THE PROMISE OF SUNLIGHT

by Linda S Barth

Howie knelt on the lumpy mattress and pushed the battered box back under his stained pillows. That was close. He’d have to find a much better hiding place. But where? As he twisted his neck, his gaze ricocheted from wall to wall in the tiny basement room. Peeling paint, streaks of mold, one dimming lightbulb. But no other hiding places. He hadn’t really expected he’d be lucky enough to find one, yet just for a few moments he thought maybe for once a wish might come true.

But it hadn’t, and it wasn’t going to. He lumbered to his feet, feeling his back ache from another countless night sleeping on the floor with only the thin padding and a threadbare blanket for comfort and warmth. He looked back at where the box was barely hidden. Even he could see that his attempts to secure what few things he owned had been useless.

He sighed in the silence. He didn’t care all that much about the tattered comic books or the baseball with the peeling leather cover. The sparkly stone wasn’t real gold even though he liked to pretend it was, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d saved that soiled bandana he’d found caught in the chainlinks of a fenced-in basketball court. Oh yeah, at the time he’d convinced himself maybe a cowboy had lost it, and someday he’d ride down the street on his horse looking for it, just like they did when they were searching for bad guys. He knew about that; he remembered watching all those shows on a flickering tv back when he was just a kid, back before his dad died. Bonanza and The Wild Wild West and what was the other one? It had a bad word in it. Gunsmoke.

He shuddered. He didn’t like guns, not even when the good guys had them. He hoped the cowboy would be one of the good guys, and he bet he’d let him have a ride on the horse as a reward for returning the bandana. That would be fun as long as nobody else found out. But real life isn’t like tv shows, and he knew that wish wasn’t going to happen either.

Even though he could tell they’d been pawed over, most of his possessions were still in the box, so no harm done. But it would be hard to get over losing the money. It had taken him six, no seven, weeks to make eleven dollars and fourteen cents from collecting bottles in the trash, and that was only when he was sure, well sure enough, that Chris or Python or Tony wouldn’t spot him going through garbage cans. Miss Patricia had seen him once, but she just smiled and said she wouldn’t tell. And she hadn’t. She’d even given him a dollar to add to his stash. She was nice, not like the others.

Not like Chris who he knew was the one who had gone through his stuff again, trying to find anything he could steal and sell. Python wouldn’t have done it. He mostly ignored him, like he wished he wasn’t there, and Tony said he had better things to do with his time when Chris had showed him the tarnished earring he’d stolen from the shoebox stash last week.

He sighed again. He really did need some money, but there was no sense even trying to make any more from turning in bottles. It’d just get stolen again. Still, he knew what he had to do. He wasn’t as stupid as they thought he was, not like they always told him, not like the names they called him. He had ideas and plans. Not like theirs. Nice ones, good ones.

And he still had something better than even a whole bag of money.

The slight weight of a smooth round object clutched in his hand made him smile. At least Chris hadn’t found the snowglobe. Or even if he had, for some reason he hadn’t bothered with it, hadn’t even realized it was worth something. So, who was the stupid one now? His grin grew and he felt a small thrill of happiness, something he didn’t often feel anymore.

He listened carefully. No sounds coming from the floor above him. But it would be night in a few hours and he knew he’d have to go with them. He didn’t know what they’d got planned. They never told him ahead of time. But he was sure it was going to be bad. And he knew enough not to say no to them.

They were the only family he had now. Not a real family, but he felt lucky they’d taken him in when he was still a teenager. He was pretty sure that was about ten years ago, and it hadn’t been all bad. Sometimes it had even been kind of nice to be part of a gang, to belong with somebody, to have a home again. Sure they ordered him around, made fun of him. He knew he didn’t mean much to them. But being alone was even worse. It was scary and dangerous. Not like how things were when he was a kid.

