alley, and hesitated so she could double-check to make sure the police weren’t rolling up on her, she was acutely aware that there was no one waiting at her apartment for her. Nobody to call and connect to. Not a soul who she could unburden herself to.
She had a story to tell about the night, about the man in leather, about how she was feeling, but there was no real audience for it. Even if she put it on her blog under the guise—or maybe it was more like “clickbait”—of him being otherworldly, she was just shouting into a crowd that was mostly focused on themselves. And Bill was her only friend, but they weren’t close/close, and besides, he was dealing with Lydia and the pregnancy they’d lost.
Jo’s life was nothing but an echo chamber, hollow and dark.
And that reality was the companion that followed her home like a stalker.
It was all so deliciously familiar.
As Mr. F crossed over the packed earth under the massive highway bridge by the river, he took the first easy breath since he had come to on the concrete floor of that building behind the outlet mall, clothed in shit that wasn’t his own, his body stiff and sore, especially inside his ass. He’d been confused and in bad shape, but he’d had too many other things to worry about over his health and well-being.
First and foremost being a compulsion to go out to that house in the ’burbs.
After which, he’d come to, standing in front of the thing.
None of that had made any sense, but this sure as shit did.
“Rickie,” he murmured. “What up.”
The man in rags sitting on the cardboard pallet waved a gnarled hand at him. “Where you been?”
“Nowhere.”
When that was as far as it went, Mr. F was reminded of how much he liked the social rules here in Junkieland, as they called it. Nobody asked for more than you were willing to give. Part of it was respect. More of it was that everyone under the bridge was in an abusive relationship with their addiction, and wrestling with that monkey on your back took your interest in other people’s shit way down your list of things to do.
His eyes went over to where he had always crashed. The junkie who had taken over his sleeping bag and was currently lost to a nod was a guy he recognized. The man was also wearing Mr. F’s parka, the rust-colored one with the broken zipper in front, and unless you really knew the difference between their faces, it would have been easy to mistake one of them for the other. Then again, they were brothers, though they came from different backgrounds. Interchangeable they were, their lack of proper nutrition, sleep, and healthcare stamping their features and body types with the mark of kinship. And if that guy died? Of untreated hep C or an overdose? There would be a replacement on that pallet of filthy nylon and fake feathers.
Forcing his brain to turn over, Mr. F tried to replay what had happened to him the previous night, how things had gone so wrong. He had a hazy memory of being approached by someone he didn’t know. They’d seemed to be looking for him specifically, and he’d wondered if it wasn’t his family finally catching up to him.
And then he’d woken up on that concrete floor in a daze, hours lost to God only knows what.
Walking across to his space, he had to duck down as the wedge of ground rose up to meet the underside of the highway.
The junkie in Mr. F’s spot stirred and blinked a lot. “That you, Greg? I was just looking after your shit, you know.”
“I’m going to need it back sometime. But you can stay put now.”
“Okay. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Yeah.” Mr. F looked around. “So you see Chops tonight?”
“He was here a hour ago. You looking to buy? I got some I can sell you. It’s good shit.”
Mr. F put his hand into the pocket of the coat he did not own. “I got fifty.”
“I can only give you half of what I got ’cuz I’ma need some soon.”
“It’s cool.”
As the man sat up, a whiff of body odor rose up to join the smell of urine and feces and earth. Dirty fingers rummaged through the pocket of Mr. F’s own coat, and then a single Baggie the size of a sugar packet was produced.
Mr. F leaned down, aware of a curling anticipation in his gut