FRIENDS, IN DEED

by Karen Morgia

She was fourteen years old, but she had been running from the painfor what seemed like most of her life. The bruises had long sincehealed…the physical ones. The mental bruises would neverheal…of that she was certain. It had taken her so long to get upthe courage to leave in the first place…why hadn’t she beenable to leave before.

…I know why, she thought. ‘Cuz I’m acoward…

No, she wasn’t a coward, just a very young girl who wasafraid of him…her own father. If the truth be told, hewasn’t really her father…he was her stepfather…but hewas the only father she had ever known.

He’d begun coming into her room at night when she was eight;up until then she had loved him as any little girl loves her father.But when the nightly ‘visits’ continued, her love soonshriveled and died. Now all she felt was hate; hate and self-loathingthat perhaps it was something she had done…that somehow it wassomething she deserved. Her memories of the way life used to be:school, parties, boyfriends were long forgotten, as if they hadhappened in another lifetime to someone else.

…No! Don’t think about it…

She sat on the bench by the lake watching a family of ducks swimby. The moonlight shone down illuminating each ripple across itssurface. It was so peaceful at night, sometimes she forgot that shewas living in the center of one of the largest cities in the world. Acity filled with millions of people…and not one of them cared ifshe lived or died.

She often came here at night when the dreams invaded her sleep.She would see his face as he came toward her and she would wakescreaming; her heart pounding, afraid that he had found her and woulddrag her back to the living nightmare her existence had been. Thenshe would remember where she was and how far away he was and shewould relax a little, but she would be unable to return to sleep. Onsuch nights she would rise, get dressed, and go for a walk in thepark often ending up on the bench beside the lake.

Money to pay for anything was always a problem, but she refused tosell herself on the streets; she still had some pride. There weretimes when just in order to survive she might ‘borrow’things she needed from a Salvation Army store or a Goodwill. She onlytook what she really needed, usually clothes; it was very cold atnight.

Her days were spent foraging in garbage cans for what edible foodshe could find. She soon learned, however, that the best places tolook were in the cans behind the fancy restaurants. Rich people tendto waste a lot of food. On the days when pickin’s were lean, youmight find her haunting one of the soup kitchens set up forindigents.

Often during the day in order to keep warm, she might frequent thepublic library. You could sit off in a corner somewhere for hoursjust reading and staying warm. Her favorite reading material of late,had been books of adventure and fantasy; anything to take her mindaway to other lands and better times. Her absolute favorites werefantasies inhabited by strong-willed warrior women; women who couldtake care of themselves; who could function on a level equal to anyman.

Sometimes you might find her peeking through the windows of a TaeKwan Do academy or a Karate school. Later in the park alone, shewould practice what she had seen. She was proud of her limitedability and felt as if she could protect herself if the need everarose. There came a night when the need did arise, and nothing shehad done or practiced was able to help her.

It was one of the many nights when ‘he’ came back tohaunt her dreams…she went to the park. She was heading towardher usual bench by the lake, but to get there the paved walk shefollowed led through an underpass. She had almost made it though tothe other side when the man came out of the shadows. She was onlyfourteen and he was very big.

Luckily, she was too scared to fight him. If she had, he mighthave killed her, as it was she was left bruised and bloodied butalive. She pulled her torn clothes together as best she could, pickedherself up and left the shadows of the underpass. She had beenthrough so much in her young life this was almost the breaking point.For a while her brain was simply on ‘HOLD’ and she wanderedaimlessly…not hearing, not seeing, not caring. This time ofnight there was no one in the park to see her, no one to help her,and she wandered almost unseen.

There was one person in the park who followed her silently.Someone who wandered through the park most nights, hiding in theshadows. Someone who had come upon the scene of her attackafter-the-fact; who had seen her emerge from the underpass. Someonewho had been drawn not by her screams and cries for help, for he hadnot been near enough to hear them, but by the intense emotions he hadsensed released by this most violent of acts.

Vincent kept to the shadows and watched as the young girl stumbledher way through the park. It was too dangerous to make his presenceknown but he could follow and insure that she made it to her home. Hehad often noticed her sitting on the bench by the lake on his nightlyforays Above.

As she came to the hill above the drainage tunnel that led Below,she lost her footing and tumbled down to the bottom. She just laythere, her body racked by sobs, but there were no tears flowing fromher eyes. Her tears had dried up long ago. Two years on her own inthe City should have taught her…trust no one. Well, she wasfinally learning her lessons.

"Are you all right?" a soft voice asked from out of nowhere.

She jumped, startled at the sound of a male voice so near. She satup and looked all around but there was no one to be seen.

"Who are you?" she asked, a blanket of panic wrapping itselfaround her heart. She couldn’t take anymore.

…Please, God! No more!…

"Leave me be!" she shouted, terrified. It was difficult trying tohide her terror of the unseen intruder.

Again the soft masculine voice spoke. "I won’t harm you."This time she was able to trace the sound to the clump of bushes onthe hill over the tunnel entrance.

"Leave me alone!!" she yelled.

"All right, I’ll leave, but my offer of aid stands. If youshould ever need help," the voice said softly, "come to this tunnel.Inside there is an iron grating. Strike the grating hard three timesand then leave the tunnel. Someone will come who will help."

"Why should I believe you? Why are you doing this?" her voicestill shook from fear but there was a quality in the man’s voicewhich calmed her.

"Where are you?" This time there was not answer. "Who areyou?" Again no answer. She pulled herself resolutely to her feet andmade her way above the drainage tunnel. There was no one there. Sheturned around, looking in all directions, trying to peer into theshadows. There was no one.

Vincent moved away from the tunnel and hid in the shadows of thetrees as the girl below began to rise. He could not take the chancethat she might see him but he would remain near.

Vincent followed her, always keeping to the shadows, until he sawher enter the basement of an abandoned building through a brokenwindow. Not long after, he saw light from a lone candle shiningthrough the window. At least, for now, she was safe.

"Father?" Vincent’s voice sounded tense as if there were agreat weight praying on his mind. "Father?" As Vincent glanced aboutthe chamber there was no answering response. Vincent turned andheaded for his own chamber, worry for the young injured girl plaguinghim.

