THE PARADOX EFFECT

I don't know why, but I take a step so that my body shields the youth from the man in the car even more than it already was.  'What the hell are you doing? You're in my line of sight, move to your left so I can get a clean shot on him.' The man says through the earphone in my ear. But I don't move out of the way. It's not a conscious decision to protect him, there's something innate, something within me that refuses to allow this kid to be shot, despite him holding a knife to my throat.  'Give me your money or I'll slit your throat.' The teen seethes at me. If only he knew that all I had to do was take a sudden step to the left and he'd be dead. 'I haven't got any money on me.' I say. 'Bullshit, where's it at?' The kid says, and starts to rifle through my pockets. I make no effort to stop him. 'Get out of the way!' The man yells into my ear, but I don't move. In a moment the kid has fished through all my po...

Being out of the car feels good. With every step I take away from the man I feel better, stronger, freer. But knowing he's behind me with a high calibre handgun aimed at my back in case I make any sudden movements disparages my swelling sense of hope.  As I approach the dealers I keep my eyes on the ground, watching them only in my murky peripheral vision. I think back to the countless times I made this walk. Not just here, but to the other spots around town. Even when I was on holiday in Mexico I managed to find a dealer. I made it a point to find a supply.  A sickness swells in my stomach. Nausea runs through me. It's almost as if there's a part of me that thinks I'm genuinely about to try and score for myself. My body is reading the situation and trying to get me to change course. There's a certain amount of pride in knowing that this is my visceral reaction to forcing myself to score drugs. I find it comforting on some level to know that my body is physically re...

'Take this left, but slow down, we want to park close enough to see the intersection, but not for anyone there to see us.' I do as I'm told. I turn the car onto a dark quiet side street then find a park about fifty yards from the intersection at the end of the street. I look ahead at it. I know it well. Only too well. This is where I used to come to score. I don't recognise any of the faces, but I don't imagine the game has changed much in the year I've been out. Two wiry teens sit on a waist high decaying brick fence outside an abandoned warehouse. A car driving on the perpendicular cross street slows then pulls up next to the teens. The driver signals something to them, words are exchanged, then the driver passes a fist full of dollars to the smaller of the two teens. The taller teen signals to a third teen who sits on a stoop on the other side of the intersection. The driver pulls across the road to him where he discreetly collects something. The driver then ...

The man aims his gun at me, his face a cocktail of anger and pain. I freeze in my tracks and raise my hands, waiting to feel the hot sting of lead as it punctures my body. I've always wondered what being shot feels like and I guess now I'm about to find out. I brace for the pain... but for the moment doesn't come. 'Lose the knife.' The man orders. I'm stunned that he's talking to me. The murderous look in his eyes says that he wants to do just that - murder me. I do as told immediately. It clangs on the linoleum flooring.  'I should drop you where you stand.' He threatens. I don't reply. I don't even look him in the eyes. I know that right now he's one very small reason away from pulling that trigger. I don't want a misstep on my behalf to be the catalyst for my demise.  'Unless there's a cruiser in the neighborhood, average response time for a call out for shots fired in this suburb is under five minutes. That's assuming ...

The call continues to ring. The man seems frozen, unsure what to do. It's odd seeing him like this. He's been so sure of every decision he's made since I've known him, to see him indecisive shows his vulnerable side, a side that I might be able to exploit. 'Sit down there.' The man directs me to my couch. 'Don't move.' He orders as he answers the call. I sit down and watch him as he speaks into the cell. 'I'm here.' He answers. I can't hear what the other person says. I've no idea who they are. Perhaps they're police also? Perhaps it's his boss calling. I'm tempted to call out, to scream out help, or something to that effect, but without knowing exactly who it is would be far too risky.  'No, don't do that.' I hear the man say, almost pleadingly. 'There's been a situation.' He says as he stares at me. I'm not the situation, you're the situation, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. I...

