Finding Hope (10 page)

Knowing the situation could escalate at any moment Hope carefully walked into the bedro
om locking the door behind her. As she sat on the bed she knew her situation was bleak. There was no longer any way of living in the home she’d built for herself. Mika would continue to loom over her, and she had to either acquiesce or leave. She made up her mind. When he fell asleep, she’d quietly gather her things and slip into the night. She waited for her chance, patiently listening for sounds that would tell her it was time to go. After several hours, Hope got her cue. She could hear Mika snoring from the other room. Hope quietly opened the door, grabbed the bag she’d packed and slipped away.

As she dashed down the road
away from her home, she remembered her father’s guitar. “Ahhh… I can’t believe I forgot it,” Hope said to herself. “I can’t go back now.”

She struggled with
the dilemma, unsure what to do as her breath billowed into the frosty night air. Almost ready to sacrifice the old instrument, she regretfully returned to the house. The musical relic meant far too much to her to leave behind. As she slowly opened the front door, she paused to listen for movement. She again heard Mika fast asleep. She silently crept upstairs to the closet where it lived as the floorboards creaked and whined below her feet. She retrieved the forgotten guitar from its hiding space.

When Hope opened the front door to escape back outside, she heard Mika
wake up. She ran from the house out into her yard only to be tackled by the heavy man.

“I can’t believe you’re
gonna leave me while I’m sleeping, you bitch! You’re not going anywhere!” Mika screamed with fury. “Get back inside!”

Hope struggled with the strong man, kicking him as hard as her small body would allow. Enraged, Mika punched Hope on the side of her forehead with a power Hope had never felt. She instantly fell, spinning and dazed, tossing her bag and her father’s guitar onto the frozen ground. Knowing the devastation it would cause, Mika picked up the finely crafted mahogany instrument and smashed it against the house. In an instant her father’s memory splintered with the old guitar. She lost hope. Mika grabbed her by the arm and
dragged her back inside. When they reached the kitchen, Hope gathered enough strength to slip out of his grasp.

“I’m leaving! LET ME GO, I CAN’T STAND IT HERE!” Hope squealed at the top of her lungs.

Mika chased Hope into the living room where they had spent many wonderful nights together determined to crush her tiny body. “You’re my wife, you bitch! How dare you!” Mika hollered as he punched her several times on the face and body.

Terrified, Hope reached for anything to save her life. She felt the resentment and violence pulsing from his giant body as he pinned her small frame against the floor. He leaned back with his fists held high as Hope scrambled for protection. Grabbing a fireplace poker firmly in hand, Hope extended her arms trying to defend herself. In a blur of chaotic jerks and tortured cries, the poker d
ove deep into his muscular neck past the barb used for turning logs.

Blood rained across their beautiful home as Mika stood up with his eyes wid
e with panic. He staggered back and then wobbled from the icy steel against his internal flesh. Hope’s screams reached a new intensity with her face spattered with Mika’s blood. Like an animal, Mika instantly pulled and twisted the poker trying to free it from his neck. In a frenzy, he tore the poker free, pulling arteries, tissue, and his windpipe out along with it. Streamers of red sprayed out as Mika fell to his knees. Hope stood and watched in terror unable to move. He looked at her with his eyes blinking wildly, but there was nothing Hope could do. Her husband, who she once loved, bled to death on their living room rug.

Hope’s mind snapped as hysteria took control. She knew her fate was sealed for what she had done. According to the Law
, the next death would be her own. No judge, no jury, just words on a page dictated her fate. With incredible speed, she ran to bathroom and climbed into the shower. It took forever to wash Mika’s life from her clothes and hair. She took the wet, crimson clothing and stuffed them into the fireplace, saturating them with kerosene. She then lit the clothing ablaze, creating flickering light that danced across her naked, wet body. Without stopping to think, she got dressed and knew she had to run far away.

