“End of the line, bud.”

Ely awoke to the voice of the conductor, whose hand shook him gently. He nodded sleepily, stretching in his seat as the conductor moved on. Train travel wasn’t common any more, a bus would have been cheaper but from an early age Ely’s father had shared a love of the rails with him. Often, if he slept on a train, he’d dream of his father; sometimes of his mother and sister as well. Sleeping on a train was natural, the swaying of the rail cars a balm that slowly lulled him, the steady clack of the wheels on the rails a rhythmic mechanical lullaby.

He stood, his body involuntarily stretching once more and he reveled in the feeling as each muscle checked in. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, and them randomly on his face as he ascended further from the ranks of long slumber to being fully awake he finally reached above him to the baggage rack to extract his sea bag. He carried the bag in front of him as he made his way to the door at the end of the car, it was too unwieldy to try and put on his back while in the relatively small confines of the rail car, so he struggled to the end and down the steps to the loading platform.

The aging terminal showed how out of step it was with its décor, at least in terms of modern standards. Grime covered the beaux arts style of the depot, tile and glass merging in massive, awe inspiring splendor in the distance to welcome new arrivals and to give those departing an artistic farewell not seen often anymore. In fact with all that covered the great arch, not much of it could be seen now. Ely rolled his shoulders and swung the bag up onto one shoulder, then slipped his arm through the strap before shaking his shoulders to settle the bag in comfortably.

Late afternoon light filtered in through the glass high above, still stained dark black in many places from the smokestacks of the original iron horses to have traveled here. Glancing about Ely spotted a newsstand and headed towards it. A good rule of thumb in any new town was to get a paper and a map to help you find a job and a roof. After making his purchases Ely slowly sauntered deeper into the terminal, taking in the designs his father adored so much; the terminal seemed to be frozen in time, except for the garbage and run down state of things. Pillars in the main lobby climbed, seemingly, to the heavens to hold the vaulted ceiling up, creating an expansive space.

Ely leaned against one of the many pillars in the lobby, using his sea bag for a cushion, and examined his newspaper, searching for the index. The front page had a large picture of a car, or rather the smoking ruin of a car. Bullet holes could be seen riddling the blackened metalwork. Flipping through the sections he located and began to scan the want ads. Circling a few promising ads for dishwashers and counter help, Ely walked to the front of the terminal to look for a bank of pay phones. The towering windows at the front of the terminal were suddenly blinding as lighting flashed across the darkening sky, followed moments later by a crack of thunder that could be felt in your bones. He walked towards the heavy glass and brass doors leading to the street with a wary eye on the diminishing light. The heavy doors opened slowly under pressure and he poked his head out to glance both ways before spotting a few forlorn phones just past the end of the steepled overhang on the front left of the terminal.

Lightning streaked across the sky again, forking impressively and lighting the front of the terminal as bright as mid afternoon might have. A massive thunderclap shook the world, accompanied with a heavy gust of wind. Ely un-shouldered his bag and opened it, retrieving his jacket after a brief search. After shrugging it on he re-shouldered the heavy bag and made his way to the bank of pay phones. He struggled with the paper as the wind gusted, calling one number after another in his job hunt. Fourth time was a charm.

“Guilio’s Pizza, will this be – hang on, a customer called in!—sorry, will this be dine in, carry out or delivery?”

“Hi, ah, actually I called about the job in the paper, you were looking for a dishwasher?”

“Oh, yeah we still need one, when you want to come by? Basta! Basta mamma! Sorry, my mother…you know how mothers are, right? So anyway, why don’t you stop by and we’ll try you out?”

“Sounds good, where are you?”

“Oh not tonight, with this weather? Come by tomorrow about one o'clock. We're on Lysander between Rosa Parks and Trumbull. See ya tomorrow, I gotta run.”

The line clicked dead, but Ely smiled regardless at being in town less than an hour and having an interview scheduled. A light mist began to fall, quickly becoming a drizzle. He moved back under the towering entrance, between the pillars and into the terminal lobby. He referred to his map, located the street he was headed to the next day and marked it so as not to lose it. Now that a potential for cash flow had been located he moved to the next order of business, a roof over his head. He slowly walked around the periphery of the lobby looking for, and finally locating a board with local accommodations and attractions. The board was backlit with fluorescent tubes, more than one flickering or dimming, further adding to the rundown feel of the depot. He wrote down a few numbers, noting that none were near his interview the next day and moved on to the second best criteria, the one closest to his present location on the map. Fortunately this was aided by a simple map showing the locations of the businesses and little else.

