that must have been the hard, metal object I felt from his punch.
Ruben sure was a big guy, much bigger than I was.
I cleaned my face as best as I could and looked in the mirror again. I could still see an open cut next to my eyebrow. Shaking my head in frustration, I pulled down a piece of paper towel from the rolling machine and dried my hands. I was done.
It took some time for me to make my way out of the large crowd, and I was relieved when I reached the front doors, only to find that outside a light rain had started falling and the air was heavy with humidity. I took a deep breath in and walked towards the bus stop. I probably didn’t wait there for very long, but it felt like an age, and I was starting to feel anxious just standing there waiting. I decided to walk a few blocks down to wait for the transit at the next stop. I figured I could calm my nerves a little if I took a short walk and let the drizzle cool me off until the bus arr ived.
It was getting late, and the sky had darkened. Around me the streets were quiet and hardly anyone else seemed to be out. I was passing by a dark back alley when I heard a voice cry out. It wasn’t clear, but it was definitely the sound of someone in pain.
At first, I thought I was hearing things. I stopped, looked around and then into the dark a lley.
I couldn’t see anyone in the dark ness.
I turned back to face the sidewalk, then heard it again. That time it sounded more like a call for help. I took a few steps forward and looked more closely. I was silent, staring straight ahead, but I still couldn’t see anything. My visibility was foggy as the light rain turned to mist in the darkness of the alley. I stood still, listening carefully. There it was, someone t here.
“Hel p me.”
I immediately stepped further into the darkness. The closer I got to the voice, the louder the cry sounded. I began running towards the sound in desperation and as soon as I reached it, I froze comple tely.
It was a teenage girl. She’d been left on the ground, covered in blood. She lay there in the dirt, very still and soaking wet from the rain. Her head was bleeding, and her face was covered with blood. She must have been beaten badly since I couldn’t make out any of her features. All I could see was that she had long brown hair, which was covering most of her face and sticking to it with a mixture of blood and rain. She was dressed in a purple shirt with beige pants that were covered in blood as well. I didn’t know what happened to her or how she had ended up here. Who had done this?
She suddenly started trembling, as though she was having convulsions. I dropped to my knees to try to help her.
“No! Please stop, please!” she begged with tears rolling down her face. I could hear the fear in her soft v oice.
“Hey, hey are you all right? What’s your name? Can you hear me?”
I was almost whispe ring.
I didn’t want to frighten her. But she couldn’t answer me. She struggled to make out the words cle arly.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. “I’m going to get you help.”
I was so worried about scaring her even more. I couldn’t even look at her face for too long: it was already swollen, and she was struggling to open her eyes—they just kept fluttering frantically. I couldn’t imagine what kind of person would do this to som eone.
I looked around the dark alley. There was no sign of anyone around, so I reached into my pocket for my phone, wanting to call 911.
But my pocket was e mpty.
My phone must have fallen out during the chaos on the dance f loor.
I slid one arm under her neck and the other behind her knees, gently lifting her into my arms. She started to mumble words I couldn’t understand. I felt her body sag and she began to lose consciousness. As I lifted her, I caught a glimpse of something shiny on the ground—a necklace or pendant—on the asphalt beneath her. I grabbed it up, dropping it into my jeans pocket, then I steadied myself onto my feet and, holding on to her tightly, took steps towards the end of the darkened a lley.
“Keep your eyes closed; don’t force yourself to open them,” I said. “I will get you help. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”
I couldn’t be sure she had heard me since she didn’t attempt to open her eyes again. I kept glancing down at her and away again.
She was very small, and she looked fragile: an easy ta rget.
The rain was still only a drizzle, but the heat was uncomfortable. As I walked through the alley with the girl lying in my arms, her head leaned all the way back, her arms fell like weights at her sides. She had lost all strength in her body. The main street was getting closer, and I could see reflections from the li ghts.
I felt my heart accelerating and my palms started to sweat. For the first time, I felt scared, especially for the girl. I was glad I was wearing a black shirt so her blood wouldn’t be too
visible on my clothes. I wanted to get her to the hospital as fast as I could, but I wasn’t sure I would get her there in time.
I kept watching her chest slowly move up and down, making sure she was still breathing. The walk through that dark alley seemed endless until, at last, we reached the str eets.
There was no one in s ight.
I waited, then saw a taxi driving down the road towards us, and as my hands were holding the girl up, I whistled at him to stop.
The taxi pulled over to the curb where I was standing with her lying lifeless in my arms. I managed to slowly open the cab door and carefully lay her down in the back seat, quickly making my way to the front passenger door.
“Hey, kid, what are you doing with this girl?” The taxi driver was a little man with dark hair and fair skin. There was fear in his eyes.
“We need to go to Burnaby Hospital! Please get us there as fast as you can!” I demanded with a shaky v oice.
The driver nodded and pressed down on the acceler ator.
Outside, the rain began to stop. Although I knew I was wet, I didn’t feel it on my clothes. I couldn’t pay attention to anything but saving the girl.
“What happened to her?” he asked, looking anxiously back at her in his mi rror.
“I’m not sure. I found her like this,” I said, staring a head.
I could hear her softly crying in pain again with the same sound as before. She was moaning, mumbling words that I couldn’t make out. The sound was making me w ince.
“We’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer. You’re going to be all right, I promise,” I told her again, in a slightly louder voice this time.
I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to rub her shoulders to soothe her, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to frighten her even more simply by touching her.
We finally arrived in front of the emergency doors at Burnaby Hospital. The car had barely stopped moving when I threw open the door and jumped out as fast as I could. Pulling open the back door of the cab, I carefully reached in and carried her out.
The moment I walked through the big emergency doors with the girl in my arms—both of us covered in blood—a nurse rushed over, taking her from my hold. I looked at the girl’s face once again; I still couldn’t make out any of her features. My heart sank, feeling so incredibly sorry for what she was enduring. The nurse
laid her on a stretcher, ready to take her to a hospital bed, when she suddenly stopped. Looking my way, she noticed the blood on my clothes, my hands—and of course, she noticed the cuts on my face. She looked back at the girl on the stretcher, then looked at me once more, this time with con cern.