Mechteld’s morning had started in Baltimore. She’d taken the train between Baltimore and New York numerous times in the past few weeks. Mechteld had been preparing for months now. Each week she made the journey to New York to collect the information she needed. It was a trip that she sometimes anticipated. New York offered interesting distractions and her stops at New York’s Penn station were usually beneficial. There was always a tourist or two who were careless with their passports.
For the past few weeks, her nights in Baltimore were spent studying the various faces, procedures, and routes she would need to know; memorizing each one in deep detail. Now, this street in Flushing, Queens was as familiar as her street in Baltimore; the halls and rooms of her destination as recognizable as the one’s in her own home.
Despite the warm June weather Mechteld wore a thin hooded sweatshirt that covered her arms. In public, she always kept the hood pulled up over a ball cap along with sunglasses and shemagh around her neck. Mechteld was small and very thin. A battered backpack weighs her small body down. When dressed in her hoodie and ball cap many people assumed she was a preteen boy.
Mechteld had grown used to the discomfort of always being overdressed in hot weather. It had become a necessity to always keep her body covered and face hidden. One reason was to avoid stares, but more importantly Mechteld needed to protect herself. Mechteld knew people always remembered her face. How could they not? She was a monster.
Mechteld now snakes her way through the morning commuters of Flushing. She kept her head down as she passes signs in English, Chinese and Arabic until she comes to an intersection. Ahead of her is her destination, “New York Hospital Queens”.
ns 15.158.61.21da2