Hope went to
the cupboard full of confusion and retrieved a small tin can where Mika kept a few silver coins. She grabbed the silver and threw it into her bag. She snatched of few of her belongings, and she fled the scene. She ran through the early morning light making her way to the train station. She calmly purchased the ticket with the dead man’s silver. Acting as casually as possible, she sat and waited for the train. At eleven fifteen, when the train finally arrived, she stepped into the passenger car knowing she would never return.

Chapter 8

The Mystics

Hope sat frozen while the train lumbered heavily along the tracks. Her mind was empty, overwhelmed by the calamity of the previous night. She stared out the window wanting to forget. She closed her eyes and drifted away to the quiet place she kept all for herself. The world around her vanished as a light dusting of snow clung to her small locomotive window.

She arrived at the station around eight pm.
The snow was no longer falling but still swirled around the tracks. It was a cold October night when Hope stepped onto the platform in St. Louis. With her small bag in hand, she walked inside the train station. The great space was vacant except for a few busy travelers. They hurried along, oblivious to Hope. She reached the stairs that led to the front exit where two women were standing, playing music. Hope paused and listened to a few of the tunes she recognized. She noticed the younger of the two was struggling, playing an old guitar which was way out of tune. Every time the young musician came to the chorus, she fumbled with the chords she was attempting to play. Hope sat down, her bag in her lap, to enjoy the slightly off tempo music.

“Hi there. H
ow’s it sound?” the older woman asked Hope.

“It sounds wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me sitting and listenin
g a while,” Hope replied forcing a smile.

“Not at all friend. W
e love the company,” the younger women said still trying to play the difficult chord. “By the way, my name is Bahina, and this is my sister Meera.”

Hope sat quietly
absorbing the sounds. She was raw and empty feeling nothing at all. All she felt was the music… the music soared across her lonely spirit. While Hope sat, listening, and watching, she noticed the people who would stop and enjoy the amateur performance. They were from all walks of life, connected by song. The older of the two women, Meera, had an amazing voice. She could hit any note with ease and precision. Her voice was strong with soul, passion, and grittiness that can only come with age. Bahina continued to struggle every time that one chord was played.

Hope noticed three men who seemed to be enjoying the music. They stood and listened for a while before walking away. The interesting thing was they always came back for more. They didn’t appear to know each other and stood alone around the women. One had a new leather jacke
t and a tight fitting black hat – the kind you’d see shore men wear. He looked like he was in his early thirties with dark olive skin. The oldest of the three men was wearing a tweed jacket and scarf. Hope would have sworn he was a professor if it wasn’t for the fact he needed a haircut and shave. He seemed to be well known. People would stop and talk with him for a while before walking away. The last man was portly, wearing a St. Louis Cardinals jacket and baseball cap. He had fair skin speckled with acne scars. She watched them repeatedly stay and listen, only to leave and return a short time later.

As Hope watched the men, the young guitar player started her next song.
She came to the bridge and once again fouled that one chord.

“Hey
Bahina, that A# dominant 7
th
is a tricky one. What you want to do is leave that third string open and catch it with your bar on the 1
st
fret,” Hope said meekly. “Make sure you have your ring finger on the 4
th
string only.”

Bahina looked at Hope, surprised by the advice. She took guidance and the chord rang true. “Like that?” Bahina asked smiling at the result. Hope nodded her head as she sat back to listen to the next song.

“Hey…
critic, what’s your name?” Meera asked in a sarcastic but friendly tone. “Do you play?”

Hope shied away unsure of anything anymore. “Yea
h, I used to, I guess,” she replied hiding her pain. “Oh, and my name is Hope.”

“Well…
let’s hear what you can do,” Meera said taking the guitar from Bahina and offering it to Hope.

Although Hope didn’t want to play, something in her made her put her bag down and grab the cheap instrument.
Hope held the guitar carefully, directed her ear to its wooden body, and quickly tuned the instrument. She started strumming a simple progression that perfectly rolled out of the worn guitar. As she continued to play, Meera created lyrics that matched perfectly. Her voice harmonized exactly with each chord change. It was like they had played together for most of their life.

