy fighter. I’m beginning to understand why he fights dirty.

Ming always uses his left hook first.

Time to get rid of that knife.

I dodge the blow and throw myself at him. We both go flying backward onto the ground. Luckily for me, Ming takes most of the fall. I land right on top of him. I go straight for his hand, grabbing at the blade and slamming his knuckles hard against the pavement. He grunts but doesn’t let go of the weapon. He bucks his body upward, sending me straight into the air and onto my knees. It takes a second for me to get my balance.

“Was that gutter rat your friend?” Ming says. He’s smiling as he climbs to his feet. He’s barely winded at all while I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon.

I don’t say a word. My mouth is full of blood. I turn and spit, clearing my throat, trying to remove the metallic taste from my teeth.

“Who do you think sold her the drugs?”

He’s trying to get under my skin but I won’t let him. First rule of fighting. Never lose your cool.

“Shut up,” I finally say. “Neither of us is here to talk.”

His smile grows even wider. He raises his switchblade and lunges at me. I duck to the side, managing to land a kick to his hip. Grunting in pain, he brings his hand around and the knife slices through my jacket. My skin burns as the blade slices through the fabric and hits flesh. Another punch sends me back and I fall hard, landing on my now-bleeding arm.

Ming doesn’t let up. He’s on me again and the blade is going straight for my throat. I manage to block him and there’s a tense moment where the blade almost sinks in. But I twist my body around and punch him in the head in order to get away. I scramble to my feet, trying to pretend that I haven’t slowed down.

I’m swaying. Dizzy. The last blow to my head has stunned me a bit.

Ming knows. He moves in and I do the only thing I can.

I run.

He’s fast but I’m faster. I race through the containers, wincing when I turn a corner too sharply and my shoulder bangs against the metal wall. Right. Right. Left. I can hear Ming a few containers behind. Our footsteps pound the pavement and the noise becomes confusing.

Ming’s lost me. I can hear him several rows down, swearing loudly. His fists slam into a metal wall in frustration.

I move to the end but don’t round the corner. I’ll wait for him to come to me. I pull the knife out and hold it tightly in my hand.

I can fight dirty too.

It’s not long before I hear his footsteps grow louder. He’s coming straight for me and he’s running. He won’t have time to stop himself.

Readying myself, I wait until the last possible second. I spring out from behind the container and throw myself against his body, slamming the knife into his chest.

Chael’s chest.

I try to stop but the momentum’s taken over. The knife hits home, burying itself into Chael’s body. I let out a short shout of surprise and Chael’s hand shoots out, covering my face.

“Be quiet,” he says.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper. I’ve let go of the knife and the handle is sticking straight out of his chest.

Chael looks down and then back at me. He grabs it and yanks it out with a quick motion. I swear, my stomach lurches at the squishy sound that follows.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. I quickly press my fingers against his wound, trying to keep the blood from pouring out.

“I’m fine,” he says. “You know this can’t hurt me.” His hands encircle mine, pulling me closer to him.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I heard your pain.” He looks me over to make sure everything is fine. When he sees my face, he reaches up and gently touches my lip. “I followed it to the ambulance. I saw Beth. Then I felt your physical pain and it led me here.”

“You can’t have him,” I say. “Ming’s mine. He killed Beth.”

Chael doesn’t get a chance to respond. We both hear the noise behind us at the same time. Ming is running toward us, knife raised, and he’s probably going to try to kill the first thing he stabs. Chael pushes me out of the way and I turn as Ming slashes down at me. I grab his hand at the last second and manage to use his own momentum to slam him into the container. His fingers smash against the metal and he releases the switchblade. I bend down and grab it.

Chael gives me a sad look but doesn’t do anything. He backs away and lets me finish the job.

Ming gets the first punches in, rapidly, one right after the other. My face begins to burn. I manage to land a blow squarely on his nose. I feel the cartilage break beneath my knuckles. He throws himself against me, fingers clawing at my hand as he tries to reclaim his weapon. I bring my knee up and shove him off me. He hits the ground, does a quick roll, and comes back for more.

He dives at me. I raise the knife up at the last second and it sinks into his chest as if he’s made of jelly and not flesh. When I feel the metal scrape bone, I let go in disgust.

Ming grunts once and collapses on top of me. His mouth opens and blood splashes against my face.

It’s over.

Chael is there instantly, pulling Ming’s body off of me. I scramble backward on my legs and hands until my body hits the container. Sitting there in shock, I watch as the last of Ming’s life disappears on the concrete ground.

It doesn’t take long.

Then the tears come. They pour from my eyes and I don’t do anything to try to stop them. Chael comes over and helps me to my feet. He wraps his warm arms around me and holds me for the longest time.

I cry for Beth. I cry for the thousands of nameless gutter rats I’ve seen over the years. I cry for Gazer and his dead wife and child and the revenge that didn’t solve his problems. I cry for my mother and the sister I never knew I had until tonight. I cry for Arnold Bozek and his sister, Jessica. And I cry for Chael, who should be holding me with his own body and not one that makes him feel like he’s on borrowed time.