After class, Josey and Tricia had walked down the stairs, out through the lobby, and around to the campus gate at 116th Street.

“I’m worried about you, Josey.”

“I was sick last night. Coming home from the circus, after I dropped you off, I fainted in the subway station.”

“What?!”

“I blacked out. Some people from the circus helped me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. The fortune teller and some weird dude.”

“What was she doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Josey, what’s going on? You’re making a nervous wreck out of me!” Tricia softened and put her arm around him, “You poor thing. You’re not taking care of yourself. Hey, what happened to your neck?”

Josey blushed and pulled away, “Ehh... it’s just a scratch.” He pulled his collar up, “I’m going home to get some rest. I feel like crap.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“You sure you can make it? I don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just tired.”

Tricia gave him a kiss, “All right, Mr. Macho. But I’m worried about you, Josey. I’ll call you later. Get some rest.”

Over Tricia’s shoulder, Josey saw someone looking down at them from a second floor window in the Science Building.

Tricia turned and followed Josey’s gaze. “Who’s that?”

Josey squinted at the figure in the window. He saw the arm in a sling and suddenly felt hollow. “It’s von Holzing’s friend. He’s in the lab.”

“What a creep! What’s his problem?”

“I don’t know.”

Straker turned from the window. Von Holzing was still writing on the yellow pad.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Yanosh?” Von Holzing did not look up, absorbed as he was in writing out his notes.

“You have the name of that student, the one who sat in the back row?”

“Yes, of course. Joseph something.”

“And the registrar will have his address?”

“Hmm. I should think so.”

* * *

Josey went home, collapsed in bed, and slept through the afternoon and evening. He woke up close to midnight. The night air stirred his curtains. It was brisk and refreshing, full of life. The darkness outside beckoned. He got up and opened the door to the fridge, his stomach growling. Empty. He had a hankering for a rare steak. Josey pulled his jacket on, went down to the street, and headed towards the convenience store on the corner. He stepped lightly along the cracked, uneven sidewalk, past the row of tenements that lined Elizabeth Street, tired and rundown from age and neglect.

On impulse, Josey jumped up and grabbed hold of the bottom rung of a sagging fire escape that hung 12 feet above the sidewalk. He swung and sailed through the air to the next building, but lost his grip and dropped lightly to the ground. Around him, the air seemed to pulsate and throb. He could hear faint voices, people talking behind doors and windows, the scurrying of mice in the garbage cans, the labored breathing of a drunk passed out in a doorway across the street.

The bright lights and bustle of midnight Manhattan, of Times Square and Greenwich Village, did not reach into this corner of the island. Elizabeth Street was dark and sparsely populated this time of night. There were a couple of partygoers heading out to the late night clubs, a small group of homeless people huddling for warmth around a low fire in a trash can, some men playing dominoes in front of the social club, and a black SUV with tinted windows parked at the corner of Houston. It was all familiar, except perhaps for the black car, and Josey paid it no mind. He didn’t notice the man with his arm in a sling sitting behind the wheel.

The convenience store was empty when Josey walked in and nodded to the lone employee behind the counter. Josey went to the rear, poked around in the cooler, and picked out a nice, big T-bone. He grabbed a package of frozen french fries and headed towards the front of the store. As he came to the end of the aisle, he saw the store clerk at the register talking to a man with broad shoulders and a graying crew cut.

When Josey saw the man’s arm was in a sling, he stopped short and dropped his packages. At the sound, Straker turned, reached inside his coat with his good arm, and drew a pistol.

“Hold it right there, boy. Nice and easy. Don’t move and you won’t get hurt. I just want to talk to you.”

Josey turned and ran. He raced to the back of the store, pushed out the rear exit, and came into a back alley. He ran into the darkness but came to a dead end and stood facing a twelve foot brick wall. He heard the rear door of the convenience store open and swing shut. Straker had come out into the alley behind him. Straker started into the dark and, when he caught site of Josey at the end of the alley, Straker opened fire.

Josey watched the shining silver bullet spin from the barrel and buzz towards him like an angry wasp. All around him, everything was pulsating and vibrating. The world seemed to be dissolving. He heard strange, deep tones ringing in his ears and the sound of a heart beating.

Josey dropped to all fours and rolled to one side into a trash can that toppled over with a loud bang and rolled away. The bullet bored into the wall where Josey had stood, spraying pieces of brick and cement. From his prone position, Josey’s vision telescoped on Straker’s silver pistol. Josey watched in horror as the barrel of the gun zeroed on him and Straker’s finger tightened, drawing back the trigger as the hammer lifted.

