Inveigle

Chapter Five: The Burning Speakeasy

Bang. Bang. Bang. Gunshots were all around me now. An officer saw me standing and staring at the chaos and left his car to walk in my direction. His hand rested on a black shadow on his hip. I ran down another road before he reached me. Here businesses were being looted. I saw a group of tall teenage boys jump out of a broken glass storefront. Their arms are full of something. Cash? Bread?Chips? A drone swooped down and shot one of them in the chest. He dropped a large rectangle, bread, and crumpled to the ground. The other boys were gone down the street. The drone chased after them around a corner.

"Don't come near my store!" A man yelled at me from across the street. A pistol pointed at my chest. "I mean it!" I raised my hands and backed away the way I came. What was I doing here? I couldn't help.

The Palace windows were dark as I ran up the street. Which was unusual. Pam doesn't go to bed until after I take over the counter on weekends in case any late night guests arrive. The door was locked. Even more unusual for any hostel. I knocked, and I saw a curtain move before the door creaked slowly open.

"Shh, get inside!" Pam ushered me in. She quickly shut and locked the door again.

"What-"

"The riots! There are riots on T.V. They say they are moving throughout the city. People stealing, arson, shooting!"

"I know, I saw."

"We did, too!" A small voice spoke up out of the dark. I looked around and saw that in the shadows were people. I quickly counted the dark outlines. Five not including Pam.

"They came here looking for a place to sleep. They said the shelter burnt down. I couldn't leave them out there tonight. Though I doubt any of them can pay for a room." I couldn't see her facial expressions in the dark, but I could tell from the tone in her voice that her lips were pursed and eyebrows raised.The group was silent. Pam let out a, "Humph."

She sounded irritated, but I could see the profile of her head look down in the direction where the small voice had come from. She did seem to have a soft spot for children.

I found an available space on the small lobby floor. We waited the night out. Not one of us got any sleep. Anytime it became quiet and someone let themselves shift into a more comfortable position, we would hear sirens blare past the windows, or feet running, or a shriek just outside the thin walls. Then everyone's muscles would tighten, and the group would huddle a hair closer together. Twice the little girl cried when screams were right outside the window before the large shadow she sat with would pull her close and muffle her cries with dark arms.

When the dawn light began to peek around the heavy pink curtains, it remained quiet. I could begin to see the facial features of our newest guests. The little girl that had spoken to me during the night looked to be around 5 years old. She wore a faded lime green Aeropostale hoodie that more than likely came from a Goodwill. She was nestled in the arms of an elderly man wearing faded blue jeans and a thin, gray button up shirt. He leaned on the wall under the window. The pink curtains glowed with the rising sun casting a soft glow on his white hair.

I watched as the sun grew brighter and the pair faded into sleep simultaneously. The girl had a calm look on her face, a familiarity in the arms of the white-haired man. Her face wore a soft smile in her sleep that only came from a certain kind of comfort.

A foot away were three apparent strangers to each other. They looked at me and each other, like I looked at them. Examiningly. A middle aged woman, short and stout with small, tight brown curls and quick eyes that darted back and forth between everyone in the room sat criss cross on the floor. A young man, who looked tall and thin, yet muscular if he would eat more, was sitting in the red chair I sat in the other night. He kept his hands in his pockets, but they were constantly fidgeting. His knuckles making a moving hillside against the gray fabric. Closest to me was another young man, with a strong jawline, perhaps a little older than Pockets in the chair. His eyes would move from everyone in the room, pause a little longer on Pockets, and return to the floor before repeating the pattern. As I watched him, he kept parting his lips and closing them as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind.