Mercy

Chapter II

/

"So take me to town, I wanna dance with the city."

- The Boxer, Editors

/

We walked silently for what seemed like hours, our path lit by the soft glow of the moon. We were lucky that the night was clear, or else we would have been forced to make our way by touch alone. Climbing hills and stumbling over rocks in the pitch-black did not particularly appeal to me.  It was nearly dawn by the time the mountainous forest landscape settled down into flat terrain. We emerged from the shady woods just as the sun's first rays spilt out upon a wide expanse of yellow grass. The field stretched outward to the left and right and as far as the horizon, resembling a giant yellow blanket. And smack in the middle, like a tear in the material, was a rusty railroad track.

"Perfect," I said, turning around as the man approached behind me. I had kept a particular distance between us the entire journey, and he had respected it. Now he came and stood on the edge of the hill with me, staring out across the expanse of yellow.

"Perfect?" he asked. "What's so perfect? All I see is field. No city."

"We can catch a cargo train here. If one comes along going in that direction-" I pointed to the left. "We can hop on and it'll bring us right to New York." I placed my hands on my hips and grinned. "All the way back to New York City and out of this godforsaken wilderness."

I heard the man laugh and turned to see what was so funny. He was staring at me with an amused expression. "Proud of yourself, huh? You look like you just won a gold medal in the Special Olympics."

Surprisingly, I didn't get upset. My good mood wouldn't be dampened by his teasing now, because my ears suddenly picked up the sound of a distant whistle. We both turned our heads in the direction it drifted from. The land was completely flat, and to our right emerged the shape of a train moving steadily across the land.

"Now that's what I call luck," I whooped, and then I was running. I took off like an arrow, running straight ahead and aiming for the railroad track. I was fast, and it took the stranger a good portion of time to catch up with me.  The yellow grass brushed our legs as we ran, trying to reach the tracks in time to intercept the locomotive. Fortunately, it was an extremely long freight train, towing thousands of pounds of cargo compartments, a few of them open and empty. Still, we reached the tracks just as the last few were passing by, giving us one chance to catch a ride.

I was breathing heavily as I tried to jump into an open compartment, but the train was moving too fast and I couldn't pull myself up. I had always been athletic, playing soccer in high school, but I hadn't slept or eaten in over 24 hours. I was clearly tiring and I knew I wouldn't last much longer. Ahead of me, the man jumped and threw himself into the opening, muscles bulging as he pulled himself up. He immediately twisted around and reached out an arm, offering his hand for me to grab hold of.

The shock on my face was probably clear, but I wasted no time in shoving my hand into his and allowing him to help me up. When we were both safe, sprawled out on the dusty floor with chests heaving, I began to laugh.  The man looked over at me, watching as my body shook with laughter. My face was probably flushed from running, my hair a tangled mess of wavy, dark hair around my head. I didn't care. I had just survived death. I was now in the company of a strange man claiming to have amnesia. I would soon be back in New York City, along with the man who had tried to kill me and the man who had commanded him to do it.

The train ride took shorter than I expected, though I slept most of the way. The soft swaying of the compartment reminded me of a rocking cradle. Maybe I was crazy to let my guard down while with a stranger I met in the wilderness, but a combination of my fifty foot dive, night-long trek in the forest, and marathon sprint to catch a train did me in before I could even close my eyes. Who knew? Maybe I had a concussion. The last thing I remembered was laughing for no particular reason, and then I was dreaming.

A flood of images drifted through my mind: my stepfather's grinning face, my mother's sad smile, Bobby's angry frown, a sparkling diamond lake, and then hazel, gold flecked eyes. That's when I awoke to the train's loud horn.  The stranger was sitting in the furthest corner of the space, where the sun barely reached, and I wondered if he was slumbering too, but he spoke right after the thought had entered my mind. "What does your tattoo mean?" he asked me.

I was confused for a moment, but then I remembered the Chinese character inked on my inner left wrist. I sat up as I recalled the moment I had received it. It had hurt a lot at first, but then my body had grown accustomed to the sting of the needle and the pain had transformed into a strange numbness.

"It means mercy."  He didn't say anything in response and a silence quickly grew between us, broken only by the creaking of the train as it rocked from side to side.  "Yours must have taken a lot of time to do," I inferred, and he looked at me, clearly not knowing what I was talking about. "The tattoo on your back. Didn't you notice it?"

The man twisted and looked over his shoulder. He stared at his tattoo for a moment before turning back and leaning against the compartment wall again. "Huh," he said. "Wonder why I got that."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Must be weird not remembering anything."

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "So you believe me now?"

I shrugged. "Well I guess it's a little hard not to.  I mean, why would pretend to have amnesia?  And if you are actually pretending, I guess I don't really care either way."   He glanced at me curiously.  "Well it's not like you've forgotten everything," I pointed out. "You still know how to talk, right? I mean, you still remember the English language and how to swim and all of that stuff."

He nodded his head.

"So you just can't remember stuff that happened to you. You know what ice cream tastes like, and the feeling of a bee sting, but you just don't know when you first experienced that stuff.  So why should that concern me?  You're a stranger anyway."

He nodded again, and I asked him, "So what's your earliest memory?"

"Waking up on the shore of the lake. I opened my eyes and I was lying on the beach, looking up at the sky."

That sounded oddly familiar.  "Do you think you fell? I mean… like me?"

"It's possible. My skin felt really tingly, and I had some bruising. That was three days ago."

"Huh." I scratched my head. "And you had nothing on you?  No wallet?"

"Nothing.  Just my jeans.  There was a shirt too, but I tore it while climbing a tree on the second day. I wanted to see further, but when all I saw were mountains I decided to stay by the lake for a while."

"What'd you survive on?" I asked.

"Fish," was his simple reply.

"Fish?" I wondered how he had caught them. "If you fell, maybe you hit your head or something and it made you forget."

"Maybe."

I waited for him to ask about my own situation, why I had fallen off the bridge, but the man remained mute. I was sort of grateful for that, not wanting to explain or relive the moment, but it was also a little upsetting. Didn't he care? Wasn't he just a little curious?  Apparently not, and as the stranger continued his monk-like silence, I crawled over to the other corner and waited patiently for the train to reach New York City. All trains in this area went to the Rotten Apple, and even though that meant I would be returning to the place where certain people wanted me dead for reasons unbeknownst to me, I figured that Bobby would report back to my stepfather with positive news. After all, I had been lucky to survive that fifty foot fall. John probably thought I was dead by now.

I needed answers. Answers as to why I had been placed on a hitman's 'to kill' list. Answers as to why John wanted me dead. I needed to know, and although I had no clue as to how I was going to approach the topic, I would get an explanation one way or another. But first I had to lose the extra baggage.

"So what are you going to do when we get to New York?" I asked.

The stranger stood up and made his way to the open door. We were slowly traveling passed farm land, a random barn drifting by now and again. "Don't know. To be honest, you're the only person I really know right now."

I thought that over. If this guy was telling the truth, that meant I really was the only human being he knew. Putting myself in his position, I would probably be scared shitless. "New York's not a great place to be wandering around clueless," I said.

"I know." He continued to stare out at the passing scenery. "But what else am I going to do?"

I bit my lip, knowing that I was probably going to regret my next few words. "How old are you?"

He turned his head to look at me. "Don't remember. Why?"

"Well I'd say you look about twenty, which means you're definitely not over twenty-five, so you'd probably be welcomed where I'm going."

He smiled a little. "I thought the deal was we split ways once we reach the city."

I shrugged. "I'm about 83% sure you're not a psycho. Plus, you saved my life. I think I was being a bit harsh earlier. I can try to help you out at least a little."

He let out a short laugh. "Only 83% sure?"

"Maybe 82."

He nodded, but then his face grew serious as he looked at me with a peculiar expression. "What's your name?" he asked.

I couldn't believe I hadn't mentioned it already. "Sam," I said. "Sam Winchester."

/

I admit the building wasn't much to look at. Constructed from dull, grey bricks, probably sometime in the early twentieth century, it looked like it was about to collapse. Its flat roof was sinking dangerously low at one corner. It was two stories tall and fairly wide, a set of parallel windows lining both levels.

"Is it some sort of prison?" the man asked as he eyed the rusty mesh wire splayed across the windows.

I shook my head. "Nope. It's a shelter. Those bars aren't meant to keep anyone in, just to keep certain people out." He followed me up a set of cracked, concrete steps and onto a rickety porch that looked like it could use a fresh layer of paint. Or maybe just a demolition crew. A faded welcome mat lay on the porch, and I walked over it as I entered the building, pushing open the door as if it were my own home, not even stopping to knock.

The room we stepped into was a massive foyer. A fairly wide stairwell stood on the left and an open entrance to the right portrayed a glimpse of some sort of recreational room. Inside I could see several teens huddled around a pool table and a few others chatting on couches pushed into one corner. The entire level was outfitted in wooden floor planks that sported numerous scratches, the off-white walls holding a few dents as well.

"So this is… your home?"

"Nah. Well, sort of." I shrugged. "I've slept here a few times, and I have friends who live here, but it's kind of just a place where young adults can come to hang when they don't want to go home.  Or don't have one to go back to."

I had always gotten a good vibe here. New York was a busy place, full of traffic and loud noises, pollution and cramped buildings. Yellow taxis were everywhere, and so were business people shouting at their cell phones and hotdog stands parked on street corners. It was a miracle that anyone could stand to live here, but I was one of them.  At night time the city could turn a bit scary, though, and this place had helped me out a number of times.  Like on those rare occasions when John got drunk or just really, really angry and I couldn't sleep at home. 