“That sounds fantastic!”
Bahina exclaimed while the two women continued to invent on the spot.

After thirty minutes of playing, Hope lifted the guitar strap from around her neck. “Here
ya go. You don’t even know how much I needed that, thank you,” Hope said handing the guitar back to its owner.

“Wow! That was something else. How long have you been playing Hope?”
Meera asked her new friend.

“All my life…
my dad and I used… to… wait! Where’s my bag?” Hope asked seeing her bag was gone. “Did you guys see who took my stuff?” Hope began to franticly look all around where she was sitting. “Everything I owned was in there. My money, my sewing kit and the pictures of my boys. They’re all gone! GREAT, now what am I going to do?” Hope said as tears formed in her eyes. “Someone stole my stuff.” Hope stood up and looked at the surrounding people, searching for any sign of her bag. “I just got off the train. Now what?” she said out loud.

As Hope searched for her bag,
Meera and Bahina whispered back and forth, looking at Hope. Meera walked over to Hope and put her hand on her shoulder saying, “Do you know anyone in St. Louis? We can help you find them.”

“No, not a soul. T
his is the last thing I need. My whole life is falling apart,” Hope cried out to the kind strangers. “Now I have nowhere to go.”

“You can stay with us for a couple days if you need. I’m sure we can make good money playing like we just did,”
Bahina offered trying to console the frantic Hope. “We come here every day.”

Hope looked at the two women who sin
cerely wanted to help. “I can’t. . .” Hope said. “Would you guys do that for me? I have nothing.”

“Well we can’t leave you here,”
Meera said dryly. “We actually live pretty close. First thing in the morning we can come down and see if somebody turned the bag into the lost and found.”

Hope agreed not because she trust
ed the women, though she did, but because she had no other option. Hope was alone with nowhere to go.

Walking out of the station, Hope noticed a diner on the corner with a big neon sign hanging in the window. She was hungry, but with no money, she had to walk by. Turning the corner, Hope noticed five bicycles neatly lined up. They
were connected together with a heavy steel chained carefully locked to a street light.

“Well, this is us,”
Meera said grabbing one of the rusty but well maintained bikes.

Buhina turned the tiny key in the heavy lock and said, “Jump on… let’s go!” She pulled her bike close to Hope and gestured for her to sit along the handle bars as if they were children.

Out of the corn
er of her eye, Hope noticed a few men strolling their way and talking loudly. It was the three men who had been watching the women play in the train station. Hope froze with fear wondering what it all meant.

“Hope, this is Jacob. He’s mine,”
Bahina said smiling and giving the man in the leather jacket a loving kiss.

“And this is William and David. T
hey’re friends of ours,” Meera added as she greeted the men warmly. “This is Hope. She just arrived from out west. She’s the best guitarist I’ve ever heard. No offense Sis.”

The men all greeted Hope making her feel welcome and safe. “I believe this is yours,” David said as he pulled Hope’s bag from inside his oversized baseball jacket. “Sorry ‘bout that. I didn’t know you were with the girls.”

Hope’s eyes lit up with joy. She had found her bag and all the possessions she thought were gone forever. One by one, the members of the musical crew jumped onto their bikes and rode down the street as Hope held on to the bars for dear life.

As they moved silently among the streets of St. Louis, Hope watched the city sprawl out before her. Most of the buildings appeared to be maintained, but the further they rode from the train station, the worse the city became. By the time they reached the
Interstate, Hope was happy there were men in her group riding alongside them. People who wandered about the street looked to be up to no good, and the buildings were burned and gutted, full of graffiti. The mighty city was crumbling before her eyes. They followed Interstate 65 across the river and then headed north along the abandoned rails.

