These Lonely Streets

How long had I been out for?

Waking up to find myself tucked into a hospital bed signaled the new treachery that was already being thrown at me now that I had returned home. I glanced around the sophisticated room, eyeing the tubes that were attached to me from machinery in order to keep me stable. The blue tile floors were sparkling clean, as were the crisp white sheets that trapped my feeble body on the bed. Two televisions sets were hanging from the wall, one for me and one for whoever was sharing the room on the other side of the curtain. Neither were on, allowing the sounds of a faint beeping, doctors talking, phones ringing, and wheels in the hall outside to fill the silence. My arms appeared to be stitched, but there were no bandages to cover the bullet wounds. As for my neck, the feeling of stitches was evident, but my arms still ached to lift them and feel the wound for myself.

I couldn’t believe I was still alive and breathing.

Any drugs that had sedated me had not yet completely worn off. I still felt unbearably sleepy, like my head was going to droop to the side and pull me into another good five hours of sleep. My eyes turned to stare out the window on my side of the room, giving me a view of Camden and Philadelphia. The sky was a mix of colors ranging from pink to indigo as the sun began to set over Philadelphia. There were a few puffy cotton candy colored clouds looming in the sky, but not enough to block out the sunset. I longed to be out there without these wounds, just like old times, only without the drug abuse and constant need to feel the swirl of alcohol in my body.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I turned my head back to stare at the wall across from me that had a little whiteboard on it, the name of my nurse scribbled in cursive on top of it and when I should be receiving a meal. Apparently dinner was around five-thirty, but the clock was out of my view. Besides, I was barely hungry. I wanted to sleep again if anything. I closed my eyes and moved as much as my aching body allowed, trying to get comfortable to drift off again.

“Quiet guys, she’s sleeping,” a familiar voice whispered. I opened my eyes to see James now standing where the curtain divided the room, looking over his shoulder and motioning to someone. I noticed he was dressed a bit more properly, what with tighter fitting jeans, clean sneakers, and a college sweatshirt. The hospital would never allow a hoodlum into their organized and clean facility. To them, we were trash. When he finally turned his head in my direction and noticed that I had opened my eyes, he offered a small smile and headed to my bedside.

“Hey, Cory,” he said softly, hesitating when he was about to hug me. I guess the pain was obvious in my features.

“Hi, James,” I replied, offering somewhat of a smile in return. However, I was really not even close to any sort of happiness.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stroking the top of my head to keep the hair out of my face.

“Give her some space, man,” Randy said as he entered my side of the room.

“I’m fine, really. Just sore,” I said as James backed away, taking the chair next to the bed. Jaycee followed after Randy with a small gym bag, a smile on her face just seeing me awake and okay. I smiled back in her direction as she sat down on my bed at my feet.

“Nice little get up you got going on here,” Randy commented, eyeing up my default and mandatory hospital room. “Nicer than my place.”

“We heard what happened,” James said, and I nodded. How much did they actually know? The man that had brought me here didn’t sound like he was willing to give out any sort of explanations.

“How?” I asked.

“Doctors,” James replied.

I nodded, figuring that was true. Besides, they were my first contacts in case of emergencies for just anything.

“What did they tell you?” I asked.

“That you were severely injured due to two bullets and a slit throat,” Randy chimed in. He wandered to the window, gazing out at the city and a helicopter that flew in the distance. Then he turned his eyes back onto me, and I knew that he knew there was much more to the story.

“That’s about right,” I said sheepishly, unable to continue even though I knew an interrogation was on its way.

“And how did it all happen?” James asked.

I sighed. Sure enough, here was the interrogation, ready to pull every detail of that night back into my memory.

“Well, I was walking home from the meeting. I left early. I wanted to sleep in my own bed that night,” I said, only to be interrupted.

“Wait, why couldn’t you have just stayed at Buster’s?” Randy asked.

“I just wanted a bed all to myself. My own. It’s been a year and I wanted the comfort of home,” I lied. There was absolutely no way they could know about Goliath’s pressure on me. “May I continue?”

They nodded.

Better to let it all out now than later.

“I was walking, and before I could get a grip on what was happening, someone had punched me in the face, shot me, and then yanked me up. It was Wes and two of his guys. They had me against the wall and they were giving me a bloody welcome home present,” I said. I felt a sting in my eyes, but I couldn’t let my tears out now.

The tension in the air thickened. Jaycee looked upset, knowing the pain I was in from her last encounter with Wes. Randy and James looked as though they were going to burst, their fists clenched at their sides. I waited to hear the crash of something breakable against the floor from them, but there was nothing. I decided to continue, to get it over with before they started shooting more questions.

“Wes was bugging me about the baby. He was taunting me, telling me that we should try again and stuff. I gave him a good knee to the groin, but that set him off and he decided to slit my throat. When they finally heard police sirens, they ditched me there and ran off. I don’t know how I got here, though. I guess someone found me,” I finished.

