Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  With all bags, save the satchel, piled on the cart, Sarah and Carli bused the baggage out of the park. Even with the new shopping cart, it was a bulky load. As Carli carried the satchel, she felt eyes of many upon them. Blood, after all, was blood.

  A call box brought a police officer from the Outreach squad straight to Sarah’s side within minutes. He understood an ambulance would scare the woman away. So, he gently shielded Sarah’s head, and held her weight with one of his arms, as she jostled her way onto the black vinyl interior of his car. Her bags fit nicely beside her. The cart settled into the trunk. Sarah was going in. Carli had the officer phone Mercy with the report.

  Were it not for the money and cart full of bags, Sarah likely would have gotten help on her own. Certainly, she knew where to go, though fear might have kept her out. The money explained a lot, like why she never went in before, why she never took a shower, or put her bags in storage. A doctor’s recommendation would surely get Sarah moved to one of the more private shelters. Carli was certain Sarah would actually go in this time. She was ready.

  Carli demanded kid-glove treatment. Didn’t want to see her woman back on the sidewalks and refused to leave her. The park would be fine with one less person. Carli stood by Sarah’s side until a social worker completed the papers, and the doctor made his review; the suturing process wasn’t pretty.

  At last, they brought Sarah to a bed. Her swollen legs and battered body finally had a mattress, and her head a clean pillow. Carli took the satchel and one extra bag Sarah relinquished to her care. First thing in the morning, Carli would return to visit. Buffy’s mama was finally in! For five minutes, Carli sat on the doorstep to Sarah’s building and cried.

  Grant was no spring flower when Carli returned. In fact, he idled like a car burning oil, and his black haze pushed Sarah’s news far afield. Grant had pulled out his ace. A handgun rested on the floor, bedside, barely visible under the sheet spewed off the side of his mattress. The black-barreled revolver screamed at Carli in silent sirens.

  “Grant,” she said softly. “What are you doing?”

  She managed one step forward. She wanted to run but didn’t dare leave. Grant remained fixed to his bed. Did he intend to kill her too? She inched closer. Grant made no move toward the gun. He was painfully silent.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  “This?” Grant managed to point a finger at the unwanted intruder. It was as though he was pointing it straight at her. “Just had it,” he said. “Used to wear it.”

  “Why … is it out?”

  “Rats.” He paused and stared her down. “Heard ’em. Ugly sons of bitches.” His voice sounded ugly and slow; so slow, there was a pause between nearly every word. “It’s the problem … with everyone storing food here,” he said.

  “There are better ways to get rid of rats,” she said.

  “You took my lock.” His monotone felt threatening. She might have preferred anger. She wondered if the steel intruder had bullets enough for both of them.

  “Yes,” she confessed. “I wanted …”

  “Leave,” he demanded.

  Carli focused on his face. Leaving was what she wanted to do. Others were far better trained at this than she. Yet, she was afraid to go. Afraid of the possibilities. “Grant,” she started. He glanced up, and she looked straight into his eyes for several long seconds. Then she said, “Henry … please …”

  Grant peered at her for many moments, silent and still. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t mean to say it,” she said. She moved a step closer. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

  Grant moved his hand slightly.

  “Please, Grant, let’s see a doctor. Now.”

  Barely raising his eyes, he said, “Leave. Now.” His finger seemed poised.

  “Grant, you can’t …” She wondered if he would point it at his temple or down his throat. She saw a violence-filled struggle for the weapon to stop his intentions cold. She saw gunshots to her back and to his front. All of this she saw in a mere flicker of a second. In the end, she acquiesced to his request. He seemed far too sedate to do anything, let alone end his life.

  Three steps back took her out of the bin. Two more removed him from sight. She heard no sound, no leap toward the gun. Grant was silent. The gun was silent. Carli ran quietly, fearing what she might hear. God, she silently prayed, don’t let him do it.

