Leaving

Leaving

 I watched the woman cross in the middle of the block and turn down a blind alley. She’s crazy, I knew addicts slept in there. She’ll be dead before she reaches the far end.

I crossed the street and waited at the entrance, listening for the scuffle or the scream. I heard voices but not a real disturbance. After about ten minutes I hollered, “Hey lady, you okay?” Someone hollered back, “The only lady here is your mama.”

I turned away and started down the street to the bus stop, and there she was. I ran after her but lost her I the crowd getting off the bus. What a waste of a day.

 I had been following that woman for a couple of weeks. There had been a rumor that she was some kind of ghoul, stalking the homeless She haunted the lower parts of the city, talking to the homeless and junkies. I hadn’t seen her do anything, but there were always deaths in those parts of town. Ther were some that were unexplained. Not homicides or suicides or starvation, just people who had died. Of, course in that population, no one investigates very hard. So, my editor put me on the story.

 At first, I thought she was some type of missionary. She barely spoke to the people. It was like she was looking for someone or something. Maybe she was a social worker just counting the indigent.

I never could get close enough to asker her. She would always turn onto a busy street to get lost in a crowd. It felt like she knew I was following her.

If I asked the people on the street, they claimed they never saw her. No one ever saw her but me. I asked at all the social agencies, no one knew her. I even asked a cop if he knew her. I pointed her out just after walked past him.

“Mister, unless they are causing trouble, I don’t see anybody on the street. A thousand people walk by me every hour.”

I saw the next day. She was in the park walking through a tent city. She put her head into one of the tents and said something then moved on. I ran to the tent to ask who she was. The woman inside was obviously overdosing. I called for help and spent the next couple of hours answering questions. What had she said to that woman? She couldn’t have given her drugs or done anything to her. But she didn’t help either.

As I was leaving the park, I saw her enter a building. I hurried to the entrance. It was a senior care home. I walked through the foyer and spoke to the man at the desk.

“Are you here to see a resident, sir?” he asked hopefully.

“No, a woman just came in. She must have gone to see one of the residents. Can you tell me who she is?”

“No one came by my desk, sir,” he sighed, “No one comes to see the people here. They set up the payments for care and park them here. Do you know someone here?”

I was struck with pity for the residents. I saw a nurse helping an old man with a walker down the hall. He had a sad, vacant look in his eyes and the nurse was speaking softly to him. The man at the desk noticed I was watching the pair. “The staff are the only ones they see.”

The nurse turned the man to bring him back towards us. He looked my way and a flash of recognition crossed his face. He waved a wrinkled hand in greeting. He obviously though he knew me. The nurse steadied him and looked at me with raised eyebrows. Without thinking, I walked over and took his hand. “Good morning, how have you been?” I asked.

The old man smiled, “Bout the same,” he croaked. His voice rough from disuse. The nurse edged closer to him protectively and gave me a questioning glare. I am sure people come in and try to take advantage of lonely, forgetful old people. I smiled and gave her a reassuring nod. I turned back to the old man, “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He beamed at me, “See you then.”

I turned and started for the door. I stopped as I passed the desk, “What’s his name?”

“Mr. Blane, Jim. You do plan to come back tomorrow, right? You shouldn’t get his hopes up otherwise,” the man at the desk warned. “These folks are lonely.”

“I’ll be here,” I assured him, “Thanks.”

The next morning, I checked in at the office and told my editor there may be a new slant on the ghoul story, as we called it. Then, I headed to my appointment with Mr. Blane. I passed the homeless camp and noticed the coroner’s van. I shot a look around but didn’t see the mystery woman.

I walked into the home to find Mr. Blane dressed and waiting. He was sitting at ta small table smiling at me. The nurse stood close. “Good morning, Jim,” I said and sat down. “Good morning,” he answered, “How’s life on the outside?”

We sat and talked for several minutes. He never asked my name or used one. He just new a friend had come. A few of the other residents passed by. Jim smiled at them and told me the names he remembered.

When I stood to leave, he looked at me expectantly. I promised to come back the next day. “See you then,” Jim said happily. The nurse gave me a nod and the man at the desk thanked me as he watched me leave.

I headed to the office to pitch the new twist on the phantom woman. She had led me to an opportunity to be a friend to someone. She made me realize that I was missing these chances every day because I was too busy or too shy to reach out.

The boss liked the human-interest angle better than the ghoul angle.  “Maybe we can start some altruism kick. Good idea, when are you going back?”, he asked.

“Tomorrow, and you should come with me.” I suggested.

I was walking home from the bus stop, feeling pretty god about myself, and there she was. She was walking out of another alley. I sprinted after and stepped in front to halt her. She looked like any middle-aged woman, not a ghoul. She gave me a friendly smile and gazed at me. “Hello,” was all she said.

“I have been trying to catch up to you for weeks,” I panted.

“Yes, I know.”

“Then why did you make it so hard?”

“Well, I was pretty busy and, I knew we would meet eventually,” she said, “People like you always find me. Did you think I was some evil person creeping around the city?”

I stammered, “Well, yes, that’s what the rumors were.”

“Where did these rumors come from?” she asked.

“Anonymous tips mostly.”

She sighed and nodded, “Well, now we have found each other, what next?”

“What are you doing? Why do you wander around the homeless and junkies and old folks’ homes?”, I questioned.

“I’m not wandering. I’m looking for people who can’t find their way out.”, she explained.

“Out of what?”

She sighed, “Out of this world.”

I was dumbfounded, “So you are what, the angel of death?”

She smiled, “I get asked that every time I meet one of you.”

“Who,” I asked, “a reporter?”

“No, a shepherd. You are one of the people who revives anyone who isn’t ready to leave yet.”

“Leave this world,” I stated.

“Yes, some people are just stalled. They need something to draw them back onto life, people like you.”

I asked her, “What makes you think I’m one of these shepherds?”

She smiled at me, “You couldn’t stop yourself when you saw Mr. Blane yesterday, could you?”

I nodded, it was true.

“And the people you help to leave?” I asked.

“They have fulfilled their purpose here and can’t figure out how to leave. So, they start to deteriorate, their lives are essentially done.”

“And you take them to, heaven?” I guessed.

“That’s not my decision. I just take them from here.” She smiled wanly.

“Are there more of you?”

“Oh, yeah, everywhere.”

“You said people like me, shepherds. How do you find us?” I asked.

“You find me,” she smiled, “Or we simply lead you to your calling. Shepherd’s have that “good Samaritan gene. We just help them discover it. Are you going back to see Jim tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I answered.

She turned to walk away, “Take a friend.”

My editor was never going to believe this. But I knew it was him I would take to see Jim Blane the next day.