Nobody wakes up one morning and thinks to themselves, “I think I’ll take up contract killing as a profession”. Mathias certainly didn’t. Lately when he woke up he thought to himself, “there has to be a softer place to sleep than this bench”.
The birds and the sun weren’t quite up yet but a soft breeze was blowing across the Schuylkill River; coming from New Jersey by the smell of it. It was his fifth night sleeping in the park and he hadn’t yet learned that if the grass was dry it was a far more comfortable place to sleep than the bench. Shifting his position to his side, with his back propped against the back of the bench and his head on the backpack the orphanage had given him, he willed himself back into sleep; hoping to get a little more rest before the morning’s runners starting plodding by or an over achieving cop woke him and told him to move along.
Sleep should have come quickly, it normally would have. Even on a park bench sleep was easy, but his mind had fixated on something. What was it? Birds? Or maybe, just one bird. There was something wrong with it, something in its call wasn’t right. Mathias opened his eyes and, only half caring, looked off across Fairmount Park into the darkness, listening for the call of a bird that shouldn’t be awake yet. As he listened, his watch, a gift from the orphanage back when he turned fifteen and was old enough to get a job, softly beeped four times; four am. The call came again. He was awake enough now to sense that it didn’t come from the park. It came from behind him, from the direction of the river.
It was a sickly call, the kind of call where you feel such compassion for the animal that you’re not sure whether to save it or put it out of its misery. Mathias sat up, looked behind him toward where he knew the river ran through the darkness and listened. Two heartbeats later he heard it again, and then again. This early in the morning there was almost no traffic on Kelly Drive, the two lane road that paralleled the meandering river where tourists liked to drive slowly at the end of October to enjoy the Fall leaves. His best guess was that some poor animal had been hit by a car during the night and was suffering by the side of the road.
Compassion had always been difficult for Mathias. It came more easily for animals than people and this morning, with the warm safe mists of sleep dissolving from around him, the calls of this animal moved him. Stuffing the old wool blanket back into his bag, Mathias made his way into the wooded area and followed Boxer’s Trail through the darkness, navigating around trees and over rocks in the blackness the canopy guaranteed, listening for the sounds of the injured bird and making his way toward it.
After fifteen minutes of slow progress Mathias came to the edge of the trees and stood looking over the Schuylkill River and Kelly Drive. The scene was lit by the ambient light of a city that never seemed to sleep, at least not outside of Fairmount Park. Both the river and the road were further away than he had expected and he found it curious that he could hear the bird from so far away. This part of the wood ended at the top of a sheer rock face, about twenty feet high, just across Kelly Drive from the old Schuylkill Grandstand, a stadium-like seating area facing the river, dedicated during the 1950 Nationals that allowed spectators to watch rowing teams compete. It was rarely used any more, and never for rowing, but was a nice place for couples to sit and watch the river pass by. He figured that if he was still here in the summer it would be a good place to get out of the sun and enjoy the breeze the river afforded. In the dark he could see the outline of the Grandstand, a portion of it covered seating and the rest open air. He heard the weak and distorted call again.
Mathias stood very still, conflicted. It wasn’t a bird, and it wasn’t coming from Kelly Drive. Very distinctly he could hear it emanating from the covered portion of the Grandstand just across the empty road, and clearly, without the interference of the trees and the breeze, it was obviously the sound of a person.
Mathias had learned many life lessons during the twelve years he lived at The People’s Orphanage of Greater Pittsburgh. He was grateful for most of them, regardless of how he had come by them. One lesson, so deeply ingrained in his understanding of the world around him and how to interact with it, but which he never directly realized that he learned, was that human beings were incapable of showing true compassion to other human beings. Sure, everyone loved cats and dogs and rabbits, though he’d known a few kids who even liked to hurt them, but only one person had ever shown unselfish genuine compassion toward him, and she was an anomaly. Aside from her, every child he had grown up with only looked out for themselves, never risking their own safety, happiness, or possessions for the benefit of another unless it was to their advantage. At worst they took from him or hurt him, at best they were indifferent to him and his frequent suffering.
