“I told him to stay the hell away from us and the building.”
“Jesus, Jeff.” She scooped up a magazine from the coffee table and began fanning herself with it. “That’s awfully severe, don’t you think?”
“Who gives a shit? He’s a bum, for Christ’s sake.”
“Oh how charming.” Eden tossed the magazine aside. “So warm and kind, you know? Why do you have to be so cruel to him?”
“What the hell is it with you and this guy?”
“What are you talking about?”
Jeff stood up. “Why are you so interested in him? It’s constant.”
She watched him a moment then began to laugh. “Are you jealous?”
“What is your fascination with him?” She balked, but he could tell he’d hit a nerve. “There are lots of homeless people in the city, why is he so special?”
“I’m a compassionate person, sorry if that offends you.”
“No, there’s more to it and you know it.”
“Oh no, you found out!” she said, eyes wide. “We’re fuck buddies!”
“You think this shit’s funny?”
“Yeah,” she said, laughing again, “I do, actually.”
He waved her off. “OK, whatever, no sense in discussing it then.”
“I don’t know what your problem is tonight,” she said, “but I find deliberate cruelty revolting. Especially in someone I love. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
“Wait, I-look, I don’t mean to be cruel, OK? I’m sorry, you know I’m not really like that, it-it’s just that I’ve got other things to worry about right now. I’m focused on us, on our life. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and-”
Someone in the lobby downstairs buzzed their apartment. With Jeff following close behind, fearful it might be Hope or one of his associates, Eden went to the intercom just inside the front door and pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Eden!” a man’s frantic voice answered. “Let me in! Please, let me in!”
“I’ll be a sonofabitch.” Jeff recognized the voice immediately.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Please Eden! You can help me, please- please -help me, let me in!”
She glanced guiltily at Jeff, unsure of what to say.
“Please! Let me in! I don’t belong out here!”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t.”
When the intercom fell silent, Jeff ran for the bedroom and looked out the window. The homeless man had already begun to drift down the street, looking back over his shoulder at the apartment every few steps.
When Jeff turned from the window he found Eden standing behind him in the doorway. “How the hell does he know your name?”
She sat at the foot of the bed, hands in her lap. “When I left for work this morning he was out on the steps. He told me his name was Ernie Graham, so I told him my name too, all right?”
“No, it’s not all right. Are you insane?”
“I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s ridiculous.”
“Not gonna argue that one with you. The guy just buzzed our apartment and expected you to let him in. If that doesn’t qualify as ridiculous nothing does.”
“I said no didn’t I?”
“Eden, listen to me. We know nothing about this man. He could have a criminal record, he could be dangerous. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I’m familiar with English. Stop talking to me like I’m a child.”
Jeff steadied himself. Breathe… stay calm… “I know you mean well and you’re only trying to be kind, OK? I get it. But you don’t make friends with deranged homeless guys that live on the front steps of the building.”
“He’s not deranged.”
“How do you know?”
“OK, I admit I have sort of a soft spot for him.” She threw her arms in the air. “He just-I don’t know what it is-I know it sounds crazy but it’s almost like I know him somehow. For some reason I feel especially sorry for him. Maybe it’s some sort of spiritual connection, or a higher power is trying to tell me something, who knows?”
He stared at her, mouth gaping.
“He’s just a lost soul, Jeff, not a serial killer.”
“This isn’t like feeding a stray cat, Eden. It’s a little more complicated.”
“Have you ever actually spoken with him? Not spoken at him, not threatened him, but actually spoken with him like you would anyone else?”
“What’s your point?”
“He’s down and out and hurting. Look around the city. The homeless are everywhere, just like you said. But have you really seen them? A lot are women and children. Are they all deranged, too? Are they all criminals? They’re just people that have fallen on hard times. If you hadn’t gotten that job we eventually would’ve ended up out there with them. Are we criminals? Are we scum? Are we deranged? All Ernie’s looking for is a little compassion and understanding, enough to let him know he still matters and that at least some of us care about him and others out there like him.”
“Well it’s good to know that’s all Ernie’s looking for. I love it, my wife and the bum that lives on our street are on a first-name basis.”
“I had a civil conversation with him that lasted all of a minute.”
“During which you told him your name and apparently our apartment number. Was there any other personal information you felt compelled to share with your new best bud?”
“If because of my kindness he took it upon himself to buzz the apartment that’s not my fault. It’s probably not even his. We have no idea what it’s like to be out on those streets night after night.
We have no idea what that man’s been through. Maybe he broke down.
Maybe he just wanted to spend one night indoors and was making a crazy plea to-”
“There are shelters in the city, let him go to one of those.”
“For his sake I hope he finds one with a free bed.”
“Well if not we can always put good ole Ernie up on the couch, right?”
Glaring at him, she yanked the sheet back from the bed with an angry tug and fired a pillow at him. “Nope, you’ll already be on it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Goodnight Jeff.”
Pillow clutched to his chest, he returned to the den and flopped onto the couch. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “like I need this shit tonight.”
Fine, he thought. Bright and early tomorrow morning he’d get this job done, get paid, make it right with Eden and put this nightmare behind him.
There are no nightmares.
Jeff closed his eyes, but it failed to silence the whispers from his dreams.
There is only the torment of darkness.
9
The following morning, Jeff hailed a cab. He didn’t know what to expect and didn’t want his car to be identified later if something went wrong. The address scrawled on a small sheet of paper inside the envelope listed an address located in a rough neighborhood in Chelsea, a small city just outside Boston located on the far side of the Mystic River. It also listed the name of the man in Mr. Hope’s debt: Stephen Wychek. Jeff had been through Chelsea but knew no one there and was unfamiliar with the layout. Thankfully the driver was able to find the
