Simmer

   Just the sight of the stretch marks in his arms, close to his armpits, was enough to make him swim abruptly and very fast, further into the ocean. He could see the people and the beach getting away, he couldn’t feel the bottom anymore and, when he stopped, he noticed he had passed the border marked by the buoys. He swam towards one of them and rested there for a while. He was very agitated because of the effort, his chest going up and down. It seemed he was having problem breathing. Shortly after, a lifeguard boat appeared and offered him help. But he was able to say that he didn’t want any and then swam towards the beach.

 It took him a little more time getting there, making a few stops along the way. The salty water of the ocean mixed with the salty water from his tears, but no one knew that or noticed that in the beach. No one really had seen him going that far, everyone was minding their own business, not caring if a guy just swam like a mad man. When he got to the beach, he stood on the edge for a while, cleaning his face and letting the water drip from his body. Then he walked up to one of the showers by the walkway and showered thoroughly there, he had sand all over the place. When he finished he walked up to the parking lot and changed by his car. No one was there to watch.

 After that, he drove home and there he ate one of those salads, the kind you buy in the supermarket and are already done for you. He was hungrier than a salad but he didn’t want to go out again and eat something else. He instinctively gazed at his arm but he had a shirt on now and didn’t bother to yank up the sleeve or anything. He just finished his salad and then sat in front of the TV and put some silly documentary about aliens. They were always on, always with some crazy theory. They were the best shows for him to sleep to because he didn’t really care what they were all about. He only knew he was really tired.

 When he woke up, the room was in darkness. He looked at his watch and just sat down, covered his face and then stood up. It was time to go to the gym. Once he got there, he realized he was too tired. He tried several machines in a very short time but he just couldn’t do much on any of them. He didn’t know if he was tired from his earlier workout or if he was just not in the mood to do any exercise. Even though he clearly wanted to leave, he made himself stay at least an hour. He didn’t wanted to waste time, even if he preferred to be home reading or watching TV or doing whatever else felt more attractive than being in a gym, not being able to do much. Again, in that place no one really looked at him and he luckily wore a sleeve shirt too. Somehow he had never been a sleeveless shirt type of guy. He just wasn’t many things…

 When he finally came out of the gym, he intended to go and eat another salad in his home but he chose, instead, to go and walk around for a while. He was very close to home but he didn’t wanted to go there just yet. He wanted to think for a while or maybe not think at all. He just wanted to keep moving because when he stayed still he began torturing himself and he didn’t wanted that at all. He walked looking at the people going up and down the street, some were alone and others were in couples or even in groups. Some seemed happy and others not so much. Some were in a hurry and others just sat in the benches and just were there, not doing much more than looking at the cars and at the people, like him.

 He stopped to check out many store windows, some of them selling toys, others videogames or home appliances or even art. The street on which the gym was located, the same that passed near his house, was very commercial and active. And as the night progressed, more and more people popped all over the place, entering bar and restaurants, greeting people with hugs or only a cold handshake. It was Saturday night after all and everyone was out and about, no one wanted to be alone at home and he was certainly one of those. Normally he wouldn’t really care but this time was different. He felt he needed to stay outside for the remainder of the night because if he went back home he would do the same thing he did every time his thoughts cornered him.

  People never really watched, never really cared. They always excused themselves on a false sense of modesty or on a fake respect that no one ever asked of anyone. When he exercised in the gym the first few months he had a trainer. She was very strong and beautiful. He knew she saw the marks on his forearms, on his forehead. They were difficult not to look at if one really thought about it but she never mentioned anything and they saw each other everyday for at least three months. How could she not say anything? Did she really not mind or was she appealing to that false sense of respect that no one ever asked for? It’s not that he wanted to be asked but at the same time he did, he needed to be recognized.

 But no one had ever asked, no one had ever been interested. Besides he was very good at curing himself, he knew how to do it in order for anyone to miss the obvious marks. But nevertheless, they were obvious and anyone could have seen the problems, what was bubbling below his surface, that emotionless face and the stretch marked arms and the tired body. Everyone knew but no one cared. He was aware with that everywhere he went, even in that street, walking among people that seemed to be having an ice time with each other, that looked like they couldn’t care less about what happened beyond that place.

