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When Heaven Sighs

By Susan Guinn

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Chapter One

He stared at his bare feet on the hot, rough surface of the sidewalk. The skin on the top of each foot was stained a dark brown from the summer sun and the dirt of the streets. It was almost as brown as shoe leather would have been if he had been wearing any shoes. Still looking down, he could not miss the half-moons of black dirt encrusted underneath each chipped and brittle toenail and wondered how he could have let himself sink to such a low level. Feeling a pang of guilt, he was glad his mother could not see him. She would not recognize him, and if she had, she would have become hysterical over the sight of him in his current condition.
A slow, single drop of sweat rolled off his forehead and fell to become a wet blotch on the dry surface of the sidewalk. For what seemed longer than rationally possible, the liquid blob sat and sizzled on the blistering concrete as the heat boiled up in waves to hit his already overheated face. On this hot, dry August afternoon, walking along the sidewalks of downtown Nashville felt like walking through a hot oven.

I need to get medical help. If I can just get to the mission, but am I going the right way was all his confused mind could manage to spit out. He knew he needed to stop and ask for help with finding the downtown homeless shelter, but the last time he had stopped to ask for directions, it had almost cost him his life. That had been in the port of a foreign city.

He was still cognitive enough to realize the disease attacking his body contributed to his mental state, but since that dangerous encounter, his fear and paranoia had increased with each passing day. Now heart racing panic set in if a stranger on the sidewalk turned to glance at him for one split second longer than what he felt they should. He had covered his trail as well as he could but knew he was no professional in evading detection from the type of people that were looking for him and what he was carrying. His pursuers could not be too far behind.

Trying not to be overcome by the weakness and tremors caused by his fever, he leaned one hand against the hot brick of an old building. Taking two slow steps forward and bracing himself against its wall, he managed to move into the shadow afforded by the railroad overpass right above his head. He looked both ways down the four lanes of Eighth Avenue and recognized the tall red brick buildings of Cannery Row.

His mind slipped back to the last time he had been there. It had been for a concert inside its large Ballroom. Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, it had only been this past April. Since then, the upheaval and obliteration of his old life had been so total and complete that he knew he would never be able to reclaim the naïve innocent world he had once lived in and realized he had only himself to blame. He had been the one to set the wheels in motion that had resulted in his situation being what it was at this moment.

I’m going the wrong way. He wiped one dirty hand across his burning forehead. He shook his head, and shoulder-length, curly black hair swung around his face. A few strands stuck to one wet cheek. As another intense tremor took hold of his body, he lost control of himself and for a few minutes could only lean against the bricks until it had run its course. The chills and fever had been going on now for the last two days. The only warm places left on his body were the burning soles of his feet and the pulsating fire in his temples.

I must get help. Can’t let them find me and the papers before I get them to where they belong. I can’t give up. Everything depends on me getting the papers into the right hands. Just need to get to the mission. I can rest there. He patted the front of his chest. A small piece of paper rustled inside his shirt pocket.

He turned around to walk back the way he had come. Again, a chill shook his body, and the fever he had been waging war against finally won and sent him down head first into the hard gray of the concrete sidewalk. Lying face down, the last thing he saw were the tires of a car going down Eighth before the dark unconsciousness of the fever overwhelmed him. Like vultures circling a newly dead body, a few homeless men standing outside the nearby free medical clinic moved forward to pick at his still warm body to claim any prizes they thought might be left behind.

As the small group huddled over the still form of the young man on the hot concrete, pockets were searched, and the backpack he had been carrying was fought over until it was claimed by the winner of a small scuffle waged on the sidewalk. Without warning, a shrill voice interrupted their foraging.

“Get away from him. I’m calling the police!”

A brave, blue-jean clad young woman elbowed her way through the small group to bend over the motionless form of the young man lying in the hot afternoon sun. All of the men scattered unwilling to face an afternoon encounter with the Metro Police Department. Fumbling in her purse, she pulled out a cellphone and dialed 911.

“I’m on Eighth Avenue South. There’s a man down on the sidewalk. I’m not sure if he’s even still breathing. Please hurry. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on.”

Some of the men had backed away when the young girl first arrived but now moved a few inches closer to watch and make sure there would be no more treasures to retrieve off the body. The woman leaned over the young man until the sound of a siren assured her that help was on its way. Only one older man hesitated for a few minutes then slipped off by himself through the alley.

Red lights flashing, a Metro ambulance pulled up to her position on the sidewalk. A well-built young paramedic jumped out to take her place. She stood up and moved out of the way.

“What happened here?”

“I don’t know. I found him like this.”

“Have you touched him?”

“Only his shoulder.”

“Good. He looks contagious. Pete, bring the IV with you. He needs fluids. He’s burning up.”

A second paramedic brought the IV. The first turned their patient onto his back. A small trickle of blood started to ooze from his nose. He moaned and gave one small cough. After a second cough, the young man lifted his head, started gagging and then projectile vomited red bloody fluid over the paramedic’s chest and arms. Both ambulance workers backed away, but as a massive seizure took control of their young patient’s body, they placed him on a waiting gurney and heaved him through the back doors of the ambulance. The last thing the young man’s sidewalk savior saw of him was his still twitching feet before the door of the ambulance was slammed in her face. She stood watching the flashing red lights fade into the distance through the Saturday afternoon traffic.

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