Walking Alone, chapter 10
**Flashback (Continued) **
I couldn't really tell if I was crying or not, because the rain was streaming down my face as well. By now my T-shirt and jeans were completely soaked through. I hadn't turned around, so I didn't know if anyone was following me, though I doubted it. Mom couldn't marry this guy. If she did, I'd... I'd... I'd do something. Leave, maybe.
Feeling exhausted from running for what seemed like forever, I dodged into the nearest ally and leaned against the wall. My damp reddish-brown hair clung to the sides of my face. There was nobody out on the street, no cars as far as the eye could see. At the far end of the alley, a single street lamp hung over a door that led into an abandoned building. The door was something unlike any door I'd ever seen—not that it looked different, but it almost seemed to beckon me. Feeling a strange mix of confidence, fear and curiosity, I made my way in baby steps towards the door.
Soon I was standing in front of it. The beam of light from the overhead lamp shone down on me, encircling me in a comforting warmth. Up close, I could see that the paint on the door was beginning to peel. Slowly, I lifted a shaking hand and grasped the cold metal doorknob. It turned before I got the chance to move it.
The door creaked open slightly, revealing darkness identical to that of the alleyways. Smoke wafted out, smelling of drugs—meth or grass, probably. I knew I should have gotten out of there—should have run back into the deserted street. Should've run back home. Anyplace was better than here... at least, that's what my mind was telling me. But for some reason, I couldn't move my feet. My eyes wouldn't pry away from the door. And it was then that I saw the figure. I couldn't actually see his face or any other physical features—just the silhouette of his figure. The presence of the person made me want to crawl into a dark hole and hide—but I was frozen with fear.
"So. You've finally come." A raspy voice whispered. I could hear other voices from within the building—a chorus of groans and mumbles. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The figure—whose face I still could not see—leaned against the doorway and pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to me, but I shook my head. I watched as he slowly lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He chuckled slightly. "You don't want to stay. You'll leave, but you will come back."
How was this guy reading my mind? I thought. "Who... who are you?" I asked after a moment. He laughed again, but his laugh turned into a sickening cough. When he recovered, he replied, "I have many names, none of which are my real name. Every 'patient', if that's what you wanna call them, calls me by a different name." He took another drag, then leaned in close to my face. It was still pitch dark out, and I could barely make out his face. I could feel his warm, smoky breath on my face. "But I've been waiting for you. You will call me St. Jimmy. What the hell's your name?"
I stood straight, acting more confident then I felt. I'll tell this guy my real name when hell freezes over, I decided. But what would I tell him my name was? It had to be something clever, but something that fit me. "I'm... I'm the Jesus of Suburbia," I said.
St. Jimmy did not laugh, as I expected he would, just nodded his head. "What's your pleasure? What's your pain? Everybody's got their own." He said. Suddenly, though, something behind me directed his attention away from me. I didn't answer his mysterious question. Who—or what—could it be? Police? Another "patient"? Whoever it was, Jimmy did not want them to see him. He stepped back inside the building and—before shutting the door—whispered, "Be here, midnight, 1 week from today." And that was all.
I turned around to see Mike heading towards me. "Who the hell was that?" He asked. I shrugged. "Some weirdo homeless guy," I said with a straight face. Mike believed me anyways—he's always been pretty gullible. "You seem calmed down. Look, I know it's tough, but you gotta deal with it—without killing the bastard first," Mike said. I had completely forgotten about Carl and everything that had happened. Though I still wanted to beat the shit out of the guy—but felt like giving Mike the satisfaction he deserved—I just nodded and held my tongue. Mike, knowing this was tough for me, changed the subject.
"Hey, what are you doin next Friday? Some guys are having a party, supposed to go till 3 AM. Wanted to know if we could come." Mike asked. I looked back at the door. Something told me I should go back there, as Jimmy had told me to. "Sorry. I've... I've got plans," I said, and I smiled to myself.
I couldn't really tell if I was crying or not, because the rain was streaming down my face as well. By now my T-shirt and jeans were completely soaked through. I hadn't turned around, so I didn't know if anyone was following me, though I doubted it. Mom couldn't marry this guy. If she did, I'd... I'd... I'd do something. Leave, maybe.
Feeling exhausted from running for what seemed like forever, I dodged into the nearest ally and leaned against the wall. My damp reddish-brown hair clung to the sides of my face. There was nobody out on the street, no cars as far as the eye could see. At the far end of the alley, a single street lamp hung over a door that led into an abandoned building. The door was something unlike any door I'd ever seen—not that it looked different, but it almost seemed to beckon me. Feeling a strange mix of confidence, fear and curiosity, I made my way in baby steps towards the door.
Soon I was standing in front of it. The beam of light from the overhead lamp shone down on me, encircling me in a comforting warmth. Up close, I could see that the paint on the door was beginning to peel. Slowly, I lifted a shaking hand and grasped the cold metal doorknob. It turned before I got the chance to move it.
The door creaked open slightly, revealing darkness identical to that of the alleyways. Smoke wafted out, smelling of drugs—meth or grass, probably. I knew I should have gotten out of there—should have run back into the deserted street. Should've run back home. Anyplace was better than here... at least, that's what my mind was telling me. But for some reason, I couldn't move my feet. My eyes wouldn't pry away from the door. And it was then that I saw the figure. I couldn't actually see his face or any other physical features—just the silhouette of his figure. The presence of the person made me want to crawl into a dark hole and hide—but I was frozen with fear.
"So. You've finally come." A raspy voice whispered. I could hear other voices from within the building—a chorus of groans and mumbles. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The figure—whose face I still could not see—leaned against the doorway and pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to me, but I shook my head. I watched as he slowly lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He chuckled slightly. "You don't want to stay. You'll leave, but you will come back."
How was this guy reading my mind? I thought. "Who... who are you?" I asked after a moment. He laughed again, but his laugh turned into a sickening cough. When he recovered, he replied, "I have many names, none of which are my real name. Every 'patient', if that's what you wanna call them, calls me by a different name." He took another drag, then leaned in close to my face. It was still pitch dark out, and I could barely make out his face. I could feel his warm, smoky breath on my face. "But I've been waiting for you. You will call me St. Jimmy. What the hell's your name?"
I stood straight, acting more confident then I felt. I'll tell this guy my real name when hell freezes over, I decided. But what would I tell him my name was? It had to be something clever, but something that fit me. "I'm... I'm the Jesus of Suburbia," I said.
St. Jimmy did not laugh, as I expected he would, just nodded his head. "What's your pleasure? What's your pain? Everybody's got their own." He said. Suddenly, though, something behind me directed his attention away from me. I didn't answer his mysterious question. Who—or what—could it be? Police? Another "patient"? Whoever it was, Jimmy did not want them to see him. He stepped back inside the building and—before shutting the door—whispered, "Be here, midnight, 1 week from today." And that was all.
I turned around to see Mike heading towards me. "Who the hell was that?" He asked. I shrugged. "Some weirdo homeless guy," I said with a straight face. Mike believed me anyways—he's always been pretty gullible. "You seem calmed down. Look, I know it's tough, but you gotta deal with it—without killing the bastard first," Mike said. I had completely forgotten about Carl and everything that had happened. Though I still wanted to beat the shit out of the guy—but felt like giving Mike the satisfaction he deserved—I just nodded and held my tongue. Mike, knowing this was tough for me, changed the subject.
"Hey, what are you doin next Friday? Some guys are having a party, supposed to go till 3 AM. Wanted to know if we could come." Mike asked. I looked back at the door. Something told me I should go back there, as Jimmy had told me to. "Sorry. I've... I've got plans," I said, and I smiled to myself.
