When We Were Mortals Read online

  If Leland had any fight in him, it dissipated before he could get started.

  “Whatever,” he slurred as he batted his hand in my direction. “I don’t give a shhhh….” And he drifted off to sleep.

  “Sadly, neither do I,” I said, as I began hopping down the stairs. I walked away with a confidence I knew was opposite of the girl I was supposed to be, but it didn’t keep me from feeling the intense fear that slammed me with each step I took towards the front door.

  Leland was right. I had no one. No true knowledge of where I came from or who I was. I couldn’t even tell you where I was. It wasn’t until I made it to the alley in front of my building that I could see a sign spray-painted on the side of the wall across from me, advertising the campaign of Jeffry Jones to represent the Poison District of Heaven City. His face, plastered everywhere on small little posters, covered the bricks like a stalker’s decoupage asking for our votes.

  “Yeppers kiddo,” Jack called out from the basement stairs. “You in Heaven City.”

  I looked around for the echoing voice, realizing that I had questioned where I was out loud.

  “Heaven City?” I asked again. “Yeppers!” He said, popping his head out like a nosey little gopher. “The armpit of the East Coast and the top most populated city in the history of the Northern hemisphere. We make New York look like a small little village in the West.”

  He came up out of his hole and strutted his heavily adorned body over towards me. The jingle of every metal he had earned rang out like Christmas bells as they dangled from the very uniform he had worn in the War of 2016, fifteen years before. Also known as the Final World War, many of its surviving soldiers were tossed out on the streets due to the collective government cutting funds to the programs that helped returning veterans integrate back into society.

  Jack, like many of his brothers and sisters in uniform, were forgotten or treated like criminals or outlaws. Call it the embarrassment of a country who had lost their title of Supreme Nation or the inability to take care of many they assumed would never survive, this was the easiest way to deny they ever existed.

  The dreads that he kept pulled up off his well creased and greasy collar, pointed in every direction but north as they complimented his equally dirty round face. Only his piercing green eyes and unusually pearly white teeth shown bright.

  But even in his despair, he remained jovial and a bit entertaining.

  “Good ole’ Jeffry Jones,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Now that is a man who came up from nothin’ and made something of himself.”

  He chuckled with a hearty laugh and pointed towards the east side of the city.

  “Now, he is more of a man than that Alistair something, that’s now Mayor of Heaven City. At least good ole’ Jeffry fought in the war.”

  He reached into the pouch hanging off his belt and pulled out a slightly bent cigarette.

  “Stogy?” he asked, putting it in his mouth. “No sir,” I said, looking at each end of the alley. I had no idea where I was going to go and flipped a coin in my head hoping it would give me a direction to go in.

  “Oh, finally leaving the old bastard huh?” Jack asked, as if he could read my mind. “Good for you,” he said, not waiting for an answer. “If I were you I would head that way.” He said, pointing to the right. “You do what you can to head out of the Poison District and you find yourself doin’ alright.”

  I adjusted the satchel strap on my shoulder and nodded towards old Jack.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Good luck, madam,” he said, tipping his imaginary hat. “I look forward to seeing what you do in the future.”

  “How about I start by getting out of here,” I said, winking at him. “One little baby step at a time.” At the end of the alley, I stood looking in both directions of the wide and empty street. Store fronts that were abandoned were plastered with the same call to vote posters that were defiled by racial slurs and messages of hate spray-painted across them.

  This part of the city was known as Concubine Town. Every remaining store front was either a strip club, bar or brothel. I could see every door open with a bouncer or two guarding the door with a beat up old bat or an old pipe and chains.

  Guns had been outlawed since the War of 2016, and yet crime had sky rocketed, thanks to the unbalanced poverty-to-riches ratio in the world. Prostitution being legal, allowed for most anyone to become a sex worker and make enough money to keep themselves fed. Bars doubled as watering holes and pharmacies as they housed the most notorious drug dealers in the area.

