My senses were keen heading into the Cypress Hills area. This was a dangerous enough place during the day, but at night this area was always so much worse. I crossed at the lights on Logan Street and Jamaican Avenue and followed the iron spiked fence. When I reached a less crowded area I climbed over.
Fog washed over the landscape, snaking in and around the headstones that dotted the graveyard. The giant half-naked trees scattered across the vast area held more secrets than even I did. Their fallen leaves rustled softly in the light breeze, it made it harder to hear if anyone else lurked in the shadows. I shivered, it was too cold to be out without a jacket on.
The night sky gave a periodic wash of light as the clouds parted from the moon. I slunk toward the old gray building, tall grass and creeping vines had long since invaded the structure. The windows, which at one time were boarded up, gave easy access as many of the planks had rotted away. The place had seen its last prayers decades ago.
You would think every bum in the area would try to make this their home, but they avoided the spot. Farfetched tales of ghosts haunting the area, as well as some hairy beast-man, were shared amongst the homeless. Not being overly superstitious, the stories didn't dissuade me from setting up here. Bruno and his boss changed my mind though on the possibilities of such things creeping around at night.
Scaling the small hand and footholds in the wall made the climb to the cranny easier. A soft purring greeted me from the darkness above. Thank goodness enough light cast in through the gaping hole in the roof for me to barely see by. A set of paws batted playfully at my hands as I gripped the lip and heaved myself up into my hiding place.
Rummaging around in the near-dark for my flashlight, the cat attempted to trip me several times as she weaved around my feet. My search paused, caving in to her demands for attention. She purred as if she were a freight train for several moments while getting her ears scratched. Then, in typical cat fashion, she attacked my offending fingers.
Yanking my hand back from the claws, I cracked it against one of the milk crates. Something fell to the floor with a heavy thud at my feet. I knelt down, my fingers traced over the long cylinder of a flashlight.
"Thanks, Grubby." I flicked the button on and saw she peered up at me as she proudly displayed the remains of a bird. "Well at least you ate good."
I pulled out two empty backpacks and stuffed them to the bursting point with my belongings. Pitching one through the hole to the level below, the bag landed with a muffled thud on the leaf-littered floor. I figured poor old Grubby would be ok on her own, but my guilt about leaving her behind overwhelmed me. Emptying the remaining duffle, I placed a thin blanket at the bottom, leaving room to put the cat in. Grubby growled her unhappiness about the whole ordeal while she tore into my arms in an attempt at freedom. She howled out her objections while we scaled down.
Fleeing the area didn't present a problem and I made my way to a more populated spot. I set my bags down by a payphone and dug a quarter out of my pocket to call Bruno. I needed to make sure he wouldn't kill me the next time we happened to cross paths. The phone rang at least seven times before he answered.
"Yeah."
"You mad at me?"
"Where the fuck are you?" he yelled.
"I'm sorry this Vampire ghoul stuffs not going to work for me, I don't want you getting hurt but I can't do this." An older couple walked by me in a sudden frantic rush, shooting me odd looks. When our gazes met their eyes went wide and they hurried off.
"Mouse if you don't get your ass back here he will make us hunt you down. Please before he finds out your gone," Bruno's voice had the air of being both sincere and desperate.
"I can't, I'm sorry," I said and hung up.
The rain began as I made my way down Linden Boulevard. A few wet flakes of snow mixed in with the light showers. My attire didn't protect me from this weather. Then again neither did half of what the homeless people wore in this city. My thoughts drifted to poor Ruth, I hoped she'd made it to a shelter for the night. Winter was on its way and like thousands of other homeless folks, I would soon have to find someplace warmer.
Thoughts about leaving New York played in my mind; heading to Miami I figured would be the best way to go. At least when there was rained in Florida snow didn't mix in with it. The idea of not seeing Bruno, Jax, or the girls ever again made me miserable. I shoved those ideas of leaving out of my head, hoping I could figure a way to fix this problem.
Ducking into a bus shelter I set my bags down. I fished into one of my pockets for the last of my change before the bus got here. I sat down, tired and cold wishing for a winter jacket to wear or even a couple of more sweaters to pull over me. The bag Grubby was stuffed in squirmed against my leg and I opened it. The cat poked her head out a bit and purred; thankfully she didn't seem to mind being inside. The steady rain I assumed had something to do with this change in her attitude. I scratched behind her ear with a little more caution then back at the church. I laughed out loud because at least the cat would be warm.
The last few days' events wore heavily on me. I ensured the bag was zipped up enough so the cat could breathe, I didn't want her to be struck by a car. Leaning back against the Plexiglas enclosure, happy to be out of the rain, I tried to stay warm.
Waiting impatiently for the bus, my eyes grew heavy and my head nodded. I shook my head and blinked fast trying to stay awake. If I dozed off, my guard would be completely down, even though the chances were slim that Bruno or his men would be in this area. New York is an easy place to vanish in but the chances of our crossing paths might be greater than I cared for.
