Alexei picked up the baseball cap sitting on the sidewalk in front of him. He dumped the money into his hand, the coins jingling as he calculated the total sum he’d accumulated throughout the day. Not bad. This is a good location. He’d methodically, through a trial-and-error process, tested various sidewalks and corners for the best (and most sympathetic) pedestrian traffic. Of course, some dopes had already laid claim to the most ideal places, like Times Square. One day they might move on; he would wait in the wings and seize the opportunity when it came. For now, this spot would serve him fine enough.
But, of course, it would have to be this spot. He glanced over his shoulder at the site of destruction behind him. It was hard to go anywhere in New York City these days without finding some kind of remains of the violence that had happened here not that long ago. So much destruction … most people wouldn’t even recognize the sites. He could tell because he had practically memorized a mental map of New York City. What did that matter though? He couldn’t even recognize himself.
The one steeple still stood in the sky, but it looked ridiculous without its twin. A gaping hole opened the cathedral to the elements. A deep emptiness filled the place where the other steeple once stood; only shards of glass and shattered pieces of stone, lying in piles, remained. No one had even bothered to clean up the slop. St. Patrick’s was a ghost of its former glory.
Alexei scowled. The building got what it deserved. My only regret is that we didn’t blow up the entire thing. He pocketed the money and began to stride away. A haunting, unsummoned thought came to his mind: Does that mean that I got what I deserved? Is that why I’m still here? An icy void expanded within him. A weight seemed to descend upon his chest and his breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps. He recognized these signs; he needed to get to Linx fast.
Alexei hurried along through the crowds of people, a nameless face to everyone. No one knew him and he didn’t want it any other way. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want anyone. But he did need Linx … it was the only way he could survive …
He punched in the security code by the front door and let himself in after the click. Up the flights of stairs, the air already laden with scent and the sunrays from a hallway window thick with smoke, he alighted upon the third-floor landing. Alexei pounded four times on the apartment door.
It opened, the hinges squeaking in protest. Linx, wearing boxers and an undershirt, smirked. “I didn’t think you’d come back so soon.”
Alexei brushed past him into the room. “I got lucky today.”
Linx crossed his arms. “Seems like I’m in the wrong business. Maybe I should join you begging for money. Ever since the NCP imploded, people’s opinion of the Unfit has soared. Everyone wants to help the helpless.”
“Not everyone. There’s plenty of people who pass me by without a care.”
“Yeah. Well, you’re always gonna have those kinds of people, huh? The ones who think they’re better than everyone else. Too proud to think of the little guy.”
Alexei said nothing.
Linx shrugged. “Whatever. So, is it the usual?”
“Yeah, but give me a little more than last time.”
Linx stepped into the other room, calling loudly from out of sight, “You’re my most reliable customer. These other idiots show up here already half-gone. I can hardly get a word of sense out of them. When they’ve had enough of one thing, they want to experiment with something new.” He returned and placed a small, white envelope in Alexei’s hand. “I’ve got other stuff, same price. You don’t want to test anything else out?”
Alexei shifted the envelope from his left hand to his right. It was more secure that way as all five fingers clenched the envelope. “This is all I want. It’s all I need.” He made to leave.
Linx stretched out his arm, grasping Alexei’s wrist. “Wait a sec. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You strike me as the kind of guy I could work with. You want a part of this business? Ever since the new government came into control, we’re in high demand. People can’t get this illegal stuff anymore. I can barely keep up with all the customers. You and I … we could make millions together. You could go places.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Haven’t you ever dreamed of getting the hell outta here? Traveling the world? Getting a girl?”
“I don’t want anything. I don’t want anyone.”
Linx stepped back, his forehead creased and his eyes looking Alexei up and down. “Sheesh, what happened to you, man?”
Alexei looked past him, his stare vacant. He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I just wish I was dead, that’s all. Nothing more to it. See you next week.”
And with that he left.
He marched past the lunchtime vendors, scents of cheap hot dogs and falafels filling the May afternoon but hardly tempting him. A little further, a couple of blocks up, he left the hectic sidewalk and entered Central Park. He walked with determination, not a step of hesitation; he knew this place so well. It had become his residence. Alexei sought out the public water fountain. He took a long drink and, ripping open the envelope, shook out a single white pill. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed it alongside some more water. At last, his shoulders sagged and he exhaled.
