The Cage - Chapter Two

Maria awoke suddenly and sat up, banging her head on the bottom of the bench she was sleeping under. She lay back down, massaging her forehead with her palm. She blinked several times and tried to focus on the bottom of the bench. Something was there.

It was white and rectangular, and soon came into focus; it was an envelope, taped to the bottom of the bench, and on it “MARIA” was printed in big black letters. She blinked at it confusedly, and reached up and tore if off the bench. She opened it and removed a professionally printed business letter.

Dear Ms. Goldsmith:

I am much distressed over your current situation, and would like to offer a chance to help. It will require much patience on your part, but if you succeed, your financial problems will be over.

If this sounds like something that interests you, please give me a call at 555-2677. I have provided a quarter to make this easier for you.

Thank you for your time.

She didn’t know what to think of it. Who knows me here? she thought to herself. Probably a big hoax. At least I have a quarter now.

She rolled out from underneath the bench, crumpled up the envelope and paper, and tossed it in the trash.

Maria had accepted her place on the street, scavenging through trash dumpsters looking for food, and begging to people on street corners. No place to live, no place to work, and no skills anyway; it seemed to her that life had demoted her to this spot. Just a few years ago, she was wealthy; now she is poor. That didn’t bother her nearly as much as the fact that just a few months ago, she lived with her daughters; now she is alone.

As the day set its sights on dusk, Maria set her sights on a dumpster outside of a fast food restaurant. She climbed inside, and could smell the food in the garbage bags. A month ago she would have thought terribly of looking for a meal in a dumpster. Now she’ll get a meal from anywhere she can get it.

She tore open a bag, took a few sandwiches out, and starting eating. She felt quite lucky with this meal, as the sandwiches were a much better find than whatever scraps she managed to get together for lunch. She looked up at the side of the dumpster and stopped chewing, staring at something. It was another envelope, with her name on the outside.

She snatched it off the side of the wall. What in the world? she thought. Am I being stalked? She quickly stood up and looked outside the dumpster, but nobody was around. She sat back down, and removed the piece of paper from the envelope. It was another letter.

Dear Ms. Goldsmith:

I know it may be odd, getting a letter on the bottom of a park bench, or on the inside wall of a dumpster. However, I would not discard my offer so quickly. I can help you more than you know.

Let me, at very least, pique your curiosity about how I know who you are. I know your name is Maria Goldsmith. I know you were recently divorced and lost custody of your 2 daughters, Dixie and Nevaeh. I know that you lost your job and your apartment and have resorted to the street to meet your needs. However, the street will not provide you with what you need in order to get your children back. But I can.

I have more money than I know what to do with, and I am willing to share it with you, should you make it through what is planned. Contacting me will be the best move you’ve ever made. My number again is 555-2677, and I have provided another quarter, since I know you already spent the first one.

She stared at the letter for several minutes, her face contorted with confusion. She finished her meal and climbed out of the dumpster, making her way across the street to a pay phone.

“I’m crazy, aren’t I,” she said aloud. She glanced around but didn’t see anyone. She dialed.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” the scruffy voice of an older man answered on the other end.

“Oh, yes, well, what do you want?” she said nervously.

“Just to make the world a better place.”

“Okay.”

“You can call me Mr. Boss, and I am the solution to all your problems.”

“Do tell,” she said sarcastically.

“I am 89 years old, and I am sitting on a pile of money. Hundreds of millions of dollars. Part of that can be yours.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Of course not, why would I joke about giving away money?”

“I don’t know,” Maria said.

“Good. I need only a month of your time, and you have the chance to be well paid for it.”

“A chance?”

“A 100% chance if you play your cards right.”

“A part of it can be mine; what is it, next to nothing?”

“I’m talking millions, not pocket change.”

“How do I know this isn’t a scam?”

“Next Tuesday, the eleventh, there is a meeting at my office,” the old voice said, wheezing. “You and a few others will be invited. There I will prove to you, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that this is for real, and that you can trust me.”

“Well we’ll see,” she said. “No promises.”

“And there is no obligation. But it would be a grave mistake to skip out on this opportunity.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and she hung up.

Maria stared at the phone for a few moments, replaying the conversation in her mind. Must be a scam, she thought. Why would anyone give away their money to someone like me? She sighed, walking away from the phone. Definitely a scam. Everything’s a scam these days.

She walked through the downtown shopping area, gazing inside the stores at comfortable pieces of furniture and new clothes, wishing for the days when she could afford such things. Passing by an electronics store, she peered at a line of televisions inside. Each screen was showing the same movie. A man and a woman were kissing passionately, and soon started removing each other’s clothing. This was shown completely uncensored.

Maria shook her head. Everything’s going to Hell, she thought to herself. After they revoked all censorship laws, there’s no telling how low into the gutter they’ll go to make a buck. How can anyone with a moral fiber in them get by in this world? They’ll just get tossed aside by those who value money over morals.

A few days passed, and the days were getting colder, as autumn was fading and leaving room for the oncoming winter. She had visited a local shelter and had been given a light jacket. It was too big, ugly, and worn, but it added a few degrees to her temperature. Maria had no gloves or mittens, no thicker clothing except the spring jacket she now wore.

It was Monday the tenth, and the last rain of the season fell from the sky. Maria had found shelter under another park bench, out of the rain, but her fingers were almost numb. At that moment, the full impact of her situation hit her. She yearned for her house, a warm bed, even the touch of her ex-husband. But more than anything, she wished to hold her children. Her tears mixed with the rain on the cold, hard cement ground as her emotions let loose. She regretted each drink she’d ever downed and each drug she’d ever puffed, inhaled, or injected into her body. No amount of temporary high could make up for what she’d done and for what she’d lost. She felt hopeless, unloved, uncared for. She felt alone.

Sooner or later, she nodded off into unconsciousness, to the happier place where dreams are made. There, she saw her children. There were other things, but they didn’t matter; Maria had what she cared for more than anything. In her dream, she was happy, and in the real world, she was smiling.

Maria awoke still smiling, but quickly remembered where she was, and the smile faded away. She looked up to see another letter taped to the bottom of the bench, and she tore it open, sighing.

Dear Ms. Goldsmith:

As you may know, winter is coming. Your fingers won’t survive much longer without mittens. Staying on the street will do you nothing except take you closer to a meaningless and unnoticed death, but if you come tomorrow, there will be more than enough warmth for you.

I know your desperation, and I know your love for your children. You’d be willing to do anything for them, to die for them. I can give you the means to get them back, to show your ex-husband that you are a fit mother. I know that nothing would make you happier than to be with them again.

The meeting is at 11:00 tomorrow morning. If you are interested, please meet at 179 Washington Street by 10:30. This is your last chance. After this, there is only winter.

She pulled from her pocket a small picture book, pulling out a picture of each of her children. Dixie, who was four, had the blondest colored hair she’d ever seen, and two of the cutest dimples in the world. Her smile was thin and stretched from ear to ear, and her hair came down to her shoulders.

The six-year-old Nevaeh was a freckle-faced brunette, with a very womanly smile for her age. She was the pretty one, and Dixie was the cute one. Maria loved them both more than her own life.

She looked at the letter once more, sighing. She folded it up and put it in her pocket, and closed her eyes. Better get some shut-eye, she thought. Have a big day tomorrow.