First Born(10)

I say goodnight outside our rooms and Mum rests her head on my shoulder and she whispers, ‘Why?’

Dad makes sure I’m secure in my room and then he goes to bed.

I want to unpack my bag as quietly as I can but there’s nowhere to put anything. No bathroom for my toiletries and no wardrobe for my clothes. I start to unpack items on to the ground but the carpet is stained so I abandon the unpacking and check my coat instead. I have the monkey fist and I have the weighted sock. One makeshift weapon in each pocket.

I leave my room as quietly as I can, and click the door shut. I linger outside my parents’ room but all is silent. The floorboards creak but I make it out and then I’m loose in New York City after eleven p.m. This is a classic Molly Raven risk-reward situation. One of the YouTubers I subscribe to explained the formula years ago, and I think it’s a sensible thing to heed. The risk of me staying here in this Midtown hostel with no means of adequately defending myself – besides the aeroplane-approved methods – versus the risk of a very cautious, calculated form of late-night shopping.

I don’t want to go out but I must.

I pass by a 7-Eleven and make a mental note to visit this place on the way back. I need water bottles and basic food supplies in case of a hurricane or dirty bomb. Unfortunately this is the wrong time of year to visit New York. If something like Storm Sandy hits again I need to be well prepared. For my sake and for the sake of my parents.

There’s a food cart on the corner of each intersection. I go up to it and talk to the guy.

‘Anywhere around here I can buy a baseball bat, please?’

‘You want a smoothie?’

‘A bat.’

‘A bat?’

I nod.

‘I dunno anything about no bats. The sports shop on 42nd is closed by now but maybe try the twenty-four-hour hardware store down on Broadway – you might get lucky.’

We exchange pleasantries, and I compliment him on his mango display. He asks me where I’m from. My name. I tell him I’m an admin assistant. He tells me he grew up in Kabul. We chat more. He tries to sell me a fruit salad.

‘Thank you, sir, but no thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Nice guy.

I walk down Sixth Avenue and try to stay away from the bright lights of Times Square. I don’t need that kind of craziness. There’s a souvenir shop across the street so I check around me and walk inside. It’s a deep cave of a place lined with I heart NY caps and shirts, FDNY car plates, and models of the Statue of Liberty in every size you could wish for. I buy a bunch of things including a hat and a novelty lighter and a multi-tool with the Brooklyn Bridge engraved on it.

At the hardware store I buy a miniature water filter that screens bacteria. I pick up a bottle of extra-strong hornet and wasp spray, the kind that shoots a stream of foam, and I choose a rape whistle. For Mum and Dad I get a dozen wire hangers, and then a half-dozen more for me. Two small tarpaulins and three mousetraps and one small powder fire extinguisher. I ask the guy behind the counter if he sells baseball bats and he looks at the items I’m buying and he says, ‘There something happening I should know about, is there?’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugs and sells me an 18oz Big Barrel Louisville slugger.

I walk back up Sixth Avenue with the bags, the handles straining and cutting into my hands. The lights are mesmerising. Like I’m floating through a fever dream.

When I pass the familiar smoothie cart on the corner the man says, ‘Be careful who you brain with that bat, lady. I don’t wanna be an accomplice after the fact.’

‘Before the fact,’ I say.

He smiles. ‘Goodnight, English.’

I buy as many water bottles and nutrition bars as I can carry from the 7-Eleven.

No noise from Mum and Dad’s room. If they manage to get a few hours of sleep then I’m pleased for them.

I place the bags down as quietly as I can on the end of my single bed, and then I unfold a tarpaulin and place it on the carpet under the bed frame. Just knowing I have a clean surface to store things on lifts my spirits. I stock the water in the corner and set the traps. The bat will rest by my pillow and the knife will sit in my coat, itself hanging from the door handle right by my head.

It’s not a lot but it is something. I’m protecting myself in this room and I’ll be ready if anything happens next door. Mum and Dad won’t be surprised by my purchases. They know what I would say: you can’t anticipate events in a high-density city like this one. It’s like London on steroids. There could be a level five storm system; I’d say it’s not that unlikely. That could then lead to crane collapses, or maybe the windows of surrounding skyscrapers would blow out, shattering jagged shards of glass all over the streets. If we had martial law and curfews for a night or two that could help, but it could also anger the local population. Before you know it you’ve got serious civil unrest in the five boroughs. I don’t have enough food and water to wait out that kind of event, but I will have by tomorrow night.

My twin was killed. My monozygotic twin. We have the exact same face, save for a few minor scars and blemishes. The same body. Everyone knows there are killers who get a kick out of reliving their crimes in every detail. Everyone knows that.

I walk unsteadily down the hostel hall carrying my wash bag.

Nobody around.

The bathroom is small but clean. There’s a shower over a bathtub and there’s a basin and toilet. What kind of person would soak in a bath in a communal bathroom?