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ChapterOne
CARMELA
It was a relatively mundane early summer evening. The heat of the day had somewhat died down and dusk was settling in over the city.
A soft breeze tickled against my cheeks and refreshed me. I breathed in the air. A siren wailed faintly in the distance. An occasional car horn beeped. Every block or so I'd pass people on the sidewalk, catching a word or two here of what they were talking about, a short glimpse into their lives until their conversation faded away.
The sky overhead was a reviving burnt orange color, with hues of pink. It made the atmosphere of the quant and charming residential Boston side street I was walking down feel even more cozy.
I was just walking along, lost in deep thought, thinking about the day and everything I still needed to work on. I was making a mental check list of the things I knew I needed to accomplish by the end of the week— mainly involving my research.
I was a roboticist graduate of MIT, living on the whirlwind of Boston's thriving energy and just trying to keep up.
I had to live life on the edge, but as a research graduate hungry to achieve my doctorate, I had no choice but to live my life in the fast lane.
I craved the high paced lifestyle. It suited me. Of course, that didn't mean I didn't enjoy quality down time, but honestly it came few and far between.
Currently, I was on my way home from a long and exhausting day at the lab. I was lost in transition so to speak, somewhere halfway between a buzzing brain that I couldn't dial down, and a state of decompression.
That's when something weird happened.
This ominous feeling started to crawl over me and unsettle me from within. It was like an instinct of sorts that something was amiss. Something just didn't…feelright.
I adjusted the straps of my backpack and tossed a wary glance over my shoulder. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of cars parallel parked on the side of the road like normal.
There was no one in sight. Not even a single car, motorcycle, pedestrian, or bicyclist came down the street.
This kind of unnerved me too. If something happened to me, there wouldn't be any witnesses, no one to help me out.
Normally I wasn't afraid of my walk home from the lab. I carried mace in my pocket, and I was aware of my surroundings. I was a little on the petite side, so I didn't have many physical defenses at my disposal.
However, I grew up in the foster care system, so at the same time, I still knew how to take care of myself.
I'd gone through hell growing up, and I've had my ups and downs. I'd endured quite a bit of negative experiences on the way to gaining my doctorate and my grant as well, but no matterwhatlife threw in my direction, Ialwaysfound a way to pick myself up and keep going, right where I left off. I was scrappy that way, you might say.
The trip home to my apartment wasn't a long journey anyway, just about three blocks to the subway, and then a six block ride home from there. I rented a studio on the second floor of an eclectic little brownstone.
The building was owned by a dainty seventy year old woman named Estere, whom you could always find whizzing around like a little hummingbird through the building, giving repairmen sass, or cheerily greeting her tenants as she passed them in the hallway.
Estere kept herself busy. She wanted to be involved in every aspect of what went on in her building. She was just part of that generation who wanted to reap the fruits of their labor.
Estere was a widow, an Italian immigrant who had come to America about fifty years ago when her late husband received a better job opportunity.
A lot of times, and it didn't really matterwhattime of day it was actually— I could smell the delicious scent of cherry pies wafting through the air— her favorite, or spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. It would always make my mouth water, and I could recognize the smell of Estere's cooking anywhere. She pretty much excelled in everything she did.
Sometimes when I would be passing through on my way to or from work, if Estere was out in the hallway, she would always try to scoop me up and lure me inside with her tasty treats. Sometimes I would oblige her if I had enough time.
I knew the poor woman was lonely and desperate for any kind of human company. I could see her loneliness, illuminated in the zesty sparkle of her light blue eyes. As long as you were good to Estere and religiously paid your rent on time, Estere was as loyal and matronly as they came.
Anyway, I was almost to the subway, but still feeling so close, yet so far. My eyes were burning, and I felt a general fatigue that I couldn't shake. I needed rest and down time, more than I even realized.
I couldn't wait to crash on my couch and sleep until the next morning.
If I hadanyclue about the fact that it wouldneverhappen, I would have tried harder to hide myself from the imminent danger surrounding me.
Then again, I wouldn't have had the life experiences to follow,orI also would never have met Cyburn. You always had to take the good with the bad. I won't sit here and say it was an easy process, but it was something I had to go through to get where I am.
I shuffled along, picking up my stride and becoming more paranoid as the wind shifted.
