The Dark Journey - Chapter 5: Murder

[The Ravyn]

I suppose I should start this off with a strong warning about subject matter and content. This is a story of childhood sexual abuse, rape, drugs, prostitution, homelessness, slavery and ... eventually ... freedom.

Death rides a pale horse
and his visage is horrible to behold
When you look into those eyeless sockets
and see yourself reflected back
you know that you are
In very deep shit
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I spent the next week gathering supplies and trying to prepare for winter. My 'neighbor', who called himself Gus, gave me a lot of good advice and showed me the best places to find discards that were worthwhile and the best time of day to go looking. We had several discussions about life during that week, and I learned a great deal from him.

He had been a college professor, he told me, but he had taken to drinking too much and gave up all else for the bottle: wife, children, home, career. He had been sober now for almost six months and was very proud of that fact. I told him that he should be proud. I told him about my step father and his drinking and his cruelty. He said he didn't blame me at all for running away.

He gave me warning of a group of homeless men commonly referred to as 'hot-lunchers' who would lie in wait outside restaurants and attack people who had just eaten. They would hit their victim in the stomach until they vomited, and then eat the warm, steaming, partially digested food. My stomach turned as he spoke of these people and I couldn't imagine how anyone could do such a thing.

He also gave me advice on what to do if I felt I was being followed. Never return 'home', he told me, and always change directions when least likely, preferably just after turning a blind corner so that the pursuers couldn't see which way I had gone. To be careful of blind alleyways and dead ends. Always scout out routes in daylight that may be useful in throwing off pursuit. That way you won't become trapped or confused by the unexpected. Confusion, he said, was the enemy.

We occasionally took meals together and he was always ready to give me a hand working on my abode, fixing holes and finding suitable decorations. I felt like I had found a substitute father-figure and I enjoyed listening to his stories. He was always talking about Shakespeare and Homer and other literary giants. I found my imagination touching on tales of Romeo and Juliet, Odysseus, Othelo, Hamlet, and many other far away figures and places.

I was out searching the rubbish bins behind the shops and restaurants on Oak Street one evening when I heard footsteps approaching. I slipped behind the dumpster I had been peering into and waited for whoever it was to pass. I carefully looked around the side of the bin and saw two of the 'hot-lunchers' that Gus had identified for me a few days before coming down the alley. I quickly moved back so as to escape observation, and in doing so I glanced the other way down the alley and saw Gus angling toward me. He must have seen me crouched there. I shook my head at him and gestured up the alley.

He looked up and saw the two younger men bearing down on him. My heart began pounding faster as I heard their footsteps pick up pace. Gus turned and broke into a run toward the street, but they were too fast and caught him after only a dozen steps.

'Hey ya old fuck! What ya doin in our territory? You gonna have to pay for passin through here, ya mangy old cocksucker!'

Gus fought valiantly against them, but was overpowered by superior strength and numbers. One of the men kicked him in the groin and when he doubled over in pain the other kicked him in the face. Gus collapsed to the ground and the men immediately swarmed upon him, trying to strip off his coat, still cursing at him and hitting him occasionally.

I crouched, frozen in panic behind the dumpster, in the fading light of dusk as these men robbed my friend. I felt so hopeless and alone. All I could do was to watch helplessly.

Gus was still struggling and lashing out at them as best he could, and when he connected solidly with his boot to one of the men's sides, the man shouted several obscenities, drew a long thin-bladed knife from somewhere and stuck it into his chest, twice, three times, four. I gasped silently and turned away from the sight, shaking and crying silent tears.

When the men had taken everything that they wanted, they moved off quickly down the alley in the direction they had come from. When I was sure they were gone, I moved out from my refuge and quickly went to my friend's side. His eyes were open and his mouth worked soundlessly. At first he tried to strike out at me, but when he finally recognized me he seemed to relax slightly. His face was twisted in pain and his hands were clutched to his chest. Blood was running freely from the wounds and he was growing weaker by the second.

I sat on the ground and cradled his head in my lap, stroking his face and murmuring soft words that meant absolutely nothing as the tears ran down my face. His breathing was coming in hitching, gasping sobs and he coughed up blood. Lots of it. I knew he was dying and there was nothing in the world I could do about it. Fear and anger and a feeling of complete desolation swept over me. I held his clenched hands in mine trying somehow to ease his agony.

His eyes met mine briefly and I could see the knowledge and realization that they held. He weakly took my left hand in his and opened his right hand, placing something within it and then closed my hand around it. He mouthed something, but it was too dark to tell what he was trying to say. Coughing up more blood, his body tensed, relaxed, tensed again, relaxed again. The third time his body remained rigid for almost half a minute before relaxing for the last time. His wide staring eyes looked up at the stars unseeingly as my tears fell on his still and silent face.