Sleep Don't Come Easy by Victor McGlothin

disappointedly. “Anyway, I spent two days with my cameraman and Lazarus underneath that viaduct. He lived there. Had lived there for years, and swore he’d never leave. Anyway, I don’t know if Lazarus is alive or dead, but I’m willing to bet that if he is alive, he probably still lives underneath that bridge. I was thinking about looking for him, and that maybe—I don’t know. Maybe he saw something. It’s a long shot, I know.” She answered the question before he even asked it. “But that place was his home, and he had me convinced that he would never leave.”
    She left with a much better mind-set than she had when she walked in. Baldwin watched her leave, and wished he could’ve been a different kind of man who could have gotten a woman like that. It was a short-lived fantasy that he noticed on the faces of half the men in the precinct who also watched her walk out.

Prayers Go Up
    L azarus needed new boots. Sometimes he would find them outside in the alleys and dumpsters. People threw away good boots all the time, wasting good shit because they could. He dug through one of the smaller trashcans and found a half-eaten sandwich, wrapped in tin foil. He smelled it, flipped up the bread on top and examined it closely, and then he covered it back up and slipped it into his pocket.
    He kept digging through dirty papers and dumping garbage bags, until he found a nice sneaker. It was worn and dirty, but had a good sole on it. Nobody ever threw away just one shoe, and he searched long and hard for the other.
    Â 
    â€œShe’s been here too long. You’ve been allowed to keep her long enough. I’ve got a buyer.” Ivy sat with her knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly down at her bare feet. She’d never seen this man before, but he talked about her like he knew who she was.
    The other man paced back and forth, glancing in her direction. She didn’t have to see him to know when he watched her. She’d been with him long enough to feel it. All the other girls who’d come through here never stayed long. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Alina, and every now and then Ivy let herself wonder if Alina was dead or alive. She’d rather believe that someone had found Alina and saved her, and taken her home to her family where she belonged. And maybe one day Alina would remember Ivy and tell someone where to find her and they’d come take her away, too. But those fantasies were fleeting and reserved for the darkest part of the night or for warding off nightmares.
    â€œI’ve done everything you’ve asked,” the desperate man argued. “He said she could stay . . . as long as I wanted . . . needed her to.”
    â€œYeah, well, he’s out of the picture, now, and you’re dealing with me. She’ll bring some good money, man. You’ve taken real good care of her.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?” They were so careful not to say names, or places, or dates, or times. They spoke in code that through the years, she’d learned to recognize. “Is he dead? Did he get arrested?”
    â€œNot relevant. One week,” the other man told him, starting back up the stairs. “I’ll send someone to get her in a week.”
    Living in this cold, dank basement was hell, but it was her hell, and had become her home. She’d memorized every nook and cranny, every spider web and mouse. She’d counted the threads on the bedspread. And she knew him. If she had to be a prisoner, then she wanted to be a prisoner here, because here she still had hope that she’d find a way out one day. If they took her someplace else, chances are she’d never get away.
    â€œAfter they use you up, and there’s barely anything left,” one girl who’d come through this place told her, “they sell what’s left of you overseas. Nobody ever hears from you again. Nobody knows where you are, and you die