After taking down the phone numbers of potential lodging, he moved back out to the front of the lobby where the storm had failed to turn nasty as of yet. A steady drizzle filled the air and thunder ominously filled the night with sudden flashes of lighting puncturing the night. Digging out a handful of quarters Ely approached the pay phones again and began dialing numbers. The first two were disconnected, and the third was full. At last he spoke to a lady on Howard Street who agreed to hold a room for him for an hour, more than he would need to get there. She suggested he take a cab as the area around the train station wasn't a good one and he thanked her for her advice.

He stepped back into the protection of the lobby and considered briefly taking the lady's advice and hailing a cab. He didn't have that much and decided against it. He had a credit card for emergencies, but a little rain didn't seem like the kind of thing his parents had in mind so after a final consultation of his map he headed out into the damp evening. Thunder continued to rumble and lightning flashed but the heavy rains they promised didn’t materialize, for which he was thankful.

Turning south he trudged through the rain which fell in large stinging drops; the sea bag a comforting weight in this alien landscape of a new city. His parents had both traveled Europe as young adults, backpacking and staying in Hostels and Ely thought the same experience would be good for him, except he'd rather see the United States. Evening wasn't his favorite time of day to arrive, however, especially in unfamiliar territory. He referred to his map quickly as he approached a street corner and then tucked it away as he continued on.

The traffic was non existent both on the street and on the sidewalk. Small plants that had pushed through the cracks of the concrete to reach the surface had withered, possibly from disappointment once they had experienced what the other side of the sidewalk had to offer.

Streetlamps began to become an irregular sight on his walk and the buildings increasingly took on a dusty, disused air. The rain, which began to slacken, emphasized the dirt and slow ruin of what once might have been a business district. The cramped, crumbling buildings conspired with deep shadows made for claustrophobic walking and Ely was beginning to think taking a cab might have been worth the price. A few buildings ahead boasted lights, but deeply muted behind heavy curtains so that the light didn’t challenge the deep gloom. People milled in the large entryways to what appeared to be apartments, the buildings obviously in decline.

“Hey Papí , what the fuck is up?” a voice called out. Laughter echoed, the sounds of hands slapping against other hands bounced off the buildings as people greeted each other.

“Holmes, who you callin' Papí ?”

“Yo!”

Ely felt a shiver ripple through him and he made a conscious effort to square his shoulders and regulate his breathing. Crowds seldom worried or bothered him normally, but this didn't feel normal. He resolutely lengthened his stride and tried to keep his heart rate down as he listened to the group loudly exchange insults and laughter in equal measure. His nerves were on high alert, his rational mind telling him they were just another group of people hanging out, but there was a small insidious voice feeding his nerves and thus generating fear, a voice that spoke of knives and missing wallets...as well as missing people.

He passed the group on the far side of the street, shrouded in the darkness of yet a few more darkened street lights. His heart rate began to slow and his nerves began to settle. That was until he heard the wet slap of running shoes on pavement. Ely glanced behind him to see two of the crowd rapidly approaching him.

“Wait up, man, wait up.” One called to him. Instinct kicked in and he sped up, eyeing a working streetlight at the end of the block. A tug on his sea bag as he passed the halfway point of the block, near the open mouth of an alley, informed him that he'd never make it to that intersection.

“'Sup man? Where you hurrying to?” said one in the gloom. He pushed Ely who stumbled backward and into the mouth of the alley.

“Just trying to get to Howard Street, got a room waiting,” Ely put his hands out in surrender. If they took his money he still had his credit card stashed in his shoe, and the little cash he had wasn’t worth being knifed or dying.

“We told you wait up, homie. Why din' you stop?” one of them asked while giving Ely a small shove.

“I don't know anyone here, I didn't know you were talking to me.” Ely responded. His voice carried a small tremor. He backpedaled slowly, trying to put some distance between him and his aggressors.

“Oh, you new in town? We gonna give you a real welcome then." The thug smiled wide, engulfing his lower face in a horrible sight that had few teeth and even less actual humor. "See, tonight's special for my boy here, a'right? He's gonna get his colors tonight, you feel me?”

Ely loudly backed into a dumpster, thumping off it and stumbling, hands outstretched to ward off other obstacles. In a panic he slipped and fell heavily into the wall but managed to stay on his feet.

