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Guardian Angel

The cool metal of the Zippo's igniter wheel pressed into my thumb. I gave it a firm spin. Another. Tiny sparks ghosted into being for an instant, clamoring for life, then guttered and died before they could catch. I held the blue plastic device up to my ear, shaking it.

Out of fluid.

The cigarette and lighter both went back in the pocket of my sweater, unlit.

C'mon, c'mon.

My gaze roved my surroundings for what felt like the hundredth time. Nothing had changed. No signs of life. Only the empty, lonely, train cars of every shape and size. Dark hulks, looming up all around me, seeming to beg for someone to carry, something to give them a purpose.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I shifted my weight. Weeds pushed through the rock in places, tiny splotches of green amongst grey and brown. I hugged my chest, rubbing my arms vigorously. The itch was back. Like hordes of ants crawling beneath my skin.

Wasn't it getting late? I wished I had a watch to check. The fur of my arms began to chafe, forcing me to stop rubbing, but the itch was still there. I stared at my fingers, watching them tremble. There was only one cure for the itch.

Please don't come.

I shivered. When had the wind grown so chilly? It seemed to find the holes in my sweater and weave its way through, ruffling my auburn fur. Geez, it was only November, and already that wind cut right to the bone. I needed a smoke. The first one I pulled out dropped from my shaking fingers, but it was alright. I picked it up. No sense wasting a perfectly good smoke. The wheel on my lighter spun, sparks dancing.

Snick. Snick.

The cigarette fell, unlit by the useless Zippo. The lighter returned to my pocket, and I wrapped my sweater tighter around myself, staring at the empty trains. What would happen if I got on the next train to come through? Slipped into one of those empty cars, and simply rode away? Would anyone notice that I'd left? Would anyone care?

Please, God, if you're there, if you're listening... If you care at all, please don't let him come.

Maybe I'd end up someplace warm. Florida, or Texas. Or someplace glamorous, like Hollywood, or New York. A chance to start up fresh and clean. There were surely plenty of opportunities in places like those. People used to say I was beautiful. Maybe if I worked hard, they might say that again.

If only I could make my hands stop shaking.

"Hey there, babe, you been waitin' long?"

I spun, my eyes watering with the cold. My voice cracked, barely a whisper. "Jake! Thank god, you're here, Jake."

The smile that split the wolf's face made me want to smile back and cringe away at the same time. No matter where we met, Jake always managed to look like a million bucks, with his neatly groomed fur, designer jacket and expensive shirts, along with shades that probably cost more than a month's rent at my apartment.

"Sorry if I worried ya, sweetheart, but I'm here to take care of you and fix ya up, alright?"

Nononono.

My throat felt parched, my vision blurring as I murmured, "Yes... Jake, I need it. I need it real bad. Please, I'm a wreck right now, and, and..." I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the sudden welling of emotion that was choking off my words.

"Shhh, it's alright babe, no need to cry on me," he said with a chuckle, reaching out and stroking my cheek gently. He was always gentle, despite his buff physique and confident manner. "I got the goods right here, just like always. See?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handful of small plastic bags, some filled with powder, others with crystals.

I stretched my hands out eagerly, but he pulled the treasures away from my greedy eyes, shaking a finger under my nose. I almost let out a sob.

"Ah-ah, hon, not until you start making good on what you already owe. Even nice guys like me gotta earn their investments back."

His eyes were roaming now, a hint of feral gleam lighting them as they tried to slide beneath my top. Licking my lips, I tugged on my skirt, wishing I'd worn one just a few inches longer, so that it might at least cover me down to my knees. "Jake, I can't, you know I-"

"Shhh," he stepped closer, placing a forefinger across my lips. "I never said you gotta pay it all at once, babe. I'm a generous guy, ain't I? I wanna help ya out here." He shrugged. "How much you pay just depends what you need, you feel me?"

His breath was warm, tickling my ears. When had he come so close? My gaze fixed on his jacket pocket as I rubbed my arms frantically, hoping for warmth, or at least a release from the itch. He gripped my wrists, stroking softly, tugging my hands away from my arms.

"There's more'n one way to settle these sorts of debts, babe," he murmured. I didn't try to resist as he guided my hands, though my fingers spasmed as they slid across the soft leather of his jacket.