He thought about his mom and the storybooks she used to read to him. His favorite was the one where the genie gave the boy three wishes. He chuckled, thinking of the picture of the big genie somehow popping out of the lamp in a puff of smoke. Back then, he thought if he was that storybook boy, he’d use his first two wishes for candy and a puppy. And he’d save his third wish for something even more important.

HIs laugh faded. If he had those wishes now, first he’d beg for a real job where he could make real money and second for a way to be invisible so that none of The Silks could ever find him again. But the third wish – that one would never change, no matter how old he got.

He walked toward the single narrow window set high in the outer wall. Its steel-barred grime-coated glass didn’t let in a lot of light, even on the sunniest days, but it had always been enough. It had to be.

He held the snowglobe up and shook it gently. It always warmed his heart, but hurt it a little bit, too, to see what was inside the precious glass. A scene that he sometimes wondered if maybe he’d imagined into being after all those years thinking about his third and final forever wish. A little house nestled in a forest of Christmas trees. A place where he and his mom and the dog he’d never have could live safely and happily ever after.

He gazed intently at the treasures just beyond the glass. He liked to think the boy and the dog were looking up at the sky because they were waiting for Santa. And in a few minutes they’d run back inside so they wouldn’t get caught looking, and they’d sit by the fire with Mom and drink hot chocolate and maybe even sing Christmas carols. There would be a present under the tree for the boy, maybe even two or three. And some for Mom and even one for the dog. A tear rolled down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a present for any reason.

But he did remember how he’d found the snowglobe, half-buried in a ripped open garbage bag. He’d been roaming around a nice neighborhood, blocks and blocks from this one, a few days after Christmas, hoping to scrounge some thrown-out goodies he could bring back and share with the others. He’d found a few things – half a box of fancy cookies, a couple of unopened bottles of wine, even a twenty-dollar bill forgotten in a discarded greeting card.

Just as he was about to quit, knowing he’d pushed his luck as far as it could go without getting caught, he saw it. Gleaming like a diamond in a trash of wrinkled wrapping paper, miraculously unbroken. He’d thought it had been waiting there just for him, like one of those Christmas miracles he’d heard about. And even now, he was pretty sure that’s exactly what it was.

He’d shared the rest of his haul with the others, who’d even offered him a few words of praise – another miracle – but not this, not his treasure. He knew in his heart it was meant for him alone.

It had always been safe here in his room, but now he wondered if he needed to protect it better than he had. There was only one idea he could think of. He’d carry it with him from now on. It was going to be chilly out tonight. He’d wear his jacket and put his beloved keepsake deep in the pocket where it would be safe.

He held it up, carefully, tenderly, toward the shadowed window light and shook it once again. As he watched, a gleam seemed to burnish the silver snowflakes and turn them into little golden sparkles. Like stars hidden way up in the clouded night sky. Like fireflies he vaguely remembered seeing years ago in the darkened park. He gasped. It was like magic. Maybe, maybe…

For just a moment more, the child in him held onto hope, and then the light began to fade. Desperate not to lose it, he held the globe higher toward the filthy window. The meager slant of sunlight brought tears to his eyes.

* * *

Isaac squatted next to the bodies entwined in a bloody puddle on the concrete floor. He didn’t have to touch them. There would be no last throbs of pulses flickering out, no sudden jolt of eyes blinking open. And besides, he wasn’t wearing gloves, and it wouldn’t pay to be careless. Who knew what kind of new developments the cops had made using DNA detection, like that case that was in all the papers just a few months ago?

A quick sweep of his flashlight’s beam had already shown there was no need to examine the bodies further, no point in calling for an ambulance. He knew who they were. They’d been way beyond help – in more ways than one – long before this. No one – including him – would be shedding any tears, wishing they’d gotten there in time to stop the carnage. He shrugged.  He could live with a clear conscience on this one.

He straightened and stared down at the remains. The Silks – two down was better than none at all. Their cohorts would probably feel sad for about a minute, but no one else would. There would probably be some carefully quiet celebrations once the news got out.