When they reached their destination
, Hope was numb from the waist down. She slid off the handle bars and read the official sign in front of her – Malcolm W. Martin Memorial Park. David, the heavy set man in his early forties, continued to ride across the grass as the others joined Hope on foot.

“Some call it a shit-hole… but we just call it home,” David said making the entire group snicker.

They walked their bicycles the remaining three hundred yards to the center of this once green and lush park. In the distance Hope saw several RVs in the moonlight. They appeared to be arranged in a circle like an old wagon train. From within the center circle, flickers of orange and yellow danced among the shadows.

Reaching the make-shift compound, Jacob raised his voice saying, “Honey
, I’m home.”

With a clank and clunk the improvised steel door that guarded the narrow gap between two of the RVs slid open. Hope was the last one to enter the inner circle as she saw barbed wire and welded steel protecting the exterior perimeter.

“Well, you in or you out?” the older woman asked Hope.

Hope walked into the compound and softly said, “I’m in.”

There were six trailers in total carefully positioned end to end forming a hexagon. Each corner was heavily fortified with steel and razor wire leaving them impenetrable. The exterior windows were all welded shut with heavy gauge steel, and the top of each trailer had razor-wire making them impossible to scale.

The construction reminded Hope of some Hollywood apocalyptic movie. She thought to herself how fitting it all was. Inside the compound was quite different than the harsh and angry exterior. A large fire pit sat in the center with several chairs and log benches circling it. Off to one side of the courtyard
, there must have been fifty small homemade cages housing a community of rabbits. If Hope hadn’t seen the animals for herself, she would’ve never guessed they were there. The cages were clean and well maintained with zero odors normally associated with raising animals. At the other end of the courtyard stood several rain catches and a vertical garden, its plants dead and brown from the October chill.

“Are you hungry Hope?
” Meera asked holding out a couple thin strips of jerky. “This is what we have tonight, but tomorrow we’ll be making griddle cakes.”

Hope devoured the rabbit jerky which tasted like chicken peppered with exotic spices she’d never tasted before.

“Yes… Ahh yes. How rude of me. Hope, this is Sara. She’s kind of our mom around here. Her husband Anthony is inside trying to get over the flu,” Meera said pointing at the camper on the far end. “He’s had a rough time the last couple weeks. He was up and around yesterday so we think he’s finally getting over it.”

Hope sat down on one of the log benches to warm her cold hands. Sara came and sat down beside her. “So Hope, where you from?” the older women asked in a timid quiet tone. “What brings you to St. Louis?”

“Well, I spent the last couple years in New Providence, but I’m originally from the East Coast,” Hope replied.

“New Providence.
I heard things are back to normal there. Everyone’s heard about KLXB New Providence,” Sara said in a theatrical low voice. Hope smiled and nodded, deciding not to share the details of her time there.

“Yea
h, life is good in New Providence,” Hope said trying to hide her shame.

“So why did you leave and come here of all places?” Sara asked innocently.

“Well, I just needed a change. Looking for work too. I was also toying with the idea of heading back home to Ocean City someday,” Hope replied.

“So what kind of work do you do? Jobs can be hard to come by unless you’re
a grave digger or a politician – both excellent vocations when times get bad by the way,” Sara said laughing quietly.

“I mend things
I guess. I’m a seamstress of sorts,” Hope replied not wanting to give too much information.

As Hope talked to Sara
, she noticed Buhina and Meera had huddled together at the other end of the courtyard. They sat side by side with William and David. Hope then saw Jacob separate himself from the others and sit alone by the fire sharpening his pocket knife. Over by her new friends, Hope watched thin wisps of gray smoke cling to their circle. She watched as David, William, and the girls carefully passed something back and forth in the cold dark night. Then it all became clear. Hope recognized the reason for their huddle. Their actions, the faint scent of sweet plastic drifting in the night air, and the strange familiarity of the situation took her back instantly to darker times – methamphetamine.