The man looks strange now that he's dressed in my clothes. His own attire was sharp and expensive, which added to his menacing aura. Now, dressed in such familiar threads he looks far less threatening.  'What do you mean by our night has only just begun?' I ask, terrified of what his answer might be. I can't spend the night with this maniac. I need to be rid of him as soon as possible so I can be sure I'm at the airport on time to pick up Lucy.  'When we met I had a briefcase.' The man says, 'Do you recall?' My mind flashes back to the moment I first saw him. The briefcase was being carried by the other man. 'I remember the man you shot had the briefcase.' The man stares at me for a moment before speaking, as though deciding just how much he cares to let me know. 'It wasn't his.' I wait a moment, expecting him to be more forthcoming about the importance of the briefcase, but he doesn't volunteer anything further.  'Ok. So ...

I return to the washroom, looking at the man in a new light. Who the hell is he? How on earth does he know so much about building code violations? ' Take one of the bandages and wrap it tight around the wound.' He orders. How does he know so much about home surgery?  The man holds a piece of bloody gauze firmly over the wound as I unfurl the bandage around his muscular leg. Judging from his face alone I'd say he's about fifty years old. But his toned body is more befitting of a thirty year old athlete, which means he looks after himself and has a regular gym routine. 'Pull the bandage as tight as you can. The pressure will hold the wound together and help slow the bleeding.' The man speaks like he's a doctor advising a medical student.  'I would have thought you'd need stitches?' I say. The man shakes his head, 'No. Wounds like this are better left open. Especially when the risk of infection is high. Which it is in this case. Open wounds heal...

I freeze. Damn you Sukee. Can't you just leave us be? We're not being that loud. Sure, he's screamed, but compared to the other tenants in this building I'm by far the quietest the majority of the time. The man who lives directly below me plays his music loudly at least three times a week. Sukee normally gives him about an hour of making a racket before she goes and bangs on his door. Why can't she give me the same leeway? I figure it's probably something to do with the blood in the hallway.  'Susan, open up, what going on?' Sukee calls out as she wracks knuckles on my door again.  'Get rid of her, but don't open the door.' The man says through gritted teeth as he presses the gauze on his wound, stemming the blood flow.  'How the hell am I gonna do that? She's like a Jack Russell with a bone.'  'I don't care. If you don't want her to die, you'll figure something out. Pass me more gauze.' I hand the man the rest...

The man drapes his arm around my shoulder and I help him into the washroom. It's exactly what you'd expect for the price I'm paying for the apartment, that is to say it's dingy and drab. It's a compact room with a shower over a chipped and stained five foot bath. The small vanity mirror has a crack running almost perfectly horizontally through its middle. As I flick the light on I catch my fractured reflection and I'm shocked. I look much worse than I thought. The cut on my forehead looks awful. I now understand why Sukee and the pharmacist reacted the way they did. If I saw someone with a cut like this in the middle of their forehead I'd baulk also.  'Help me get into the bath.' The man orders and I do my best. It's an awkward process. He's got to be at least twice my size and weight. I weigh one hundred pounds soaking wet. I'd guess this guy weighs in at around two hundred and twenty pounds. As I hold his body, helping to lower him into...

I swear my heartbeat actually stops for a moment when I hear the knocking on my front door. The man cuts me a death look. We both freeze. We both hold our breathes. Part of me hopes that whoever it is will give up and go away. But I know that's wishing for too much right now. After a few seconds I'm proven right when they knock again. This time, longer and louder. I have a terrible feeling that it's Sukee, the superintendent. There's a moment of silence then more knocking, this time it's so loud you'd call it banging not knocking.  'Susan? You home? We need talk.' My worst fear confirmed. It's Sukee. My sixty-something year old Korean superintendent-come-landlord. Sukee is a no-bullshit woman. From what I could gather from her broken English and the few strange conversations we've had I think her extended family owns the building. She just runs it and draws a wage from the rents. When I first met her to view the apartment she was unlike any other...

I park in my usual spot outside my apartment. Admittedly, I don't live on a nice street. There's a lot of graffiti and two abandoned cars that have smashed windows and very few parts left that are worth appropriating. Despite street cleaners coming through here every Monday morning there's always trash blowing about. In my block alone there are two entire six story buildings that are derelict and boarded up. One of which I know is used by a lot of the local homeless for shelter. I'm not excited to live here, but it's close to work and the rent is dirt cheap, which on my salary is a huge help. As I turn off the engine the man surveys the surroundings. 'Nice neighbourhood.' He says snidely. I don't bite. I couldn't care less what this man thinks. He's a killer. I'm not. We're not even the same species as far as I'm concerned.  'Which one's yours?' He asks. 'The brown-brick with the red front door, right there.' I poi...