 He stopped at a small park and realized he had passed his home several blocks ago. He turned around but as he did, a voluptuous figure appeared in front of him. He didn’t really want to have that interaction, not then. It is common that the only people that see those in the shadows are people in the shadows themselves and these people really were. The police, the city officials and the neighbors all knew about it but no one really did anything to prevent it. Prostitutes had taken over and had taken the park as their place to work and get work. The lamps were not as bright as they could have been and some places were just very dark at night. Not only prostitutes hid in the shadows and he knew that well.

 Before she could offer him anything, he told her he wasn’t interested. She walked closer, in order to get in his way. She was very tall and had very strong legs and a wide chest and back. But she had the most luxurious head of hair he had ever seen on a prostitute. He repeated himself, told her he wasn’t interested. She then explained what she could do for him, what she liked to do and what he might like to do. She got neared but he took a step back. She smiled and he didn’t and she put a hand on his shoulder. It was a heavy hand and he felt as if he had sunken a couple of centimeters because of that hand. She assured they would have the best time ever and that she wouldn’t charge him too much. But the think her arm, pulled her hand off him and told her he wasn’t interested.

 This time he walked away and heard the prostitute insulting him and saying a bunch of derogatory terms, one after the other. She was like a machine of insults and, it had to be said, she was very creative about it. He tried not to hear any more that meant that he had a small penis and just walked home as fast as he could. It was late and the weather outside got very cold without him noticing. When he got home he took off his gym clothes and put on a pajama. Again, he turned on the TV and tried to watch some documentary about sharks, then a movie about some teenagers lost in an island and finally some cartoons. But the thought was already there and he couldn’t get the image out of his head. He had to do it, he had no option.

 Hours later, he was in his bed, head on the pillow looking up but with his eyes wide open. He was shaking and his arms were slightly opened, as if he was playing to be an angel of sorts in his own bed. But it wasn’t an angel one would have thought of when looking at the large blood stains in the blankets. They were rapidly expanding, forming the wings of the possible angel. But no real angel could have been found there. He closed his eyes to sleep and, this time, he cried again. He understood this was the day in which it finally got to him, in which he lost his grip on everything. He was finally lost and there was no one that could save him. Then again, there was no one at all.

The city's rage

 - Stop harassing me. I know nothing.

That was what Emmy, a boy who sold his body for a living, told officer Amalia Jones. And she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Ever since they had finally found him, everything had turned even darker and more complicated. Having been on the case for almost two years, Amalia knew there was more than the obvious but always thought things would become clearer if they found the boy everyone spoke about. But it wasn't like that.

She had to take a weekend off, with her husband and daughter to clear up her mind and get away from all the darkness of the case but, even there, on the beach, the details hunted her.

Jonas Van Doren had been found dead two years ago, floating on a tub filled with with water tainted with his own blood. The apartment was huge, all done in black and white, with the best furniture and the ultimate sound and video equipments. Neighbors told the police many parties had been held there, as Jonas was the son of a renowned Texas banker. The kids went to school in New York but had only found parties and ultimately death there.

To Amalia, New York was also a death trap. Her grandmother and her second husband had arrived to the city after been freed from a plantation in Georgia and had it hard to cope with. New York was not a plantation, but it was filled with slaves. Her second husband died when shot by a burglar so she raised her children by herself. One of them had been shot down by the police when they mistook him for a robber.

Rich or poor, the city appeared to eat people up everyday and Amalia's family and Jonas had already been consumed. And she suspected Emmy had been too. The only difference was that he had evaded death, who knows how.

During the interview she made to the boy, he proved to be fearless and poignant. He would always answer with an act of defiance, as if he had to defend himself over and over again from every single person around him.

The young Van Doren had copious amounts of drugs in his apartment. If it had been the 1980's, he would have been a Wall Street guy: cocaine, pounds and pounds. Also acids and ecstasy. Amalia was assigned to the case when the police began tracing the drugs, the sellers, the real buyer. And there was the first time they heard of Emmy.

Of course, that wasn't his real name. Emmy stranded for "emerald", a reference that only made sense to the boy, whose real name no one knew, not in the underworld, nor in the "real" one. Everyone knew about it him, though. He was very popular at parties, specially those involving high rollers of the highest pedigree. Politicians, military, even policemen. They would pay for him and his services.

Amalia looked for his real data everywhere but it proved impossible. Every time they would set up a raid to catch him, he would already be somewhere else, probably laughing at the police. It was obvious someone powerful was helping him escape and there was maybe no way to find him if he kept leaping from hiding spot to hiding spot.

Then, after the first year of the murder passed, knew autopsy reports on Jonas revealed something the first person to check his body had missed: he had traces of cocaine all over his body, as if someone had sniffed the powder off of him. It was specially interesting when residue was found on between his butt cheeks and on his penis.

Amalia and the other officers then assumed, quite correctly as other tests proved them right, that Jonas had had sex with someone else just before dying. So they started to check every single man and woman that had ever come to a party hosted by Mr. Van Duren.

It was useless because everyone had had sex with him, or so it seemed. To the family, officer Jones recalled, was devastated to learn that their dear son was a promiscuous drug addict, also prone to gambling. It looked awful for them, his father specially, and they decided never to come back to New York.

And then the investigation stalled. As it was now, Amalia thought, as she saw her husband tucking in their child, She smiled at him, thanking life for giving her the joy of having a family she could be proud of. She kissed her husband hard and passionately, as she felt she needed the infuse herself with all the love she could muster.

They had sex that night, as they hadn't had it for several weeks. And at the end they kissed and hugged to get some sleep but, she didn't. She kept thinking about Emmy. Because it was him who had helped her. Well, not before she had the chance to help him.

When the case stalled, Amalia was asked to survey several parts of the city, tracing the drug dealers that had sold to Van Doren. But one of those night she found Emmy. And he was not a in ugly neighborhood but in front of the Waldorf Astoria. He was coming out of it as Amalia passed by on her patrol car, en route to work.

She recognized him immediately and could see he wasn't feeling well: he seemed to mumble, and couldn't walk straight. As she stopped the car in front of the hotel, Emmy fainted.

Hours later they were in the hospital. Amalia had spoken to the doctor: Emmy had been drugged with a powerful sedative. He had been raped after that. When officer Jones visited the boy in his room, he was awake and looked at her directly to the eyes, as if checking if it was safe to be near her.

 - Who are you?
 - A friend.
 - I don't have any friends.
 - You do now.

They did become friends or, kind of. He stayed at her house and he decided to trust her enough to tell her who had raped him and, more importantly to her, who had sold Jonas the drugs. Yes, he knew him. No surprise, they had had sex. But according to Emmy, they were in love too. It had been him, before they had fallen for each other, that had made the bridge between Jonas and the dealers, dangerous, vicious men.

Amalia captured some of them with help from the FBI but just then, Emmy vanished. That was until now, when he had been recaptured trying to board a flight to Europe. He wanted out but Amalia couldn't afford such a valuable source of information to vanish that simply.

So she had asked questions, harder ones, once and again. But he had only said:

 - I know nothing.

The drug dealers plead guilty or charges of drug dealing and admitted having sold merchandise to Jonas Van Doren. But they said, adamantly, they hadn't killed him. They were actually shocked to hear from his death, as he was one of their best buyers.

After her weekend rest, Amalia came back to the city and demanded to talk to Emmy but he had been freed and he was nowhere to be found. Again, he had vanished and this time, it appeared to be forever.

Amalia arrived to her home that night, sad no to have had a last chance to speak with such a tormented soul. But it was no need. Her husband handed her a letter she had received earlier, with the name Jonas Van Doren in the front.

Inside, there was the most heartbreaking love story she had ever read or heard about. And it's conclusion, was just incredible. As it happens, Jonas and Emmy did love each other but Emmy was too tied to the dealers and they had demanded him to keep pressuring Jonas for more deals and to get them more buyers. Emmy didn't wanted to as he saw the man Jonas was turning into. They had fight over the drug issue, over the fact that Jonas was loosing himself.

The dealers finally made Emmy decide: make them richer or they would kill Jonas. In the letter, he confessed Amalia it had been him who killed Jonas. As a final act of love, he had poisoned him with a painless substance and had laid him in the tub, were they had shared their first kiss after having too much to drink.

Emmy had known the dealers would never settle, so he decided to do the job himself, before them or the drugs. And before killing Jonas, he had promised him never to let him alone, ever.

