The hollow autumn moon lingered low on the murky midnight horizon as a brisk, winter kissed wind relentlessly rolled along the harbor, effortlessly gathering up acrid ocean aromas that easily carried far inland. The stringent, salty stench added a bitter bite to the chilly, late November night, giving most just cause to keep locked indoors, safely sheltered away from the unpleasantly seasonal elements. In the hours since the sun had faded far, into the distant west, the temperature, had declined a good fifteen degrees, if not more. Not even the most hardy souls seemed eager, to venture out into the icy evening, rendering the streets borderline barren, save an occasional drunk aimlessly stumbling out on a desperate mission, to seek out renewed means of intoxication. Sweet amnesia in a bottle, a great many called it, those that were willing to admit that drinking served as their only true means of escape...drinking allowed them a brief chance, to forget, for a time, the harsh reality that surrounded them each and every day as they lived out their lives on the streets, sleeping in narrow back alleys while struggling to find minimal nourishment in moldy food scraps fished from musky, seldom dumped dumpsters.
It was hardly a pretty sight to see...men and women and most especially children, silently terrified, huddled together yet alone with their fear as they tried hard to hide their thoughts and feelings behind a mask of carefully crafted indifference. It was a general, albeit unspoken rule, that one was wise to conceal as much as possible when living on the streets...it was wise not to allow anyone to see or even sense a weakness that could be exploited by those more than willing to prey on the weakest link in what was a hardened chain where feelings such as compassion and pity were not often felt, much less displayed, as most were too caught up in securing their own survival to give a damn about others.
The streets were, for the most part, governed by the concept that it was every man for himself...worrying about someone else only wasted energy one desperately needed to pave their own way in what could be traitorous territory. Playing nice made one a target for predators...one learned quickly that self preservation was all that mattered...one learned quickly that living for the day at hand was the key factor in surviving and hoping for something better was little more than a foolish waste of time, just as it was foolish to worry about what the tomorrow would bring, as one was never guaranteed a tomorrow. It was always likely one wouldn't live long enough to see another day dawn...anything could happen...illness or accident...for a brief moment the natural guard could be lowered just long enough to allow an unexpected attacker all the time needed to descended with a vengeance, if they believed taking out one in circumstance similar to their own could improve their own dark lot in life.
Born and raised in the upper scale of Manhattan, dotted on endlessly by a mother and father that wanted nothing more than to give their only child the very best, Callie Nolan had no first hand experience when it came to struggling desperately to survive on the streets in a hand to mouth existence. She had no clue what it felt like to go for days at a time without food, just as she had no idea what it was like to sleep wherever dry space could be found...she was a novice and an innocent to just how harsh the world really could be and it was that innocent nature, that utter clueless but somehow enchanting quality that she radiated in abundant spades that Logan Hansons found annoyingly remarkable the day his world and Callie's collided head on.
It was innocent enough, he supposed, a young girl showing up at Haven, the small but fairly popular and often frequented homeless refuge he operated...he had numbers of men and women appearing at all times to offer their services, saying they wanted to volunteer to cook or clean or council. His staff was made up completely of volunteers, the budget he had to work with, went to purchasing supplies for the shelter, for those that turned to Haven for a decent meal and a place to sleep from time to time. He had a dormitory type setup, with rooms set aside for men, for women and children...he had a small daycare where kids often stayed while his staff did what they could to find jobs and permanent placement for their parent or parents, in desperate hopes of establishing a future that offered more hope than the past.
Of course, most of those that volunteered, those that Logan worked with, were former members of the homeless population, just as he had been...his volunteers knew from experience, the plight faced by the men and women and children that came to them looking eagerly for the most basic comfort. A decent meal. A clean bed. A shower. Things most took for granted, during the course of their daily lives...the pain and fear and self hate were familiar concepts to the staff at Haven and Logan liked it that way, as he believed only a person who had lived on the streets, for however brief a time, could understand in any real senses what someone currently in the situation suffered and endured and when it came to Callie Nolan, he knew with one single look that the girl had never seen the horrors he and his staff had.
She appeared at the shelter on a brisk day in early October and when she came in the door she brought the crisp autumn chill into the room with her as she paused for a quick moment to look slowly around the main lobby, so lost in her observations that she didn't see Logan as he stood to her right, having spotted her as he emerged from his small office.
In his first assessment, he realized, later, that he looked at her the way any man would look at a beautiful woman who was unaware of his presence...it was only natural to take at least a brief moment to admire the sight she made as she stood there quietly, with her shoulder length copper colored hair falling freely, in a somewhat wind tangled cascade. The interesting marriage of brown and red shimmered with an almost crimson flare beneath the bright sunlight that spilled through the windows at her back, bathing her in an alluringly soft glow that made her seem a bit surreal, almost untouchable.
She wasn't tall, no more than five three or five four, but her petite figure featured curves that were indeed perfect...flared hips and full breast with a trim waist all currently incased in black jeans and a purple sweater that stood in beautiful contrast to her ivory skin. Chine Doll ivory skin, he mentally corrected himself...her skin looked satin soft and damn near flawless and when she turned to look at him, suddenly aware of his presence, he could see that her eyes were a very rich chocolate brown, fringed with dark lashes.
Bright and open, her eyes were the dominate feature in a delicate face that offered fully, naturally pink lips, high cheeks and innocent looking dimples that appeared when she smiled and moved towards him, her hand extended.
"Hi. I'm Callie Nolan."
Her voice was soft, almost musical, but laced with warmth that briefly made him think about the summer sun burning bright in a sapphire blue sky.
Shaking the thought from his mind, he accepted her small hand in his while her eyes held his and her smile remained.
"I'm Logan." He withdrew his hand, folding his arms over his chest as he regarded her.
"Really? Great. You are the person I am here to see."
"And why are you here to see me, Ms. Nolan?"
"Actually, I was told I needed to see you, about volunteering."
It was the last thing he had expected her to say...she was there to volunteer...he stared at her for a moment, waiting for the punch line, but she only looked at him expectantly, completely serious and waiting for his reaction.
"You want to volunteer here? At Haven?"