Two evenings later, Vincent was again winding his way through theshadows of the park on one of his nightly visits Above. The moon, nowfull and bright, illuminated everything, luckily creating manyshadows in which to hide. As he neared the lake Vincent could makeout a small figure huddled on a bench.

As he drew hear, Vincent could hear the sound of crying. It wasthe same young girl he had tried to help two nights previous, and asbefore, though she was crying as if her heart would break, there wereno tears.

"Is there no way I can help you?" he asked, safely hidden in theshadows of an old oak tree behind her.

The voice startled her, but she recognized the same velvety toneswhich had spoken to her two nights hence, now she felt no fear ofhim. During the last two days she had spent much time thinking aboutthe voice which had offered her aid.

"No. There is nothing anyone can do." She sat against the back ofthe bench, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply.

"There must be some way I can help you," Vincent stated.

He thought for a moment. …Yes, that just mightwork… "I have a friend who needs some help in his shop.Would you be interested in a job?"

The young girl sat straight up and moved to turn around to look atthe person speaking behind her.

"No! Don’t turn around!"

She stopped and turned back to face the lake. "All right, and toanswer your question…yes, I could use a job. But I won’t doanything kinky and I won’t work the streets." She was veryadamant about that.

"It is not that kind of work. My friend’s name is WayneBarlow and he owns a bookstore. Are you interested?" hecontinued.

The girl immediately realized that this mysterious person wasindeed trying to help. "Yes. I am interested," she answeredhurriedly, afraid he might change his mind.

"All right, then in the morning, here is what you do…,"Vincent gave her the address of "Barlow’s Books", the directionson how to find the shop, and what to say when she arrived.

In the morning she followed the directions she had been given andentered the door of an old brownstone building. As the door opened asmall bell attached to the top of the door sill, tinkled cheerily,announcing the presence of a customer to the shop owner.

"I’ll be right with you," said a thin reedy voice from theback of the shop.

As she waited, she looked around. Wooden shelves lined the wallson both sides of the small store and ran clear to the ceiling. Oneither wall there was a ladder with wheels leaning against theshelves and attached to the top of the shelves with rollers. Thisallowed the ladders to be rolled along in order to reach the books onthe upper shelves. There was a small display area in the front windowcontaining many different types of books: some best sellers; a fewold, well-cared for leather-bound volumes; a few children’sbooks; and even some cookbooks, all lovingly displayed. Just insidethe door to the left there was a display table set up for the currentNo. 1 best seller. Down the center of the shop were two other largebookcases with aisles spaced just far enough apart for one person toturn around, as they browsed through the books.

Toward the back of the shop was another table laden with all sortsof volumes with numerous titles, all marked down for quick sale andat the very back was the owner’s office. She stood waitingpatiently and soon down the center aisle came a strangesound…shuffle, tap; shuffle, tap...as a small, white-haired oldgentleman leaning heavily on a cane walked slowly toward her.

"May I help you find something special, young lady?"

She was very nervous but the mysterious voice had said that shecould trust this person. "If you’re Mr. Barlow…Vincent sentme," was all she said. She nervously scuffed the toe of one tatteredsneaker across the floor; her hands were clasped tightly together infront of her, knuckles white.

"Did he now?" came the reply. "And just why did he do that?"

"He said you needed help in the shop," she answered, slowly.

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, it just might be that I do." He smiledat her obvious discomfort. He knew that Vincent wouldn’t havesent anyone who couldn’t be trusted…and Vincentalways knew who could be trusted.

"Look mister," she began defensively. She stood feet splayedapart, hands on hips, her eyes flashing trying to look very grown-upand sure of herself. She felt very insecure, however. She didn’tappreciate being the brunt of someone’s joke and she wasbecoming angry. This mysterious ‘Vincent’ person must behaving a great laugh at her expense and she didn’t like it…not one bit. "I don’t know who this ‘Vincent’ personis, but if you can’t use my help, just tell me and I’llsplit. I got better things to do than to stand around here allday."

"Now, now, young lady," he smiled, "you must excuse the perfidy ofan old man." He watched her intently as she fought for control of heranger.

"Look, mister…," she said, a little more in control.

"Barlow. My name is Wayne Barlow and I own this shop." He swepthis arm to his right encompassing the bookstore.

"Okay! Mister Barlow! This ‘Vincent’ person sentme to help you in your shop. Do I get the job or not?" She’dfinally mastered her anger but was still annoyed.

"My dear, if Vincent sent you, of course you have the job. Ireally do need someone’s help. I’m not as spry as I oncewas, you know?" He smiled broadly at her, his eyes twinkling withsuppressed amusement.

Seeing the smile shining in his eyes, she too relaxed and smiled.He really was a good-natured old gentleman…he just enjoyedteasing those of the younger generation.

Still smiling kindly, he became serious. "Do you have a place tostay, my dear?"

She grew defensive again, the smile immediately fading from herface. "Why?" she asked, apprehensively.

"Now, there’s nothing to be afraid of, dear. I live upstairs,you see, and there is another set of rooms vacant. I was wondering ifyou would like to move in there. It’s dry, clean, and warm andyou wouldn’t have to walk out on those dangerous streets afterwe close. It would be much safer for you. Also, it would be nice tohave someone around after hours that I could talk too and to keep anear open for the shop. You can share my kitchen or we can sharecooking duties. What do you say?"

His arguments did seem to make sense to her and it wasn’t asif she were really attached to that basement. It might be nice tosleep in a bed for a change instead of a pile of rags and oldblankets spread on a cement floor; to eat decently for a change. Ithad been a long time since she had eaten a decent meal. She thoughtit over very carefully. Against all reason, she trusted themysterious voice and her first impression of this Mr. Barlow wasfavorable…although he did seem a bit eccentric. She nodded herhead. "That does sound like a good idea," she agreed. Her eyesnarrowed as she looked at him. "How do you know that you can trustme?"

"Vincent sent you, dear," was his only reply as he turned tohobble toward the stairway in back of the shop.

"Bit I don’t know this ‘Vincent’ person," sheprotested. "I was in the park and this voice from the shadows offeredto help."

He turned around to face her. "That sounds like Vincent," hestated, smiling. "Perhaps one day you will meet him. Nowthen…why don’t you go get your things and you can settle inupstairs today and then start work bright and early tomorrow. Howdoes that sound?" he asked.

