Luck

The bar was near.

Ellen could see its neon glow flickering on the wet pavement, dull red pooling in the gutters, stretching with the ripples of drizzle. The buzz of the sign droned beneath the city’s hum, faint and steady, like the throbbing in her legs. She kept her head down, soaked clothes clinging to her skin, bags dragging at her arms like anchors.

Her cardigan sagged. Her jeans were stiff. Her shoes squelched with every step. Her body ached with each movement, and she couldn’t let anyone see her like this.

Not like this.

Not with tangled hair, the bags, an old suitcase knocking against her ankle.

They would know.

Homeless.

No one had to say it. You could hear it in the pause before a greeting, the quick flick of eyes toward the bags and away. She didn’t want their pity.

Her gaze darted to the front entrance. Too bright. Too open.

She veered left and slipped into the alley.

The air changed instantly. The neon vanished. Sound fell away into a hollow stillness. Buildings pressed in on either side. Water dripped from rusted fire escapes. Then came the smell. Rotting food. Old piss. Wet cardboard.

She breathed through her mouth.

Just past the dumpsters.

“You need to get the hell away from me!”

She froze.

The voice came from right beside her.

She turned slowly.

A man sat huddled beside a dumpster, buried in cardboard and blankets. He blended into the rubbish around him. His coat was filthy. His beard coarse and tangled. A cap cast his face in shadow. A bottle hung loose in his hand.

He wasn’t looking at her.

His eyes darted between the shadows, knuckles clenched around the neck of the bottle.

“I see what you are,” he muttered.

Not slurred nonsense. Not rambling. Something else.

His eyes snapped to hers.

“Don’t think I don’t see it.”

Ellen’s fingers tightened around the suitcase handle.

“I got enough bad luck without you bringin’ more Shades my way!”

Shades?

The word meant nothing.

Bad luck did.

That had followed her for years.

She took a step back. Not afraid. Just unsettled. He looked at her as if he knew her.

She turned and walked away. Then faster. Sneakers splashed through shallow puddles. Her breath came uneven. The bags felt heavier with every step.

His words burrowed under her skin.

She kept going. One bend. Then another. The neon disappeared. The alley swallowed the street behind her.

She didn’t stop until she reached the back entrance.

The man was gone. The street too.

She exhaled, her grip loosening on the suitcase. Her fingers throbbed with cold.

The back of the bar loomed beside another dumpster and a row of bins. The metal door was rusted and scarred.

She couldn’t take her bags inside.

They would know. The questions would come.

Ellen, are you okay?
Are you staying somewhere?
You know you can talk to me, right?

No. She couldn’t do that.

She scanned the alley. Empty. Not safe, but hidden.

There. A gap behind the dumpster.

It would have to do.

She hauled her suitcase onto the flat lid of the dumpster. It landed with a dull thud. The holdall followed. Then the backpack. Her shoulders sagged.

She stood still, breath heaving, arms burning.

Then the ambience shifted.

The rain eased. A sliver of sunlight broke through the mist. Golden. It touched her face, warm and gentle.

For a moment, the alley softened. Steam curled from puddles. The grime felt less oppressive. The warmth soaked into her clothes.

She let out a breath.

Maybe things could turn around.

Not hope. But something close.

She wiped hair from her face and unzipped her bags. She moved quickly, methodically.

Clothes, damp but usable. Toiletries, barely enough.

She spread everything across the open suitcase and chose what she needed.

One outfit.
Stuff to wash up.
Backpack.

That was it. Everything else could stay hidden behind the dumpster.

She had a plan.

Clean up.
Work.
Earn tips.
Find a bed.
Repeat.

She rolled her shoulders and breathed deep. The tension loosened. For the first time all day, she felt a thin thread of control.

Then a sound cut through the quiet.

Voices.

Distant. Murmured. Coming from the direction she’d come from. The mouth of the alley.

Two men. Sharp voices. Authority in every word.

Police.

Her stomach tightened.

They were with the homeless man.

She caught fragments.

“Come on, let’s go.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Get up.”

Then the man’s voice. Slurred. Worn down.

“There’s someone else back there.”

Her breath caught.

Did he just…

“Go check it out.”

Boots splashed against wet pavement.

Closer.

Panic surged.

She turned toward the bar’s back door.

Her elbow struck the suitcase.

It slid sideways. She lunged, too slow. It toppled, clipping a trash can on the way down. Clothes spilled across the ground. The can tipped over.

The crash echoed through the alley.

Footsteps quickened.

Too close now.

She dropped to her knees, hands scrambling, shoving clothes back into the case.

Then a voice rang out.

“Stop what you’re doing and show me your hands!”