Josey heard the “poof” from the silencer and saw the bullet fly from the barrel. In a single motion, he pushed off from the ground, spun in mid-air and sailed up the vertical surface. He caught the top of the wall with both hands, vaulted over effortlessly, flipped in mid air, and came down lightly on the far side.

He was on the Bowery. A couple of men across the street on the steps of the shelter had looked up and watched as Josey came sailing over the wall. There was light traffic and only a few pedestrians. In the distance, Josey heard the sound of sirens as squad cars converged on the area.

Josey couldn’t go home. Straker had been on his street. He must have found out where Josey lived. Josey had to get away from there. But in running away from one thing, you can run towards another, whether you mean to or not. Josey ran north towards Houston Street. His heart was pounding. He was breathing deeply and he felt great. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t tired. He didn’t feel sick any more. He was exhilarated by the excitement, the danger, and the physical exertion. He didn’t understand what had happened. He only knew that Straker was shooting at him and that he, Josey, had escaped, at least for now.

He also felt that the old life he had known up till now was vanishing and a new, unknown life was opening before him. The images of Madame Sonya and the dark-eyed girl came into his mind. With flashing lights a block to the west, he crossed the broad avenue of Houston Street and made his way up to Bleecker.

It was like crossing the border to another country. After midnight, Greenwich Village was in full swing, wide awake and ready to party. Festive pandemonium reigned. Tourists, students, suburbanites and runaways thronged the noisy, narrow, trash strewn streets. Cars crept slowly across Bleecker, stop and go, horns blaring, with gridlock overflowing at every corner. The restaurants were noisy and full, and long lines of people queued at the clubs. Josey wandered up to MacDougal. The tenements with their rusty fire escapes lined the bright, narrow, busy street with its cafes and pizzerias.

The smell of garlic wafted from the exhaust fan of an Italian restaurant. Josey stumbled, feeling suddenly ill again. He crossed the street to get away from the fan. He drifted past the crowded clubs and bars, their noisy young patrons spilling out onto the sidewalk, past the West 4th Street basketball courts and down into the train station. He felt the eyes of a surly cop on him as he boarded an uptown A train and clung to a pole. The doors closed and the train roared north.

As the train sped through the tunnel, Josey began to unwind as he put some distance between himself and Straker. He tried to sort through the past day’s jumble of events. Tricia’s image came unbidden into his mind. He had forgotten about her. He had feelings for her. They were already talking about getting married someday. He couldn’t turn her on and off like a faucet. He didn’t want to hurt her but she seemed part of the old life that was fading away now into nothingness.

At Columbus Circle, Josey stepped out through the doors to the platform and climbed the stairs to the street. The corner of the park was dark and empty but the ring of high-rises lit the street with bright, festive colors. Heavy traffic circled the monument where Columbus, atop the spire, gazing down 8th Avenue, presided over the chaos. A row of cop cars was parked near the grand entrance to the luxury hotel on the north side. The crush of pedestrians surged as revelers hurried to their destinations. Josey walked up Broadway, past the brightly lit storefronts, restaurants and coffee shops, and found himself at Lincoln Center. He crossed the plaza to the Big Top circus tent.

The winter moon hung in the sky, just past full. Josey thought how he preferred night to day, moonlight to sunlight, and darkness and soft shadows to bright glaring light. Night was more interesting than day, more comfortable, more inviting.

The circus was closed for the night and the grounds were deserted. The ticket booth was boarded up. Josey ducked under the rope barrier, headed towards the entrance and slipped into the tent.

He went straight to Madame Sonya’s parlor and stepped through the tent flaps into her receiving room. The parlor was empty and dimly lit from a single lamp on the table. The globe on the marble hand was covered by a silken cloth. Josey suddenly felt overwhelmed. He sank into the soft guest chair and buried his head in his hands.

“Josey?”

It was her. She had come silently into the room. Josey looked up. She stood before him, soft and dark, her black hair catching the glow of the lamplight, her soft brown skin and dark eyes drawing him to her, pulling him into her orbit.

“I...” He broke off, lost for words.

“My grandmother said you would come.”

“But...”

“Shush,” she smiled and pressed her finger gently to his lips. “I missed you.”

She took him in her arms. He felt her warm body against his, smelled the musky fragrance of her skin. Their lips met, soft and moist. It was no dream. It was real.

“What’s your name?” he whispered.

“Tamara.”

* * *

To be continued...

Copyright © 2008 by Bill Bowler