Finally, a place of her own. She’d been working for Mr.Barlow for six months now. What with nice surroundings, pleasantcompany, and three squares a day she no longer looked as if she wouldfade away to nothing. The dark circles under her now sparkling blueeyes were gone, her skin glowed healthy and pink. Her hair once thinand stringy was now clean, shiny and full of bounce.

One of her many duties helping in the store was to deliver specialorders. One day, Mr. Barlow asked her to deliver a book that had beenspecially ordered by a regular customer...an elderly lady who livedsome blocks away. Her orders for volumes were usually phoned in asshe was unable to come to the store personally. Mrs. Davis was an oldand respected customer, so Mr. Barlow would often provide thisspecial service for certain very special customers.

"Now, remember, she’s a little hard of hearing so you mayhave to speak loudly. You’ll like her, though, she’s donebusiness with me for nigh’ on thirty years."

She smiled at the old gentleman for whom she had developed a realaffection. "Don’t worry, Pop, I’ll remember." She reallyliked old Mr. Barlow; he’d become almost like a grandfather toher. "You be okay while I’m gone?" she asked, concerned. Mr.Barlow hadn’t been feeling well the last few days and she wasworried about him.

"Don’t you go fussin’ over me. I’ll be just fine,"he said as he handed her the package for Mrs. Davis. "You take yourtime. I hear there’s a fair in the park today. Lots of people incostume, music, food. Why don’t you come back through the parkand stop and have a little fun. You’ve been working too hard.Here," he opened the register and handed her a few dollars, "you gohave a nice time and I’ll see you for dinner. Don’t forget,it’s your turn to cook dinner." He chuckled at her reaction tothat statement.

"Aww, Pop! You know I hate to cook."

The look on her face was so hilarious he couldn’t help butlaugh. "Go on with you," and he shooed her out the door.

She delivered the package to Mrs. Davis and was invited for a cupof tea. Mrs. Davis was a sweet old lay who seemed a little lonely soshe accepted the invitation.

Afterward, on her way back to the store, she decided to take Mr.Barlow’s suggestion and visit the fair. He had been right aboutthe costumes. Everybody looked as if they had just stepped out of abook about Robin Hood or Ivanhoe.

As she wound her way through the crowd and in between the manyfood and craft booths, the sounds of the festivities were punctuatedby cheers and clapping. Ever curious, she followed the sounds untilshe came to an open area on the perimeter of the fair. She tried tomove her way through the crowd as politely as possible to get abetter look; to see what was causing all the fuss. Once in front shesaw six men dressed in colorful jerkins and tights taking aim at haybale targets. She had read Robin Hood long ago and realized that whatshe was witnessing was an archery competition. These men were notusing the long bow of Robin Hood fame, however, they were holdingsomething rather weird looking. They held a rifle shaped stock totheir shoulders but there was a small bow across the front, parallelto the ground. She knew from pictures that long bows were heldvertically at arm’s length.

Not taking her eyes from the archers, she gently nudged thegentleman next to her, "Hey, what are those things they’reholding?"

The man looked down at her in irritation, perturbed at beinginterrupted during the match. "Those are crossbows," he answeredbrusquely and turned away to once again watch the competition.

She watched closely; as each archer loosed his arrow, he wouldback away from the line of fire to allow the next archer to shoot.Backing up he would place the front of his crossbow on the ground andplace a foot into what resembled the stirrup on a saddle. Bracing theend of the crossbow against his chest he would reach forward,grasping the bowstring with three fingers on each hand…hisfingers protected with leather pads…and slowly pull the stringtoward him until it locked into place. Then raising the crossbow hewould retrieve a miniature arrow from a small quiver hanging from hisbelt and place it in a groove that ran along the top of the crossbow.He was now ready to take aim once again.

She noticed as he armed his bow that the arrows were differentfrom regular arrows. They had feathers on the tail as other arrows,but there the similarity ended. These arrows were only about a footin length and rather than being long and thin, they were short andlooked fat at either end. The top was pointed and steel-capped butwithout barbs.

As she watched, the young archer on the end drew her eye. He wasdressed much as the other contestants but there seemed to besomething different. Then as he tookm, she realized what itwas…unlike the other archers who were using what were obviouslymodern weapons…this young archer was using what appeared to bean ancient weapon; one made of wood rather than fiberglass oraluminum. She stepped as close as possible for a better look.

It wasn’t an ancient weapon, but it did seem to be hand-made.It didn’t seem as long as the other bows and there was anothercuriosity…his small arrows had no feathers. His small arrows hadgrooves carved along the back. That in itself was amazing because shehad always thought all arrows needed feathers to fly true andstraight, yet this young archer never missed a bullseye.

As he finished his round at the target and the next group ofarchers stepped forward, she decided she wanted a closer look at thestrange bow. The young archer was more than happy to answer anyquestions from so enthusiastic an observer and he was soon expoundingthe virtues of the crossbow over the longbow as well as explainingthe construction process to her. She was so enthralled by hisdescription that she decided that she would endeavor to try to makeone herself and asked his assistance. Unfortunately, the young manwas from out of state and had only come to the City for the fair. Theyoung girl seemed so enthusiastic, however, he decided on the spur ofthe moment that such enthusiasm must not die just because theopportunity was not there to nurture it. He asked her to wait andwent to the ready tent where he kept his things. When he returned hewas carrying a rectangular-shaped canvas bag. He kneeled down andalmost reverently opened the bag, reached inside and withdrew asmaller-sized version of his own crossbow.

"This was to have been my brother’s," he said sadly. For amoment his eyes gazed off and a pained expression flashed across hisface. He shook his head as if to clear away the painful memories, butwhen he stood and looked at the rapt expression on the younggirl’s face, he smiled.

"Here!" he said as he held out the precious weapon.

She looked up into his eyes perplexed. "What?" she askedincredulous.

"Here. Take it. I’m sure Christopher wouldn’t mind."Again the pained look flashed across his face and was as quicklygone. "I want you to have it," he stated in a very matter-of-factvoice. "Please, take it. It’s much too small for me, and itshould fit you quite comfortably. Look, I even have a few bolts thatwill fit it. Take it, please!" He dug into the bag and retrieved sixscaled-down bolts and almost pushed them and the bow into herarms.

