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Despite the fact that he’d at least proven trustworthy enough not to do anything to me after a few hours, it was still pure desperation that had me following him to what I was hoping wasn’t a trafficking ring, or something else equally heinous.
I relaxed a little as he took me to a slightly better part of town than where I’d been walking the day before. He chattered my ear off, all in that fake British accent, regaling me with stories about places I was sure he’d never visited.
Before I knew it, we were standing in front of the entrance to what appeared to be a fairly new shelter. The sign read that it was a women’s shelter, and the sight made me want to cry once again.
“When you get in there, tell ‘em Ole Bill sent you…they’ll give you the royal treatment,” he chortled, and tears filled my eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time—causing him to take a step away–probably fearing I would burst into hysterics again.
I hesitated for another moment before I finally ascended the steps that led to the shelter doors. Stopping halfway, I glanced back at Bill, who gave me another charmingly snaggletoothed grin. “I see great things for you, little duck,” he called after me when I continued to walk.
I knew I’d never forget him. He may have been homeless and slightly crazy, but he was also one of the kindest people I had ever met. He’d watched over me, a stranger, and helped me when I needed it the most.
As I walked inside, exhaustion still stretched across my shoulders, I strangely felt at peace right then that everything was going to work out.
“Welcome to Haven,” a kind woman murmured as I approached the front desk.
Haven indeed.
I could only hope.
