Alley

I find myself struggling to overcome what I just did in this back alley. Needless to say it was the only thing that seems logical at this point. Hate to say it but I need the cash. I need the suffering that comes with the drug. I need the notion that I’m lost in this world.
An outstretched hand grasps at my leg, and I snap back from my illusions. The victim on the ground was making short wheezing sounds. The hilt of the knife buried into her left lung is probably the reason. She, for whatever motive, still holding onto what little life remained in those old bones. Though it wasn’t a startled look that pierced my gaze, but one of longing. Her stare wasn’t of me at all, but seemingly faraway in some distant land.
Reaching down taking the hand into my own I got close enough to look into her eyes from mere inches. She herself seem to notice my presence, and gave the most imaginable gesture I could think of at this moment, a smile. In her pain somehow conjuring up an ability like this sent me into a panic.
Finding the hilt of the knife once more I twisted. Flesh separated and a little bit of more life left from the wound. A whisper of breath left her lips carrying words I could not her, but words I wish at the very moment wishing me a painful death. Though the haunting of that smile left me with the feeling that I was forgiven. Her pain only remained for a few more minutes, and the smile persisted until the moment I felt her hand slip from mine.
Never have I had this terrible feeling before since I started this process. In her end she has given me what no other has before. That small glimmer of hope that comes with the idea of being cured of my illness.
Drug induced withdrawal forced me to riffle the pockets of my fallen friend. A few pieces of paper, a couple of cards, and her license. Her name is Jean Hope. What a fitting name. Of course her last name is Hope.
I stagger back up to my feet still grasping that license in my hand. The Michigan driver’s license suggested that she was either on vacation or just visiting family here in Chicago. I had to keep fighting with the withdrawal to focus clearly on the small piece of plastic. Hand were shaking and sweat kept blurring my vision. I had to carry on, and couldn’t let Jean hold up my fix any longer.
As I carried on down the alley I kept fidgeting with the license. Spinning it between my fingers hoping now that I hadn’t done this to her. Someone else, anyone else besides Hope would have made it easier. All I want is that damn powder, but now I have this lingering emotion I haven’t felt in years.
It took a couple of blocks of walking for my shaking to really catch up. I start to stagger from side to side running into several individuals. My vision isn’t helping either, and my world is growing blacker from moment to moment. Apparently I walk into the wrong person, and get shoved hard into a busy street…darkness envelopes.

I feel very little pain, but I know my life is slipping. On my back in the middle of a busy street I start to feel what Jean must of felt. Strangers start to surround me shouting to keep my eyes open and to hold on, but I don’t want to. I feel better about this ending, and I wont have to kill anyone anymore.
The pedestrian that pushed me is by my side gripping my left hand. He keeps repeating how sorry he is, and how he didn’t mean to push me so hard. So this is what Jean was watching. I suddenly feel back in that alley, our places once again with me standing over her. Reaching down and grasping her hand I feel her presence all about me. Whispers start to grow in the back of my head, and that smile shows on her face once more.
She is in no pain, and her eyes are set on mine. She speaks to me without the encumber of the knife in her lung. In a low but forgiving tone she says, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I understand, but I want you to realize something. I’m someone’s mother, and someone’s daughter. My husband works everyday, and has for the past fifty years. My son just had his third child, a girl. Her name is Jackie. I will never get to see her. My son lives here in Chicago, and we are going to see them later tonight.”
I was back in the middle of the street, and sirens seem to be approaching from somewhere. The guy still holding onto my hand, and tears seem to be streaming down his cheeks. I simply smiled to him, and his reaction was just like mine when Hope did it. With the strength that remained I motioned for him to get closer. He obeyed without hesitation.
The location of Jean’s body, and my tag as the Back Alley Killer was now known to the stranger. His shock seem to carry over the crowd, as the man sprinted off to where I sent him. He started shouting of my known alias converting the crowd to an angry mob. I close my eyes returning to the side of Jean.
Though to my surprise she is standing next to her own body. She doesn’t speak, but motions for me to take her hand. I do as told, and look into her eyes. She shakes her head slightly, and lets go of my hand. She walks slowly down that back alley, and disappearances from sight.
The stranger that pushed me appears at the scene, and checks the pulse of Jean. Muffled shouts and suddenly a few policemen and paramedics come sprinting around the corner. They all quickly start to work on Jean. I hear shouts that give me a glimmer of hope.
It’s faint but its there. A pulse. Tears weld up in my eyes as I realize that maybe she can be saved. The paramedics work quickly, and she is put onto a stretcher. As she is being loaded into an ambulance I feel her eyes upon me. Sure enough I see a single tear escape her eye, and she stares off into my direction as if she felt my presence as well.
I smile, and for the first time, I let go of everything. My name is Jack Harper. I die in the middle of the busy street that Wednesday night. The papers will read that the Back Alley Killer is no longer a menace, and though Jean Hope is in critical condition she is expected to make a complete recovery. She changed my life, if but for a few minutes.