At first she didn’t know what to say. She just stood there,eyes wide, mouth open, completely flabbergasted at the turn ofevents. Here she only wanted information and now she was having thismarvelous instrument thrust upon her. She looked at the bow nowresting in her arms; looked up at the young archer; looked down atthe bow again; closed her mouth and gulped. "Thank you!" was all shewas able to manage in her shock. Before she was able to say anythingelse the young archer turned on his heels and passed into the crowd.She regained her composure long enough to realized that this was agift she really couldn’t accept, but when she looked up toreturn the bow…he was gone. She searched through the crowd forquite some time trying to find him, but he had vanishedcompletely.

She stood at the perimeter of the fair looking all around her; herbrow furrowed in perplexed thought. Shrugging her shoulders, shecarefully cradled the crossbow in her arms and headed back to Mr.Barlow’s bookstore and home.

Over the next few weeks she would often go down to the basement ofthe bookstore after the shop was closed for the day and practice withthe crossbow. There were some empty cardboard boxes down there thatshe stuffed full of crumpled-up old newspapers and rags to use astargets. She might never be as good as the young archer, but she wassoon hitting almost everything she aimed at.

Mr. Barlow, who had grown up on a farm before moving to the Cityas a young man, showed her how to whittle and she was soon able toincrease her collection of bolts. She spent as much free time as shecould at the library learning about crossbows: their history, theirconstruction, and the art of archery. She was fascinated by all theinformation she found.

Mr. Barlow was amused by her fascination and he didn’t objectto her turning his basement into a miniature archery range; but onenight her amateur skill came in handy.

She had just locked the front door of the store; Mr. Barlow waschecking the register for the day’s receipts and she was headingtoward the back to make sure the back door was secure when…

"That’s all right, dear. I’m almost finished here, yougo ahead to your practice. I’ll lock up the back."

"Yes, sir. I won’t be long," she said, smiling as she headedfor the basement stairs.

Not long into her practice, however, she heard strange soundscoming from above…loud voices, heavy footsteps, the sound ofsomething crashing to the floor.

She quickly grabbed a handful of bolts and placed them in thequiver hanging from her belt. Moving quickly, she climbed the stairsas quietly as possible. As she neared the top of the stairs thevoices became more distinct.

"I don’t care, old man. I want what you got in that safe."The voice was definitely not friendly. "Come on, ya old fart, justgive us the cash and I won’t let Joey bust nuthin’else."

She now realized that there were at least two people menacing Mr.Barlow and she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him.

The stairway was in the back of the store next to the back door.One flight of steps down to the basement; one flight of steps to theupstairs.

She peeked over the last few stairs at what was going on in theshop but could see little.

"Come on, old man. My patience is runnin’ thin. Open thisthing up…now!"

The voices were coming from the office. She crept slowly from herhiding place and peeked around the corner into the office. The sightthat met her eyes was not favorable.

Pop Barlow was trying to rise from the floor where he must havebeen knocked by one of the men. His cane had slid across the floor ashe fell. She noticed a puddle spreading across the floor and realizedthat the crash she heard must have been someone throwing down thewater cooler that stood in the corner.

"Come now, young man. You don’t really want to do this, doyou? It’s only going to cause you a great deal of trouble, youknow." Mr. Barlow, reaching for his cane, tried to reason with thembut to no avail. The taller of the two men stepped near Pop andbackhanded him, once again knocking him to the floor, but in theprocess, kicking the unnoticed cane within Pop’s reach. Theother man was giggling and brandishing a wicked looking knife.

That was all it took to put her into action. She took a bolt fromher belt and calmly armed her crossbow. She had cocked it beforeclimbing the stairs so she was now ready to do battle. All thefantasy stories she had read about warrior women and integrity andhonor flooded her memory.

"I’m going to count to five and if your friend doesn’tdrop that knife and if you don’t move away from Mr. Barlow, oneof you is going to regret it." She tried to make her voice sound morein control than she felt.

‘Giggles’ turned around and rushed toward her. Takingcareful but quick aim, she fired and hit him in the upper leg. Heimmediately let out a scream of pain and crashed to the floordropping the knife. She recocked her bow as quickly as she could inthe confusion and armed it with another bolt.

"Hold it right there!" she shouted. The other man had started tomove toward her, but Pop gave her the few extra seconds she needed tore-arm by hooking the man’s ankle with his cane. Feeling his leggrabbed, the robber turned and kicked at Pop who was still layinghelplessly on the floor. As he drew his foot back for another kick,she yelled. "Don’t!" and fired, hitting him in the shoulder.

The men now realized that they had gotten into more than theybargained for…this was supposed to have been a real easymark…an old man and a young girl. They hadn’t counted onthe young girl having such sharp teeth. The man, grimacing in pain,withdrew the bolt from his shoulder and threw it at her. He thenbolted for the door, grabbing ‘Giggles’ by the arm as hepassed.

She had to let them go, she would not be able to hold them for thepolice all by herself. She knew their faces, though. Besides, Pop washurt and needed medical attention.

The next day the story of the young female archer thwarting arobbery was front page news; complete with a picture of the youngheroine and her ‘trusty bow’ taken in Mr. Barlow’shospital room. The papers played it up like they normally do anythingremotely sensational, but after a couple of days things died down andbusiness at the small bookstore returned to a semblance ofnormality.

Unfortunately, while Pop Barlow was in the hospital forobservation, the doctors insisted on taking some additional tests.They found why Pop had not been feeling well the past few weeks. Pophad a dangerous heart condition and the strain and excitement of theattempted robbery had only aggravated his condition.

One evening a few days later, as she was closing the store tovisit Pop Barlow in the hospital, there was an insistent knocking atthe front door. As was their custom when locking up, she had pulledthe blinds in the front windows so passers-by couldn’t look intothe shop. Since the robbery attempt, however, she had gotten doublycautious, so instead of opening the blinds, she peeked through theminstead.

The sight that met her eyes took her breath away. Her heartstarted pounding, she couldn’t breathe, and a lump formed in thepit of her stomach. She knew that face…a face she had hopednever to see again…but it still invaded her dreams occasionally,even after all this time. Her stepfather…he pounded on the dooragain, but she stepped back from the window, her eyes wide with fear,her hand to her heart in a futile attempt to calm its franticbeating. How had he found her? How? Then she remembered the picturethat had appeared in the newspaper.

