Huddled on the edge of the sidewalk near the corner ahead was a homeless man. He wore an old, threadbare tweed jacket, holey and filthy. All of his worldly possessions were in a small tattered backpack beside him. Everyone—families with children, well-dressed couples, groups of young adults in the midst of an alcohol-fueled night—walked past without so much as a glance in his direction, as if he was no more than a piece of garbage on the ground.
I couldn’t see his face; his head was stooped toward the ground. I reached into my little bag and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, bent down, and held it out for him. His head moved slowly up, his graying hair unkempt. His face was smeared by dirt and his forehead was lined like train tracks. A deep-seated agony haunted his eyes. On seeing the money, light and joy swelled in them.
“Oh, love! Thank you, thank you.”
His sheer gratitude brought a lump to my throat. He took my hand and held it in his. His hands were filthy, large, and strong. It wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t want to be rude and pull away. The smile fell from his lips. His mouth dropped open, giving an unpleasant glimpse of a tongue that looked like a bloated hot dog. His eyes hardened, and darkness cloaked the irises like a cloud.
He uttered, “Beware of the man with the red eyes—he’ll come for you, he’ll come for you.”
My flesh seemed to come alive and crawl over my body. I yanked my hand away and jerked upright.
He began to rock back and forth, manically, uttering gibberish interspersed with “So much blood, so much blood, so much blood, so much blood.”
I pivoted and hurried away.
“He’ll come for you,” he sang out.
I half twisted back to look at him, and he was standing up stiffly, his fists clenched by his sides.
“Beware, love, he’ll come for you!”
I crossed my arms around my waist, hunched into myself and walked faster.
Turning right onto Main Street, I breathed a sigh of relief at being out of his sight.
The pavement was dimly lit, each streetlight choked by thick fog. The further I walked down the street, the closer I got to the corner, the darker it became. People emerged out of the night as if they were little puppets yanked forward just as I came into their line of sight. The whole world seemed surreal, as if the area rippled with hidden danger. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickled.
Several times I found myself glancing across the road, looking for eyes I was certain were watching me. The night grew colder, and the further I walked, the colder it seemed to get.
I paused at the edge of Main Street and Tressle Lane. A red-brick, double-story warehouse hugged its corner. It was devoid of life, its windows boarded over with pale plywood. Graffiti covered the facade. The moody glow of the streetlights fell against the artwork, trailing down as if a flashlight beam had been deliberately placed to highlight the wall.
I turned the corner and made my way down Tressle Lane. It was a narrow concrete alley, built for pedestrian traffic only. At the end of the lane, a line of people stood outside a door in a profusion of slender, bare, feminine limbs and just a couple of taller male figures. The door opened, the line began to move, but no thump of music resonated. Strange for a club.
Turn back now.
I pulled at the front of my top, lowering it a little—not that I had much cleavage to show. I held my head high and popped abit of the swagger Grace and Jodie were so good at into my hips, and prayed they’d let me in.
Two burly bouncers stood on either side of the single red door. One fair haired, one dark, both built like gigantic tree trunks. Huge muscles housed tattoos on bulging arms. They’d be strong, impossible to tackle, but probably slow. Their eyes held the friendliness of stone as they scanned two girls, wearing black miniskirts with legs for miles.
“Invite?” the darker-haired bouncer said in a deep voice that matched his burly frame.
“I forgot it,” one of the girls said.
The bouncer raised a brow. “Leave now, girls.”
“Oh, come on.” The girl smiled, twirling her hair with her finger. “My friend said to meet her inside.”
The light in the bouncer’s eyes dimmed as if he’d heard that one a thousand times before. “Oh yeah? What’s her name?”
The girl paused just a split second, but it was enough to safely assume her friend was a figment of her imagination.
“Katniss,” she spluttered.
I stifled a laugh.
“Everdeen, right?” the blond bouncer said with mild amusement.
“You ladies should head elsewhere,” the stone-faced bouncer ordered.
