When Spirits Beckon

When Spirits Beckon, Part 2, Chapter 12

3 February, 3.22pm

Megan Tameral looked sadly around her rundown one-room apartment.

There was nothing much to be proud of in what had been home for her and her four-year-old daughter Lauren for the past 18 months. All the furnishings were hand-me-downs from neighbors and colleagues; or had been salvaged in the early mornings from the rubbish center at the street corner before dump trucks came by to take them to a landfill located about 30 miles outside Cheyenne's city limits.

Still, each salvaged item held a treasured memory of the selfless kindness received when she had first moved into the place. Three teenage boys from apartments 2-41 and 4-15 had been the kind souls who had first alerted, then helped her cart most of the heavy stuff from the rubbish center, while the childless elderly couple in unit 1-18 volunteered to keep an eye on her sleeping child. Other neighbors had offered help of one kind or another – a cooked meal, spare pots and cutlery, pickles and jam they no longer wanted, even some old clothes. It had been like her stumbling into an extended family, a community that had offered help where none was expected to be found. What made it all the more remarkable of such a neighborly spirit somehow flourishing there was that every single person who had ended up staying in these tenements came with a sad tale – broken marriages, abandonment, old age, or just plain broke.

Megan had been welcomed right in, with no questions asked about the circumstances which had led to her becoming a destitute single mother. She was soon sharing in the joys and trials of the local community as she saw how the lives of her neighbors progressed with the passing months. The three boys got awarded scholarships and moved out to college; a fact that their now-alone grandmothers never got tired of telling everyone they met. Apartment 1-18 was empty, for an ordinary trip down the stairs from the lobby to the pavement had ended in tragedy eight months ago when both the Weldons had slipped on a puddle and fallen in front of a moving bus. The others continued with their lives as best as they could, living on handouts from relatives or faraway children – if and when these little luxuries arrived irregularly in the mail – or queuing at the end of each month at the dole station, while most evenings were spent at the soup kitchen.

Given sparse opportunities amid such a lack of promise, and with employment offers scarce, Megan had been a bit lucky to land a job waitressing at a diner near the office blocks off Sloane Street. The pay wasn't anything to shout about. But together with the occasionally generous tips (mainly on days when the stockbrokers from the D&S Building had good trading sessions), Megan was able to pay the rent and put some money aside in her rainy day jar. There was also an additional perk from working at the diner; staff could take back for free any leftover food when the diner closed for the day. As such, Megan usually could bring supper home for herself and Lauren every other day. Once in a while, when other diner staff readily gave up their allotted shares (for it was tiresome to be eating the same food daily) Megan brought back such extras to be shared with her grateful apartment neighbors.

This mind-numbing routine had been rudely interrupted about six weeks back when Lauren had developed a recurring fever – compounded with bruises appearing on her face, limbs and body. Megan had been especially concerned as the latest illness made Lauren noticeably tired, on top of her recurring complaints of vague pains in her joints and muscles from months back. Megan had attributed her daughter's whinging to the onset of fall weather and the mild colds that Megan was susceptible to once the air grew chill. What made the latest bout of fever different was despite it going away after a day or two, the bruises didn't – they continued to remain highly visible against her silky coffee skin color as lighter rash-like spots. It got worse about 10 days back as Lauren's gums had then become swollen and bled easily during meals, making her slur her words as she tried to speak through the discomfort. Shortly after this slurring began, Megan noticed that the usual smiles and hellos from passing neighbors were less forthcoming and eventually not seen at all. Doors, which were usually half-open, quickly shut whenever Lauren's shrill voice rebounded in the corridors. Fake smiles and meaningless replies were the only answers proffered when she had asked some of the neighbors who had still deigned to speak to her, albeit reluctantly when they saw Megan coming.