Page 17 of Bloody Bargain
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After Cass and Mass’s infamous tent city was gutted, Boston got a little more dangerous. The community had been tight-knit, watching out for their neighbors just like any suburb, but when their tents came down and they were told to move on without solid solutions for everyone, that community scattered. Addicts overdosed without a reliable spotter, dealers got away with lacing their supply, and the tide of desperation and struggle overflowed into robbery, assault, and a fear of the dark.
Ruggles Station and the neighborhood around Northeastern University was one of the places where the homeless hid from flashing lights, found crevices to store their things, and sleep. Underpasses, cinder block sound barriers, behind dumpsters with overgrown weeds, and especially the park corridors surrounding the subway tracks and parking structures. We’d heard several calls for the neighborhood in the last few months and were on the front lines of watching it crumble.
“Dispatch said transit police should be on site. Go on ahead, I’ll bring up the rear,” Reed said with a frown, ducking into the back. He was setting up the IV, getting out medicines, unlocking the gurney. I stowed my phone in the glove compartment, locked it, and rolled my eyes.
“Afraid of a little placenta, Reed?”
“Very funny.”
I joked because I was nervous. He didn’t need to tell me to get a move on. The call was urgent and the fact that it was an anonymous call worried me. It could be an overdose case desperate to get a quick response, or it could be legitimate. I hoped for the former because whenever the guys came back from a call like this, it took them weeks to recover if it went wrong.
The station’s milky windowpane arches loomed at the top of several wide flights of stairs, striking the reflections of surrounding street lamps and heralding passengers through its steel and cement corridor like church-goers at a cathedral. It was quiet and abandoned, without a soul in sight, including police. I checked the road behind me as I took the steps, hoping to see the flash of their lights parked somewhere in the still night, but there was nothing.
There was light ahead though, the iconic pink and orange of a Dunkin Donuts. I took the rest of the stairs two at a time, determined to shake off the eerie silence and help whoever had called. Even if it was an overdose and they’d lied, I would be relieved to give them a dose of Naloxone and the safety of the ER.
A small crowd of heads greeted me as I bounded up to the station entrance, all staring inward at the glow of the closed donut shop. I slowed, short of breath, relieved to see them.
“Emergency responder,” I panted loudly, garnering a few glances. “Know where I’m supposed to go?” I asked. A man in grimy jeans and an old peacoat layered with a trash bag pointed to the empty subway platforms below as a light flickered in the gritty tile-lined stairwell. Most of the lights were on timers, so the corridor was dark and threatening.
I was about to ask if anyone was with her or knew what was going on when I heard the scream. It descended over the crowd through thin panes of glass, acidic and sickly. The hair stood on my arms and I looked at the people with disbelief. No one was moving to help her, staring through the window grates with a shared look of doom and apprehension.
I tightened my grip on the bag strap slung over my shoulder and pulled the flashlight out of my belt. Leaning into my walkie, I radioed out.
“Vehicle A4 to Dispatch, do you copy?”
“Dispatch here, over.”
“Delta-2-4-Bravo-2, on scene. She’s on the Orange line platform. Will confirm once I have eyes on her, but we’re definitely going to need the fire department, over.”
The line was silent for a moment. When it crackled to life, nearby fire sirens were already starting up. I blew out a sigh of relief, my confidence restored by the sound of incoming backup.
“A 10-27 is on its way, A4.”
“Copy that.” I caught the old man’s eyes and gave him a succinct nod. “Thanks.”
“You should leave her,” he said in a muddy, gummy slur. A young woman with horribly bleached hair sticking over her forehead smacked his shoulder and he blinked, rolling his jaw around as he stared wide-eyed holes into the floor.
My brow creased. “Another EMT is coming up. Tell him where to go,” I said as another moan rolled up the stairs and reverberated through the steel rafters.
“Sure,” the woman warbled, jaw clenched.
I left them with a knot in my gut and fearful tar on the bottoms of my boots. Every step forward was a testament to my paycheck. Maybe if this weren’t my job, I would stand paralyzed in the station too, chilled by her banshee cries.
A bead of anxious sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I took the stairs. Short hair matted against my forehead and cheeks. I told myself that the next time I decided to cut my hair in a bob, I was going to remember this moment. Then I was going to use that money to eat at a four-star restaurant instead. Having a ponytail in my line of work was worth more than a safe full of gold.
I called out to the woman as I toed my way down to the final step. The lights on timers never turned back on, even when I waved my arms in the air. Another scream echoed through the Orange line platform, raising the hair on my arms.
“Ma’am!” I tried, my own voice echoing. I heard a shuffle, some grit underfoot. There was heavy breathing somewhere, but my flashlight wasn’t covering much ground.
“Paramedics are on the scene!” I called out. “If you can hear me, please respond!”
The air displaced as I marched down the platform. Rumbling, whining. I craned my neck around the bend of the railway to see an oncoming spotlight. The familiar tones of the T announcing an arriving metro soothed my nerves, and the steel overpass growled as the train approached, filling the station like an organ pipe vibrating in tune.
But then the train sped past. I turned my head with a gasp and stumbled to a stop. Something had been next to my ear, I was sure of it. The humid chill of someone’s breath on my neck.
The train receded and the silence filled the air like sand into the nooks and crannies of my ears. No screams, no agonized groans of labor pains. Only the sound of my breath shaking.