  Carli grabbed Neuman’s phone. It was a call she had hoped to avoid. It was a long seven minutes before first responders arrived – six of them from many sectors. Thankfully, the gun was never raised. Carli grabbed it from his bed and hid it in her bag before others saw it. Grant had made no move to claim it. For all she knew, it wasn’t even loaded, but the last thing Grant needed was to be charged for an illegal weapon in New York City. Grant went peacefully. Something inside him must have known. Perhaps he had wanted her to walk in, as she had, to be his gun’s safety lock, and answer his pitiful cry for help, the cry he couldn’t put into words. Oh, surrounding blackness.

  Far from feeling like she had saved him, Carli felt she had abandoned him when she handed him over to a system of strangers. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do. She described the inciting incident, his appointments with Dr. Greenberg and diagnosis, and his recent refusal of prescribed medication. Against his former wishes, she told them she was his sister. It was now up to him.

  Carli walked the streets in a haze of guilt and loss, wanting Henry back, but knowing how ill he truly was. How could he see it in everybody else, and ignore it in himself? That was the illness. Dear God, she thought, let him see it.

  He was placed on suicide watch. Though he hadn’t made a direct threat, Carli’s account of the gun, news of the knife, and Grant’s overall intent and demeanor were evidence enough for his examiner. His supervision was constant, his means few, and the care good.

  During the next days, drugs flowed back into his body. He responded well. Perhaps it would only be a matter of time before he would be his renewed self, but it could be a rocky road, and he would have to be willing to travel it. For now, he at least seemed safe.

  Carli shared the news with Mercy.

  “It’s mighty hard to do what you did,” said Mercy. “It was the right call. The only call. You’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Street visits were bittersweet in their semi-empty state. Sarah had spent several sleepless nights inside. As much as she wanted in, she didn’t. At least she wasn’t sharing space with a rat, and she seemed comforted by Carli’s visits. Grant was heading in a better direction. Wilson’s park looked like it was waiting, just waiting, for another to come along. Carli found Canada resting lazily on a bench in a park near the library. He was just the person she wanted to see.

  “I had a problem with Grant,” she said. “I wanted you to know.”

  Canada listened intently as the news percolated. Both agreed a person could hide things. Canada seemed to have less to hide than many others, perhaps because most of Canada’s baggage had already surfaced and was carried in the open. Carli knew Grant wanted Canada off the streets, not only for Canada’s sake but for the sake of others. It was Grant’s belief that Canada could even join the Outreach team, and maybe even partner up with Grant. At least that’s what Grant had said. Carli didn’t know what to believe of Grant’s words. Clearly, no one had been poisoned. Yes, three had died over the past year, but not as Grant envisioned. His poisoning theory was just a bad memory associated with his gruesome departure from the cult. Nevertheless, Carli tested the waters and quickly learned that Grant had, indeed, talked with Canada about doing Outreach. Several times, as a matter of fact.

  “Grant’s right,” he began. “I know a lot of them. Wilson ... well, he was going to be out until some emergency raced him in. That’s just what happened. Who knows if it is too late for his body. Harry’s hurting as bad as any. I figure he looks after Grudge to direct his loss and feel more useful. That Spaceman Irving has issues. Most eve
ryone stays clear, but I don’t think he’d hurt an ant. The Screamer’s a weird bird, and nobody knows her name, but she’s still a person somewhere in there. We just have to find her again. There are a whole lot of others you might not know too well since you’re visiting a couple of ladies, but I know them.”

  “What about you? What keeps you out? Grant’s so certain you could go in, and, what’s more, reach others.”

  Canada tried to smile, a clear cover. “I’m not sure I can start over,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Just the way it is,” he said. “Afraid, I guess.”

  “People change. Getting inside would give you a better place to think about it. And think about a different way to help others. On the street and down on Wall Street.”

  Carli left him to consider it and found herself strolling past Sarah’s bench in the park. On this spectacular summer’s day, the park, bustling with people, felt oddly empty. Sarah had been a part of Carli’s park for as long as she had done Outreach, and even before she had known Sarah by name. It was empty, too, without Grant. She didn’t bother going to Lucy’s church. There was no one she wanted to see. She skipped out on Vera, put off Harry for another day, but phoned for an update on Wilson, and learned he was holding steady.

