Chapter 28: Shiver

Ginger hurried home one night during a violent rainstorm.

Her umbrella was useless, for it would be instantly caught in the wind and mangled.  Her coat was thin against the chilly and relentless rain and she did not have a scarf.  Work had been particularly hard that day.  Ginger was unable to work-out at lunch; she didn’t even have lunch, munching on random snacks from her desk instead.  But Ginger was used to denying food.  She was a former model, after all.  She knew something of restraint, of discipline.  By the time she could finish the day’s work and hasten from the building, it was nearly eight.  She was exhausted.

The bus stop was only half a block away.  It ran late until the evening, but she did not know exactly how late.  Nine?  That would be reasonable.  But since when was reasonable the MO of government?  An icy hand seized Ginger’s spine.  What if the bus had stopped running?  She blew air from her lungs in exasperation as she considered the possibility of eight more blocks in the rain till she could reach the train.  Further still, she would have to walk another six blocks when she made it to the nearest stop.  Ginger did not live close to the El.

No one was waiting at the bus stop.  Strange, Ginger thought.  The street was usually busy, packed with commuters.  They would stand shivering until their busses arrived, eyes brightening when their number appeared upon the lights above the driver.  Cash, tickets and plastic fare cards flashed to existance as each passenger filed aboard.  They slid dollars, they pressed tickets into the automatic feeder and they touched their sophisticated cards against the card reader.  It only failed 30% of the time.  Just below the threshold to be considered an adequate development in technology.

She crossed the street as the Walk symbol faded to a red flashing warning.  She was still freezing.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped, sucking a humid and icy breath of air.  The rain splashed against her shield of makeup and she panicked that someone would see her tarnished face.  A shadow approached.

Her shoulders creaked as she huddled into herself, shrinking her height by two inches from her failure to maintain posture.

What the fuck, what the fuck?  Must run; crowded street.  Not so crowded now.  Look silly, someone is watching.  No really this time. I wish Tom were here.

The last thought jolted her and she glanced around again.  Nothing.  She hated when this happened.  But why Tom? 

“Ginger.” 

She would have screamed but the voice was instantly recognizable to her.  Familiar and faithful.  At once, she was comfortable.  Order had been restored, control once again asserted. 

But the voice did not belong to Tom Drake, nor did she think of him again the rest of the night.