Slowly, so as not to alert the hated figure outside to herpresence, she made her way to the back of the shop and out the backdoor, carefully locking it after herself. She had to get to Pop, hewould know what to do. She ducked through the alley to the next blockand ran down the steps of the nearest subway entrance.

When she arrived at the hospital the news on Pop’s conditionwas not at all good. The nurse told her that he had a ‘badday’, whatever that meant; but the doctors had left instructionsthat she was to be allowed a brief visit.

Pop was resting when she entered his room but she could tell thathe was very ill. He tried to smile encouragingly at her, but it onlysucceeded in coming out as a grimace.

"Pop, I’m scared," she said, dragging a chair over to his bedto sit beside him. She frantically picked up his hand lying weakly onthe bed and held it for comfort. "He’s here!"

"Who’s here, dear?" His voice was weak and she had to leanclose to hear him.

"My stepfather!" She was shaking so badly, and was so terrifiedthat she almost yelled the words, then remembered where she was andwhispered again, "my stepfather. He was just at the store as I wasclosing. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. Pop, what am I goingto do?"

Pop Barlow closed his eyes as she talked and for a moment shethought he might have fallen asleep. Then his eyes opened again andhe focused on the face of the young girl who had come to mean so muchto him.

"Dear," he started, still very weak, "I’m afraid I may neverleave this bed."

"No! You’ll be fine, and you’ll come home, and I’lltake care of you just like I’ve been doing," she protested.

"No, dear. We must be realistic about this. I’m a tired,sick, old man." He stopped speaking for an instant to catch hisbreath; he was very weak. "Do you remember the voice you told meabout when you first came to me?" he asked, quietly.

She thought for a moment and then remembered the soft velvet voicespeaking from the bushes, and nodded. "Yes, Vincent," sheanswered.

"I know you’re frightened, dear, and what I tell you now, youmight not want to do, but you must." He paused again, eyes closed.The expression on his face was one of pain, but he continued, "Idon’t think Father would mind if I speak to you of them. Vincenthas been watching out for you ever since he first found you in thepark and I’ve kept him informed of your achievements." Pop wenton to explain to her that he was a Helper and what that meant. Heexplained a little about the tunnel society, what they stood for, andhow and where they lived.

"That’s why that ‘Vincent’ person told me to go tothe drainage tunnel, isn’t it?" she asked at last.

"Yes, it is. Now, please understand, you must never say anythingto anyone about what I have just told you, never…because, nowI’m afraid you are going to need their help." Once more agrimace passed across the face of the kind old man.

She was growing very worried about Pop, something was very wrong."Please, Pop! Let me get the nurse." She made as if to rise from thechair but he grabbed her with surprising strength.

"Promise me," he said through clenched teeth, "that if anythinghappens to me, you will seek them out. At least down in the tunnelsyou will be safe…promise me!"

I promise!" she answered, hurriedly, hoping he would relax andrest. The pressure on her arm relaxed as his hand dropped once moreto his side.

Immediately, the alarms on his monitors started buzzing and inless than two heartbeats the room was flooded with nurses and doctorsall rushing around. A nurse quickly ushered her out the door and intothe hall as an orderly wheeled in some weird-looking equipment, thenthe nurse turned back to help.

She watched through the window of the room for a few seconds andthen realized that there was nothing she could do for Pop just bystanding there, so she slowly walked down the hallway to the waitingroom. She had been waiting for almost half an hour when she noticedPop’s doctor leaving the room and the orderlies removing theemergency equipment. Pop’s doctor did not look hopeful.

"I’m very sorry, Miss…" was all she allowed the doctorto say before she turned and started down the hall. She couldn’tlet him see her cry. She had seen the expression on his face as hewalked down the hall and she knew that Pop was gone. Tears wereflowing freely down her face as she walked from thehospital…real tears.

The subway ride back to the store seemed to take forever. She wasin such a state of shock, it was a miracle that she got off at hercorrect stop. She walked in a daze to the store, unlocked and enteredthrough the front door. She was so preoccupied that she didn’tnotice the dark figure watching from across the street.

She hadn’t entirely believed everything Pop told her. He wasan old man after all; but after closing and locking the front door‘he’ was there again…knocking for admittance.

"Baby? Come on, baby! I saw ya go in. I know you’re there.Let me in. It’s Poppa. Let me in, baby," he called.

At the sound of his voice, it was as if the past few years hadnever happened. She couldn’t take it any longer; she had to getaway from him once and for all…somewhere where he couldnever find her.

She ran upstairs to her rooms and threw a few things into hercarryall. She started to leave the room, when she turned back andcarefully picked up her crossbow and stuffed the quiver and all thebolts in her bag. For a moment a fleeting vision came to mind: usingthe crossbow on her stepfather, but just as quickly, it vanished. Asshe came downstairs the man at the door was no longer trying to coaxher into opening the door. He was pounding loudly for admission. Shehad to leave quickly. If the glass in the door window broke he wouldbe in instantly. She snuck out the back door again, but not beforetripping the silent burglar alarm.

…Let’s see ya talk yourself out of that one, shethought

As she closed the back door, she heard the sound of glassbreaking. He had stopped waiting and busted the window to get intothe store. Smiling, she headed toward the park as fast as she couldrun.

…Gosh, I think this is the right one. It looks like thesame tunnel. Damn!! They all look so much alike…

She’d run all the way to the park hoping all the while thatshe could remember exactly where the voice had told her to go.

She didn’t realize, though, that she has been followed themoment she entered the park… by Vincent. It wouldn’t havemade any difference which drainage tunnel she entered. Vincent wouldbe at whichever one she chose.

She gathered her determination, entered the tunnel and give thesignal the voice had instructed her to use all those months ago.Then, as instructed, she left the tunnel and sat down near theentrance to wait. She didn’t have a long wait.

The sentries are, for the most part, very conscientious and noneof them take their duties lightly. Her signal was acknowledged almostat once. Vincent had given instructions all those months agoconcerning the young girl. So when the message was received, a sentrywas to assist her.