I shuffled around, stood, paced, and as strange as it was, did a few jumping jacks, and started talking out loud to myself.
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands. One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all," I repeated while pacing from one end of the shelter to the other. This ensured me having the bus shelter to myself as a young man saw me, he scrutinized my antics for all of thirty seconds before he turned and went the other way.
Too tired to stand, pace or do any more reciting, I sat down. My patience wore thin, the bus should have shown by now. As I sat there the past events replayed in my mind, why was it trouble always found me. My eyelids closed for what seemed like only a moment.
Something grabbed my arm. My eyes flew open. Detective Roberts stood over me. I twisted out of his grasp and tried to run. The ground flew out from under me and I landed hard on my butt beside the two backpacks. Roberts still held the back of my sweater which he used to haul me back to my feet. I twisted in an attempt to gain my liberty; he spun me around to look at him. His gun pointed at my face. I froze.
"You're coming with me," he said. With his free hand, he took possession of my two bags before shoving me to the side of the Charger. "Open the door."
"Are you insane?" I yelled at him. Thinking he very well might be, I opened the driver's side door. He tossed the bags into the back seat and Grubby hissed at the abuse she received inside the backpack.
"Get in."
He got in forcing me to slide over into the passenger side at gunpoint; tossing his handcuffs onto my lap.
"Cuff yourself to me." he stared at me with steely blue eyes. A bit of crazy peeking through.
"I'm not into that kinda kink," I said holding the cuffs in one hand.
"Now Girl. You don't have time to fuck around, Do It." he snapped.
Something in his voice made me do as he ordered. Fear stole over me, he didn't read me my rights or tell me I was under arrest. Was he finally pushed over the deep end and decided to take it out on me.
The car roared to life and we peeled out of the area. Once we hit the flow of traffic he became fixated on watching his mirrors, making erratic turns and even doubling back twice. I had a hunch he figured we were being followed. Craning my head from one side to the other, trying to catch what he was looking for in his mirrors.
"Um, you plan on telling me what's going on?"
"I'll tell you when I have you someplace safe," he told me and drove into suburbia. That word safe, again it assured security, yet held empty promises.
We eventually pulled into a cute two-story white house with a smoky blue trim and a black roof. The front yard was clear of clutter, toys, furniture or flowers. There were however two spiral cedars standing on either side of the front door. That being the only decorations to the property on the outside.
It had an attached garage and as we pulled into the paved driveway, Roberts opened it with a remote that was attached to his car keys.
"You took me to your house?" I exclaimed as he pulled into the orderly, clean, and tidy looking garage.
"Come on," he said and dragged me out the driver's side still handcuffed to him.
"Wait. Grubby is in the bag," I said and tried to reach for the backpack in the back seat.
The hard metal of his gun pressed against the back of my head, my body froze. He acted even more paranoid than normal.
"Very slowly take your bags out of the car," he said and I did.
"Roberts please I need to let her out or she'll suffocate."
At a snail's pace, I turned around holding two backpacks. One of which moved of its own volition, crying as if she was dying a painful death.
"When we are in the house," he told me and forced me into the kitchen.
He snapped the lights, ushering me in with the greatest urgency. We stepped inside and a pristine kitchen greeted us. The light wood of the cupboards shined from the recessed lighting overhead. The trim around the doorways and the two fair-sized windows were a tad darker shade. The sand-colored floor appeared to be granite as was the countertop. An oversized wooden table with six chairs sat off to one side and all of the white appliances looked brand new.
The place was decorated with a sunflower border and a butterfly theme. A half-moon shaped rug sat on the floor in front of the sink and a larger rug sat under the table. This didn't fit with Roberts's personality at all.
"Put the bag down and hold still," he ordered. When I did he undid his half of the cuffs.
I figured he would be undoing mine next, instead, he pulled my other hand behind me and cuffed my other hand.
"Roberts, what do you want?"
"Sit down Mouse."
Too tired and scared to fight, my will sapped, I plunked my arse down. He picked up the squirming bag and undid the zipper. A not too happy Grubby flew out hissing and spitting her rage at both me and Roberts and fled from his kitchen into the darkened hall.
"Ok, you going to tell me what's going on?"
Still holding his gun he stood over me and eyed me carefully.
"I'm going to pull your sweater up," he told me and my eyes went wide, my hands twisting behind me. Folding one hand into a cone shape before slipping the cuffs off, then I did the same with the other. The metal slipped off, my fingers caught the edge of the cuffs before they fell to the floor.
"Keep your mitts off me."
"I'm not going to touch you. I need to see for myself," he said as his hand lifted the sweater up to below my bra.
"That's not possible?" he gradually lowered my shirt back down, his eyes a bit like saucers.