There were a few minutes of silence that took over the room. James was focusing on the floor, his jaw set as if he were holding back a string of curses and profanity. It was tough to see them stay still with no reactions whatsoever. I stared at the ceiling in agony, wishing that none of this had even happened. When I averted my eyes back to the three of them, they still had their eyes elsewhere. It even looked as though Randy was expressing a bit of guilt in his features, giving me a stab of pain. It was not their faults that this had happened. I had been stupid enough to leave the apartment that night, without proper weaponry, and attempt to walk home.

“I swear, the next time we see him . . .,” James began, but he cut himself off. He leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and running a hand through his hair.

“This can’t go on like this,” Jaycee murmured. I wanted everything to end, too, but there was no surefire way of stopping it.

“There’ll come a day sometime in the near future where we’ll get our revenge. They think that we’re just gonna sit back and let it all play in their favor, but we have to strike back,” Randy said.

“Do what you want, just leave me out of it,” I said. I folded my arms across my stomach, slowly regaining control of them even though they still ached.

“We’re gonna get ‘em, don’t you worry,” Randy said before stepping out of the room. He was probably going to step outside to have a smoke or curse the hell out of Wes. I shrugged, although I knew deep down I cared about the whole situation and kind of wanted to see Wes beaten to a bloody pulp.

“You alright?” Jaycee asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled.

“You’re not, don’t try to fool us,” James said. “I’m going to tell you straight up that you cannot be all fine and dandy after what happened.”

“I know I can’t,” I said. “I was hoping for a clean start when I got home yesterday. My plans did not include getting jumped and nearly killed.”

“Uhm, y’know what happened wasn’t yesterday, right?” James asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

“You were jumped two days ago. You’ve been out since you arrived here. I know two days isn’t really a big deal, but still.”

“Was I in a coma?”

“No, definitely not. You were just heavily drugged and you didn’t wake up. That’s it.”

How was I supposed to respond to that? It wasn’t exactly good news or anything. It was better than being out a week or years like some people, but I wasn’t sure how it benefited me in any way. If anything, it was making my life harder. The hospital bill was surely sky high, and I wasn’t sure if I was on life insurance any longer.

“Okay,” I muttered in response. Randy then reentered the room, a smile on his face.

“Where’d you go?” Jaycee asked.

“Ask the doc something,” he stated, reclaiming his spot by the window and leaning against its sill.

“What’d you ask?” I questioned.

“When you were permitted to leave. Y’know, it’s not so bad here. There’s some pretty damn cute nurses wandering the halls here,” he said, the grin he wore spreading. The way his boyish features lit up caused a grin of my own to appear on my lips, which was definitely an improvement on my end.

“So when can I go?”

“In a little bit. Doc says you’re fine, you just lost a lot of blood and the bullets were easily removed. You lucked out there, Cory.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” It wouldn’t have been the first time I avoided a chat with the Grim Reaper.

“By the way,” Randy began, seeming a bit more uncomfortable now, “Buster’s dropping by.”

“You told Buster?!” I exclaimed.

“It was only a matter of time!”

“Oh, shit!”

“He was going to find out one way or another. Besides, he’s known since we did,” James said.

“I know, but it’s . . . it’s Buster,” I said. Just the thought of how he might react to the story scared me; I knew how easy his temper was lit.

“You’ll be fine,” Jaycee reassured. “He’s not gonna hurt you. He would rather have you tell the story to him straight than have one of us pass it on.”

“True,” I sighed. “Is Goliath coming too?”

“Nah, he had some dealing to tend to,” Randy said.

“Does he know?” I asked.

“He knows that you’re hurt, and he got pretty upset,” Randy added.

Oh, great, just what I needed. Now Goliath had a reason to bug me about staying off the streets and in some safe haven miles away.

“So, are you going to stay with me in my time of need or do you have places to go?” I questioned.

“We’re about to head out, that way you and Buster can talk privately. I’m sure he has some questions for you, and he’s going to take you home,” James said as he stood up.

“Here, Cory,” Jaycee said, setting down the gym bag she had next to my arm. “It’s some clothes for you to change into when you leave. They had to throw out the clothes you came here in because of all the blood.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

"Hang in there, okay?" James said as he leaned over to give me a gentle hug. He was careful with me, as were Jaycee and Randy when they leaned in to give me hugs of their own. I waved at them as they disappeared around the curtain, leaving me alone in the sterile room.

I still didn't know if there was anyone sharing the room with me. All was quiet except for the bustling sounds of the hospital outside this one room. Underneath it all, there was silence, and breaking silence in a hospital can only mean that something is going horribly wrong. I cringed at the familiar sights and sounds, my fear of hospitals undying to this day. Just knowing that I had been here before for something a bit more severe made me feel like I was destined for this spot again sometime in my life. I turned my head to stare out the window again, soaking up the beauty of the evening that would disappear soon until tomorrow. A news helicopter buzzed over the river, displaying a giant ‘6’ on the side to advertise the station. My knowledge of the past two days was blank and the news could wield something of importance. I reached for the remote on my bedside table, quickly switching on the television to drown out the sounds that hurt my ears.

