Sheila’s black boots were frying under the summer sky that charred the concrete of Girard Avenue. It was the middle of June in Fishtown, and the heat wave was nothing short of torturous. Victims of the heat plagued the streets, shirtless, with sweat-soaked hand towels sheltering their heads while hiding in the shade of the small overhangs of the shops along the street.
      Sheila had been living in a rundown apartment building on the corner of Girard and 2nd Avenue for the past two and a half years, and she was not what one would call a day person. She was used to the street life of Fishtown, but she was not well adjusted to the intensity of the daytime heat. As she rounded the corner of 2nd Ave, she was taken by the heavy accent radiating from the tiny Italian sandwich shop passing on her right. “Are ya hungry, pretty lady?” Sheila patted her skirt, kept her head straight forward, and continued on her path. She was used to the dirty dog harassment in her town, but usually she was more intrigued. This feeling was foreign to her, and she felt like a different person. Hope had infested her memory, and she could sense the opposite direction of which her life path was bound to aim.
      The night before, on her night off, Sheila met the man of her dreams. A man who she felt could be a defining character of her fulfilling future life. They met at an inner city bar around 9 pm; it was a high-class wine bar, with Sinatra setting the ambience and entertaining a dark room full of well-dressed, pinky-lifting wine sippers. Sheila was sure that her long dress and heavy sweater were to thank for her wonderful night, and she was starting to feel comfortable and satisfied with herself again. Aware of her ill-fitted presence in The White Chap, Sheila hid herself in the corner, refusing to let her eyes deviate from the cheap red wine retreating in the thin glass in front of her.
      She rarely found herself in a joint such as The White Chap, where she felt nothing less of an outcast; her usual drinking setting consisted of sipping a vodka soda from a plastic straw on her thrift store leather couch, while she contemplated the direction in which her existence was heading. Sheila was not an alcoholic, but her stressful occupation and low self-respect was often well treated with a sturdy cocktail. Nor was Sheila in a state of depression or hate-filled self-pity; she simply desired something more, something meaningful in life.
      She was sitting on the last sip of her wine when Jack approached her gracefully. Normally, Sheila would ignore anyone that engaged her during her off time, weary of the common cutthroat confrontations she had. Peering from the corner of her eye, she could tell that this man was different. Noticing his long black pea coat covering a spotless white buttoned-up shirt, Sheila finally raised her head to see whom the well-groomed man was that was making his way towards her casually. Without saying a word, he assumed the empty bar stool next to Sheila, keeping his eyes forward, and placed his glass of white wine in front of him. In a somewhat irritated state, Sheila stared at the side of his head in anticipation of what he could possibly want.
      Finally breaking his silence, his grin spit out the words: “I’ve seen you around this town before.” Conscious of her hope that she could be meeting a man that would change her life, she became mortified. Â
      “Oh. Is that so?” Sheila acted as if she had no interest in the man claiming to have recognized her. She had been recognized many times before, and it either ended with her five fingers landing violently on the face of a disgusting man or with her succumbing to the temptation of luxury. However, this situation felt very different, though she could not pinpoint the distinguishing factor.
      “Yes. I frequently go to the Italian sandwich shop by 2nd and Girard. Not to be too forward or frighten you, but I often see you walking down the steps of the apartment building across the way.”
      Relieved, Sheila seized her last sip of wine and sighed deeply. With a smile on her face, reflecting her even wider smile inside, she turned towards him. “Yes, I live in that complex. It’s not much of a place, but it agrees with my income.”
      “No, don’t say that. You live in one of the greatest areas of this city, you should be proud. That truly is a great town, and I am sure that your place is perfect.” His smile was incredibly welcoming, and the conversation felt right.
      Giggling like she hadn’t since she was a little girl, she was intrigued. “I’m Sheila. And what do they call you, sweetie?”
      “They call me many things,” he replied playfully. “But you can call me Jack.”
      Sheila had not had much friendly conversation these days, especially with men that seemed to actually have an interest in her life. Not knowing where to take the conversation from there, she asked, “So what do you do for a living?” As soon as the words left her glistening, red painted lips, she knew that she would regret her inquiry.
      “Well, I am sort of a scientist. Right now, I guess you would say I am self-employed,” Jack said very calmly with a strong sense of pride. Sheila couldn’t tell if Jack was smiling at his reply or rather displaying a face of satisfaction with himself for his current occupation. Aware that this was a window to a more clear explanation, she gladly accepted his brief reply as it was.
      “Wow, that is really interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever met a scientist.” Sheila responded politely of course, but she didn’t know what he meant in the slightest.
