galdrin

Canto 4. Interlude, the second - Myths & Visitations

My usual haunt is the roof.

In the area known as The Hole, the 23rd Street Shelter towers a single story higher than any other building in the neighborhood. That includes the old abandoned foundry that sprawls for, from what most of the kids can tell, endless blocks of twists, turns, and hideaways. Out the front door of the Shelter and across the street to the north is what's left of a rundown park. It was probably quite the prize in its day, extending all the way down to the river and paralleling the foundry. Now though, it's either a dust bowl or mud pit depending on the weather. Despite this, it's one of the safest places around, especially for the kids. See, all the kids know the foundry maze. We old-timers teach the younger ones - and the short-timers who are just passing through. Anyone hassles you in the park, you duck into the maze and whoever is pursuing you is left wondering where you went. Works every time - mostly.

The rest of the neighborhood is 1 or 2 story buildings or collapsed heaps of rubble. A half-mile of mostly abandoned shops, bars, and clubs - many still in their finest, albeit dusty and well used now. The old bank, its windows empty of glass, and its long teller counter with metal grillwork looks like an empty skull staring out at the street. There's a single-screen movie theater, long boarded up, with wisps of tattered paper fluttering in the 'Now Showing' frame. A handful of second-hand stores scattered here and there, trying to disguise themselves as antique shops. The whole area is seedy and run-down; a dangerous place for youngsters to wander around alone. But this is our place and we know it pretty much inside and out; where it's safe to go, and especially where not to go - a realm of pushers and winos, derelicts and a sick few that prey on the helpless and innocent. And - there are others.

The roof of the Shelter is my spot because I feel safer being in a position to watch all the comings and goings around the Ol' Twenty-third. It's a control thing, ya see? This is more my home than any other I'd ever been in and I feel responsible for everyone else here. My mom and I have basically survived here for years. She does a few odd-job-like things for a few families uptown that makes a few bucks to keep us from starving. Me? I watch out for the Shelter and its inhabitants.

The full moon is reflected in the puddles of rainwater on the rooftops. So, too, is the occasional flash of lightning and the occasional fat drops of rain says it will soon be starting again. My butt is damp and cold from sitting on the parapet wall and looking out at the night. The sound of rattling trashcans drifts up - one of the derelicts or winos in search of glass bottles for the deposit money and another night of alcohol-ridden dreams.

Something doesn't feel right. The hairs on the back of my arms stand up straight and a shiver runs down my spine. I pick up my baseball bat and walk the edge of the roof, peering down into the dark alleyways - trying to see whatever it is they're hiding that's out of place tonight. I've just about made the full circuit when she steps out and sits down on the ledge in front of me, patting the spot next to her. She wasn't there before, in fact there was no one on the roof with me - I was sure of it. I'd been up there alone. But there she was, Mad Maggie, who'd died a week ago tomorrow.

Maggie'd been a regular around The Hole for what seemed like forever, pushing her dented-up grocery cart up and down the streets, collecting glass bottles and aluminum cans for food money or little knick-knacks she'd find abandoned along her route. And the way she was always conveniently 'there' when there was trouble around was kinda spooky. If one of the local gang members or drug pushers happened across one of the kids alone, he'd suddenly turn around and find Mags leaned up against a street lamp or an alley corner watching and frowning. Most of those types wouldn't want any witnesses around. Besides - you didn't want to get crosswise of Maggie - funny things had a habit of happening to you if you did. She was legend.

A little unsettled, I looked her over. She was still wearing the threadbare flowery dress that was her favorite, that raggedy old coat of hers and although I didn't hear their characteristic 'squish' sound, those black high-tops of hers - the ones she was always saying were so comfortable for all the walking around she did. Yep - just like the way she was dressed the afternoon she died, struck down by a hit-and-run driver. Scoff all you want, the stories ARE true.

"Come over here, sweetheart." She cackled. "Have a seat."

"Mags? What are you doing here?" I said as I walked over and took the offered seat, looking out on 23rd Street. I'd hoped she'd gone on to somewhere better.

Maggie looks around, making sure no one else is with us, and says "I've come to warn ya."

"Warn me - about what? What's going on Mags? What's happened?"

"Shush now. One of the Mighty has run a-foul of the Fallen, Rhy." She said.

"Oh crap." I blurted out, "Jeezus..."

"Watch your mouth, youngin'!" She cautioned and then a strange look came over her pale face.

"What do you see, Mags?"

"One comes." She mumbles, "I see a young tatter-mouse running through the streets. I see a stream of red running into an alley gutter. Floating in the stream is a feather of white, bent and mutilated. Oh my!"

"No more, Maggie, please?"

Maggie grabs my arms, her dead black eyes stare through me, focused on something or somewhere else.

"I see sin moving with breakneck speed. I see the abyss rising up. I see a woman crying tears of blood."

I can feel Maggie's eyes shift to me. "Rhy, you'll have to be the one to help her 'cause there is no one else. She's lost and confused. She isn't a believer yet. Go with her, but be careful. Watch your back. There will be a confrontation."

Mad Maggie started to fade into nothingness, returning to wherever she'd appeared from. i heard the sound of someone running and looked down to see a figure hurrying toward the Ol' Twenty-third - a hooded figure in a threadbare jacket. The rain starts falling again.