My head swings over my shoulder as I search the empty parking lot. Empty with the exception of a few cars from the crew.
I’m waiting, listening closely. The soft sound of tires beating against the pavement echoes in the distance, trailing off back into the kind of silence that only the night offers.
That kind of eerie stillness that makes nothing feel like something.
My jaw tenses as a few more seconds tick by before I inhale deeply, finally shrugging it off, and turn back.
But it’s as if someone was waiting for me to stop looking because it happens again. This time, the clinking rattles louder. It’s coming from the alley next to the building.
My feet are already moving because we don’t have cameras installed yet, so that means we’ve had our fair share of people experiencing homelessness.
“Hey,” I call out. “Who’s back here?”
As I round the corner of the building, all I see are the dumpsters tucked back in the shadows. My head shifts, and I narrow my eyes, trying to make out if somebody’s back there.
There’s something about almost being killed that’s made me fearless and simultaneously the biggest fan of my gut instincts.
And right now, that gut says someone’s back here.
I take a tentative step further away from the lights of the parking lot and into the dark before I let my voice carry again.
“Hey, you can’t be back here. It’s dangerous when the trucks come, and there’s locks on those dumpsters.”
My shoes crunch over some loose asphalt, probably broken under the weight of the garbage trucks, as my heart begins to beat faster.
Another step, and my breath gets shallower. So I flex and relax my hands, trying to keep even while still staying on guard.
“If you’re hungry, I can help you.”
My voice bounces off the dirty brick walls, but there’s still no answer. I blink, nearing the trash, the stench making me wince. But as I start to call out again, a can rolls out, followed by a squeak as a rat bounds from the far side of the alley between the dumpster and the wall.
“Jesus.” I bristle, my hands clenched into fists, but I’m immediately silenced because a hand shoots out and catches the vermin.
What the fuck.
I instinctively take a few quick steps back, blinking too quickly as I swallow.
A man stands there, the fabric of his clothes scraping over the wall as he does because he’s wedged himself into the space to hide. He doesn’t face me, his profile partially shadowed by the hoodie on his head.
We’re about twelve feet away from each other as the seconds tick by, and my chest feels like it’s heaving. Kind of like how my pulse feels thrumming on my neck.
But I don’t move.
I just clear my throat to speak. “Do you need help?”
He brings the rat closer to his chest, but it’s not moving, as if it’s scared.
“I could get you a spot at a shelter tonight ...”
He shakes his head, his body hunching away from me.
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “That’s fine, but you can’t be back here. You’re gonna need to go.”
He nods, and my shoulders ease. Only slightly.
Because my eyes are still glued to him, watching as he bends and grabs the edge of what looks like plastic before he steps backward, dragging it over the ground. It scrapes, like a loud hiss, as he pulls the bundled mess out inch by inch.
I blink before my eyes volley between him and the jagged construction scrap. Seconds feel like minutes as he moves slowly. My chest caves with an exhale before, out of nowhere, he hurls it into the air.
