The Numbers on Her Wrist

11

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I walk through an alleyway for a shortcut, dodging a look from a few stray homeless, their clothes ragged and skin dirty; if I had money to spare, if I wasn't trying to get away so quickly and carefully, these would be the first to get it. One of them, an older lady with missing teeth and white hair, attempts a smile.

I attempt a smile back.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" She calls out cheerily, some of her people glancing up at her statement. I feel a true smile creep onto my face, nodding once and glancing at the cloud-free sky. "Quite the opposite of yesterday," I respond.

"I do like the rain though, it is pretty... And the sunny day that follows reminds me that there is hope and somehow, some way, tomorrow might just be better."

I watch her gesture to her friends and they walk the way I came from, a few carrying bags, others push carts, but many have nothing at all.

She is poor.

And she is more optimistic than I or many people will ever be.

I wait until their figures take a turn to head deeper into the heart of the city, where ledges and abandoned buildings are abundant and people are sparse; many groups of insolvent men and women choose to stick close; they survive better; they live longer.

I glance once more at the gleaming midday sun, my satchel bumping at my legs. I carry only a few hundred dollars in the bag, my jacket tight around me. I'm heading for lunch to not only eat a better meal than I have in three days, but to visit my oldest friend.

My only friend other than Samuel Hicks.

I dodge around a crowd of people as I turn on the main sidewalk, yellow taxis and cars of many colors honking and avoiding collisions with only inches to spare. I feel a man bump into me, his eyes trailing over me.

"Mr. Ellis," I breathe, recognizing his features and white hair. He smiles kindly, stuffing his hands into his jacket's pockets. As he pauses near a building, I stop too, crossing my arms and glancing at my feet as a strong wind blows.

"Amelia. How have you've been?"

I lift a shoulder carefully, thinking quickly to our past conversation; the enigmatic words and sentences still fresh in my mind. "Fine. I'd be better if you could offer me more about what is going on and who you are."

"I told you already; I am here to help."

I scoff slightly, "Help me what?"

"Escape."

My chest burns at his word, and I know that my cheeks are turned a deeper shade of pink as Mr. Ellis scratches his chin a few times, returning his eyes to mine. "Curious, isn't it? You want all your questions answered by the only man who seems to have them... But how could you trust me, Amelia?"

He can seemingly read minds.

"I'll gladly tell you anything you want to know." I swallow at this, surprised that he is willing to speak with me. "How did you know that I am from the orphanage?" Mr. Ellis smiles kindly and taps the side of his nose. "I have met you before, Miss Reyes, and I remember that you were the only face that day that could appear both scared and brave at the same time."

"How did you find me?"

"It took a while, but everyone is traceable with enough help..." He notices the paleness of my face, quickly correcting myself, "Don't worry. I've helped to keep your whereabouts a secret. They haven't found you yet."