No, please.

Crisp denim beneath my fingers. The cold metal of a zipper. A firm bulge in the fabric. By pure reflex, my hands squeezed, eliciting a grunt from Jake and a twitch beneath my palms.

"That's it, sweetheart! I knew you were a clever girl. You already know how this works. So, why don't you go ahead and show me how much you 'need' it?"

His words were encouraging, but beneath them lay an undertone of icy steel. The grip around my wrists wasn't quite so gentle anymore either. My eyes travelled upwards from the gravel between our feet, resting on the second bulge in Jake's pants, this one off towards his left hip. He must've followed my gaze, as he laughed and tugged the gun free, slipping it into his jacket.

"Sorry babe, guess that was bad manners, wasn't it?" He let go of my wrists.

No...

My fingers found the zipper of his pants and dragged it down, the tiny sound seeming to echo. It was getting a little hard to see again with all the wind making my eyes water. I swiped it away. The jeans were tight, heavy fabric, making it a little tricky to get my fingers inside and extract Jake's straining package. A sardonic voice in my head noted that at least he hadn't been wearing underwear. I stared at his exposed tool for a moment, though I wasn't looking at it, so much as what it meant.

God, please. I never wanted it to come to this.

"What's wrong, babe? Want a closer look?" His hands fell on my shoulders, pushing me roughly down to my knees. My nose wrinkled as it filled with the sharp odor of his musk. Sharp bits of gravel dug into my knees, shooting tiny streaks of fire up my legs. My arms itched. Slowly, I reached for that plump, grey sheath.

"There's a good girl."

"Hey!"

I tried to turn towards the voice. It was familiar, but impossible, surely! The hands on my shoulders became iron, fingers digging in firmly enough to force a whimper from my throat.

"What do you want, I'm busy," Jake growled. One hand left my shoulder, moving towards his jacket pocket.

"I can see that, and you'd best clear your schedule, Mr. Lorenz. Public exposure is a felony, and what a shame it would be to get brought in over something minor, and end up being charged with possession of illegal substances as well?"

I tilted my head slightly, trying to see the other speaker without startling Jake with my movement. He stood tall in the open door of one of the boxcars. A beam of dying sunlight glanced off a golden badge. Blue uniform fabric stretched across a lithe frame, rounded a bit by kevlar. If I turned a little further, I'd be able to see his face. Could it really be him? Suddenly, I was a statue, hot spears of shame pinning me in place as surely as Jake's hand. I turned my head away.

"Back off, pig."

I yelped as Jake wrapped an arm around my neck and hauled me to my feet, yanking me to his chest. Icy metal pressed to my temple, quashing any struggles I might have made before they began. "I walk away, or you have a body to deal with before you get your doughnuts." Jake's voice was as cold as the wind.

"No need for that. See? Nice and easy." From the corner of my eye, I could see the cop raise his hands high. "I'll stand right here for as long as I need to. Just let her go, Jake. I know as well as you do that the last thing you need is an eyewitness account of murder on your file."

I stumbled as Jake began to drag me backwards, the crunch of gravel seeming as loud as gunshots. The arm wrapped around my neck shook, but the barrel jabbing the side of my head didn't waver an inch. "Did you set this up, you little bitch?" he hissed in my ear, the chokehold tightening until I could barely breathe.

"No, no, Jake, please," I coughed. He gave a wordless snarl in reply, continuing his retreat. I couldn't have put up any resistance, even if I'd wanted to test my luck. Wonder when the next train is? I thought dully.

"Calm down, Jake," the cop called, his tone gentle. "I'm still right here. No call for anyone to get hurt."

We rounded the corner of a train car, and suddenly, I was stumbling forward from a firm shove, barely catching my balance before falling to my knees. "Next time, I'm collecting the full amount, bitch," came Jake's growl. Then, running footsteps across the gravel. By the time I turned to look, he was already vanishing between a pair of oil tankers.

Damn, but I needed a smoke.

I could hear him coming, the heavy tread of combat boots, and briefly considered following Jake. I tugged my skirt, straightening the fabric. At least it hadn't torn in the struggle. The wind rose, flapping my sweater. I wrapped it tight around me, huddling away from the cold.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

I didn't -couldn't- turn around. I nodded.

