Page 6 of Ghost

You know that feeling you get when you first wake up and it hits you that Toto’s missing and you’re not in Kansas anymore?

That was the kind of hell I realized I was in when my eyes fluttered open and the dredges of sleep evaporated.

I groaned under my breath. There was no waking up from the nightmare I’d experienced the night before.

After securing my last chance with the agency, I started to think that maybe things were on the verge of turning around for me.

That lasted about two point six seconds, right up until the local PD was pounding on the door. They’d been called in by the landlord to put me out on my ass.

Thankfully, depending on how you looked at it, the only things I had left to my name were the clothes on my back and the meager amount of shit I always kept in the backpack I took everywhere.

With no fight left and nowhere else to go, I headed for the women’s shelter, where I just barely made it in time before the lights were turned out.

Quit complaining, it could be worse.

I snapped out of my pity party when I got an eerie feeling on the back of my neck that I was being watched.

Slowly, I rolled my head toward the most likely culprit and locked eyes with the lady sitting on the bunk across from mine.

“Morning,” she grumbled, completely unbothered that I’d caught her staring.

Since subtlety didn’t seem to matter, I took in the parlor of her skin and the redness in her bloodshot eyes.

Junkie. Had to be.

Don’t judge, Rae.

“Good morning,” I rasped, my voice still rough from a horrible night’s sleep. With any luck, I’d have an actual bed to sleep in before the day was over. My fingers were crossed.

“Times up, ladies! You’re welcome to come back tonight!” the shelter coordinator shouted across the gym.

I hadn’t been stoked about going there, but as far as shelters went, it was one of the nicer spots in the city.

It could’ve been worse, I reminded myself for the dozenth time.

Doing an ab curl, I rocked up onto my ass and swung my legs over the side of the cot, my eyes catching on the lady in charge. I lifted my chin, a subtle thanks for her taking me in for the night. She smiled and nodded her head in reply.

“Let’s go, ladies!” Right. It was time to go. I had an interview to get to, and with any luck, I’d have a bed of my own to sleep in by the day’s end.

My body ached as I climbed to my feet. Damn, I really hoped I didn’t have to come back here again.

Reaching under what passed for a pillow, I grabbed my bag and tossed it over my shoulder as the night’s guests started to stream out the door into the cold morning air in search of a meal.

There was no time to waste. I had to get moving; I had a lot of ground to cover if I was going to get to the other side of town and not be late. Hurriedly following them out, I paused when the junkie behind me asked, “Where you headed?”

I probably should have asked for her name when she kept rambling on the night before, but the NYC women’s shelter wasn’t exactly the kind of place I wanted to make friends at.

“Job interview,” I simply replied, pulling the worn paper with the address to my destination from my pocket.

“Good luck,” she said. Her words seemed hollow, but maybe she meant it.

"Thanks.” Without another word, I slipped out the door, ignoring the frigid morning air. There was no time to drag my feet, the walk was a long one and I couldn’t screw my last chance up by being late.

Twenty-six blocks and an evaded mugger later, I arrived at my destination. However, as I looked from the ten-foot fence that wrapped around the perimeter, to the shipping containers that were stacked two tall and spread about strategically, and finally over to the row of Harleys parked neatly in formation at the front of the warehouse that looked an awful lot like a bar but I assumed was my final destination, I started to wonder what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

“They have a baby in a bar?” My lips twitched at the notorious movie quote. I loved that movie.

“Keep moving, lady.” My eyes snapped over to a burly guy in the leather vest who was headed my way.

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