Victor Black - And the Garden of the Gods

Chapter 9: Sam Sees the Light

Early autumn mornings in Acacia Park, in the center of Colorado Springs, brought the chirping of birds preparing their nests for winter. The squirrels rustled around in the newly fallen leaves looking for nuts, and things they could bury, later to be dug up in the Spring when their babies arrived.

On the grassy areas, on these mornings, a general population of homeless would also appear carrying gnarled backpacks, sleeping bags rolled tight, tattered blankets, and all the necessities for life on the street. Druggies and those who talked to themselves wandered the sides of the park. Families—fresh, and well-groomed, forced out of their homes from soaring bills—huddled with each other in the park's center. They'd congregate before heading to the soup kitchen close by on Bijou, where the freeway joined it below the Pinery.

Today, cars remained at most of the parking meters surrounding the park with tickets under their wiper blades. The street sweepers wouldn't be able to function, driving through, scrubbing, scratching, and sucking debris into their massive vacuums.

A group of homeless had gathered in the center of the park. They formed a circle and stared at something on the ground. The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon, but one could already feel the unnatural heat from it, and a colorful glow had spread through the park and the surrounding streets. The leaves were crispier than usual, the was grass dry, and a girl, maybe fifteen, laid in the center of the circle on her back. Her skin was pale, almost blue. Her eyes were open but unmoving.

"She's breathing. Chuck, Marcie, where's Sam?" said one man, bent over the girl, his ear to her mouth.

"I see him. He's coming, running from ... over there."

Sam, a well-known addict, but somewhat of a leader in the homeless community, had sprinted away to get help at one of the few open businesses. He came dashing back, bounding through the corner fountain, pointing to the group. A young, fresh, blond-haired valet from the new hotel on Bijou and Cascade followed.

Marky Simms held a hotel radio in his hand and talked spiritedly with someone on the other end.

Both men arrived together, pushing their way through, and knelt beside the girl.

"She's young," said Sam. "She's as clean as can be, not a mark on her—maybe passed out drunk?"

"No," responded the Valet. "I don't smell booze on her. At least she's breathing." He continued to speak to the other person on the phone, panting from the run, and looking the girl over. The Valet looked confused.

"Yes. Yes, the girl appears physically fine. Yeah, she's breathing. Oh, in her teens, straight black hair, white, about five feet six. She's Asian, maybe mixed with black." He coughed, excusing himself, and looked closer at the girl's face. "Uh, she's wearing tight jeans, and ... I think I know her from school."

Sam couldn't contain himself. He loved to help despite his issues, and he chimed in whenever the Valet was stuck on a description.

"It's blue, skinny jeans, sir," he said. "Popular with these school kids nowadays."

"Yes, skinny jeans ... and white shoes," said the Valet.

"Flats," Sam informed him.

"Flat white shoes, ma'am. Hold on just a sec —" He looked up at Sam. "Can I handle this, please? I know what I'm doing, man." He continued. "No, ma'am, I'm on the hotel's system, my cell doesn't work, like everyone else... Yup, damn lucky."

Sam, looking at the others huddled around, studying the situation, motioned for a ratty-haired redhead with moles on her face to pick something up beside her. She bent over and picked up a Polaroid camera, handing it to Sam, who was eager to capture the whole thing on film. He pointed it at the Valet hovering over the girl, and snapped one as his sun-ravaged hand trembled. A square photo emerged from the camera, black and colorless.