There wasn’t even a trace of who she used to be. Not one bit. If anyone from her past were to walk by her now, they wouldn’t even have a blip of recognition.
She didn’t either.
Wiping away the flecks of vomit and a few straggler tears, Callie whispered. “Randy’s right. I’m quiet when loaded. Everything is quiet when the venom enters the veins.”
Grabbing her purse and phone from the counter, Callie stopped just shy of the door and turned around. On a whim, she grabbed her old backpack, stuffed it with the journal, photo album, and drawing pad. She feared returning home and finding herself locked out or robbed. Once the items were secured, she ran out the door and into the streets, heading toward the corner where she knew the white memory eraser awaited in the hands of countless dealers eager for their junkie clientele to arrive.
Callie ran toward her lover—her only real friend. Smack controlled her world, and she’d been stupid enough to think it would let her live without it. Heroin was a jealous bastard, unwilling to release her body from its death grip.
She found little comfort in the fact that at least this time, she had cash to pay for the smack, rather than turning a trick in exchange for a hit.
“I tried,” Callie whispered to the cold night air, almost thankful she had no loved ones around to watch her crash and burn once again.
CHAPTER NINE
Later That Night
Spotting one of the dealers she frequented, Callie strode up to him. “Sable, I need some medicine real bad.”
“Don’t know what you mean, bitch. I ain’t no—wait, KiKi? Is that you?”
Callie nodded, ignoring the shocked look on Sable’s face.
“You look rough. Damn near didn’t recognize you without your work clothes and makeup. Where you been?”
“Sable, please. No questions. I’ve got plenty of cash,” Callie flashed the wad inside her wallet. “I’ll take all you got.”
Sable’s eyes widened as he let out a low whistle. “No wonder I ain’t seen you or Teri around. You two have been hitting a lot of johns! What’s that, about eight hundred?”
Sweat poured down Callie’s face. The shakes were making it hard to stand still. The bright lights and loud noises of the city made her feel dizzy. “Over a grand. Please, Sable. Help me.”
“Dope sick’s a bitch! If you want that much, baby, we need to take a walk. Follow me.”
Relieved the pain would be gone soon, Callie followed Sable down the sidewalk. She’d buy enough to go out with a bang. Go home, fill the tub with hot water then slip away into the next life on a cloud of bliss. She didn’t want to live any longer.
Not thinking straight as she planned out her exit strategy, Callie didn’t notice they were in the dark alleyway where Teri died until it was too late. They were far away from the hubbub of the city—a hidden area rarely visited by people when darkness fell. Sable stopped walking and turned around. The smile on his face was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. “All of it. Now.”
“Yes, all of it. How many grams will this get me?” Callie asked even though she knew Sable had no intention of selling her smack.
“You ain’t getting shit. I’ll be taking all you got,” Sable hissed while snatching Callie’s purse from her shoulder. Tossing it to the ground near his right leg, he stepped closer. “You recognize where you are, ho?”
The long, silver blade in his hand shimmered under the dim rays from a lone streetlight. Callie’s blood ran cold. She lied. “Just an alley, Sable. Look, please, I need a fix! Take the money, I don’t care, just leave me a few grams?”
Sable threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “Even only seconds away from the end, a junkie still wants a hit. You’re pathetic. I’m ain’t gonna make this easy for you. You’re gonna die slow, in pain and alone, just like you let happen to Sugar Beets.”
Taking a step back, Callie whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lying bitch! You left her body and ran. She took you in, treated you like family—”
“Sable, please! Let me explain.”
“Fuck you,” Sable yelled, lunging forward.
Everything happened so fast Callie didn’t have time to think about what she was doing. Primal instincts kicked in after the knife grazed her forearm, leaving a stinging gash. Ignoring the pain, Callie fought back like a wild woman, kicking and punching with all she had. Sable was smaller than she was but lightning fast. He caught her chin with a left hook, knocking her backward into the brick wall.
Seconds before, she was ready to end her life. She’d given up and wanted to die, yet now, the overwhelming urge to survive, to not have a dirty alley be the last thing she saw, fueled her limbs with renewed strength.
When Sable advanced, Callie tried to kick him in the knee, knowing if she did enough damage it would give her time to run. The oily, black pavement was slick from an earlier rain shower and she lost her balance, her foot barely grazing Sable’s kneecap.
“Nice try, bitch!” Sable yelled.
She let out an ear-splitting scream as the knife plunged into her shoulder. Sable’s body crushed hers against the wall.
Bombarded with pain, stunned by sheer terror, Callie stared into the dark, demented eyes of the last person she’d ever see while breathing. Sable crushed his lips on hers and whispered, “Rot in hell,” while yanking the blade from her shoulder.
It took every ounce of strength Callie had not to collapse onto the ground. Blood soaked through the t-shirt, leaving traces of its warmth down her cold arm. Gasping for air as darkness crept in, Callie tried to force the dizziness away.
Time for my last stand she thought while making a fist. God, I’m so sorry. For everything.
Sable raised the knife, the gruesome, terrifying smile back. It disappeared when a noise to the right caught his attention.
“This ain’t your business—” Sable grumbled.
“It is now.”
Callie thought she was hallucinating. A man stepped out of the shadows and attacked Sable. She heard the sick sound of flesh connecting with flesh. Sable never stood a chance as the man landed blow after blow, his huge hands covered in black gloves. The knife clattered across the pavement as Sable’s body fell to the ground less than two feet away, blood seeping from the wounds to his face.
Shaking, mouth agape while staring at Sable’s unmoving body, Callie looked for the rise and fall of his chest. Though slight, it was there. Shifting her attention back to the big man standing less than five feet away, she couldn’t speak. Before she could blink twice, the stranger was by her side. He grabbed her free hand and pushed against the wound on her shoulder.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. Keep pressure on it.”
Close to fainting, Callie watched in silence as the man picked up her purse. He moved over to Sable’s body, rifling through his pockets. After removing a wad of cash, he snatched up the knife. It disappeared into his pocket along with the money.
Her legs gave out. Callie slid down the wall, landing with a hard thump on the ground. Everything turned dark gray. She whispered, “Live. I want to live.”
“Oh, shit. Come on girl, stay with me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“No hospital or cops. Take me to 4597 Hobson. B.”
Callie couldn’t utter another sound or see anymore. Darkness swallowed her up just as she felt her body being lifted. The wail of a distant siren made the stranger move faster.
“I’ve got you. Just hang on.”
Opening her eyes, Callie winced as hot pain tore through her shoulder.
“Sorry. Sort of hoped you’d be out until I finished. Almost done.”
Callie nodded while studying the face of the stranger tending to the wounds. His blond hair was in a buzz cut and deep, dark lines creased his face. He looked rough, dirty, and yet there was a hint of warmth behind his eyes. She’d never been good with guessing the age of others, but she thought he lo
oked in his mid-forties. She was still too shaken up to really think straight, yet she searched her memories anyway. He didn’t look familiar at all.
“There, all set. The shoulder and arm were only minor tissue damage. No nicks to any arteries or veins. I haven’t patched anybody up like this in a long time and I’m a bit rusty, so the scars might be ugly later. Wish you’d change your mind about the hospital.”
Unsure what to say, wary of the motivations of her rescuer, Callie stared at the makeshift bandage on her shoulder. It was the only clean bath towel she had. Is this really happening? Maybe I’m still in the alley, half dead and hallucinating?
“Afraid they’ll discover your dirty secret?” the man asked while pointing at the track marks between Callie’s toes.
Her mouth dropped open. “Who are you, and why did you help me?”
“Name’s Mitchell.”