Soon he walked with greater leisure, the sensation he so longed for coming over him. He desperately craved this feeling: numbness. He needed to silence his thoughts, memories, and—most of all—the pain. This was no longer about experimenting or recreation; it was the only way he knew how to survive. Life plateaued under the pill’s effects. He didn’t have to walk through the dark valleys anymore. He just subsisted, and, if that’s all he could do, then the hell with anything else. If he was condemned to live, he’d live his life to the shallowest.
He ambled through the park, hardly noticing anyone. Solitariness wrapped itself like a cloak around him, making him invisible. He liked it that way: no explaining, no reliving, no expectations. He came to his favorite spot and stretched out on the park bench, lying flat on his back with his face upturned to the sun. The back of the bench bore an old bumper sticker, half scratched off. It used to say: I STAND WITH THE NCP. Now all that remained was: I STAN. Alexei sometimes would take his nail and scrape tiny shreds of the sticker from the bench. He started where he last left off, not leaving a remnant behind. Even this simple exercise felt unnatural; he never expected to miss his fourth finger as much as he did now. Only a tiny stump remained on his hand where his ring finger should be.
He finally dropped his hand and closed his eyes, the dark a welcome reprieve for him. With the pill, his dreams didn’t wound him as much. He could drift back to another time he sat on this bench … he could pretend the stars were out and he could hear the strumming of a guitar … and he’d be able to see her and it wouldn’t feel like complete agony … Then, inevitably, the pill’s effects would ebb and he’d be left even worse than before: body shaking, skin sweating, head pounding, heart torn into jagged pieces. He’d trek back to his spot by St. Patrick’s to collect more money, beginning the cycle all over again.
“Ethan?”
His eyelids shot open, his fingers curling into fists. Who? What? Nobody knows me.
“Ethan!”
The female voice spoke with greater confidence and forcefulness. Ethan took his right hand, shading the sun from his eyes, trying to see the person who called him. A woman stood above him. He could barely make out her features with the sun so piercing …
She didn’t wait for him. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down at the other end of the bench. Her tight jaw released into a tight smile. “Oh my gosh. It is you. Finally.”
Everything about the face before him, now completely recognizable, pierced him—different yet so much similarity … the freckles, the almond-shaped eyes, the heart-shaped face … He shook his head, refusing to engage in this apparition. How’d she even find him? Why did she find him? “Go away.”
“Why? Because you’re too busy at the moment to even talk to me?”
Ethan didn’t answer. He didn’t look. I wish I could’ve gotten two pills. I was only $13.87 short.
“Ethan!” Silence. Suddenly she grabbed his hand. “What happened to your finger?”
He jerked himself up into a sitting position, yanking his left hand back, and glared at her.
She had pulled her hair back from her face in some kind of poofy style. It made the questions in her eyes all the more noticeable. “Well?”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“I need to talk.”
“Talking doesn’t change anything.”
“It’s all we have left. That’s all we can do now: we can talk about Amanda.”
A great pain filled his chest at the sound of her name. He winced and turned away, violent curses rising in his mind condemning Chiara for even coming here.
She leaned closer to him. “I’ve lost my mom and now my sister. You can close yourself up in the face of grief but the pain won’t go away. Sometimes it has to feel worse before it feels better.”
“It’s never going to feel better. She’s not coming back.”
“Look.” Chiara took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief second. “If it didn’t hurt … that just means that it was never real. The hurt means that you loved her. It was genuine and true.”
He swore under his breath. “None of it mattered! Me trying to be better? Falling in love? Look where it got me. Why’d I even bother? You live. You die. It’s meaningless.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Ethan scowled at her. “How do you know?”
“Why are you still here if it doesn’t mean anything? Why not just kill yourself?”
“I think about it every day.”
“And?”
He clenched his jaw and refused to answer, but the answer rang loudly through his mind. I know Amanda wouldn’t want that. It was the only thing that kept him going.
Chiara reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Love makes this life have meaning. That’s why you’re still here.”
Ethan said nothing in reply. He stared at the ground, hating the tightening in his throat, wishing Chiara would leave him alone.
“Why do you use the name Alexei now?”
He narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know about that?”
“We hired a private detective to find you.”
“To find me?” He scoffed. “Why’d you waste the money? Look at what you’ve found.” He opened his arms, gesturing to himself. “You spent all that money just to find some bum on the street, a druggie, a man more dead than alive.”
“Come to our house. We want you to stay with us.”
Ethan did a quick double take. “What?”