The sentries took turns being relieved from their posts for theevening meal. So as not to leave a post unguarded, the older boystook turns relieving the adult sentries. Tonight, this particularsentry post was being manned by one of these substitutes. A young boywho was always getting into mischief, but who nonetheless took hisduty very seriously. This young sentry’s name was Mouse.

Mouse had never quite outgrown his shyness toward other people. Hepreferred to stay pretty much to himself, so he enjoyed the timealone on sentry duty. Unless, of course, there was a project he wasworking on…then he didn’t like being interrupted at all.All-in-all, he liked sentry duty because of the silence; he couldthink and plan new projects. Tonight the silence was shattered whensomeone started banging on the gate right next to his post.

…Noises! Always noises!…

Mouse started muttering to himself as he opened the hidden gateand moved cautiously toward the tunnel opening. As he neared theentrance, Mouse carefully looked all around. Moving ever closer tothe tunnel opening he kept to the shadows as much as possible. Hecould see no one other than a young girl sitting forlornly on theslope next to the entrance. Her knees drawn up under her chin; herarms wrapped around her legs; she looked so lonely. She was restingher chin on her knees and in the faint light of a nearby street lamp,it looked to Mouse as if she were crying. At her feet lay a bag halfforgotten in her grief. Leaning against the bag was what looked likea crossbow.

…Not possible…, Mouse thought. Mouse knew aboutcrossbows…crossbows were neat. Vincent had taught them aboutEngland, and knights, and weapons…crossbows and spears. Hispalms itched to touch it; no…duty first. Vincent had said shemust be helped.

As Mouse stepped from the shadows of the tunnel he heard a soundcoming from above the entrance. "Mouse. Wait." It wasVincent…something was not right. Mouse slipped back into theshadows of the tunnel and watched as a dark figure separated itselffrom the shadows of a tree trunk and crept silently up behind thecrying girl.

"Thought ya could get away from me, did ya? I saw ya trying toslip out the back door without me knowin’. Well, you’llnever get away from me, young miss! Never!"

At the sound of her hated stepfather’s voice, her tearsceased instantly and she made a grab for the crossbow lying justinches away, but he was too fast. He grabbed a handful of hair anddragged her, struggling, to her feet. Roughly turning her around toface him, he backhanded her. "Thought you could run away again, didya?" He hit her again, knocking her to the ground. "You littlebitch!" He bent down, grabbed another handful of hair and yanked herback to her feet.

Mouse, hiding in the shadows gripped his staff with a whiteknuckled fist. He could hear Vincent begin to growl above him in thebushes.

"Mouse," Vincent’s voice was barely under control. "I’mgoing to distract that man. When he releases the girl, you get herinto the tunnel…fast…and don’t look back." As Vincentspoke, Mouse could hear his voice change and knew that the Beast wasnear.

Vincent moved off, silently through the shadows. Once hidden inthe shadows on the other side of the struggling pair…there was aloud roar. The man released his grip and turned toward the sound.Mouse ran from his hiding place and grabbed the girl’s hand asshe began to sink to the ground. "Come!" was all he had time to saybefore the man turned back around. "Hey!" the man shouted, but hisyell was followed by another roar, this one much closer. Again heturned, and the nearly hysterical girl only stared at Mouse. "Come!!"he pleaded again, and pulled her hand to follow him.

Mouse and the girl stumbled toward the tunnel; she tried to turnback long enough to make a grab for her bow and bag, but Mouse pulledher along. Soon they were safe, hidden in the far shadows of thedrainage tunnel; the girl’s only possessions lying abandoned inthe dirt.

When her stepfather turned back around, she was gone. Hehadn’t seen which direction she had run, but he knew that shecouldn’t have gotten far; that dark opening in the hill lookedlike a good hidey hole.

"Where are you, you little bitch?" The venom contained in thatvoice caused her to gasp and that simple sound was heard. "Trying tohide from me, are ya? Well, when I get you home, you’ll learnnever to run from me." He started toward the tunnel.

Before getting even two paces, a huge dark shape…all clawsand fangs…leapt from the shadows above the tunnel. The Beast wasfully in control of Vincent now…his home and friends were indanger. The only thing that mattered was to protect them.

Mouse jerked the girl’s hand madly and they moved away fromthe entrance. Vincent had moved fast enough that the girl would nothave been able to get a good look at the attacker and Mouse madecertain that she would not see the aftermath of the attack. Thesounds of the attack…the growls and roars and screams…wereenough to chill anyone’s blood.

"Come," Mouse said, smiling shyly. He led the stunned girl throughthe hidden entrance into the tunnels Below. As the sliding doorclosed behind then, the sounds of the struggle outside ceasedabruptly.

She sat in an old stuffed, threadbare chair. There were candleseverywhere bringing a soft golden light to the harsh outlines of thecave walls. There was a constant insistent clanging noise that wasfast giving her a headache.

The gray-haired man at the desk hadn’t spoken more than twowords to her since the strange boy had brought her here over an hourago.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her and turned. Standing inthe doorway of the cave…no, they called it a chamber…was afigure straight out of a fairy tale.

From where she was sitting he looked huge. He wore a long blackpatchwork cape and as she watched, he pushed back the hood that hidhis face. He looked down at her and her mouth dropped open inamazement.

"Vincent! I’m glad you’re home safe. Was there anytrouble? Mouse came bounding in here as if the Devil himself wasafter him," Father chuckled at the memory.

"Yes, Father, there was some trouble but it has been taken careof." As he spoke, Vincent’s gaze returned to the young girl. Shewas sitting in the large chair as tense as a little rabbit wanting torun for cover. Vincent’s feelings of what had transpired at thetunnel entrance were evident; his sky blue eyes were shadowed withpain at the memory. Why must violence be the price that must alwaysbe paid for the safety of the tunnels?

"Vincent? Are you all right?" Father asked, concerned. Theexpression on Vincent’s face was one he had seen many timesbefore…the face of a man in mental torment. It was always thisway after the ‘Beast’ appeared.

"Vincent, you know…"

"Father now is not the time." Vincent nodded his head in thedirection of the silent young stranger who was trying so hard toappear very small in a very large chair.

"My goodness," Father exclaimed. "I forgot all about her."

Father rose from his chair and taking his cane from its corner,limped cautiously toward the young girl.