  Thirty

  “Carli ... or should I say Tess ...” Grant looked deeply into her eyes. “I want out.” He continued to stare deeply for many seconds more. “I don’t want to be here any longer, even if I have some liver problems, as they say.”

  Carli held him close. It had been almost a week, with daily visits, sometimes for hours, that Carli had carried the guilt of sending him to the hospital. Finally, she heard the words she had hoped for. She continued to hold him close in her arms, overwhelmed by the power of love.

  The next day, he asked about the others. Finally, she could share the news of Sarah.

  “No way!” Grant’s voice boomed.

  “She asked me to keep something.” Carli paused. “Her money. Don’t know if she’s staying put, so I didn’t check it with anyone.”

  Grant was interested. “Some of that probably came from me. Dropped a share of twenties to her over the year.”

  “Really?”

  “A benefit of living where I do. Usually have extra to pass around.”

  “She conned you.” Carli spilled the details. “It was nearly eighty thousand dollars. All kinds of bills.”

  Grant buried his face in his hands. Muffled laughter grew into a hearty laugh, as infectious as ever. He, of all people, appreciated a good con.

  Sarah Melissa Stewart, Carli thought to herself, thank you for bringing him back.

  “Technically,” said Grant, “you ought to tell the shelter so they can figure her assistance and benefits right. Non-technically, I suggest you keep ahold of it for a while longer to be sure she’s staying, like you said.” Carli agreed.

  “Speaking of living where you do,” said Carli, “what was with the apartment on Lexington Ave.? The one you told me you lived in when you first visited my apartment?”

  “You went?” he asked. “Hah! I should have known. Just something I do, rent one of those short-term vacation rentals every so often. Different places across Manhattan. To keep Nirvu off my trail. Don’t want them to know where I really live.”

  Grant’s words of the cult sent shivers through her body. She said, “Grant, I think we’re safe. Both of us.”

  Grant shook his head ever so slightly. Maybe it wasn’t time yet for him to be released after all. “I see,” was all she said.

  “By the way,” he added, “Canada stopped by. Thanks for telling him.”

  Discharged from the hospital, Grant dismissed any suggestion of moving out of his storage room and sharing space in Carli’s apartment, even on the most temporary basis. He did visit a few times, once to officially meet Kristin.

  “You remember her, right? This is a long-time friend,” said Carli. “Just about everything I’ve done over the past few decades, I have done at least once with Kristin.”

  “That’s right, Sister,” said Kristin.

  Carli noticed a strange look on Grant’s face. “It’s a nickname. She’s not really my sister.”

  Grant laughed and then looked at Carli for a long moment. “Don’t you think I would know that?” he asked. He continued to grin and look Carli straight in the eyes. “You know what else I know?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” said Carli.

  “If you two are as close as you say you are, Kristin, here, likely knows exactly who I am, maybe even knows more about me than I know about myself.”

  Carli and Kristin were silent.

  “Just as I thought,” he said. Grant gently tapped Carli on the arm, as he had done through childhood. “It’s okay. I get it.” Then he looked at Kristin and said, “I’m sorry you got to know her all these years and I didn’t. She’s a good one.”

  Henry was back.

  In another few days, Carli and Grant met at St. Mary’s. It was like starting over. It felt terrific. The energy he carried was better than ever. Carli guessed most of the street clan would never know how lucky they were to have Grant visiting. She certainly would.

  Walking into his storage room afterward, Carli saw he had cleaned. Much had been tossed, and even more had been sorted. Paintings lined one wall, clothes another. She saw so many from Outreach skillfully captured on canvas. She didn’t recall seeing as many paintings during her other visits. The shoes he kept were organized in pairs; his shirts and pants were folded and stacked.

  “Where did it go?” she asked.