Weeks later, Amalia heard of the body of a young man found on the Hudson, with his pockets full of stones.

The Real Mrs. Humphries

Helena Humphries lived with her dog Alan and her crow Lena. They had been together for several years and weren't planning to separate any time soon. Her husband Harvey had died five years ago and both animals were greta companions for an elderly lady like Helena.

For years, she had taken care of a small shop, located just below her apartment. The place had been the property of Harvey's family but they all died out fast and he was the last one. So he gave the shop to Helena in his will.

To be honest, she had not been very happy when she realized she had to take care of business. She was 74 years old and planned to live the rest of her days in peace and tranquility. The shop was too much to do, too much to pay attention to. She had always thought the place was perfect for her husband, an innate businessman. But she didn't have it in her.

They had met in high school and from then on she was only a wife. They never had children and, to be honest again, she didn't resent it. She thought children should only come to the world if they were "looked for" and if they were guaranteed love.

Helena had suffered from depression when she was younger and Harvey had taken care of her with love and friendship. For that, she had always been thankful and decided to be the best wife she could and she had been: beautiful cakes every birthday, delicious dinners after a hard day at work and kisses and hugs in bed.

Harvey had died a happy old man. He was 80 and died from a heart attack, a disease that plagued his family, made mainly of larger people.

So Helena had to take the shop in her hands. She sold everything: groceries, candy and even hardware.

One day, a particular windy one, a woman called Virginia entered the store. She browse around but didn't appear to be really interested in anything. Helena had recognized her: people of the neighborhood said she was a prostitute and that she had a son out of one of her clients.

 - Might I help you?

Virginia looked at Helena and started crying. The older woman didn't know what to do, so she grabbed some hankies, the one she sold, and gave them to the woman. She cleaned her face, tainted by ruined make up, and blew her nose.

Helena asked if she was fine and the woman started her story: it was true. She was a prostitute as she had been laid off from her job at a brewery and she found herself with no husband and a child. But the child was not a consequence of her new work, more like the cause of it. She did it for him, so he could have food and a better life.
But she was tired of her living and wanted to stop. But her procurer forced her to keep doing it and she didn't wanted to.

At the edge of tears, Helena told her no woman should be forced to do nothing, as her Harvey had said. He had always encouraged Helena to be more than his wife but she had settled in it so well, she didn't wanted to pursue dreams that may not come true.

 - Work here. I have an extra room for you and the baby. Turn your life around.

This had two purposes: help Virginia and also separate herself from the store so she could have some peaceful elderly years.

The younger woman moved in with her son and life was good and quiet for a week or so until a man named Gregory came into the store, with a body guard as big as Mrs. Humphries wardrobe. They started pushing things to the floor and insulting Virginia for failing to do her job. She asked for forgiveness and told Gregory she would pay any debts. The big man grabbed her by an arm and almost broke it.

Suddenly a loud bang was heard. No one really knew what it was until Gregory fell dead on the floor. Mrs. Humphries had come down from her apartment, where she was taking a nap next to Virginia's baby, with her rifle.

It has to be said that Harvey had always been cautious and didn't trust the authorities too much, as his younger brother had been drafted illegally by military men and then died in a faraway land. So when he married Helena, he taught her how to shoot and use all kinds of guns. On saturdays, they would share an evening at the shooting range and then have milkshakes for desert. Helena had always loved those days as she felt strong and with purpose.

The tall big man dropped Virginia and attempted to leave but Mrs. Humphries shot again, this time pointing at his knee. The man screamed of pain.
In a matter of minutes, the police was there, picking up the bodies and summoned the women for interrogation. As it was self defense during property invasion, they let them go.

From then on Mrs. Humphries took care of Virginia as if she was a daughter and Virginia learned to think of the older lady as a mother. She proposed Helena to close the store for remodeling in order to turn it into a nice little café, which could attract more clients. Virginia was skilled at baking and pastries and had always wanted to do it for a living.

The new café was a success. Every person in town wanted to have one of Virginia's pastries for dessert. Helena helped too and, finally, gave in to her Harvey's wish of her becoming more than a wife. She became a proper owner, a good hostess and a great surrogate mother for Virginia and her baby.

They had difficulties and great moments but they were together, as a family, and that was all that mattered.