Seeing the gray-haired man…What had they calledhim?…Father?…walking with a cane just like Pop, brought allthat had happened that day come rushing back to her. Father’shobbling figure brought to mind the first time she had seenPop…shuffling down through the stacks of books at his store. Shehadn’t noticed before, this chamber was full of books,too…stacks and stacks of them. The similarities were just toomuch for her to handle. As Father placed a hand gently on hershoulder, the simple gesture of compassion broke through her facadeof strength and the sobs torn from that small frame wereheartrending. She cried as if her heart was broken, for it was. Theonly person who had ever really cared about her was dead; she was ina strange place surrounded by strange and frightening people; and shehad no idea what was to become of her.

Vincent was able to sense something of what she wasfeeling…fear, despair, loneliness, a complete loss of hope. Allof these would, in time, fade; but he thought he might be able tofacilitate the process just a little.

When Vincent had been able to reassert himself over his dark side,he had noticed some items lying in a heap at the bottom of the slopeleading to the tunnel. One item in particular drew his attention, anitem most unusual in a modern world; yet, when he picked it up toexamine it the impressions he got were of honor, integrity, a fierceloyalty, and yet, a very great loneliness. These were all qualitieswith which Vincent was very well aware. He picked up the lostpossessions determined to return them to their rightful owner.

Vincent silently stepped down the few stairs to the floor ofFather’s chamber. His many years of haunting the shadows Abovehad taught him to step quietly and when he came around the side ofthe chair in which she was sitting, he startled her.

"You have no reason to fear," he said, his voice soft and gentle."No one here will harm you."

Father stepped next to his son and placed a hand on his arm, notfor support but to show the frightened girl the oneness of theirwords. "My dear, I am sorry if you have been frightened by all ofthis. No one intended to alarm you, only to assist you. Vincentrather considers himself your guardian, you see." Father smiled athis son, trying to ease the tension of the situation.

"Father!" An anxious voice interrupted Father’s explanation.He looked toward the entrance of his chamber as a small ratherattractive, motherly woman came striding through; her hands on herhips, a grim expression on her face.

"Why didn’t anyone let me know that we had a new arrival? Ihad to overhear Mouse telling Winslow." Mary looked angrily at Fatherand Vincent. She stalked down the steps and over to the nowastonished young girl. "Oh, you poor little thing; you’ve beenhurt." She placed a soothing hand on the girl’s forehead andpush aside her bangs for a better look at her bruised face. "Who didthis to you?" Mary rounded on Father once again, "Jacob, how couldyou have let this young child sit here like this. You should beashamed. She’s probably frightened half out of her wits, not tomention tired and hungry. Just like men…!" When it came to thehealth and welfare of any child, Mary was a veritable tyrant.

Mary took the shaking young girl’s cold hand in her own warmfriendly one and assisted her out of the chair. "You just come withme, dear. We’ll find you a nice homey chamber and get yousettled in and then we’ll get you something to eat. You must befamished." Mary placed an arm protectively around the girl’sshoulders, as if daring Father or Vincent to gainsay her. As theystarted to leave the chamber…

"Mary, one moment please," Vincent interrupted. "I found thesethings outside the tunnel entrance, I believe they belong to theyoung lady. These are yours, aren’t they?" he asked, holding outthe bag in one hand and the crossbow in the other.

The person standing before her, had only a little while ago beenlike a wild animal and now he was holding her most prized possessionsand calmly speaking to her. This strange featured individual spokewith the same soft velvety voice that had offered aid so long ago.The voice and the visage were so irreconcilable that her mind simplycould not comprehend it. She fainted, but before she could slip tothe floor, Vincent dropped the bag and looped an arm around her.Holding her gently in one arm, Vincent quickly passed the crossbow toMary and swung the now unconscious young girl up into his arms.

"What chamber, Mary?" he asked, calmly.

"Take her to the empty one at the end of my tunnel, Vincent. Wecan always change later if she doesn’t like it."

Vincent led the way from Father’s chamber, followed by Marycarrying the crossbow and the bag, Father coming behind at his ownpace.

Nearing the chamber indicated, Mary entered first and lit a candlesetting on the table beside the bed. Vincent entered carrying thegirl but Father simply waited not speaking.

"Just lay her on the bed, Vincent, and then you two scram.I’ll take care of this poor little thing." Mary laid the bag onthe foot of the bed as she walked across the chamber to the dresser.She propped the crossbow against the wall and then, from the pitchersetting on the dresser, poured some water into a bowl. Taking a clothfrom a drawer, she carried the bowl to the bed. She set the bowl ofwater carefully on the small bedside table and looked up to find thetwo men still standing there watching her. "Go on with you!Shoo!"

Mary sat down on the side of the bed and with a cool cloth, gentlybathed the girl’s battered face. "You poor little thing," shewhispered. "It’s just been too much for you, hasn’tit?"

She opened her eyes slowly. There was a lit candle on the tablebeside her bed. She was warm, comfortable, and her face didn’thurt too badly. She touched her split lip gingerly…still verytender. She was so comfortable, though, she didn’t want to getup.

She turned her head and looked around. The candle cast strangeshapes on the chamber walls but now she wasn’t quite so afraid.She vaguely remembered a soothing hand on her face and a gentle voicetelling her everything would be all right. Sitting up, she suddenlyrealized she wasn’t dressed. She was no longer wearing hersweatshirt and Levis. She was clad in a soft, long-sleeved flannelnightgown. On the foot of the bed lay not her own clothes, but acollection of patchwork garments much like what ‘Father’and ‘Vincent’ had worn. She threw back the covers and swungher legs over the side of the bed.

"Good. I’m glad you’re awake, child." The same motherlywoman who had come to her rescue before, entered the room bearing atray. "How are you feeling today?" she asked in a cheerful voice.

"Fine, thank you," came her tentative response.

"I thought you might be hungry after yesterday, so I took theliberty of bringing some bread and jam. William baked the bread freshthis morning. You’ll like William he’s such a jolly man.The jam came from one of our Helpers Above; it is really verydelicious. I also brought you a nice hot cup of herb tea; that wasVincent’s contribution. The tea is mixed specially for him by anold gentleman in Chinatown." Mary set the tray on the top of thedresser.

"You’re Mary?" she asked, bashfully.