“You know what it means to get your colors my man?” the man said in a near whisper that chilled Ely's blood.

“N-no,” he replied.

“Means he gotta snuff someone, you feel me? He gotta leave someone cold,” he smiled again in the rapidly darkening alley and Ely's reeling mind thought of the Cheshire Cat whose body had faded and all that remained was a wide grin hanging in the air; though this one had a few gaps between teeth.

“Please,” Ely whispered, “please...take my wallet...my money, you can have it...just don't hurt me.”

“Oh, taking you money we gonna do, 'preciate the permission though boss. The other part, well...if'n you don't move too much it might not hurt too much. Damn! I thought we'd have to go looking for someone, but lookit here this must be destiny you walkin up in here like this.” He nudged his companion forward. “G'on now, get it done.”

A blade flickered into view, the dim light shining off its length. Ely's breath caught in his throat as his worst fears took hold. The knife lunged towards him as he turned to run, and felt the pressure as the sea bag pushed against him, absorbing the blow from the knife. Ely ran.

“Damn, hold still you fucker,” his would be murderer muttered. Ely took all of three steps before the garbage in the alley brought him down face first into the putrid muck of the alley floor. He half rolled to see his attacker closing in, and raised a hand in a feeble attempt to ward off the blade. Suddenly the alley seemed to move, dark tendrils of shadow moving over his attackers shoulders and with a sharp jerk his assailant fell backward, hands reaching for his neck. The world seemed to go into slow motion, sounds stopped reaching his ears or so he imagined. The scene in front of him seemed to be a series of freeze frames, a waking nightmare as a shadow garroted the knife wielding gang banger.

Ely stared in horror as lightning flashed, flooding the alley with light and bringing the abattoir in front of him into stark relief. Blood began to flow and spurt from his attackers neck, the knife tumbling from his fingers as he tried in vain to keep the life from pumping out of his neck. His mouth worked soundlessly, and he fell, spasming on the ground a moment before laying still. Ely's mouth worked, a scream building somewhere deep within him as he stared at his now dead attacker, and then his eyes caught sight of a lump where the second man had been, the one who had done the talking had been. Thunder cracked the night, breaking the supernatural silence and jolting him back into the present. He jumped and a small, muffled sound left his mouth to be swallowed by a gloved hand over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, I have to send a clear message before we light out. I promise, you're safe. I'm not gonna hurt ya,” came a voice from the darkness behind him. Ely twitched in fright, but more as an automatic response, his nerves already having reached their absolute limit before breaking. The gloved hand left his mouth and he saw a tall, lean form stride past him quickly to the far body, that of the speaker. A quick hiss of a blade being unsheathed reached Ely's ears and he watched in horror as his savior grabbed a handful of hair, dragged it up and quickly swung the blade, severing the head from its body.

“Have to make sure they know it was me. Can you stand?” The figure asked as it approached him. Ely started in shock, unable to move.

“No time for this,” the wraith said and a gloved hand shot out, slapping Ely across his face. He reeled back and suddenly the world was in motion again, the freeze frame unlocked. Night sounds hit his ears and the rank smell of the alley exploded in his nostrils. He heaved over to his left and threw up.

His sea bag once more was used as a leash and he was dragged to his feet. He turned to face the man who had saved him, and killed two others in the process.

“The rest of those guys in front of the building are going to come looking soon. We have to leave. Can you walk?” His voice was full of calm, but it's tone brooked no nonsense.

Ely nodded dumbly as he stared up into the masked face. This vigilante stood a good four or five inches taller than he did, dressed in black from head to foot so that nothing was exposed to the night.

“Ok, lets go then.”

They set off together at a brisk pace, the man in black frequently looking over their shoulder until they'd breached the end of the alley farthest from the crumbling tenement where his attackers compatriots waited. The street they emerged on was bleaker than the one they'd left, a few burned out cars and a vacant lot the majority of what could be seen.

“Quickly,” the man urged and Ely followed as quickly and quietly as he could. Shouts erupted mere seconds later, the sounds like banshees in the gathering gloom.

“Sounds like they found them. Once we get a cross here we can lose them fast, c'mon.” The man struck out at a hard run across the vacant lot, overgrown with thigh high weeds. Ely trundled along in his wake, heart hammering and mind slowly coming back together and wondering who this man was, this deadly individual who had just dispatched two lives and who he was now following blindly across a desolate landscape. The seabag shifted and hsi thoughts focused on not falling down and giving the thugs another shot at him.