  I was thirsty and hungry and I had a small amount of crumbled up cash in my pocket so I walked towards the least shady of the bars. It was an old Irish pub with a very large and very strong looking Celtic man standing guard. The lights were dim but the smell of beer and shepherd’s pie was strong enough to pull me in past the horrid odors of sex and liquor that leaked out of the other doors.

  But when I got to the door the large yet very nice man demanded I pay a cover to get in. I looked at the nine dollars and thirty-five cents in my hand and realized that I didn’t even have enough to get in never mind pay for something to eat.

  “Thanks anyway,” I muttered, as I hobbled away. I doubt that he would have heard me over the grumble of my stomach, but he nodded as if he did and looked rather sad that he had to turn me away.

  “Lil’ miss,” he hollered, in a deep gruff voice.

  He waved me back over and pulled me under his arm as if to give me an invitation for some comfort, while reaching into his left pocket.

  “Here,” he said, putting a twenty in my hand. “I know ‘da boss and he’ll just have to get over being ten short tonight. Go and get yar’self a bite to eat.” “Thank you, really thank you so much,” I said, squeezing him in a side hug.

  “Of course. Oh and what do I call ya Lil’ Miss?” he asked, as he motioned to the door.

  “My name is Mel…” I said before I stopped. ‘New life new name.’ I thought to myself. “My name is...” I stopped again. I looked around for some inspiration for a name other than Melody. “Well, I guess you can call me…” I still couldn’t come up with a thing.

  “If Anessa‘ll do, I would sure fine call you that,” he interjected. “Anessa was my mother’s name and you kinda remind me of her,” he said, with a warm wink.

  He could tell how confused I was and seemed to read me very well.

  “Anessa it is,” I giggled as I leaned in to kiss just above his bushy beard.

  “And what do I call you?”

  “It’s Tommy,” he answered jovially, “Tommy O’Shea." As he took his post I walked slowly into the dismally lit bar, looking for a quiet place to sit. I just wanted to eat and I silently prayed that I would be left alone to do just that.

  Even with the occasional yelling or threats of a best friend’s drunk fight, I felt comfortable enough to stay and order some food. It had an odd but inviting presence beneath the smell of cigarettes and an Irish woman’s kitchen, mixed with the stench of her sons’ industrial sweat.

  I was tired and confused and needed to figure out what I was going to do next but I couldn’t do any of that on an empty stomach.

  So I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu with a beer and started to think. Thinking didn’t last long however, because as I sat silently scarfing down the most amazing grilled ham sandwich and homemade chips a girl like me had ever tasted, I found myself savoring every moment and every bite. The way the warm cheese slid down my throat as I chewed slowly on the lingering bread that elevated me to a place of happiness, any normal person would be able to understand. I was in place where I didn’t want to worry about where my life was going or even what would happen next.

  With a mouthful of toasted goodness, I now tried to answer the waitress who asked me for the fifth time if there was anything else I needed. Realizing that I couldn’t answer her, I just shook my head ‘no’ vigorously as I washed down the mouthful of heaven with the warm new glass of ale she placed on my
table.

  “Ahhh you shua sugah?” she asked, in an odd little accent. “Cuz that nice lady ova there said anything you would wish for is to be put on her tab!” I looked over to the opposite side of the room, desperately trying to get my eyes to focus between the swirls of smoke that clung to every dormant thing in front of me.

  When I finally saw her, I had an instant girl crush. Her eyes were so piercing that I could see them clearly, even with the dim light that in no way shape or form shone in her direction. It was if they had a luminescence of their own. They didn’t have a color to really speak of or maybe I didn’t notice behind what looked to be years of wisdom and knowledge that emanated from them.

  Her tiny side grin, in an attempt to hide what was most likely the most beautiful smile anyone had ever seen, was cast in the direction of a woman who desperately tried to match her charm. All the while, her gaze on me.