'There's a man outside with a gun aimed at you right now. Don't make any sudden moves or he'll shoot you.' I say in the calmest tone I can manage, which is honestly, not very calm at all.  The woman freezes. Her feet fear-bolted to the floor where she stands. 'I don't want any trouble.' She says quietly.  'There won't be any, all you have to do is get me a bottle of liquid Benzocaine and a pack of syringes.' The lady nods, then says, 'I'm going to turn around now and get what you want. Okay?' 'You hear that?' I say to the man. 'Yes, tell her if she doesn't do anything stupid, she'll live to see another day.' I don't tell her that as it's redundant. Instead, I nod to her. She raises her hands in the air and turns around. She takes a key from her pocket and unlocks a draw on the cabinet. It only takes her a few seconds to locate both items, then she raises her hands again, turns back to me at the same...

The first thing I notice as I approach the entrance is a very obvious security camera on the ceiling right by the front door. I stare it for a moment too long, imagining the people who will watch this footage back later. I figure it's been installed in such an obvious position as a deterrent. I recall reading somewhere that people are far less likely to commit a crime if they're aware they're being watched.  I stop staring at the security camera and enter the store. I glance across the room at the checkout girl who looks my way briefly then shares a concerned look with the pharmacist who has also noticed that I'm in a dishevelled state from the car crash. 'Okay, I'm in and they've noticed there's something wrong with me already.' I whisper into the microphone on my earphones.  'You'll be fine. They won't consider you a threat. If anything they'll want to help you.' The man replies. 'What the hell am I getting?' 'Go to ...

I sit in disbelief for a moment before saying, 'I'm going to what?' 'You heard me. Don't make me repeat myself, it's annoying and a waste of time we don't have.' The very thought of going in there and stealing medical supplies seems so foreign to me. Even when I was at the lowest of my lows during my addiction I never stooped to stealing to fund my habit. The very idea is abhorrent to me.  'I have no idea how to do that.' I insist.  'There's nothing to know. You go in there, get what you need, but instead of paying at the end, you just walk out.' 'They'll call the police.' I offer redundantly. 'They probably will, but we won't care because we'll be gone.' 'What if they try and stop my, physically.' 'They won't. Insurance companies insist upon a no-resistance policy. A few hundred in stolen goods is far cheaper to cover than a dead employee.' 'I'm not going to kill anyone.' ...

We drive in silence keeping to back streets. There's no another soul in sight. The neighbourhood we're driving through is mostly industrial warehouses that service Newark Liberty international airport. The clientele at the restaurant are primarily travellers. Mostly businessmen and women on their way from and to untold destinations. Over the last year of working there I've come to recognise a fair few of the faces. I've never spoken to any of them of course, only ever observed them from my hot-box kitchen. I play a game with myself, trying to guess what their lives are. What their individual careers are. What their passions are. What drives them to travel the country and the world in the way they do. Seeing these people day in and day out is what made me want to focus on getting a business degree and setting up something of my own. To me, international and national travel for the purpose of business is exciting. The unknown of a new destination and who you will meet the...

I notice I'm holding the steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white. I try to make a conscious effort to relax my grip, but something won't allow me. It's like I'm holding onto the wheel for life. Which only minutes ago I literally was. I don't remember much about the crash. I recall this guy chasing me and trying to barge me off the road, then darkness. Then waking to... ... this. The man removes his belt, straps it around his thigh above where the ten inch sliver of metal protrudes. He grits his teeth and moans in agony as he pulls it tight, creating a makeshift tourniquet to slow blood flow. The sight of him doing this gives me chills. Not just from the gruesome nature of his wound, but from the knowledge that there was once a time in my life that I had such little regard for my body that I would tourniquet my own arms and legs to find veins. That is your past, not your future, it's who you were, not who you are. I remind myself.   'You need a hospital...