“Come upstate to Fort Christopher. Joe’s here in Manhattan too. He’s been trying to find you. We’ll get on the train together; we can leave today.”
He crossed his arms. “No. I don’t want to leave.”
Now Chiara scowled. “Oh, because this is such a wonderful life you’re living here, right? What’s keeping you company besides your drugs? Are those pills making you happy?”
“They numb the pain. I don’t want to be happy.”
“Why’s it still all about you? Maybe it’s not about you feeling happy or loved. Maybe it’s about you making someone else happy, making someone else feel loved.”
“I’ll never love someone the way I loved her …”
“I didn’t say you had to. But love is wider and deeper than romantic love.”
“Just stop!” Ethan stood up. “I didn’t want you to come here. Why’d you think I began using my middle name? I didn’t want anyone to find me. I want to be alone.”
Chiara shot up from the park bench. “You think this is the kind of life Amanda would want you to live?”
“I could be doing worse.”
“And you could be doing better.”
They glared at each other. Then he began to storm away.
Chiara ran to his side, grabbing his arm. Her bottom lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “Please. Please, Ethan. I haven’t been able to sleep; I can barely function; and all I have thought about this past year is finding you. I beg you … come home with us.” Her words rushed together between her cries. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for Amanda! It was her dying wish!”
An icy tremor ran down Ethan’s spine. “W—what are you talking about?”
Chiara pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “It’s the last thing she asked me before I left the hotel. She made me promise that, if anything happened to her, I’d find you and help you.” Chiara shook her head. “I—I honestly think she somehow knew that she was going to die. She didn’t want you to be alone. Help me keep my promise to my sister. Honor her last wish. Come with us.” She took a shaky breath. “Please.”
Ethan pressed his lips together and glanced at the nearby park bench. He could almost picture Amanda sitting there, tucking a black curl behind her ear. The prick of tears stung his eyes.
Chiara must have noticed. She stepped a little closer. “I miss her so much too.”
He looked into Chiara’s eyes and saw reflected there the pain that wrecked his own heart. Here now was someone who had also loved Amanda, had known her and cared for her, who grieved her loss …
Then, before he could say anything, Chiara put her arms around him and began to hug him, her own shoulders shaking with cries. He couldn’t check it this time. The overwhelming pain burst forth from the weak dam he had cobbled together these past months. He started to sob, and together they cried—pain reflecting pain, a shared sorrow linking them in some new, tangible bond.
When was the last time someone hugged me? When was the last time someone cared about me?
Chiara fumbled in her pocket and pulled out several tissues. “Want one?”
He nodded, covering his nose and hoping to cover the vulnerability of the emotions raging inside him.
“I don’t leave the house without them now. I can never tell what will trigger a random memory of Amanda. It might be a song on the radio or seeing someone with curly hair. Then—floodgates.” Chiara squared her shoulders. “Okay. So, first thing: we’ve got to find Joe. I’m supposed to meet him in a few minutes by the entrance and then we can get some train tickets—”
And like a little boy, he let her lead him through the park. He was broken. He had no energy left to protest this. He was lost. Chiara thought she found him, but he wasn’t found; he was still lost.
Then Chiara began waving, shouting, “Joe! We’re here! Ethan’s with me!”
Joe, leaning against a brick pillar at one of the park’s entrances, straightened up, his eyes wide. He jogged toward them.
Joe gazed at Ethan, neither of them speaking for a moment. Then, to Ethan’s astonishment, Joe’s eyes filled with tears. “Hey, man. I can’t tell ya how happy I am to see ya.” Joe embraced him, clapping him on the back.
Ethan’s shock kept him from replying.
“It took some arm-twisting, but he’s coming with us.” Chiara smiled at Joe. “Let’s go home.”
“There’s nothing I want more. Put me on the first train outta here!” As they began to walk down the block, Joe glanced at Ethan, a glint of amusement in his eyes now. “So, uh, it’s Alexei now, huh?”
Ethan shrugged. “Alexei Savas. Alexei is my middle name; Savas is my mother’s maiden name. I just … I don’t know … I just wanted to be someone else. Is that so unreal?”
Joe shook his head. “Nah. It’s not that weird. Well, a little. But you know what I mean. So, Alexei—”
Ethan held up a hand. “Don’t call me that.”
Joe started laughing.
Chiara reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers. Ethan caught the slight movement and then frowned, the heaviness bearing down again. Everything reminded him of Amanda. Everything reminded him of all that he had lost and would never have again.