I dived quickly into channel surfing, searching for the news channel or any show of interest. My mind was set on Friends at first, but instead I left the television on the popular Philadelphia news channel. The anchorman discussed the recent shootings, gang disturbances, and increased gas prices without any real interest coloring his tone. He discussed how twenty-five year old Marie Taylor was shot in the head outside of Goddard's preschool, merely waiting for the final bell to ring so she could pick up her toddler.

What had she done to deserve that? Naturally, my shooting didn't make a single headline. Why would it, anyway? There were no witnesses, no evidence, no reports, absolutely nothing to create a decent story. Besides, why would anyone care about a twenty-one year old girl being shot in an alley? Surely Marie Taylor had a lot more to live for, what with having “a young boy and opening her own string of beauty salons so she could keep bread on the table”, as the anchorman had said. Someone, somewhere within Philly was mourning the loss of Marie, wishing there was more that could have been done to save her.

I wondered what the kind of love felt like.

What of the man that saved my life? It could not have been out of the "kindness of his heart". He helped in the battle to dispose of me, a useless piece of trash that Wes wanted out of the way so he could move in for the real prize. If he had left me there in the dirt to slowly suffer and wither away to nothing, the police would find him and the others without a doubt. Why leave the victim there so that the criminal could be caught later? It was customary to dispose of the body properly to avoid a rather violent encounter with the police.

Every word he said to me that night was etched into my memory, no matter how hard I tried to block him out. Since when did Buster's and Wes's words not matter? Obviously he missed the memo on how you are not supposed to help the enemy. He should have remained loyal to Wes, as I would have to Buster if I were ever caught in such a situation. Nowadays, if I was ever given an opportunity to murder one of Wes's accomplices, I'd surely give them hell. Their pain would be quadruple the amount of mine, maybe even more.

It all depended on how drunk the gang would let me get, which would never be the same again.

Still, I wondered about that guy. I never gave him a reason to carry me off to a safe facility. If I ever did anything, it was probably something bad, anyway. My memory was fuzzy from the few times I was able to cause a catastrophic impact on Wes's gang. The only real impact I could remember clearly was how I had lit Wes’s apartment on fire, then proceeded to slice open one of his members I ran into while jogging to my place. It’s not like they could ever turn me in, though. They had no evidence. Any trace of my stealthy plan was reduced to ash with most of the apartment.

Nothing more about the news interested me. I switched the channel back to TBS to catch the remaining minutes of Friends, just to have something to push my drooping hopes higher. Joey was trying to pin the blame on Ross for breaking his fridge, even when he had clearly pushed Ross into the fridge. It made me smile a bit, but it was only a sitcom that could provide laughter for the remainder of my stay. My stay in the hospital was only temporary, but my stay in the city was permanent. I loved the city, but these sorts of things were what landed me a spot on the couch in Dr. Walker's room a year ago for professional help. The day before I left was traumatizing; I felt so betrayed.

"You're going," Buster ordered, grabbing my arms and pinning me to the wall.

"You can't make me," I snapped.

James snatched the heroin needle out of my hand. I spurred into a frenzy, kicking and screaming, wanting that shot I was about to receive before the gang came busting in. They thought one last shot was going to push me into death. Maybe they were right, but I promised them that it would be my last.

If only I was good at keeping promises.

"You have a problem," James stated, grabbing my flailing hands and holding them still.

"I do not!" I screamed. "Let me go!"

"We don't trust you now even when we’ve got you pinned down," Buster said, giving my arms a squeeze.

"You need this. Trust us, it will make you better," James said. I stared past them at Randy and Jaycee. Jaycee looked helpless; she knew better than to try and stop them, but she also wanted me in rehab as much as everyone else. Randy's face was stone set with disapproval. He clearly was upset with my reaction at the moment, but I couldn't help myself. We were talking about shipping my addicted ass to a clinic in Pittsburgh for a good while.

Meanwhile, Goliath couldn’t even look at me.

I broke away from my flashback as I heard soft footsteps enter the room. I looked up to see that Buster had arrived.

"You doin' alright?" he asked.

"Everything hurts," I replied.

"I can imagine."

"Can you now?"

"Yeah. Bullets hurt."

"No shit."

Buster smirked a bit at my low temper as he took a seat beside me. "So, what have you got to tell me?"

"I have to explain everything again?" I frowned.

"No, but whatever important bits you've got you better spill."

I calmly explained what had happened, how they had wanted whatever I had on me, which could have meant money or drugs or God knows what. Buster nodded as I spoke, his facial expression one I couldn't read.

"You want revenge?" he asked after I finished.

"More than anything, but I don't know if I could take part in it," I replied. Battling it out so early in my return just didn't feel right to me at the moment.

"That's a shame. Gonna be a hell of a lotta fun," he said as he took hold of my left hand and slipped the other underneath me, pulling me up in the gentlest manner possible. Intense pain rocketed through my body, making me cringe and suppress a groan.

"Well, now that we're done here, you have one more person to face," Buster said as he stepped back, allowing me to stand up.

"Who?" I asked.

"Goliath."