Voices echoed from the alley, yells no doubt going back to the main group to report the dead people in the alley. The sound spurred Ely's legs to pump harder and his frightened brain ignored the burning in his chest and the stitch settling into his side. They emerged on the far side of the lot and ran into another alleyway. Shouts of search and pursuit could be heard behind them, and suddenly his protector stopped, holding a hand to Ely's chest to bring him to a halt.

“I'm gonna put you someplace safe for a few minutes before we move again, too many of them after us to run together and I heard you say you aren't from here, can't risk you getting lost,” he glanced down towards the mouth of the alley, “They wouldn't just knife you and be done anymore, they're out for revenge now and that's my territory.”

He walked quietly to a set of steps that descended from alley level to a basement with a rusting metal double door guarding it's mouth. Beckoning Ely on he descended the steps and pushed the door open, which glided as if oiled daily for years. Ely slipped inside.

“Get inside, be quiet. I'll come for you.” With that he turned back up the stairs and closed the door behind him. Ely glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and took in what seemed to be an abandoned industrial building of some sort. Unshouldering his sea bag he took stock of his surroundings and began to look for a weapon. A tickle started deep in his nose and he quickly covered his mouth and muffled the enormous sneeze that wracked him. He knelt and quickly opened the bag and retrieved an undershirt and wrapped it around his nose and mouth, tying it off behind his head to stave off the dust from giving him away.

He resumed creeping around the room to familiarize himself with his surroundings and looking for ways to defend himself. After searching about in the dim light he located a small bent pipe about a foot and a half long. Hefting it he decided it would have to do. Continuing to inspect he moved to the grimy windows set high in the wall and looking out at ground level to the alley beyond. Voices could be heard calling out, and others in reply. Ely moved to a window, one with a cracked pane that was missing a large shard of glass and peered into the alley.

A gunshot echoed in the distance, followed by several more in rapid succession. Then a silence like death incarnate settled in, one that not even the small creatures of the night dared penetrate.

“Stay close, son. This fucker is all business, know what I'm sayin?” the whisper carried in the deep night. Wet steps could be heard as they stepped in small puddles, the squishy sound echoing off the alley walls. Across the darkness of the alley Ely spotted the man he was now tied to, crouching with a long blade clutched in each hand. The metal flashed for the briefest of moments before the figure was in motion.

With the dim light and the angle Ely couldn't be exactly sure of what he'd seen, but what seemed to transpire was a fight so quick as to have been over before it started. Not a word was uttered but before the assailants could cry out their throats were cut, impaled by the long blades with a single, powerful double thrust. The black figure knelt, wiping his blades on the clothing of the fallen pursuers, and moved farther off towards the front of the alley.

Ely withdrew, hand over his mouth as the scene played repeatedly in his head, the graceful brutality of the thugs death. He fought the nausea and his rising gorge, concentrating on steady breaths and mentally shaking himself. He stumbled a few steps and sat down hard on his bag, head between his legs and knees trembling.

Wet footsteps ran down the alley, squelching as they passed the window with the broken pane. Ely glanced at the window but what little could be seen of the person passing by was gone. Tensely he waited, steadying his breathing and gripping the pipe. The door opened slowly, and a head poked in, a hand under it with a gun. Fear was written on the face of the young man who filled the doorway, nervously looking behind him before slowly pushing into the room. Ely tried to stand and find a place to conceal himself, but the room was open and his movement simply drew the gunman's attention.

“You the fucker was supposed to get stuck. Well, your bodyguard can't help you now motherfucker.” The gunman lifted his arm and took careful aim. “Why don't you scream for me?”

The gunshot in the confined space was deafening, and the pain in his leg blossomed, a near indescribable heat radiating from the hole that appeared in his jeans, quickly filled with blood and Ely's involuntary scream of pain.

“That's right bitch, you call your,” a cry erased the end of the sentence, commingling with Ely's strangled statements of pain. A thump was lost in the howling, that the sound of a severed hand landing on the wooden floor with a handgun still held in its dying grip. The shooter’s screams ended abruptly as the head was cleaved from the body with a gory spray.

Ely focused briefly on the black clad figure approaching him, felt the bloody spray of his would be executioner as it ran down his face, and then darkness claimed him.