His harsh sigh broke the stillness. What the hell was the city coming to? It was getting worse every day. At least he did his best to prepare potential victims to resist and outwit their predators. He huffed a grim laugh. But it looked like this time the roles had been reversed. This time the hunters made up the body count and the victims had escaped safe but not unharmed.

He glanced toward a cloud of hazy light filtering from the adjacent doorway, then stepped around the corpses for a closer look. He’d respected Catherine’s wishes when she’d told him not to ask questions, the desperate look in her eyes when she’d said she had to take him home. He frowned and moved a few paces into the space beyond the theatre sub-basement. All traces of Catherine and her rescued friend – and whoever the other man was – were gone, evidently on their way to wherever “home” was.

There weren’t a lot of options open on that one. He knew what he’d seen. And he was well aware there was a whole world under the city, riddled with tunnels that could lead anywhere, conceal anything. It was way more than an urban legend. And Catherine’s friend sure wouldn’t have much to choose from for a place he could call home.

What the hell are you involved in, girl, and with who? He shook his head. He knew the price for privacy could be sky-high and he wasn’t about to add to her debts. Still, maybe someday she’d share some of her secrets with him. He had a feeling they might hold a place for him as well. Until then, he’d help her keep them.

He scanned the ceiling of the entryway, then grabbed a splintered two by four to smash the few lightbulbs dangling from frayed wires. Now the only light came from the dimness in the basement behind him. He pulled the cuffs of his sweater over the palms of his hands and grabbed the rusted edges of the door. It took most of his considerable strength to drag it back into place. With the toe of his boot, he scuffled the dirt in front of the panel until no hint of footprints remained.

Satisfied only a very careful investigation – one the police were highly unlikely to bother with – would reveal anything more than two dead thugs, he planned his next move. An anonymous call from a phone booth to the police so at least the bodies wouldn’t end up rotting or getting chewed by rats down here, then home for a couple of hours sleep. And maybe on the way see if he could spot that woman somewhere, the one who was somehow involved but clearly wasn’t part of The Silks. Maybe she could use some help, too.

He sighed again and shook his head. He should know better than to get any more involved than he already was. But common sense had always taken a backseat to his drive to defend those who hadn’t yet learned how to help themselves.

Yeah, time to get out of here. He pulled his flashlight from his pocket for one last check. A careful scan revealed nothing to arouse any official questions. He’d done all he could, and he’d have to be content with that.

Just as he clicked off the light, its gleam caught a flash so quick that if he’d been blinking, he would have missed it. He skirted the corpses, careful not to step in the congealing pool of blood, and bent to retrieve an unexpected object that had evidently rolled from the grasp of one of the dead men.

He frowned at the sight. Why would a member of one of the city’s most vicious gangs be carrying around a child’s toy? It made no sense at all, but as his gaze flicked from the little snowglobe to what he could see of its owner’s face, his outstretched arm, the motionless cradling curve of his hand, something seemed to click inexplicably in his mind, or maybe in his heart.

This little object, so beautiful and innocent, had meant something to another soul. He didn’t know what, but he knew he couldn’t leave it there in the dirt and dark. Carefully holding it, he climbed the tiers of stairs and made his way to the street.

Dawn was just gilding the city in shades of pink and gold, a glimmer of light that would soon transform to a glare. He held up the snowglobe and shook it gently. A glistening of tiny white flakes swirled and danced before settling on a miniature cottage ringed with little pine trees. He squinted closer. There at the doorway was a smiling child, the boy’s hand resting on the head of a grinning dog. The two figures seemed to gaze skyward, watching the childlike wonder of falling snow, safe on the steps of their home.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Was this what you once had, or was it what you were wishing for?

He cradled the little keepsake in his grasp and watched the silver winter within transform as morning rays turned its contents to gold. A stranger’s lost dreams; buried memories of his own. He raised it high, helping it capture and contain a semblance of heat and hope. The meager slant of sunlight brought tears to his eyes.