  “New Hope Thrift. Where else?”

  “Should have known. It looks great. Say, Thelma would like us to visit. She’d like to meet this man called Grant. Knows he helped her friend Lucy.”

  “Give me a week,” he said. “Maybe Tuesday.”

  It was barely midnight when Grant phoned several nights later. He sounded desperate.

  “Man, I just had a nasty crash. Stomach hurts like a bull’s inside, but Royal looks salvageable.”

  “I’ll be right over,” she said.

  “No need. Just want you to know. I might be late getting out tomorrow.”

  “What were you doing riding in the rain?” she asked.

  “You call this rain?” he asked. “Hah! It’s a deluge! But I couldn’t sleep. Thought a ride would help wind me down.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? I can take you to Emergency.”

  “No. I’m fine. I didn’t call to worry you. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Carli clicked off her phone and tried to fall asleep. Half an hour later, she grabbed her car keys. He was right; it was a deluge. She couldn’t imagine controlling a bicycle through the intermittent riverways winding from buildings to sidewalks and streets to drains. Her car’s wipers couldn’t keep up with all that was falling. It made for very slow driving, even with relatively few cars. Most of the taxis, she suspected, were carrying show-goers home post-performance, at least those who had been lucky enough to beat others to a cab.

  Carli found his storage bin unlocked and with its light on. Grant lay spread across his mattress. His room was even tidier than the days before. He had even hung his wall tapestry from the ceiling. It hid the tangle of ugly wires, but he had cut a hole in it for the lights. It looked like a canopy bed. The room looked oddly cozy and, at the same time, spacious. She stepped past Royal in the hall, with part of its front fender badly bent.

  “Knock knock,” she whispered. “It’s Carli. I came anyway.”

  Grant didn’t move.

  Carli stepped closer to sit on his mattress edge. She noticed his clothes were soaked through. His hair, too, was wet with rainwater. Wet sneakers covered his feet, and a slight puddle lay on the ground beneath his left shoe hanging over the edge.

  “Grant,” she said. “It’s Carli. Wake up. You should change into dry clothes.”

  Grant didn’t move. She touched him lightly on the shoulder and said hi
s name one more time. As she did, she stiffened. From her hand to her chest and her head to her feet she felt the awful, undeniable grip of panic. Everything hit at once – the small plastic bag of white pills on the bed, one half of a pill near his turned head, his bloodless, pale face, and his way-too-still body. Her hand didn’t rise and fall with his breaths. It didn’t move at all.

  “Grant!” she screamed.

  Carli dialed 9 -1-1. Then she began chest compressions with all her might.

  “Please, Grant. Wake up!” She tried shaking him alive. “Grant ... Grant ... Henry, no!” She continued CPR. No pulse and no breath responded back. As soon as emergency teams arrived, they began the resuscitation and naloxone routines. Come on, Grant. Come back. Please, come back. She said it over and over to herself, as she helplessly watched the others.

  Grant’s heart suddenly came to life. “Oh, Dear God,” she whispered. “Thank you. Yes, thank you, Lord.” She watched the team assess him. Grant’s face gained a blush of color. Ten seconds later, his heartbeat stopped, and it all ended again. For good. He had been given only ten more seconds of life.

  Carli stared at her brother, feeling as though she might faint. Then she made a rash decision. Yes, it was the right thing to do. She dialed Wilson’s hospital. The conversation was brief, with a disappointing result: without a directive from Grant, he couldn’t give Wilson his badly-needed organs. Besides, she was told, Wilson’s body wasn’t yet strong enough for major surgery. Carli sat on his mattress edge again, lowered her head to his back, and wrapped her arms around him, wondering what had gone wrong.

  “Just when I had you back,” she said. “Dear God, please tell me what happened. And why you had to have him.”

  In automated fashion, Carli went through the practicalities of moving Grant for an autopsy and addressing other arrangements. It was almost sunrise, but the sky was still dark when she knocked on a cardboard box near the Midtown Synagogue.