The days passed with Bernadette returning to her old schedule. Early mornings spent with the peeking sun and entire days spent staring into the empty word documents of which she created the weekly blog post.
As she typed the starting words of her next post into the document, she could hear a distant whirr of the washing machine and murmur of a news reporter.
“There has been a surge in territorial gang-related crime in the last three weeks.”
Yeah.
The occasional yelling coming from the dead-end alley behind her complex caught her off-guard most mornings. It forced her to watch the peach-colored sunrise behind the glass sliding door until its presence assured her that there would not be a gunshot ringing out. The gunshots made her jump out of her folding seat, often more than not making her lose all oxygen she once thought filled her lungs. In a sense, it sure felt worse than a dog’s fear of fireworks.
“Citizens around areas of high concentration of gang activity are advised to take precaution and not go out in late evening hours. The NYPD has sent out officers to assure the safety of the public in this turbulent time and to provide protection to our citizens as well as arrest individuals suspected to be related to the crimes.”
She rolled her eyes at the mention of the police force. If deployed as mentioned, she would’ve been hanging out on her terrace each morning already. To be frank, she could call them with every shot she hears in the night, but after the last fight with her husband over his insistence over not letting the police near, she hesitated.
She diverted her attention back to the empty laptop screen, hearing the news fade out into a string of commercials. Whilst staring, she let her other senses wonder. The murmur of the population below her and the pass of cars occupied her ears, the outside air hot and suffocating. Soon, Bernadette watched as the sky above Chinatown descended into darkness. The blaring lights of open businesses and streetlights replaced the sun, which did not take the suffocating air with it over the horizon.
Sighing, she saved the few words of progress as she closed her laptop. The camera sat on the table beside the laptop. The device still looked fresh as new, even if worn down inside with close to 3 years of use before she’d abandoned it in the closet. Hearing the words Melina said during their meeting, Bernadette felt the spark that abandoned a while back. The drive to take a picture with a story behind it, be it the waterfalls she encountered in Europe or just the stuffy Chinatown she had been stuck in for months.
Picking up the camera, she turned it on and took hold of the zoom. She adjusted it as she stood up from the chair, only to crouch down to catch the blaring street lights below.
A shutter and a click. She stood up, reviewing the taken picture.
The focus of the picture centered in the restaurant lights plastered over the thresholds. Many of these contained lettering she was not familiar with, some offering an English name option below. Under the lights hurried a flurry of people, each minding their own business as they walked into a nearby restaurant or bar or into their own apartment complex. On the wide road, a blur of cars.
It’s good enough.
A familiar engine passing below the complex alarmed Bernadette, she tilted her head to look.
The same black limo that her husband takes to work each morning and returns him home in the evening hours parked at the side of the road, albeit a bit too close to the doors of the complex. People stopped to look at the commotion before hurrying along their way. Watching two suited men escort the businessman out of the vehicle, she sighed. The wobble in his step noticeable from buildings away, no wonder the two fair men held him so tight. She avoided meeting them, instead opting to unlock the door and head to the bathroom. Dealing with her husband drunk out of his mind would drain her yet another night.
“Oi! Get off’a me… You heard me, son of a bitch!” A crash sounded from the kitchen; she remembered the glass of water left on the kitchen island.
“The bitch... She will take care of it! Gett’a out! Or you’ll be… Carrying your brains back in your hands… Bastards!”
Footsteps hurried to the front door, and the door clicked shut.
His voice barked, “Fuckin’ bastards!”
Bernadette sucked in a breath, banging coming from the kitchen again. She hoped he was not trying to clean up his mess, for which he had an affinity for when in a drunken state. She creeped out of the bathroom, watching him stumble around a pile of liquid and glass on the kitchen floor. He held onto the counter with both of his hands, hunched over.
“Bernie! Ber-nay… Berna-y!“ His speech slurred, and upon listening the nicknames roll of his tongue he started to giggle, “C’mere beauty!”. Imitating a tone of a dog owner calling his pet, the man called out into the apartment. Bernadette dared to come out of her hiding place, choosing her words with care.
“Welcome back, Michael,” her mouth felt dry, be it anxiety or annoyance.
“Ah… Hello!” Michael smiled with the innocence of a child, his appearance only grounding the fact. His blonde mop of hair was disheveled, and his tie loosened around his neck. His vest open and the material underneath slashed. She muted her surprise behind a mask of dull concern, her mouth stretched into a fine line. She daren’t doubt he worked as a banker up in Harlem, best not to peer too much.
“Come,” his breaths took a turn and became heavy, “Get a little closer here, will ya? Can’t promise not ta’ bite though”. A grin spread over his face, hold still cemented into the marble counter. He seemed to hold his left hand scrunched around, Bernadette tore her gaze from it.
“I’ll clean up the mess first. Be careful not to slip,” before cleaning, she dragged a chair to hand him over the mess on the tiles, so he didn’t have to struggle standing.
Michael positioned the chair against the wall as he lowered himself onto it. He observed Bernadette as she took out the broom and dustpan, starting to gather the glass pieces into a pile.
“Hey… C’mere. Got su’mn to tell you,” Michael cooed as he leaned forward on the chair. Her intuition burned with suspicion as she looked at him, his left fist tightening around whatever he held.
