Chapter One
Tuesday-Early Evening

Abby ran frantically down the poorly paved street. The slim young woman stumbled but somehow didn’t fall. She quickly glanced behind her. No one followed them…yet. The cold Chicago wind whipped her thick blonde hair in front of her face as if to taunt her further. She swept it away as she hurried to keep up with Stevie. Even though she worked out and jogged on a regular basis, she was quickly tiring. Her breath came in pants, and a burning sensation grew in her lungs as if she sucked in fire instead of the chilly Chicago air. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dampened her shirt; her heart pounded from the excursion.
“Come on!” Stevie yelled encouragingly. The dark baggy clothes bounced on the young teenager as he ran. It was a wonder they didn’t fall off his scrawny body.
For a brief second Abby wondered what in the world she was doing following this young boy down toward the Chicago River, into the frightening maze of where the most destitute people lived: Lower Wacker Drive.
“To save my life,” she reminded herself. Stevie suddenly stopped and waved “this way,” as the concrete cavernous roadways beneath the city streets, once again, split in two directions. Abby followed, hurried around the corner, and saw…nothing.
“Stevie!” She screamed. Just then, his familiar purple Mohawk peeped out from around the side of the cement wall. His adolescent face frowning at her. Stevie motioned, “come on.” Abby caught her breath and ran around the corner so quick she didn’t see him standing there. They collided and sprang apart. Stevie put a finger to his lips, “Shhh.” Abby obeyed and matched his pace, walking quickly, quietly.
Part of her still cried out; this was not reality. She belonged at home with her comfy bed, walk-in closet, and twenty-two pairs of shoes. Instead, she walked among litter and broken items strung about the long concrete hallways. She passed a cracked mirror and glanced only quick enough to see her reflection “” split, like in a kaleidoscope. The only life line she was aware of was Stevie; a young homeless kid. He had already saved her life once today. The reminder brought tears to her eyes, stinging in the bitter, frigid wind.
They made their way through the labyrinth of rusted pipes, garbage, needles, and used condoms. Abby caught a glimpse of a long tail and gasped; terrified she’d just seen a large river rat. Another movement caught her peripheral vision. She turned her head quickly to see a man sitting against the stained, cracked wall. He wore layers of the shabbiest clothes Abby had ever seen, like he was his own walking suitcase of used clothing. His hair, what was left of it, sprouted out here and there like some wild, dead weed. His face scarred and pocked, left over from a horrible teenage acne war, or from some dreadful disease, tilted upwards toward Abby. The lifeless fogged eyes squinted as Abby froze in her tracks. The wino’s grin grew wider showing a mouth of scabby teeth. A brown bag sat between his legs, the top of the wine bottle poked out like some phallic icon, and the stench of urine reeked from him. His nicotine stained fingers reached out, maybe to grab her. Abby didn’t know, but it was enough to make her yelp like a frightened puppy, and she hurried to close the space between her and Stevie.
“I can’t do this. I can’t be here,” Abby cried out. She trembled as Stevie stopped and took her hand.
“Right up here.” Stevie led her around another corner, through a doorway, alongside another wall of dripping pipes, until finally one more entryway. Abby’s hopefulness dropped when she caught sight of a padlock. Then Stevie reached in his worn pants pocket and drew out a key. The lock opened and they took a cautious look up and down the pathway before they stepped inside. Stevie pushed the rust-stained sliding bolt across the door, hopefully assuring their safety.
It was pitch black and Abby feared she would lose her mind. A hand touched her and she jumped before she realized it was only Stevie. He took her hand and Abby allowed herself to be led around another corner. He let go and a moment later she heard a match strike and saw a tiny flicker of a flame. Stevie cupped the flame and led it to a waiting candle. It stood only a few inches high, half the size it used to be. It drooped sadly, as if middle age had caught up with it. The blackened wick took to the flame and a second later another candle was lit, and then another.
Abby gazed about. An old metal folding chair stood next to a small beat-up wooden table. The table was injured and stood on three legs, while two concrete blocks acting as a fourth leg provided some stability. A bed made of frayed blankets lay against the cracked brick wall. Cobwebs hung in the corner as if to further taunt Abby. The air hung thick with the odor of mold, decay, and impoverishment.
“Go on, sit down,” Stevie encouraged. Abby stared at the chair, knowing if this was yesterday she wouldn’t have been caught dead in this place. Dead! She could be dead any minute. Abby brushed off the chair, then brushed her hands, sat down, and began to sob. Stevie gently patted her on the shoulder.
“It’ll be okay, Abby. Honest.”
Abby cried harder and reached her arms around Stevie’s waist and clung to him. “How can it ever be okay Stevie? Ever?” For the second time in her twenty-four years her entire world had fallen apart. She held on to him and suddenly thought about her little brother, long dead now. Maybe that was why she felt the connection with Stevie.
Abby squeezed her eyes tight, trying to shut down her river of tears. Was it just four days ago when her world was intact? When she was so excited that David was coming home, and daydreaming of the passionate night they would spend together? Her life had seemed filled with happiness and hope for the future.

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