"Yes, dear. Why don’t you get up and get dressed now. Thenafter you eat, I can take you to meet the other children." Mary wassimply bubbling over with good cheer this morning.

"I’m not a child," she declared, vehemently.

"Of course, dear," Mary agreed, patronizingly. …She’strying so hard to be brave…, Mary thought.

"You go ahead and get dressed and eat, dear, and I’ll be backin a little while to get you."

She watched as Mary left the chamber and then hopped down off thebed. Shivering, she held up the clothes lying on the end of thebed…lots of wool and knits…understandable, it was chillydown here. As she dressed, she examined her new surroundings; acrossthe room there was something hanging on the wall.

…How in the world did they hang it on a rockwall?…, she wondered.

Pulling on a pair of corduroy trousers, she hopped across thefloor for a better look. In the dim candlelight from across the room,she couldn’t tell what it was, but now up close, she saw that itwas a prayer someone had stitched and framed. It read:

"God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And the wisdom to know the difference."

She unconsciously picked up a piece of bread and jam as she stoodreading the prayer over and over. She bit into the bread, munchingdistractedly. She stood quietly contemplating what the prayer saidand, not realizing what she was doing, finished off the food and tea.Her reverie was disturbed when Mary re-entered the chamber.

"Good, I’m glad to see you have such a good appetite." Marywalked over and picked up the now empty tray. "Before we go meet theother children…Father would like to see you. Come along, dear."She turned and left the chamber.

…Well, I might as well get this over… Shesilently followed Mary down the tunnel, the words of the prayerrunning over and over through her mind.

"Vincent, you never answered me last night…is everything allright?" Father was concerned about his son. "What happened lastnight?"

Vincent was sitting in the same chair the young girl had beensitting in the night before, only now it didn’t look so huge.Vincent’s massive frame fit it perfectly. He looked at Father,pain in his gaze. "The Beast, Father." Those words told Fathereverything he needed to know.

"Is he dead?" Father asked, absentmindedly running a hand throughhis steel gray hair.

"No," Vincent replied, "but he was badly hurt. I was distractedsomehow and he was able to run off. I couldn’t follow him."

"Who ran off?" Mary asked as she entered the chamber, the younggirl following close on her heels.

"The man who attacked our new friend, here," Father answeredgesturing toward the girl standing behind Mary. "Did you sleep well,child?"

"Yes, thank you." Even though speaking to Father, she had eyesonly for Vincent.

Vincent sensed her watching him. He slowly rose from the chair andturned to face her. He had never gotten used to the scrutiny of newresidents. Some accepted him immediately; for others, the acceptanceonly came with time.

After a few moments, she asked, "You’re Vincent, aren’tyou?"

He quietly nodded, never taking his eyes from her face.

She looked nervously down at the floor, then raised her eyes tomeet his gaze once more. "I recognize your voice. It was you hidingin the bushes all the time, wasn’t it?" He nodded silently."I’m sorry about my behavior last night. What with Pop Barlowdying and that man finding me…", she stopped and shrugged hershoulders. As she started to step down the stairs, Father interruptedher.

"Wayne Barlow is dead?" he asked, shocked.

"Yes," she admitted sadly. Having to say it aloud somehow made thefact more real for her and tears began to appear in her sad eyes oncemore. "He died last night in the hospital. The Doc said his heart wasbad. He’d been in the hospital since the hold-up. You knew aboutthe hold-up, didn’t you?"

Father, ignoring her question, glanced at Mary who nodded and leftthe chamber abruptly. The tunnel entrance in the basement ofBarlow’s Books would have to be closed now. Mary would make theappropriate notifications and arrangements.

Father’s attention returned to the girl’s question."Yes, we heard about it. One of our Helpers informed us."

"Pop mentioned that word ‘helper’. He said he was aHelper. Does that mean all that stuff he told me is true? Well,it’s got to be true," she looked around the chamber, "I’mhere." Her expression grew very thoughtful. "What happens to me now?I can’t go back up there." She looked hopefully toward Vincent,"You offered to help me before…does that offer still hold?"

Vincent nodded and answered, "Of course it does. You may stay hereas long as you wish."

"Can I keep my bow?" she asked.

Father chuckled, "As long as you keep it away from the youngerchildren."

"Ya. Mary said somethin’ about other kids, too. You got morekids down here?" she asked, puzzled.

"As a matter of fact, we have quite a few children with us at thepresent time," Father answered. Glancing at Vincent, he asked, "Howmany children are there now, Vincent?"

"There are eight teenagers, three younger children that were foundabandoned in the park, four Helpers’ children, and Sam’snew baby…that makes sixteen, Father."

"Are there any other girls?" she asked, hesitantly.

Father and Vincent looked at each other smiling and Fatherchuckled. "Yes, dear, there are some girls. Let mesee…there’s Brooke, Tracy, Laura, and…Vincent, whoelse?"

"There’s Samantha, Father, she’s nine, and little Careyis six."

"Yes, that’s right. I have such a hard time keeping track ofall of them. That reminds me, Vincent, isn’t it just about timefor your class?" Father asked, arching one eyebrow.

"Why don’t you go along with Vincent, dear. You can sit in onhis class for a while. It will give you a chance to meet the otherchildren," Father suggested.

…Class?… , she thought."Yeah…okay…sure." …They go to school downhere?…

Vincent started up the stairs she had just descended. He turned towait for her to join him. "You will be welcome in any of our classesonce you are settled in," he invited.

As they were just passing through the chamber doorway, Fathercalled them back. "One moment, please, Vincent. Dear, it justoccurred to me that we don’t know your name," he admitted.

"Didn’t Pop tell ya?" she asked, astonished. "He saidyou’d all been keeping an eye on me."

"We have been, but Wayne didn’t tell us your name. I can onlyassume that he felt it safer to keep you anonymous. He kept your namea secret even from us."

She stood silently remembering the kind old man who had befriendedand cared for her. She looked from one to the other of these twopeople who offered safety and friendship, and decided that perhapsthere was a chance for a better life awaiting her…here, belowthe City that had abused and abandoned her. She made herdecision…

"My name is Jamie."

She turned and followed Vincent into a new life.

Written April 1990. Submitted/accepted by Chamber Cameos.Published in Vol 1, Issue 2 (June 1990).