"Let me show you around," I proposed as I began to walk towards the rec room. Upon entering the space, a few of the kids looked towards us but quickly turned back to their games and conversations, uninterested.  "You're lucky we didn't pick the pink version of that shirt," I said, nodding at the 'I'm Awesome' shirt the man was wearing. They had swiped it from a bargain store minutes after arriving in the city, and its brown colour was an improvement from his bare skin when it came to not attracting attention.

They moved on to the eating area, a large room crowded with plastic tables and wooden benches. "They cook the food in there," I explained as I pointed to a closed door. "Today's Tuesday, so… hotdogs. God, I'm hungry."  

From there we visited the lounge, which wasn't much more than a room with a dingy TV and a few ratty couches, and then to a couple of offices where the people running the shelter worked. Upstairs there were hallways full of doors that lead to countless bedrooms.  "There's always a few rooms open. Basically, if the door isn't closed, it's free for the taking." I headed down one of the halls. "Here, we'll find one for you."  We passed a few younger kids on the way. I sensed that the man had stopped behind me, and I turned around to see what the problem was.

"You don't have any shoes," a little girl proclaimed, pointing down at the stranger's filthy feet. He followed her finger's direction, wiggling his toes and making the girl giggle. The sound brought his head up again, and I saw a flicker of a smile on his lips. A little boy grabbed the girl's hand and then they were running down the hall.

I had once had a little brother. For nine months my mom had carried him around in her belly, but then she had delivered a stillborn. I was ashamed to admit that I had secretly hoped that he wouldn't live. I wanted the baby to be spared the type of childhood I had experienced, though looking back on it now, I wondered if my stepfather would have treated his own kid the same as me. John had been pretty torn up afterwards. It was probably the closest I had seen him to actually acting like a human being, and that made me wonder if he would have loved his son.

"Sam?"

I blinked, realizing that someone had called my name. The man was gazing at me keenly.  "What?"

"You looked like you were thinking of something painful," he said, and the simple frankness of the statement caused me to stammer over my next words.

"I just- I was just remembering something about my mom."

"Your mom?"

"Yah, my mom." My tone grew sharp. "Just forget it, okay?"

His expression didn't change as he continued to stare at me with incisive eyes. Luckily, I was saved from any further questions by a hand falling heavily on my shoulder. I turned around and was met with a familiar face, and for the first time in a long time a genuine grin broke open on my lips.

"Ash!" I shouted at the tall, ruffled man standing in front of me. I`d recognize that outdated mullet anywhere. His eyes were the colour of chocolate, squinting as he smiled lazily.

"Hey there, Sam." he drawled.  "Long time no see."

"I know. It's been what… Half a year?"

"More, I think." His smile suddenly disappeared, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "Hey, look, I heard about your mom. I just wanted to say I'm-"

I lifted a hand. "Don't say it, Ash."

He looked saddened by my reaction, but made no attempt to go against my wishes. Instead, his attention shifted towards the stranger. After looking him over, he gave me an expression that indicated he didn't even want to ask.  "Heads up, by the way. There's a new rule around here."

"Yeah?" I gave him a questioning look. "Hit me."

"Well, apparently they're going to make everyone have some sort of therapy session if they want to stay here. Something about analyzing the troubles of youth and addressing them."  He said this last part in a scholarly tone, making me chuckle. "There's a shrink walking around," he continued. "So lay low, all right?"

I nodded my head. "Gotcha. And thanks."

"No problem. See you at dinner?"

I nodded. Before disappearing down the hall, Ash gave the stranger one last questioning look, but apparently decided that he wasn't worth the time.  I turned to face the stranger. "That's Ash." I indicated the retreating young man with a quick jab of the thumb over my shoulder. "He's really smart. He even went to MIT before they kicked him out. When he talks, you should pay attention, because it's usually something important."

The stranger followed me into one of the rooms lining the hallway. It was small and sparsely furnished, with no window and a bed pushed into one corner, a tiny dresser in the other. 

"All right, this is your room for now." I stood in the middle of the space. "There's a lock on the door but it only locks from the inside, so don't leave anything valuable in here. Not that you really have anything that anyone would want to steal." I sighed, slapping my hands together. "And that's about it. Oh, and if anyone asks, just make up a name or something, kay? Say you're from Manhattan."

Pleased with my tour, I stepped past him to exit through the doorway. He turned to watch me as I swiveled around to face him one last time. "I'll see if I can get you some shoes. Showers and laundry are down the hall and to the right. Dinner's served at seven, so be down there then, okay? I sit in the far corner with Ash and Jo."

Just before I stepped out and closed the door, he called my name. I poked my head back in. "Thanks," he said, and I shrugged, uncertain if I really deserved it.

---

To Be Continued.