Chapter 2

He’s left with nothing but himself.

All alone with insects for company.

And then the voices in your head begin.

They speak, blather, and cry out for attention. And that’s when prison breaks you, leaving you to yourself until there is nothing left but a shell, a hollow echo without life. You can feel your hands curling into fists, and the desire to punch right through the walls. You long to feel a breeze and see the branch of a tree moving in the wind. Your heart pounds erratically, your mind searches for ways to escape, your stomach lurches, adrenaline pumps, and you want to scream to let out all the fear that’s been building inside for so long. The scream then becomes a cry of fear, a roar of one who is teetering on the edge of insanity.

And there you are—the next stop, madness.

No, he didn’t ever want to go back to jail.

* * * *

Looking around, he noticed the night slowly growing darker. Pushing himself away from the building, he cast aside his thoughts and began to run as hard as he could through the plague pit called Gangland, a part of the city where the balmy early evening air became cold, making him shiver. Even though he was entering the dark side of New York, he couldn’t stop. He had to take the ghostly tour if he wanted to escape the bulls. It was a section with a haunted past of murder, execution, and mystery. The Bowery, Little Italy. These were the places where some of the most renowned gangsters hung out. It was long forgotten except for the spine-tingling tales that haunted the ominous grey stone walls of the ancient buildings that once held speakeasies. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see ghosts walking the streets, ghosts of people who were executed and murdered there. With their spirits as his escort, he walked on, but still watching as he made his way beneath the dim yellow glow of the streetlights until the streets seemed to be strangely vacant, with no movement anywhere.

Like most of the street filth around here, he was well acquainted with the gangs in the neighborhood, and happened to notice Nick Leone, an infamous drug dealer that hung around the more dangerous streets. Nick’s dark face lurked in the shadows, while his half-lidded eyes constantly darted from one place to another as he took a leak on the dirt. Upon seeing him, Reny stopped, quickly found a shadow, and silently plastered himself against a brick wall and waited until the gang leader threw his cigarette down, went back inside, and worked his deal.

Living here he had to protect himself, so he owned several guns and knives. His first one was the gun he’d bought himself in the seventh grade. Yeah, you heard me right. It was the seventh grade. These bums around here didn’t care who they sold to. If a kid had the price of a gun, it was theirs. He’d bought it after a group of kids handcuffed him to a lamppost and beat the living hell out of him.

He still had that gun—and that memory.

Feeling as if he was at last safe, he decided the best thing he could do was to get off the street and head for his digs, so he walked slowly and looked around. When he didn’t see anything he felt a little easier, but realized he’d been spotted when he heard someone call his name. Oh, God, it was Piff Montana and the Latin Kings. He’d lost the cops all right, but due to his rotten luck he’d been spotted by an opposing gang. He began running the other way. He couldn’t run fast enough. They were right behind him. He kept going, but the fear inside him seemed to freeze his limbs, causing him to feel weak and awkward. His breath became short and labored. Finally he saw a thicket in the distance, and knew it was his only chance, so he ran as hard as he could toward it. He ducked his head as the slapping branches scratched his face, but he kept going, hoping he could get lost among the dense foliage. Faster, he had to go faster. If they caught him, death would be the kindest thing they’d do to him. And then he saw a jungle of shrubs up ahead and gave a big leap into them. He stayed quiet. Didn’t move. And then when all seemed to be silent, he crept out. That was when he heard a shout in the distance.

“Grab him, boys!”

He jerked his head up and saw a line of hoodlums up ahead. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded, and feeling the pain of being jostled, prodded, and pressed to the ground on his stomach with a heavy weight on top of him.