Knowing it was another person down there, twenty feet below him and just across the road, caused Mathias to turn and walk back into the woods. It wasn’t guilt or remorse he felt as he made his way through the first group of ash, box elder, and sycamore trees, it was regret. He regretted that he had wasted his time. He regretted that he wouldn’t get any more sleep. He also regretted that he had been fooled into thinking he could help a creature who deserved it.
The call came again, across the road, up the cliff face, and through the fifteen feet of trees behind him. It was clearly human. Knowing that now, he could understand it. It pleaded, “help me”. Mathias stopped and lowered his head. The words themselves did not stop him. He had heard those words, or ones like them, many times in the orphanage. He had even uttered them a time or two himself, though he never received any. The fact that it was a female voice didn’t give him pause either. What stilled his retreat was the southern accent. Eliza Beth had a southern accent. Eliza Beth had moved here, to Philadelphia. Eliza Beth liked to run the Emerald View Park Trail along the Ohio and Monongahela Rivers during the summer back in Pittsburgh. Could it be her? Really? Here? Now? He couldn’t risk that it wasn’t.
Mathias turned back and ran for the Columbia Bridge. The cliff face dropped to only a few feet high there and he could jump down easily. He covered the two hundred yards to the bridge in under a minute and bounded down the cliff. Without slowing he crossed the road and turned back toward the Grandstand, two hundred yards back up the river, sprinting along the paved running path that parallels Kelly Drive, his backpack pounding against his lower back all the way. There was no traffic at four in the morning and he made it back to the sidewalk in front of the Grandstand in just over a minute without drawing any attention, then collapsed onto his knees, his lungs blazing and his head pounding. For a moment his vision blurred, black spots floating in front of him, and he felt his face get cold. He never ran like that. Confident he was about to black out he rolled to his back and lay, backpack pinned under him, gasping, sucking in whole lungs full of air and blowing them back out several times a second. All he could think was, “I shouldn’t have run so fast, I didn’t need to. But what if it's her?” His throat burned and his ribs tore from the effort of getting enough oxygen before he went dark. In his anguish, he heard the voice again. It was just on the other side of the half wall, less than two feet away, in the shadows of the Grandstand.
As soon as the black spots began fading he started crawling forward. When the dizziness that kept him on the ground had abated, Mathias stood. Regaining control of his breathing, his legs shaking slightly, he walked the last ten feet to the end of the half wall and stepped around. In the shadow created by the structure, Mathias could see the shape of a person laying on their side, legs pulled up toward their chest, one arm lying limp on the concrete. Very softly, he could hear, she was crying. Even in her whimpered sobs, he could hear that accent. As his eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the Grandstand, where the moonlight and stars couldn't reach, he saw more clearly. She was lying on the concrete floor shivering, nude except for a sweatshirt pulled over one arm and caught between her neck and the opposite armpit. She hadn’t noticed him and he stood for a full minute looking at her, trying to decide if it was actually his Eliza. Her call for help came once more, pulling him from his memories. He stepped forward, unsure what was the right thing to say, and simply said “I can help”.
When she heard his voice she obviously recoiled but didn’t actually move. She didn’t seem to be able to. “Please, don’t hurt me” she whimpered, her drawl trailing off like she meant to add “again” or “any more”. As the sound faded she calmed, her breathing slowed, and the crying ceased. Her voice wasn’t Eliza’s. It was more Kentucky and less Carolina, though Mathias didn’t know where either of those places were. There was just enough ambient light to make out the features of her face. It wasn’t Eliza’s either. With no more energy, unconsciousness took her and Mathias stood for several long minutes, staring, considering.
He may have been looking down but he wasn’t really seeing her any more. He was lost in his own thoughts and emotions. He felt a strange combination of sadness and relief. Not sadness at what he was seeing, that didn’t really bother him, but that he wouldn’t get to see Eliza Beth. Somehow, some part of him had been hoping it would be her so he could find her, see her, hear her laugh again. She was one of the few, maybe the only, bright spot in his life to that point. Another part was relief that it wasn’t her, that she wasn’t suffering the way that this poor girl was. As he allowed himself to drift through memories Eliza’s voice echoed in his thoughts. “Do unto others” it whispered, so softly, so Carolina.