  Even when she leaned in to kiss her paramour, she looked to make sure I was watching.

  She was mysterious and intriguing, so of course I didn’t look away! After drawing me in, she abruptly decided to leave. She was done taunting me and walked away as if she was bored of the place. But as she walked into the light, I noticed a much younger woman than her eyes had introduced me to. Barely twenty-one, she had the body of a willowy teen, standing a little over six foot three. Her hair, covered in braided leather and colorful scarves, was a natural lavender gray that stretched far below the back of her knees and bounced against her tight leather pants as she walked.

  “Lady Ksenia looks like she is taken wich ya,” the waitress announced, as she took my empty plate. “Go get ha!” she continued. “She doesn’t keep interest long. If she likes ya, she likes ya til she is bored. You wait, she will forget ya eva existed.” She added, as a woman who seemed to know from personal experience.

  “But who is she?” I asked, as I gathered myself up. “Is she someone I want to get involved with?”

  “If you got no place to go and need stuff, she is the person to hook up with,” she answered.

  I noticed Tommy had come in from his post after over-hearing the conversation and was nodding in agreement. “Go find her, Lil Miss,” he said, leading me to the street. “If you lose her, just follow this sidewalk until you see the old Catholic Church five blocks down. You’ll find her inside there.”

  He leaned down and tapped his pointer finger on his burly cheek, asking for one more kiss.

  I obliged, as I tried not to lose site of the woman who sauntered down the street with her lady friend.

  She moved quicker than I could with my injured foot so I soon started to lose them into the night. I followed the trail of her candied perfume down the desolate and crippled sidewalk, wondering with each step what compelled me to follow her. Was it her commanding yet mysterious presence, or maybe the way she lured me in with her lustrous gaze back at the bar. Whatever it was, I found myself yearning to be in her presence whether invited or not.

  And as I reached the old Catholic Church by the District lines, I found the hefty wooden doors left open, acknowledging that I was most definitely welcomed.

  ***** I painstakingly walked up an absurd amount of steps that led to the oversized doors. With each step I took, I could feel my shoe filling up with more and more blood. By the time I reached the top I could hear the sounds of my toes swimming in the swamp laced to my foot.

  I hoped just for a second that when I walked through those doors I would be greeted by people who wouldn’t ask any questions as they whisked me away to the most comfortable bed they owned. At least if nothing else, I would be walking into a warm place where I could rid myself of the chill that now set in my bones.

  But as I pushed the door open farther I realized that the doors were merely for show. There was no roof that connected the front façade to the back wall and altar. What made for walls on either side of me were what was left of the buildings that had survived the poorly funded demo project the city attempted ten years before. The second story loft that once held the grand organ, now covered with tapestries and tarps served as the leader’s chambers. You could tell by the way they were adorned and looked over the old world caravan’s that took the place of the once hand carved pews.

  The buildings on either side housed those who preferred tents over campers and looked to be the most exciting and exotic tent city in the history books.

  Small pot-belly stoves and fire pits lined the dirt and remnant marbled pathways with old recliners and make-shift couches surrounding them. Wind beaten tarps and plastic were tied to clothes-lines to block the wind and cold that would lingered between the old brick walls, connecting one tent after the other. The people who sat in them looked happy just to sit bundled up in their carpet coats, sipping on the hooch they would retrieve out of the large metal tower in the far corner of the church.

  “Welcome,” a gruff voice finally greeted me. He was a mean looking man, standing every bit as tall as the woman I followed, with large protruding muscles and a scowl that looked permanently planted on his face. His features, as chiseled as they were, pulled at the skin on his face in an attempt to hide an age I was unable to detect. With a handle-bar mustache and a beard that held together a link of beads, he looked as if had been parented by Captain Jack and Esmeralda.

  “The name is Constantine,” he said, in a thick but formal Romanian accent. He reached out his poorly gloved hand and stared at me until I responded.