Pain. Sore and stiff. Thirst, hunger close behind. Ely's mind swirled with these thoughts as he blinked his eyes and slowly regained consciousness. A groan escaped his lips, fading quickly as his dry vocal chords couldn't sustain the sound.

“There, you're awake.” A woman’s voice, and a soft hand on his forehead. “Fever is gone. Here, sip a bit of water.” The hand moved behind Ely's head, gently lifting and placing a metal cup to his lips. His lips trembled in anticipation as the tepid water crossed them and sluiced down his throat. He gulped, his trachea slowly absorbing the needed lubricant and then he was swallowing again.

“Are you in pain?” The woman asked. Ely nodded.

“Here, take these for me. No infection, no fever,” chalky tablets were placed on his tongue one by one and water poured. Ely swallowed reflexively.

“Where?” Ely gasped.

“Library, Bellomorte brought you after you got attacked. Your leg will mend,” he felt the soft fingers stroke the exposed skin of his leg. “Cosí fortunato,” she murmured.

“Wha?” Ely's mouth seemed to tremble as he tried to form words.

“So lucky,” the lady smiled at him and he struggled to see her features in the gloom. “So lucky he found you. Addormentarsi, we'll talk later. Rest.”

Ely drifted back into the darkness.

Ely’s eyes opened slowly, his mind registering a dim room with an irregular light. As his mind re-engaged he recognized the light as a guttering candle, and smelled the burning wax.

He slowly sat up, and stopped as pain gripped his leg. He grimaced, and involuntary grunt leaving him. He held still and slowly opened his eyes to take in his condition. He was clad in a tee shirt and covered from the waist down by a light blanket. The outline of his legs was clearly visible, and the pain in his left leg was easing a bit, though it throbbed with clear presence. He reached slowly, trying not to flex muscles that might pull on his leg, and pushed the blanket down.

Beneath his boxers about midway down his thigh was a bandage. No blood showed through and it seemed tightly bound with tape. He tested lifting the leg slightly and fell back immediately on the bed as sharp pain flooded his leg and seemed to be bone deep. He broke out in a sweat as he lay still, letting the pain recede. He worked on regulating his breathing and relaxing. After about ten minutes the throbbing has returned to a bearable level and he moved his head once more, rising up on one shoulder.

He was in a small room, on a wooden table. The room seemed like an office; filing cabinets were lined against the wall to his left and the desk he lay on pushed against the wall to his right. A wooden door with frosted glass and stenciled letters was directly in his line of sight, closed with dim light diffused through the glass.

“Hello?” he croaked in a voice he didn’t recognize. No sounds came from the other side and he sighed in pain and frustration.

“Hello?” he called out again, voice slightly stronger but still not his own. Rustling and then footsteps could be heard, then the doorknob turned and a young woman entered.

“You’re awake. Are you in pain?” she asked as she crossed the room to him.

“Yes. Thirsty,” he said as a sweat broke out on his forehead again and he slumped back onto the desk.

She brushed her long dark hair out of the way and reached behind him, beyond his view, and the beautiful sound of pouring water reached his ears. She put a hand behind his head and lifted him up, and he struggled up to brace his elbows behind him. She brought the glass to his lips, encouraging him to sip just a bit at a time. After a few minutes, when his thirst had been slaked, he lowered himself back onto the desk.

He closed his eyes as the pain throbbed in his leg. A cool hand swiped at his brow, wiping some of the sweat from him.

“Here, we have some ibuprofen, as soon as you feel up to it.” He heard the rattle of pills inside the plastic container, the snap of the cap being released, and pills being shaken from the bottle. A loud snap announced the bottle being resealed. More water was poured.

“Here we go, can you sit up again?”

Ely nodded and struggled up to take the pills on his tongue one at a time, with a bit of water to wash it down. He lay back once more, sighing with effort.

“Where am I?”

“The library. I’m Daniela. You’ve been here for a few days, mostly sleeping.”

“Why am I here? I remember a lady…dead people, one guy shot me before…” He trailed off, shuddering as the memory of the blood spraying and splashing him invaded his mind. "Why am I in a library? Why not a hospital?"

“This is a safe place, there was no way to transport you to a hospital. The lady you remember is my mother, Isabella, she took care of you when Bellomorte brought you in.”

“Bellomorte…she said that to me, who is that?”

“He’s a man; he tries to protect the people here. He fights the gangs,” she smiled, “He saved your life.”

“Yes, he did. I saw him…” he turned his face from her to look at the wall and whispered, “I saw him kill at least five people.”

