The door opens quietly amid the dull roar of the town as a man sticks his head out into the frigid air, his eyes marked by heavy crescents and his face positively pallid. He looks up and down the street as if searching for something, someone hidden from view. Taking a deep breath, he stumbles out the door, coughing heavily as small wisps of warmth escape his mouth. The door shuts behind him as he crams his hand deeply into the pockets of his brown pea coat, cursing the cold air of this woefully dreary day while shuffling down the steps. Hesitating just before joining the bustling crowd migrating in droves along the street, he searches once more in the sea of souls.
Satisfied with the results of his leery search, Daniel lets out a sigh before stepping onto the sidewalk below. He excuses himself into the rushing streams, strolling down the street with his olive bowler bobbing up and down with each step. This verdant cap serves as a beacon in the rough sea as we wade patiently through its living waters bound for the same shore. Daniel unknowingly swims furiously against the stream, fighting the unchanging flow, as I ride his wake drawing us ever closer. While he casts doubtful glances over his shoulder in my direction, searching for the shadow that looms near, I remain hidden in the depths.
An enclosed bus stop doubles as makeshift cover as his weary eyes scan the waves for any sign of me. I check the time, noting that it is far too soon for our paths to intersect just yet, though Mr. Owens is already operating on his own schedule much to my surprise. I had estimated that he would be bed ridden for at least another week or more, yet here he is marching through the cold on a busy October day. I must admire his gumption and the peculiarities of his daily life, though I find his determination to increase my burden rather irksome. Nevertheless, we shall meet at a quarter till five.
He pivots on the spot, walking briskly and rounding the corner, hoping to lose the feeling that he was being watched or followed. As the hair on the back of his neck began to rise, Daniel walked even faster, breaking into a sprint as the thought gnawed away at his mind. The sickly man was fraught with paranoia and fear as he collided with the pedestrians that walked along the way, finding himself battered and churned in the rapids until a sharp horn only rattled him more. With his skin growing hot to the touch, he hid his flushed face behind his hat and yelled at the stopped car.
“What do you want‽” Daniel spat in a hail of spit and mucus as he stumbled haphazardly across the street, narrowly avoiding another car heading in the opposite direction.
I watched with a mixture of pity and disdain at the weak man, running from something that he couldn't see. A foul taste that lingered and swirled upon my palette, one that I could not yet cease as Mr. Owens grew worse by the hour. Fighting off the one or two good Samaritans that chose not to kick the ailing man while he was down. Instead, he simply shouted the same question to them in his fevered delirium as he grew distant from the world around him. Lost at sea. Once more he cast about for my face as I drifted closer, unable to see even those that stood before him.
“Half past three, Mr. Owens.” I remarked quietly to myself, “I do hope that you'll find some sense or reason in the coming hour.”
Daniel floundered about on the sidewalk, pushing away any and all who came to his aid. Mumbling to himself and scrambling on hands and knees to escape. He eventually found a safe haven in an alley, away from others where he felt he was less vulnerable, drawing his arms and legs closer to his chest, he shivered alone in the cold. Daniel sniffled and snorted as his nostrils grew closed and his throat constricted, the raging fever reaching its peak while his clothes dripped with hours of sweat. At last, he could see someone staring directly at him with a frown upon his face. It was a look that he knew all too well, as he tried to hide those eyes from view with his green hat.
“What do you want?” he asked me in broken words through coughs and wheezes.
“I'm here to take you home, Mr. Owens. I want you to come with me.” I replied, extending my hand as he lowered the hat, taking my hand.
“I'm so tired.” he said.
“I know, Mr. Owens.” I responded. “I know.”
-065