"Yes, fine."

"Glad to hear it. Mr. Lorenz isn't exactly the nicest character, as I'm sure you know."

I nodded again, staring at the place where Jake had vanished. A long silence. A hand fell on my shoulder, gentle, but firm.

"Lisa..."

"Stop, please," I choked out. My eyes were brimming again, blurring my view of the world. The shame was a burning brand, searing straight to my soul. Of all the people to witness where I'd sunk to, why did it have to be him?

"Lisa, look at me. Please?"

His voice was as gentle as I remembered, his touch even more so, but I was frozen in place. I couldn't look. He was a reminder of all that I'd thrown away, and there was no going back. Funny. I thought I'd numbed myself to that pain, but here it was, fresh as ever.

I heard him sigh, and felt his presence shift. I wanted to close my eyes, to not look as he came around in front of me, but my damned body wouldn't respond, save to blink away tears. His face filled my vision, concern etched into his blunt features without a hint of judgement. Just like I recalled, right down to the way the spots on his cheeks and those feline whiskers made him always seem to be smiling a bit.

"Lisa, please don't push me away this time. I can help you. I want to help you." He let out a soft growl. "God, Lisa, that guy could have killed you." His hand found mine, gripping convulsively once, before letting go. "If I hadn't seen him come in here, you-" he cut off, shaking his head, studying me with those intent green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Francis," I whispered, dropping my gaze. What did he see when he looked at me? Surely not the same spritely, naive, Irish setter he knew from high school. Could he see the scars beneath my sweater? Did he notice the bags under my eyes? Did he know that my slim figure was more from malnourishment than from any sort of fitness routine?

Could he tell that part of me still wanted what I could never have? The life that he represented, the beautiful years that could have been. Any chance at an 'us'. Part of my existence, drained away in a haze of addiction. Gone, forever.

I caught a whiff of spicy cologne. I didn't resist as his arms encircled me, pulled me to him. I'd forgotten how tall he was, with those long, cheetah legs. I barely came up to his chin. A strange mirror of the way Jake had drawn me close, yet this touch held only compassion. It took me a moment to realize that the sobbing noise was coming from my own throat. Wet droplets rolled from my cheek, staining the blue of his shirt.

"Shh, it's alright. You're going to be okay. We're going to get you cleaned up and make sure you're safe, alright? I know a lot of good people in rehab programs and halfway houses." I could hear the drumming of his heart, the shakiness in his intake of breath. "He can't hurt you now. I'm here, and I'm not going away. I'm not going to leave you alone again."

I shook, years of unspent grief pouring out of me in a torrent. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered, over and over. Francis merely held me, allowing me to loose the raw emotion. The shadows lengthened as the sun dropped away below the unseen horizon, casting us into a formless statue in the middle of the trainyard. At some point, my arms had found their way around him, clinging as though he were the only point of stability in the world. He didn't try to pull away. The itch had faded into the background. It wasn't important anymore.

I don't know how long we stood like that, but eventually, I had no more tears left to spill.

"Better?" Francis whispered. I nodded. Somewhere in that cascade of wordless regret, the burning shame had run down my cheeks, leaving me strangely at peace. Only one question remained, looming like a hammer above my fragile awareness. I looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time.

"Why?"

For a long moment, he stared back at me, an emotion I couldn't read roiling in those expressive eyes. They closed, shutting me out. An icy hand gripped my heart. I had to strain to hear what he said.

"Because I still love you."

Warmth as pure as sunlight shot through me. His eyes opened, meeting mine, and whatever he saw brought the tiniest ghost of a smile to his face. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve it, but whatever deity was up there had ordained that I should have a second chance. Silently, I sent up a word of gratitude.

"Come on, let's get you home," Francis murmured. I nodded.

"Yes."

As we walked away, hand in hand, I could hear the mournful sound of an approaching train's horn. It sounded lonely. I wondered if anyone rode on that train, fleeing from circumstances unknown. Where was it coming from, and where would it end up? I didn't have those answers, and probably never would.

All I knew, was that I wouldn't be on it.

~~~

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