“It’s not an easy thing to see. The gangs have been killing here for a long time, and most of us have lost someone we love. Bellomorte, he avenges us.”

“Us?” Ely asked as he turned back to her.

“The gangs have gone crazy in the past week, they are hunting Bellomorte like never before. They burned whole neighborhoods and not even the police will come in anymore; they are afraid,” she scoffed. “We will not leave while we still breathe; they can’t have us.”

Ely remained silent as he looked into her face, set hard in determination. “The man who was going to kill you, he was the gang leaders little brother. The word is that the leader has gone mad with rage.”

“So if I had died…”

“No, the violence would continue anyway. You must never blame yourself for the actions of others.” She wiped his brow once more.“What’s your name?”

“Ely.”

“Well, I’m glad you survived Ely. You’re going to have to stay with us for a while, until Bellomorte says it’s safe to move you.” She pointed at his injury, “Besides, you can’t go anywhere very quickly, you need to heal.”

He stared at the ceiling trying to absorb all that he had learned.

Isabella breezed into the room. “Michael said you were awake, how do you feel?” she asked without preamble and placing the back of her hand on his forehead. Daniela quietly excused herself.

“Hurts,” he replied truthfully.

“Daniela gave you medicine?” She asked while examining the bandage. She moved out of his line of sight, where the water was kept, and he heard the scrape of a drawer being opened.

“Yes, ibuprofen, and water,” he responded.

She came back into view with a pair of scissors and a fresh bandage and roll of tape. “This is good. Benne we need to change your bandage. It’s going to hurt, I’m going to get Michael. He’s going to watch over you here and help you with the bandage until you can do it yourself.”

She stepped from the room quickly, but remained in the doorway while beckoning to someone nearby. A short boy with dark curls walked in and nodded to him. Ely returned the small nod.

“I can change my own bandage, really.” He said.

“I don’t think so,” Isabella said with finality. “Allora, Michele, watch carefully. First we cut the tape.” Firm but gentle hands touched his leg and the cold metal of the scissors touched his skin. The throbbing intensified. As the pressure was slowly released, the wound fluctuated in pain level, slowly getting worse. At last there was a spike of pain as the bandage pulled off the wound itself. One last indignity was barely felt as Isabella ripped the tape off while he was smarting from the wound, so he barely felt the leg hairs departing their fleshly home.

He gritted his teeth against the pain and whimpered.

“Still want to change it yourself?” she muttered. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and forehead again.

Isabella instructed Michael on changing the bandage, inexpert hands trying to be careful with the wound.

“Benne, good job Michele. Now we need some towels, he’s sweating from the pain. A towel and water, per favore.” Michael nodded and left the room.

“Michael will help you, it’s good for him to feel useful. You were talking with Daniela,” she observed as she idly covered his legs with the light blanket.

He nodded in response, the pain in his leg steady and the guilt lingering in his mind. If this gang war had intensified because he’d been spared or saved, didn’t he bear some responsibility?

“So you understand it’s not safe right now, you stay here with us. We protect you.”

“Why? I can’t help feeling a little responsible. If he hadn’t saved me…”

“The wind carries leaves, and they have as much say in their path as you did when chance brought you here. Bellomorte wouldn’t ever leave someone to that fate,” she paused, “no one deserves that.”

“Who is this guy? He,” he winced in pain and held his breath. With a deep exhalation and a concerted effort to relax he focused on Isabella, who had taken his hand.

“It will get better. About Bellomorte, very little is known. He brings vengeance and tries to protect us who the gangs victimize. He makes us stronger, our champion. He brings us supplies, the bandages and other medical needs. Many of us would be dead, or worse if not for him.”

Ely didn’t like to dwell on what would be worse. Michael came back in with the water and what seemed to be a kitchen towel.

“Good, just help him clean up. I’m going to see about food,” she looked at Ely. “What is your name, bello?”

“Ely,” he replied.

“Benne, Michele will take care of you, I’ll find you some zuppa.” She breezed from the room purposefully.

“Hey,” Michael greeted Ely. Ely nodded and closed his eyes as another pain spike gripped him. He concentrated again on breathing and gradually the pain relaxed.

“You don’t have to wash me. I can do it.” Ely told Michael.

“Like you can change your bandages, right?” Michael smiled, “Hell no. Isabella says to do something, I do it. You don’t cross the Marescialla, bro.”