  “Hi,” I replied, shaking it. I couldn’t keep my focus on him as I kept looking for her.

  “Lady Ksenia will be with you later,” he said, motioning for me to follow him. “For now, let me show you to your quarters.”

  “I have quarters?” I asked sarcastically. “How did she know I needed a place to stay?”

  He never answered as he started to lead me towards a caravan closest to the altar.

  No one noticed or even cared that there was a newcomer in their midst as the music continued and children ran through the compound without a care in the world.

  Finally, when I stepped into the caravan, I found the warmth I had been looking for. The little wood stove in the corner was stoked, giving off a heat even the aged walls couldn’t resist. Warm enough, it border-lined on hot.

  “Make yourself comfortable, wash up and change,” he offered as he pulled back a curtain to reveal a shower and a full closet of clothes. “There is hot water if you shower quick enough.”

  He bowed out and walked backwards down the rickety stairs, shutting the caravan door gently behind him. With my wound still screaming at me, I found a shower to be out of the question, so I went through the closet and pulled out the most comfortable baggy sweater I could find and paired it harem pants and a scarf to wrap around my hips. My waist-length hair, which had been put up in a messy bun was now free of its ties and curled perfectly as if I had planned it.

  My foot, released from its blood-soaked sock, gulped the warm air, instantly drying out the very open and neglected wound. I wanted to holler in pain, but instead I took the pillow beside me and shoved it in my mouth so I could try and deal with it. After a while, I found that I was holding my breath on and off and it was making me very, very drowsy.

  Pulling myself back onto the bed and finding a break in the covers, I laid down on a mattress made for paupers but fit for a King. So soft and worn, it conformed to every part of my body until it held me like a mother holding a newborn child.

  In a matter of seconds, I had forgotten the pain and drifted off to sleep.

  *****

  As lucid as my dream was about to become, I knew I was not awake, at least not in the traditional sense.

  But I could feel the wind on my skin, smell the snow in the air and could taste the pollen that I kicked up with every step. I was walking through a field of contradictions. Full of purple daises and pink sunflowers with a saffron-esque yellow grass that smelled of lilacs and was as soft as angora fur.

  I looked down at the trailing ivory lace and silk dress that draped
perfectly over my body. I could feel the tenderness of the stitching as it flowed flawlessly down the seams of a dress made with love and affection. My bare feet, welcomed the sensuality of the grass wrapping around my toes.

  I then looked up at the sky to see ripples running through a distant reflection. It’s water-like texture allowed for the most fluid movement of the clouds. The wind, so steady, stood still for a moment before flowing in reverse.

  “This is incredible,” a warbled voice said from behind me. “It’s magical.”

  I turned to see the blurry-faced man walk towards me. He was as curious and clueless about our surroundings as I was.

  “Why can’t I see your face?” he asked, reaching up to touch my cheek. “It’s like someone erased it.”

  His touch, so familiar, allowed me to stay calm under the circumstances.

  “I can’t see yours either,” I said, matching his touch. “Your voice sounds odd too.”

  He started on with a bunch of jibberish so that he could hear his own voice.

  “Sounds fine to me,” he said, with a soft chuckle. “But then again,” he stopped. “Say something.”

  “Something,” I responded with a smile he couldn’t see.

  He grabbed ahold of my hands to pull me closer, just then we were both struck by the strangest series of visions. Flashes appeared of the two of us passionately kissing. This time, seeing each other’s face for a split second. Then, fast forward to tears, death and a mysterious man with a sword.

  It hit us so hard that when it was over, we were thrown away from each other onto the woven grass.

  “Eva?” the faceless man asked, as he picked himself back up.

  “I don’t understand,” He added as he helped me up. “Who are you?”

  I looked around me, completely stunned. His arms felt so safe as they held me up but I felt this urge to run from him as fast as I could.

  “Something isn’t right,” I said, trying to pull away. “That man. Did you see that man?”