"Listen, man, I don't know what the hell is going but this ain't like you."
"They're looking for you," he said.
My tummy twisted, "Who?"
"The FBI."
"I didn't do anything."
"Mouse they got you dead to rights."
"Dead to rights my ass, I didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes you did, when you left the hospital. They put a warrant out for aiding and abetting in the Speranza murder."
"You said we were solid, you promised not to rat me out to the feds. What the fuck."
He narrowed his eyes. Stop being an ass to the guy with the gun dummy, I thought.
"Mouse, I kept my promise. I'm not the one who contacted the FBI."
"How the hell did they find out about me then?"
"Someone sent a digital transcript of the case, I don't know who yet. They brought me in and questioned me for hours about your extensive injuries and viewed the tape. They removed me from the case, they cited the RICO act."
"Yeah, cause I know what that means." My words were a bit testy. My patience grew thinner by each passing second.
"Racketeer influenced and corrupt organizations act. The crime falls under federal jurisdiction."
I stared at him as if he had a cabbage for a head.
"It would be the FBI's line of expertise. Anyways, I got curious and asked an old partner to pull your files. But it was gone…everything was gone. Your hospital records, police files, the video…all of it," he explained, my nerves began to unravel with his statement.
"What's going on?"
"I don't know, I really don't I swear," I told him and eyed the gun.
He cast a glance between me and his weapon, then holstered his firearm.
"Who are you...be honest now?" he asked.
"I'm not lying to you about not knowing who I am...honestly."
I handed Roberts his handcuffs and he stared at them than me.
"For fuck sake Mouse. I hate it when you do that," he stated bluntly.
He stormed to the fridge, snatching two cans of cola as if they were repeat offenders to some unknown crime. He shook his head at the soda, let out a heavy sigh, and slid one over to me.
"How is it possible your wounds are gone? I was in that ambulance I saw the blood, you died twice on the way into the Hospital for Christ's sake," he said. He appeared to struggle to wrap his mind around the whole situation.
"I can show you, but you got to promise not to shoot me okay?"
"What are you going to do?"
Moving at a snail's pace, I got up and took a few steps to the kitchen sink area.
When I reached out and slid a knife from the block he was on his feet drawing his gun. I raised my hands up but still held the knife.
"Drop it."
"No… just watch ok." On purpose and with growing unease, I lowered both my hands. I sliced my hand with the blade and let the blood well up in the palm. It stung like all hell but I needed to show him or he would never believe me.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my wound as I had done in the hospital, but there was no warm electric pulse this time. I opened my eyes and stared at the gash, which still bled. I stared at my hand in confusion, thinking maybe my ability didn't work when I was so tired. My blood dripped onto the floor and my heart sank. What the hell, way to go idiot. I thought.
"Jesus Christ," Roberts grabbed a tea towel from a drawer and wrapped my hand. After a few moments, he lifted the towel and took a peek.
"You're going to need stitches. Exactly what kind of stunt were you trying to pull?"
"I was trying to show you I can heal."
He raised an eye as he stared at me in bewilderment. This didn't turn out the way I intended.
"I need to take you to get that looked at."
"Yeah, that's a bad idea."
He looked at me then my hand, "I got a first aid kit in the bathroom."
"Dr. Roberts in the house," I joked. He didn't laugh.
"Sit down I'll go grab it. Don't even think about leaving."
He sat me back at the table and disappeared from the kitchen. The clanging of Roberts rummaging around echoed down the hall. With my hand cradled on my lap, I tried to ignore the pain. A small pulse started in my palm. The tingling grew a bit more as I concentrated on my palm. The light electric waves began to grow. Then the feeling abruptly stopped.
"Here this should do the trick," Roberts said. Lost in concentrating on my wound, he managed to sneak up on me.
He carried a small white box with a red cross on the top. After setting the first-aid kit on the table he opened the lid, pulling out gauze, tape and a pressure bandage. He grabbed another chair and slid it directly in front of me and sat down.
"Let's get that taken care of," he reached out and gently seized my hand, peeling back the towel. His eyes went wide, his grip tightened a little.
"How?" he whispered as he stared at me.
"I don't know," I peered down at my half-healed palm, then back to him. I closed my eyes and tried to heal again. Nothing happened.
For hours we talked. Several more times I tried to heal and failed. My attempts to explain things only resulted in more questions. He proved to be no help in trying to figure out what was going on either.
After we ate he offered me a place to crash for a while. I almost agreed but decided on fending for myself, that way he wouldn't be held accountable. He did convince me to at least take a few hours to rest and I seized the opportunity to snooze on his sofa. Roberts took Grubby in for me. He gave me some money and his direct line as well as his cell number and I headed out into the early morning.
Things were starting to become weirder. I figured it was only a matter of time before the Feds, Bruno, the mystery men, or one of The Jokers got their hands on me. One way or another I needed to bail out from the city.