      “How about you, Sheila?” Jack probed in a manner that seemed uninterested, as if he already knew everything about her. Maybe, she thought, this is how poorly a scientist socializes, thinking he was probably one of those that stayed cooped up in the same room for hours or days at a time working.
      Realizing that she had been pondering his claimed occupation for an inappropriate amount of time, Sheila belted out, “I’m also self-employed.” She knew that her answer was even more obscure than his, and she feared that he would further explore her. To her surprise, Jack raised his eyebrows in approval and took a sip from his glass. Although Sheila was pleased that he did not ask more about the topic, she felt a bit offended at his little expression of interest. It was at that moment that she noticed the tiny circular medallion surrounding a cross tightly draping from Jack’s neck. Sheila had seen that very same necklace before on her old friend and coworker Mary Anne. It was approximately one year before that Mary Anne had gone missing the morning after they spent the night drinking in center city. Sheila thought it absurd to assume the worst about her disappearance, knowing that Mary Anne’s life was in a downward spiral. She assumed that Mary Anne had decided to move on with her life, to try to start a new chapter in a new city. Although she valued Mary Anne’s companionship, Sheila understood that her life was practically in ruins at the same time, and the only way for Mary Anne to improve herself was to cut Sheila out of her life. One year later, Sheila found herself in the same situation, trying to start over, yet in the same city.
      “Where did you get that necklace,” Sheila asked, shaken up from thinking about her history with Mary Anne. She never knew where Mary Anne got the necklace, and it always puzzled Sheila that she would sport such a religious accessory in her profession.
      “Oh. Thank you for noticing. I got it from a friend in London, actually. I’ve had it for a little over a year now. It tends to bother people that I wear a religious cross, given my occupation. But I don’t really see the disagreement between religion and what I do.” Jack looked a bit nervous, but Sheila recognized that some people become uncomfortable when discussing religious beliefs.
      Jack and Sheila talked over two more full glasses of wine that night, until it was getting late. Sheila had been swept off her feet, for nobody has ever shown such emotional interest in her life until Jack. When they went their separate ways, they exchanged contact information and made a lunch date for the next day. Sheila was thrilled and things were starting to look up for her. Jack, she thought, was everything that she was looking for and believed him to be her savior. She could barely sleep for even a minute that night, for the anxiety haunted her relentlessly.
      Making her way to their lunch date that was to occur in a location chosen by Jack, she began to feel guilty. Jack seemed so gentle and kind, and she sensed that he was too good for her. As much as she wanted to repress her regrettable past, it was still a part of her. It seemed unfair for her to take advantage of Jack’s compassion and hopefulness, for there was so much about Sheila that he would most likely resent. She decided that it was only just to tell Jack who she really was, and what past six or seven years had done to her; she wanted Jack to understand that her life was distasteful, and that she wished to change it for the better. If he were the right one for her, if he could love her, he would understand. There was a greater probability that he would find her repugnant, and would leave her be. However, Sheila made the choices she had made to get by, and she would have to accept her past to make personal amends in the future.
      Sheila was heading towards the industrial section of Fishtown, where old rundown factories were rented out to mainly the young people in town. She had been to a few parties that took place in some of those factories, so she somewhat knew the area. The properties were huge and spacious, with big metal sliding doors with four industrial locks. They were secluded from the main area of Fishtown, where most of the shops, restaurants, and bars were, and nobody was ever seen on the streets around them.
      Jack had given her the address on a small piece of paper the night before. Sheila found it a bit odd that he had the note already prepared when he pulled it from the deep pocket of his coat, but she thought everyone could be a bit odd sometimes, especially in a nerve-racking confrontation. The first few factories passed by on her left while she searched for the numbers 1403. Finally, she came to a sign that read 1403, with letters that she could not distinguish diminishing above it.
      Walking up to the front of the building, Sheila took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to tell Jack what her life really was, hoping that he would accept her and be part of her new life. She put the piece of paper in her purse, grabbed ahold of the handle of the door and slid the chunk of metal to the left. As she stepped inside, she turned and slid the door shut behind her. The room was dark and she could barely see anything in front of her. She took a few more steps forward, noticing the horrible smell infesting the building. There was red paint on the dirty concrete floors of the meeting place, which she could not comprehend. A bit frightened, yet even more nervous and anxious to say what she had to say, Sheila called out. “Jack?” After waiting a much anticipated moment with no response, Sheila called out again as she tottered more deeply into the dark room. “Jack? It’s Sheila. Are you here?” A few seconds passed before the lights shot on above her head, and the terrible place was exposed.
      “Hello, Sheila.” Jack’s voice echoed from behind her, accompanied by the roar of four locks latching tight.
