AllFreeNovel
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I need a weapon.
Straightening up from the wall, I look around, trying to gauge exactly where I am. I’m familiar with this city; both Julie and I are. It’s our home, no matter how difficult it’s been to grow up here. Finally, for the first time in my life, I feel like my time spent in Seattle has been useful … because now, I know what I need to do.
It’s only a few blocks walk from where I’d stopped, and I pray the entire time that nothing has changed, that the person I need help from now is still where he’s always been.
The run-down apartment complex is as ghetto as I remember it from childhood. Paint is peeling from the brick walls, coming off in layers. Cigarette butts and empty bottles of liquor litter the dead grass out front. A bum is sitting on the steps, watching me with sinful eyes as I walk past him and into the lobby of the complex.
Inside is the same as it has always been, and the air hangs with the hostile odor of rotting food and dirty people. I pull the jacket tighter around my midsection, taking a breath. My arm is throbbing, and I’m almost certain it’s bleeding again. Soon, the white gauze holding the slices together will be soaked cherry red. I can already feel the dizziness behind my eyes and the fight for air with every step I take.
Three flights of stained, carpeted stairs later, and I’m standing in front of the door I need. I don’t realize until I raise my fist and knock that my fingers are crossed in a silent prayer. After a moment, the door opens, just a crack, and a middle-aged woman with greasy, lank hair pokes her nose out. She reeks of booze and cigarettes and I take an automatic step back.
“What?” she says, her voice raw and hoarse.
“Hi, I’m, um, I’m looking for someone, but I don’t know if he lives here anymore.”
“No, probably not,” she says, and begins to close the door in my face. Without thinking twice about it, my foot kicks out to keep her from doing so. The woman stops, brown eyes narrowing.
“I’m looking for Travis.”
There’s a sudden glint in the woman’s eyes, surprise, but it’s gone before I can confirm it was ever there.
“There’s no one here by that name.” She shakes her head and starts to close the door again, but somewhere behind her, from inside of the living-room, a man’s voice speaks up.
“Let them in, Sasha.”
Sasha stands there for a moment glaring at me, thin lips twitching with displeasure. Then she scoffs, shakes her head, and moves away so I can come through. I keep my guard up, terrified of what I might find.
The living-room is dimly lit, curtains closed tight, cigarette smoke curling through the air. The place is dirty; garbage litters the floor, and the stink of booze and sweat is heavy in my nose. I imagine there must have at one time been a cat that lived here, because the whole place smells like a litter box. There are two couches in the small living area, and there’s one man on each couch. My eyes land on the couch closest to me, to the man that I’m certain is the one who spoke. Sasha drops down on the couch next to him, sniffling snot, reaching for a pack of cigarettes lying on the dirty coffee table in front of them.
“What’s your name?” the man asks me, his head tilting toward the door I’d left hanging open. I hesitate closing it, but I have no choice, not if I want his help. I turn and close it gently, then turn back around to face the guy.
“You don’t remember me?” I ask. “I remember you.”
The man frowns, his thick black brows furrowing in confusion, but I would recognize those cold blue eyes anywhere. He squints, and after a second a wide grin spreads across his face, revealing a row of yellow-stained teeth.
“Josephine Taylor,” he says, and my muscles relax, just a little. “Look at you, all grown up. How is life treatin’ ya?”
“No better than it’s treating you, apparently,” I say, my eyes roaming the used needles, stray cigarette butts, and open containers strewn about the apartment.
“Whoever said this life ain’t any good?” asks Travis. When he smiles again, I notice this time that multiple teeth are missing.
“I need your help,” I tell him. “Can you help me?”
“With what, princess?”
“Don’t call me princess.”
“Isn’t that what your mama called you?” Travis’ smile grows, and I cringe inwardly.
“Yeah, right after she’d beat the shit out of us for looking at her wrong,” I say.
“Your mother’s temper is what made her such a good fuck, don’t you know?” That stupid smirk on his face grows, and it takes everything I have in me not to punch him in the face as his eyes scan over my body. Nothing has changed, apparently. He’s still the same creep he’s always been. “What can I do for you, doll?”
I swallow and shove my hands into my pockets, hesitating.
“I need a gun.”
“A gun,” Travis repeats, and I can’t read his expression. “What does a sweet girl like you want with a dangerous weapon like that?”