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“Do unto others”. It was one of her favorite phrases. She used it often, typically when she was doing something nice for someone else and he wanted to know why. It always felt to Mathias like there should be something after that. Like, “do unto others, or they’ll get you back”, or “do unto others, before they do it to you”. Of course, she was always doing something nice when she said it, so maybe it was more like “do unto others, so they’ll like you more”. She actually was well liked among the children but when she helped people, unlike every other person in the orphanage, she didn’t seem to want anything back from them. Either way, she never told him the second half of the phrase, or if there even was one. On reflection, she may not have even known herself. Eventually he understood it anyway, just through her example. Help people when you can because you’d want their help if you were in their shoes. Except he didn’t. He never had. He had never wanted anything from anyone, even the few time he cried out for help, and yet, on the wind in clear Carolina he heard, “do unto others”. A spark of compassion, or perhaps nostalgia, moved him toward the girl on the ground.
Pulling the wool blanket from his pack, Mathias laid it out on the cement floor in a better lit area of the covered Grandstand, leaving the pack itself in the place of a pillow at one end. He moved quickly back to the girl. How old was she? Eighteen? Twenty one? It was impossible to tell. She seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness so, gently with one arm under her neck and shoulder and one under her knees, he lifted her from the ground and moved her to the blanket. He laid her out flat on the right half of the blanket and rested her head on his bag. As he reached for the left half of the blanket to pull it over her, he looked at her body, wondering how badly she was hurt. Perhaps some people would be uncomfortable, or even feel a little guilty, examining the body of an unconscious and essentially nude and vulnerable woman. Mathias didn’t. It never occurred to him. He didn’t feel arousal, he didn’t feel attraction, he didn’t feel desire. The fact that she was female was simply that, a fact. Not an opportunity. All he really felt was sympathy by proxy.
Aside from lack of clothing, it was obvious that she had been beaten. Portions of her body, around her neck, along her thighs, and along her ribs showed multiple large red and yellowing marks that would bruise over the next few days. He had seen similar marks on his own body from time to time. The tops of her toes and knees were bloodied, like she had been dragged. Her left eye was swollen and her lip was split in two places. Her left and right wrist had deep scratches on the back, as if someone had held them down against the rough concrete. He suspected much of the back of her body, her shoulder blades and her buttocks at least, had similar injuries. She was pretty in the face, maybe a couple years older than him now that he could see her better, and it seemed evident that she had been violently raped, at least once, possibly more. He folded half of the blanket over her and removed a bottle of water from the bag under her head, unscrewing the cap, and sat it next to her.
Mathias had no phone and didn’t know where to find a payphone. He knew of a couple of emergency phones back in the park but they were too far away and he didn’t want to leave her alone in case someone came along, or came back. So he sat with her.
The sun would rise soon and as he sat waiting for her to wake up again he began to get nervous about how he would be treated if someone came upon them. It took nearly two hours before she woke up. Just as the sky on the other side of the river began to lighten, and after a steady but infrequent pattern of cars passing by on the other side of the half wall became obvious, her eyes opened. She was facing away from Mathias, toward the river. She groaned quietly and looked down at the dark gray blanket covering her, then turned to look at the young man sitting next to her. Her left eye was swollen and completely closed now but her right eye was intelligent and alert. He handed her the bottle of water. One hand came out from under the blanket, took the bottle, lifted her head slightly and drank. “Thank you” she said. “Are you the person who helped me earlier?” Mathias simply nodded his head. He didn't realize she had even been aware of him.
“Thank you” she said again. Looking into her face, her left eye swollen shut and deep yellowing bruises forming over most of the left side of her face, he asked softly “do you want me to call the police?” Her focus moved from his face to the soft white clouds drifting above them, now illuminated by the sun climbing the horizon. Tears welled in the corners of both eyes and he regretted the question. It brought her back to the nightmare she was just waking from. After far too many minutes of silence she simply answered “no”.
A jogger came down the sidewalk from behind them. Mathias heard the plodding of steps several moments before he saw the runner. Mathias only saw the back of him as he passed, but it appeared to be a man in his 30s, no shirt, already building a sweat, wearing only running shorts, shoes, and airpods. Coming from the south the man could never have seen them unless he turned around and looked back. He didn’t. But both Mathias and the girl understood what it meant. It was time to go.