Watching him grab the bloody towels and her clothes then step into the bathroom, Callie furrowed her brow. The man was dressed in black from head to toe, including dark smudges on his cheeks and forehead. She stole a quick glance around the bedroom, shocked to discover she was in her bed, naked. She pulled the dirty sheet over her body. “Got a last name, Mitchell? And an explanation of why you showed up like some avenging angel and saved my life?”
Chuckling while washing his hands, Mitchell responded, “I’m no angel. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Silly expression I know but in this case the truth.”
Callie tried to sit up but a wave of dizziness made her stop. Her right arm throbbed. “Gee, thanks for clearing that up, and for undressing me. Was that really necessary?”
Mitchell flicked off the bathroom light, stepping back into the cramped bedroom. Without even asking, he removed his shoes and pants, turned off the overhead light, and then stretched out next to her on the bed. Callie’s mouth went dry, wondering what fresh hell she’d woken up to and what was coming next.
After taking a deep breath, Mitchell said, “It was. Had to make sure I found all the wounds.”
“Uh-huh,” Callie muttered.
Silence fell between them for several minutes. The few rays of moonlight streaming in through the window helped her eyes adjust to the darkness. She wondered what time it was and how long she’d been out. Mitchell’s breathing was deep and rhythmic. She hoped he’d fallen asleep.
“It’s Sinclair. Nice to meet you, Ms. Novak.”
“How did you—?” The question dried up in Callie’s throat when Mitchell pointed to the backpack and purse on the floor. She couldn’t hold her tongue any longer and let the questions fly. “Why did you help me? Why did you beat him up? Is he dead? Why did you bring me back here? Patch me up? Not insist I go to the hospital? Take the knife and his money? Please don’t say you’re hoping for free pussy for the rest of your life or other such nonsense like I’m your sex slave now. If that’s the case, you should’ve just left me. I’m done with that life.”
Chuckling softly, Mitchell answered, “You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that. Knew it when I saw you standing in the alley, all bloody and exhausted with your fist in air. Sorry he got to you before I arrived. I lost him in the crowd. I followed the sound of your screams but was damn near too late. He’s not dead, but when he wakes up, he’ll probably wish he was. Sure would be nice to hear a thank you.”
Callie’s mind spun while attempting to make sense of the events of the last several hours. Was she really alive and back at Teri’s? Did Sable really try to kill her and some random hero stepped in and beat his brains out? No, no way. She had to be dreaming, still plagued by strange nightmares from the withdrawals.
Part of her mind wanted to believe that, yet another whispered it was all real. Turning her head in his direction, she squinted in the darkness at Mitchell’s massive, muscular back. She didn’t get any sort of negative vibe from the man other than at some point, he’d either been a cop or perhaps in the military. The way he moved, spoke, and the wariness behind his eyes were dead giveaways. She’d serviced enough of the men in uniform to know. “Okay, Mitchell Sinclair. Thank you for saving me.”
“Do you remember telling me you wanted to live?” Mitchell asked.
The memory was fuzzy but there. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth because despite everything that happened, she did, which made absolutely no sense. What in the world did she have to live for or look forward to? She couldn’t answer that question even inside her own mind, yet the will to continue on hummed in her chest. “Yes. I’ve got no clue how or where to start, but yes.”
Rolling over to face her, Mitchell’s blue eyes bored a hole into Callie’s. “Do you mean it? You want to get off the shit and stop selling yourself on the streets? ”
Raising an eyebrow, Callie asked, “Why do you care what I do with my life, Deputy Sinclair?”
“Detective Sinclair—retired. If you’re going to be a smartass, you need to get it right.”
“At least my cop radar still functions,” Callie responded. “I didn’t realize Shelby County cops turned into armed vigilantes when they retired. I mean, you’re even wearing black for God sakes. Batman fetish?”
“Were you this mouthy before, or is this something new after the lowlife rang your bell?”