“Marescialla?”

“She’s tough, means Field Marshal, Daniela calls her that. Nothing stops her.” Michael replied as he wrung out the cloth and wiped Ely’s brow and face with a gentleness Ely didn’t expect. “She keeps this little refugee camp together.”

“Daniela said we’re in a library?”

“Yep, a branch of the city library. After Bellomorte whupped up on them, a lot of us holed up in here. It’s all stone, windows are high up so they can’t shoot us from outside really. There was a café in the basement so we have canned foods, some towels,” he waved the one in his hand to make the point,” and we got running water. Beds are tables, little kids stay in the kids room cause they got beanbags and stuff. Blankets are whatever folks brought with them.”

Ely closed his eyes for a moment, the throbbing in his leg peaking. He was trying to control the embarassment of having someone else bathe him; the feeling that he was an invalid crowding his pride.“She called me bello, what’s that mean?”

“Aw, she calls all the guys that. Isabella is full blooded Italian, bello means beautiful but like for a guy.”

“I see. So…Bellomorte?”

“She gave him that name, here relax a bit and lift your arms up for me,” Michael tugged at the bottom of Ely’s shirt and pulled it up and over his head. “Means beautiful death. He does a fair amount of killing, you know? Always cuts off the heads so they know who did em.”

Michael continued the sponge bath with clinical detachment. “Wrap your arms around my neck, bro, so I can get your back.”

Ely protested but Michael insisted and Ely reluctantly complied. He hated feeling helpless, despite Michael being efficient. “Keep hanging on, I gotta dry your back before you lay down. Leg hurting?”

“Yeah, stressed a bit hanging on here. Hurry please,” Ely panted.

“Done brother, lets lay you back down.” Ely had broken into a fresh sweat and Michael quickly wiped him down again. He then lifted the bottom of the blanket and rolled it towards Ely’s boxers and wiped down the legs and feet.

“Ok, only part I let you do on your own is your junk. Isabella isn’t to be crossed, but I feel your pain here man. Lets get you to a bathroom so you can finish up.”

Michael grabbed a tee shirt from under the desk, one of Ely’s, and helped him into it and tugged socks onto Ely's feet. Then, with more tenderness and strength than Ely would have given the little guy credit for, he helped him off the table and supported him as they walked towards the door, Ely’s leg painfully half dragging.

They emerged into a hallway, a row of offices by the looks of it with marble floors and solid walls. Michael gestured down the hall to their right and they struck off in that direction, slowly.

“Take your time bro, this ain’t no race unless your bladder is gonna burst. Then I’ll carry you; just don’t whiz on me.”

Ely barked a laugh.

“Oh, you don’t think I can?” Michael smiled. Ely shook his head, but moments later found himself being toted in Michaels arms.

“Michael! Put me down, you’ll drop me!” Ely hissed.

“My name is Mike, only Isabella calls me that. Don’t wiggle, it’ll hurt if I drop you, so hold still. I shoulda done this in the first place, you were obviously hurting when we were trying to walk.”

Mike continued to carry Ely until they got to the bathroom door, which Mike instructed Ely to push open. Mike finally relented and put Ely on his feet, so to speak, outside a stall. “I’ll help you in, you lean against the side and use the handrail. I’ll let you try it yourself, if you fall, I gotta come in.”

“I…um…appreciate you not…you know, I appreciate the attempt at privacy.”

“No problem. Stay here, let me get your towel and water. Piss now if you need to.” Mike left and Ely managed to make water without spraying the walls or himself. Mike returned and handed the towel over and Ely slowly cleaned himself.

Mike handed new boxers over the door and Ely felt better with fresh clothes and being cleaned up. Mike helped him to the sink where Ely rinsed his hair out and used hand soap to complete his cleanup. Ely didn’t fight Mike carrying him back to his room, as it were. He noticed his bag under the desk, which explained the fresh clothes.

“Ok,” Mike set Ely down on the desk and helped him to lay back down. “Isabella will bring up some food, probably soup. Why don’t you relax and try to get some rest.”

“I’m tired,” Ely admitted, “But I’m still kinda sore to get some sleep.”

“Want me to keep you company? Or find you a book?”

“Company would be nice. I am curious though, has this Bellomorte guy saved other people besides me?”

"Yeah, he’s been pissing the gangs off for a while now. Hell,” Mike sat down in the chair that originally went to the desk Ely was laying on, “he saved me.”