Focusing on the girl, I carefully approached and crouched slowly down behind her. “Are you okay?” I forced myself to ask. Adrenaline squashed any shyness I felt.
The girl didn’t respond. Slowly reaching out, I lay my hand on her back. The girl cried out and tried to push herself further into the corner. “It’s alright,” I said and pulled my hand back, “he’s gone. The guy that attacked you is gone. I won’t hurt you.”
Despite my friendly manner, the girl didn’t seem to realize I was no threat. I sat back, waiting patiently to make sure she was okay. Only then did I finally concentrate on how this girl was dressed—black ripped jeans, leather jacket, strands of scraggly blond hair…
It was her.
As if sensing my recognition of who she was, the girl slowly turned around, and her eyes widened as she saw me before her. They were bright blue and perfectly round. She recognized me too, I could see it written all over her face.
The girl whipped her eyes around the alley, frantically searching every inch. “He’s not here,” I repeated. But she seemed to not hear what I’d said. Her neck stretched out, her wide eyes continuing to rove all around us, when I placed my hand on her arm. Her eyes snapped to mine. “He’s gone,” I said again, slower this time. Her huge doe eyes were intent on my lips.
The girl froze, then released a long shuddered exhale.
I stared and stared. Knowing she had taken my mamma’s rosary should’ve made me mad as all hell. But seeing her here, so small and afraid, curled into the alley wall, hiding under a sloped edge of roof, took away any hate I could harbor. Her hood was covering her head, shielding most of her face. But I could see, even in the dark of the alley, that her skin was pitted with dirt. Even through that dirt, I could see her skin was pale.
Too pale.
Concern overcame my shyness, and I asked, “Are you sick?”
As if answering my question, the girl bent forward and coughed like her lungs were failing. She coughed and she coughed until the sound of her cough was both hoarse and wheezy.
I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to put my hand on her arm. She was so thin and frail, bundled up in wet blankets, vainly trying to keep warm. Her clothes were ripped to pieces and completely worn out. As I stared at her, she wrapped her arm around her waist as if to keep herself upright. I tipped my head up to look at the torrential rain. I felt the increasing cold wind bluster in the narrow alley. I knew I couldn’t leave her here, not like this.
She needed help and she needed it fast.
Shifting myself around until I was directly in front of her, I dipped my head until I could see her eyes under the hood of her sweatshirt. A threadbare black scarf was pulled half way up her face; only her dull blue eyes were visible. As her harsh cough faded out into a deep graveled wheeze, I said, “Please listen to me.”
But her eyes never lifted at my request. They stayed large and dazed, pupils dilated, focused on the ground beneath our feet.
My concern deepened.
Inching further forward, I waved my hand in front of her face. The girl jumped again, but her eyelids fluttered at the movement until, finally, her attention was focused on me.
Making sure she could hear me, I explained, “I’m going to help you.” I immediately thought of Lexi, and knew she would come to the girl’s aid. We could get her to Kind. We could get her a doctor, a place that she could stay.
I reached into my pocket for my cell, but when I pressed the screen it was dead. I sighed in frustration.
The girl’s eyes watched my lips. “I’m going to call for help.” As I told her those words, her face fell and she shook her head. Using her hands on the soaking wet ground, she pushed herself further back against the wall.
“It’s okay,” I said and held up my hands. “Calm down.” I watched her close in on herself, her body contorting like she was a small child: terrified and afraid. As she did her scarf fell, revealing her face. Something in my heart broke and cracked in two.
She looked like she could be pretty. But her face was sunken, dark circles shadowed like coal smudges around her eyes. Her hands were joined over her chest in a rigid vise. When I slowly moved the blanket covering them, I noticed they were trembling. She was either terrified or freezing. As I looked up at her haunted ashen face, I thought it could be both.
Her gaze never wavered from mine. “Please. Let me help you. You’re not well and y’all need help.” I watched her slowly shake her head in refusal. But as she did, I saw the tears build in her eyes and her bottom lip quiver.
I looked away, frustration mounting in my chest. “Please,” I whispered, feeling helpless. When I faced the girl again, her glazed eyes were back to looking at the ground, and her wheezing had become worse. Her head had flopped to the side and she had pulled the wet blanket up to her chin, searching for warmth.