“What are you holding? I’ll get you to bed soon so you can leave it here at the island,” she pat the marble island with her palm as she turned towards him.
She realized the poor choice of words as his face grew sour.
“Did I tell ya to say su’mn? Don’t think so!” His voice roared and bounced off the walls, “Just c’mere! Quick!”. Assuming he meant to retch, while she neared, she turned to open a cupboard to get a plastic bag.
Shock burst in her abdomen when a fist connected to her side. She felt searing pain to the place a fist connected to before she toppled to the floor. Managing to stop herself from flat out falling onto her back and hitting her head, a force pushed her back further and stinging pain ripped through Bernadette’s left wrist. Unable to kick, her legs pinned under the weight of her own husband, she watched his face inch closer along with the left fist.
It held a medium-sized glass shard, “Sorry, pretty! We’re moving soon!”
Bernadette’s scream caught in her throat; her arms trashed. Her left warmed and she felt the pain dulling. The following had happened in such a rush that the sight in front of her eyes blurred, had it been tears or rush of adrenaline she hadn’t known existed.
Her palm gripped the thick end of the broken glass cup and brought it to the side of Michael’s head. She felt warmth as the object crunched at the impact and his body swung to the side with force. The next she knew she stabbed the glass into the right of his neck, the metallic smell spread throughout. A spray of blood coated the floor and the scattered glass pile to her right.
Sitting on his stomach, she came to. Her eyes widening to the puddle of blood still filling to the side. Her own left wrist burned even more, glass stuck out of open gashes and blood trickled down a steady pace. Attempting to hurry to stand, her arms buckled as she gripped whatever she could with her right hand.
‘I should call the police,’ she stopped.
‘But what help will they be? I’ll be rotting in jail if I even got there alive.’
Limping to the bathroom, sway in her step, memories of the previous week flooded her memory, ‘Am I passing out so soon?’
A memory of an encounter crossed her mind.
“Damn, shame. I be doin’ lotta handyman stuff, if ya need me for anythin’ from fixing a pipe ta’ cleaning up after ya shanked ya hubby, just hit me up.”
‘She’d been just kidding though?’ Bernadette’s head throbbed as she stumbled into the bathroom.
Before she had taken ahold of her phone, she yanked a shirt out of the laundry basket and a toothbrush. Tying the shirt tight slightly below the elbow, she used the toothbrush to wrench the knot tighter until she felt the arm tingle. When she noticed the flow slowing, she picked up the phone.
The news report she heard that afternoon came to mind.
“Citizens around areas of high concentration of gang activity are advised to take precaution and not go out in late evening hours.”
Along with it blended the words said only a few days ago:
“I hang ‘round Chinatown ‘n this cafe pretty often wit’ fellas these days, so ya don' gotta be scheduling wit' me. Just come see me sometime!”
Bernadette clenched her teeth, “I guess it’s fifty-fifty.”
She tried to ignore the body laid out on the ground while she shuffled across the apartment, digging through the bag she carried that day. Pulling out the crumpled card, she pressed the numbers into her phone and put it against her ear. The metallic smell became less noticeable to her nose when focused to the ringing tone of the phone. She did not know how many gods she addressed in that single moment as she waited for an answer.
“Melina’s dandy handyman service. What’s the need?”
Bernadette’s words came out before she had even had the chance to think them through, “Remember me?”
“Oh! Hey Bernadetta- Or wait, Bernadette?” the other side let out an annoyed noise,
“Anyways, what’s the address?”
Bernadette had to stop to remember.
“Okay… And what’cha need me to bring?”
Bernadette took a shaky breath, her voice caught in her throat and cracked. “You know… I’m quite sure all of that… The last thing you said was in a well-mannered joke but- “
A laugh echoed from the other side of the line, “Aha! I’ll be dere in a second. Don’t look!”. The line cut, and Bernadette dropped the phone. Deathly silence swallowed the apartment and she shook as if having a fever. The next moment she had slumped down under the table and hugged her bloody knees close to her body with her right arm.
“Comin’ in!” A familiar cheer sounding morbid under the current circumstance sounded when the front door opened. Bernadette swore that she would had screamed if she weren’t petrified, “Oh man, this is a real messy one.”
A pair of boots turned right toward the table as the voice called out, “Hey, Bernadette! Where are you? You good?” Bernadette’s throat produced a mere whimper.
A familiar face met her own when the figure crouched. Her pupils dilated and so did the other’s when she noticed the multiple gashes on her left wrist, “Fuck. Lemme call Antonio real quick and I’ll help ya outta dere.”
Words such as “Hey”, “Get here”, “Take whatever Barco, ya think I fuckin care’” and “Just be fuckin’ quick” chipped in her memory as she watched Melina pull out the chairs and crouch. She watched the hand extend over to her.
“Listen. We’re goin’ to the hospital real quick. I’m ya friend. Ya cut yourself open when ya was climbing through the window. We were runnin’ from gangsters. Got it?”
Bernadette nodded. If she could talk, she’d for sure try to stick to the story created. Reaching out to the hand with caution, a harsh yank pulled her out from underneath the table.
A whistle, darkness swallowed her eyes, with a muttered “Sorry” before her consciousness drifted.
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