Mathias had considered waking her and leaving earlier but didn’t want to touch anything in case this girl wanted to call the police. Mathias stood slowly, no sudden movements, and walked down the steps toward the metal railing near the water. Most of her clothes were there, scattered along a twenty foot section of rail. He could tell from where they lay that her attacker had started with her sweatshirt, then her bra, next her shorts, and finally her panties. She must have tried to put the sweatshirt back on herself afterward. The condition of each garment, its seams torn, fabric stretched, and each marred with dirt, made it obvious that they had been torn from her forcefully. It was obvious that she did not go quietly. It was amazing that no one heard the struggle. Her shoes had come off somewhere in the fight, the first was laying near her shirt and the second next to where the final article of clothing was thrown. He found her socks at the top of the Grandstand next to the wall where he found her, lost in the continued battle as she was raped. Mathias was no detective but, based on the condition and location of her clothing and the traces of dried blood around her nails, she hadn’t stopped fighting until whoever had assaulted her was done. They had suffered and paid for their good time, but not as much as she had. Mathias collected her belongings and recreated the events in his mind, he decided that regardless of whether she was a good or bad person, they had not paid enough.
When he returned she was sitting upright against one of the half walls, with the blanket wrapped around her. He handed her a neatly folded pile of clothes. She tried to smile to thank him but a wince of pain and a smirk was as close as she got. Mathias knelt next to her, wrapping one arm under her shoulders, and looking around helped her to her feet. With his other arm he helped hold the blanket in place while she took her clothes. Gently, he guided her to a still dark corner at the end of the covered Grandstand and turned his back, looking out on the day to ensure nobody would see her. She understood and lowered the blanket to the ground, rested her clothes on top of it, and began painfully to dress.
Had she been in a state to notice it, she would have seen that it was a beautiful morning. Dressing took longer than Mathias expected, even considering the circumstances. With each whimper and wince he knew the process must be agony. He asked twice if she’d like some help, to each she softly whispered no. It was the beginning, he figured, of her taking back control of her life, of her world. She touched his back when she was done and he turned, looking into her eyes, her right hand slipping her bra into the front pocket of the sweatshirt. It would have just been too painful. The eye he could see was still strong, and determined. She glanced down at her shoes and socks, then back at him; he understood. Handing her a small handbag he’d found under one of the bleachers, assuming it was hers, he bent down and slipped her socks and shoes on her feet, but didn’t tie them.
“Can I help you home? Or to a hospital?” It was a simple question, spoken softly, and in complete humility. There was no danger in his voice and she nodded, speaking only one word, “home”. “I don’t have a car, or any money. Can you walk?” That wincing smirking smile again crossed her face, only this time with a hint of mischief “Taxi?” she whispered, pulling a small amount of cash from her purse. He noticed she hadn’t been robbed.
Kelly Drive was getting busy with early morning traffic and there was no way a taxi would stop in the middle of that road. A hundred yards northeast of the Grandstand is a parking lot for spectators. The Grandstand is almost never officially used any more so in the morning and afternoon the parking lot is almost exclusively used by runners, walkers, cyclists, and mothers with strollers who park there, using the paved path that parallels the river for miles in each direction. In the evening amorous couples would park there and take romantic strolls as the sun set. Mathias and the girl walked very slowly toward the lot. He supported her as she walked, one arm around her back and under her opposite shoulder. At least two runners and one cyclist passed them on the way, but none stopped or even slowed. They must have figured that the two were a couple and were just coming in from a long night on the town. With her head down and thick dark hair covering her face no one could see the damage. Maybe they even thought, “wow, those two had a rough night”. They had no idea. Another hundred yards through the parking lot and they made it to the entrance. It has been almost three hours since Mathias had woken and left his park bench.
Along the running trail, between it and the parking lot, the city had placed large boulders to prevent people from driving over the grass and into the lot when it was closed. Who knows, maybe they thought it would help prevent crime. Apparently it hadn’t. Mathias lowered the girl onto the boulder closest to the driveway and sat down next to her, each catching their breath. They watched the traffic for a few minutes, the occasional taxi passing by. “My name is Mathias,” he said, not expecting any response. “I’m Nikki” said the girl. “I would say nice to meet you, but, you know” Mathias trailed off. “Yeah, I know,” she responded. With that, Mathias stood up and threw his hand out, flagging down the first taxi that came by.