The teasing gleam behind Mitchell’s eyes made Callie burst out laughing instead of responding with a witty retort about her own Dark Knight fantasies. Though the action made her arm throb, it felt wonderful to truly laugh. “I lost most of myself in the last year, but my smart mouth is one of the few things that remained.”
“So, you’re from Arkansas.”
Callie stopped smiling as a tremor of worry skittered up her spine. Mitchell’s words weren’t said as a question—more like a statement of fact. She’d lost her driver’s license months ago, along with her social security card. The only way Mitchell could have known where she was from, along with her name, was by flipping through the photo album while she’d been unconscious. “Yeah, so?”
Propping up on an elbow, Mitchell said, “Me, too. I retired a few weeks ago after I lost my partner. I decided to make a trip to Memphis to release some inner demons.”
She didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. “And you just happened to run into a fugitive from Little Rock in a dark alley getting jammed up by a drug dealer and then just for shits and giggles, intervene? No, wait, that’s a silly question. I’m just dreaming. Any minute I’ll wake up, run to the bathroom, puke my guts out, and realize my brain is totally fried.”
“Let me guess. Day five of trying to quit on your own, you caved and went out searching to score?” Mitchell asked.
“Okay, now you’re really starting to freak me out.”
“Thought so. The first week is a fun ride on the paranoia train. Like I said earlier, you’re a tough one. Five days clean on your own is rough and commendable. If you're serious about staying that way, I have connections. I could make some calls—get you into a treatment facility. That is, of course, if you’re finished with the melodramatics?”
“Not possible. I don’t have money or insurance. Am I finished freaking yet? Hardly. I’m just getting started.”
Mitchell flopped back onto the pillow. “Okay, I give. Talk. Ask questions. Get it out of your system so I can rest. Then, once you stop yapping, I’ll tell you what I can do for you.”
Dumbstruck, Callie didn’t know what to think. There was a sense of underlying danger, like he was hiding something from her, yet at the same time, Mitchell Sinclair reminded her of someone. It took a few minutes to figure out why she immediately took a shine to him and sensed she could trust him.
Daddy.
The man was tough, strong, brash, and cocky, yet he’d risked his life to save a complete stranger. Just like her father—a man who’d brought home countless stray animals over the years, determined to nurse them back to health—Mitchell seemed to want to help. Was it genuine?
Does it matter?
&n
bsp; Taking a deep breath, grateful to have someone to talk to who was really listening without being judgmental or asking anything in return, Callie started her story.
She told him everything, starting with the horrible day on the track field up until Mitchell arrived in the alley. Talking helped keep her from thinking about drugs, for the most part. A few times, when the shakes and muscle cramps roared back, Mitchell gathered her into his arms, holding her close to his chest while stroking her hair until they passed. It was awkward and wonderful at the same time.
When she got to the part about De’Shawn, how he’d ambushed her in the bookstore parking lot, she felt Mitchell’s muscles stiffen. When she broke down and sobbed after telling him what happened to her mother, his grip tightened as though he was trying to keep her from falling apart.
Hours passed and at some point, Callie finally ran out of words and fell into deep, restful sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
The Next Afternoon
It was late afternoon when she woke up to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.
“Mitchell?”
He swore under his breath before answering. “Sorry. Never was any good at cooking. You ready for some ramen noodles and toast?”
“Actually, yes. I’m starving.”
“Give me five,” Mitchell called back.
Groaning as she exited the bed, Callie shuffled to the bathroom, stopping short when she caught her full reflection in the mirror. “Holy shit!”
“Yeah, those bruises will be really ugly by day three,” Mitchell yelled. “Oh, and don’t take a shower yet. Need that bandage on another full day.”
“Okay.”
By the time she finished washing her face and gave herself a PTA bath, she heard Mitchell walk into the bedroom.
“Need some help getting dressed?”
“No, I’m fine,” Callie answered while staring at a pair of red sweat pants and orange t-shirt draped over the towel rack. “You must be colorblind.”
Ruined Wings Page 10
