JOSEPHINE

I used to like autumn. I loved playing with the colorful leaves, drinking hot chocolate, and watching the sunsets with their vibrant hues. But now autumn held a completely new meaning for me: it meant bad weather, short days, and, above all, cold nights. This was problematic for me on many levels because the bad weather made everything perpetually damp, and people were in a worse mood. It wasn't easy to find a suitable place to sleep before, but now it was even harder. This would be my third winter on the road if I survived that long. The first winter was okay because it stayed warm for a long time, and Crazy Carl was with me. The second winter was harsh; there was very little food aside from what I could find at St. Benedict Church, and this one seemed to be getting cold again.

"Your sleeping place should do four things: 1. It must be safe. 2. It must offer you a place where you cannot be easily found. 3. You must be able to escape at any time. 4. It must protect you from the weather." Those were Carl's rules. Well, at least some of them, because he had a lot of rules—many, many. But so far they had protected me, so I didn't question them. It had already started to freeze the last few nights, and the best places for us homeless folks were already occupied. A shelter wasn't an option because, as soon as they realized my actual age, they would have to inform CPS. It wouldn't take them long to find out who I was, and I would never go back to that hell. I would rather die. Which is what I'd do if I didn't find a safe place to sleep soon.

Dark thoughts crept into my mind, and it annoyed me that I even let them. I shook my head angrily. It was just after 8 p.m., and the clock started ticking. The streets slowly became empty. All that remained were the shadows of the city (that's how Crazy Carl called us homeless people) and those who didn't belong here—who had to be afraid of the dark. However, I was certainly afraid of them, so I made my way to one of the old warehouses south of town. The former industrial area had been abandoned for decades, and aside from a few reckless teenagers, rarely anyone of sound mind would go there. Not without reason: there were some "incidents" from time to time—incidents where a lot of blood was found, but no one who owned it. We all knew who to blame. Yet, we were smart enough not to say it out loud.

But even so, it was still safer than a bridge or the park at this time of year. My backpack still felt wet from the recent rain, and my sleeping bag would certainly be too. But in the backpack were the remains of a discarded sandwich that I had found today; it was basically just waiting to be eaten. Just the thought of it made my stomach rumble. It was the first time in three days that I had found something to eat, and after two and a half years, I still hadn't gotten used to this constant feeling of hunger. On the other hand, the rain meant there was enough drinking water. I guess I should be thankful for that.

There was a specific warehouse in my mind; one with many corridors and small niches. There were plenty of opportunities to hide and to quickly disappear if necessary—assuming, of course, you knew your way around, which I luckily did. It took me half an hour to get there, and when I arrived, it started to rain again. Maybe the last few days were trying to send me a sign, and I was just too blind to see it. Maybe fate just wanted to mess with me a bit. Or maybe I was just unlucky. However, if I had known what was going to happen, I would have gladly accepted any rain or frost and turned back. Unfortunately, things in life didn't work that way.

About an hour later, I was still hanging up my few belongings to dry when I first heard a sound other than the rain. It sounded too distant to make out what it was, but definitely close enough to make my heart skip a beat. I waited motionless for a whole minute, but I couldn't hear anything else. I tiredly rubbed my eyes and started emptying my backpack again.

Bang.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Someone screamed for help, and I hastily hid in the shadows against the wall. Shit, what should I do? "Just mind your own business," Carl had said, and considering there was someone there with a gun, clearly ready to shoot, that should have been reason enough. There was no way I was going to help that man.

Another, angrier scream sounded, but it stopped midway with another shot.

"You better stop your fucking screaming and start telling me what I need to know. Nobody but me will be able to help anyway, and right now I'm feeling extremely unhelpful," said a male voice that sounded far too relaxed considering he had already killed at least one person and was in the process of killing a second. My heart started racing again, and my breathing quickened. Shit, shit, shit. My first instinct was to run away, but then I would definitely be seen, and I would have to leave everything behind. The risk was far too high. Another noise sounded, and the injured man cried out in even more pain than before. Whatever the other person just did, it definitely wasn't meant to help him.

"Please, I-I-I told you I didn't know anything about this. Really!" I could hear the fear in his voice, and I totally understood it because the panic inside me was growing with every second. 'Please let it be over quickly,' I thought as my hand gripped the patron saint charm tightly on my chain. 'Please, holy Labre, please don't let this be my last day!' I had a troubled relationship with religion, but in my desperation, I was willing to believe in anything to protect myself.

"If you don't know anything, why should I help you? It would be so much easier for me to let you lie here and watch you die slowly—and yet so easily. I wouldn't have to do anything but stand here," said the man coldly, almost as if he was bored. "But I'm not a bad person. I just want to help you help us."

"Please, Mr.—Mr. Marini, I know—AHHHH!" My body reacted faster than my mind. Before I understood what the name meant, my hands had pressed firmly against my mouth. Everything in me wanted to scream; only pure instinct prevented me from actually doing so. 'I am so done.' I pressed myself against the wall as hard as I could, hoping to disappear into it. It wasn't said for nothing that you could escape death twice, but not the Marini family. I didn't know much about the family, except that the eldest, Vito Marini, ran the business and the second eldest, Domenico Marini, was known to love work like this. Rumors said there were three other brothers, but that could just be a horror story.

"Well, that's really unfortunate, but then there's nothing you can do." Domenico Marini appeared to be walking across the hall. "Maybe I made a mistake and confused 'Mrs.' with 'Mr.'." He sounded so convincingly concerned that for a brief moment, I hoped it was all just a misunderstanding and completely missed the threat in his words. But the other man didn't.

"No, not Amira, she's pregnant! She's innocent! She doesn't know anything!" he howled. "You can't hurt her!"

Mr. Marini sighed loudly. "I shouldn't do a lot of things, and yet we're both standing here tonight. Although, in your case, lying. We'll make a deal: you tell me what I want to know, and I'll tell my people that Amira won't have her baby cut out today and can eat the paella she cooked especially for your anniversary. Does that sound fair?" The man no longer had a chance to answer because in the corridor leading to my hiding place, a stone or something similar fell from the ceiling and hit the floor loudly. Then everything went quiet for a moment.

"Watch him," Mr. Marini ordered, and I could hear him slowly coming toward me. If he found me here, I would be dead the moment he saw me. There were to be no witnesses. If I ran away, he would find me, and I would be dead too. Either way, it would end. I couldn't think clearly, and yet my head was suddenly empty—so empty that my instinct to flee kicked in, and I started to run without consciously controlling it.





Hello there and welcome to the first Chapter!!!

What do you think: why is Josephine homeless?

Till next time ;-)