Mercy

Chapter III

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"We are all illuminated"

- Illuminated, Hurts

/

"You're new."

"I am." The woman reached a hand forward. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Ellen. Ellen Harvelle."  I glanced at her outstretched hand, making no attempt to shake it, before returning my unimpressed stare to her grey eyes. I hated shrinks.

"I hate shrinks," I stated, noting the woman's annoyed expression, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening.

"Hm. That's too bad." She let her hand drop to her side, her round face reminding me of an overbearing motherly figure. The type who always had a wise word to say, even when you refused to listen. Like I was currently doing.  There was no way I was about to give this woman even a minute of my time. I had been warned by Ash to avoid her, but unfortunately she had snuck up on me when I was on my way to the washroom. I knew if I stuck around for much longer she would be trying to convince me to spill all my deep dark secrets.

No. Fucking. Way.

To prove my resistance, I sidestepped her and continued my journey to the washroom. "Wait," she called after me, but I ignored her, disappearing into the washroom and slamming the door behind me. Try to follow me in here, I thought to myself with a smirk.  I did my business and then waited for a few minutes, hoping the shrink wasn't persistent enough to wait outside for me. I stood in the small space, staring at myself in the mirror. The sheet of glass had a crack right down its middle, like a strike of lightning. I positioned myself so it looked like it was splitting my face in two, each side uneven.

I realized then that I hadn't seen my reflection for quite some time. Looking at it now, I noticed that my hair was too long. It covered my ears, flipping out at the ends in some places. If I didn't swat it to the side it would hide my eyes. I'd lost the last bit of my baby fat just the year before and my face looked oddly hollow now. This year had seen my continued growth spurt, and I supposed I was almost six feet tall. That was nice, because I'd always been short before, and middle school was hell for short kids.  I didn't know whether to call myself scrawny or lean.  I supposed I was somewhere in the middle.  For a year I'd practiced Parkour in the park with a group I knew, and it looked like it had paid off a bit.  I could see some muscle on my arms.

I was seventeen years old. I'd be eighteen next month. If I lived that long, I added in my mind.

It was five minutes before I dared to poke my head out of the washroom. Thankfully, the shrink was gone. I went downstairs and made my way towards the loud chatter emanating from the eating area. Upon entering the crowded room I looked over the numerous kids, ranging from ages ten to twenty-five, until I spotted my two friends sitting in the far corner.

I walked over to them, and just like I had predicted, Jo's high-pitched squeal was the first thing to greet me. The girl was bouncing in her seat and dressed in preppy clothes. She looked ridiculous sitting next to Ash. However, that didn't stop the two from being good friends, Ash twenty-three and Jo just having turned seventeen last month.  The girl practically threw herself at me, strangling my neck in a hug until I could barely breathe. When she finally let go, she sat back down and leaned forward, watching me intently as I took a seat on the bench cross from the two.

"So who is he?" she asked with that creepy tone she always got when talking about guys. "Tell me all about him. What's his name? When did you meet? How? Where? Is he cute? Does he have a girlfriend?"

She barely took a breath as she asked several more questions in quick succession, and I laughed to myself. Yep, Jo was just the same as always. I decided to start with the first question. "I don't know his name because he doesn't know it."

"Wait, what?" Jo looked puzzled, and even Ash was leaning forward now.

"He has amnesia. I can't really tell you much about how and where I met him, but he saved my life so-"

"He what? He saved your life?" Jo was practically on the other side of the table now, her eyes wide.  I had said too much. To be honest, I didn't want Jo and Ash mixed up in my business because getting involved was obviously dangerous. I had bruises to prove it. Putting them in harm's way was something I would never do, so telling them anything about my stepfather or his plot to kill me was out of the question.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Oh no you don't!" Jo objected, raising a finger a wagging it at me. "You can't say something like that and just expect me to drop it. Come on Sam, it's not going to kill you to tell-" 

Ash cleared his throat, loud and obvious, and Jo shut up immediately. He had obviously already spoken to her about my sensitivity to certain topics, and the girl quickly leaned back and began fiddling with a napkin.  "Well, we have to give him a name…" she mumbled.

"Give amnesia boy a name?" I gave her a weird look. "No way." Then I reached out and snatched the hotdog from her plate, suddenly realizing that I hadn't eaten all day.

"But he has to have a name," Jo wined, not even noticing her missing food. "We can't leave him nameless. It's worse than being homeless."

I supposed she would know. Jo practically lived in the shelter. She'd been like that, homeless and without family, for the two years I had known her. When she wasn't sleeping here, she was in some ratty motel with a client. I had told her a few times to switch careers, but every time I had brought the topic up she had gotten angry. Now I simply accepted that the sweet, innocent girl smiling across the table from me was a prostitute. I rolled my eyes even though I knew the expression would do no good to deter her. "There are plenty of things worse than being nameless. Besides, I think 'hey you' is just fine."

"That's because you're mean and stupid," snorted Jo disapprovingly as she crossed her arms.

I let my jaw drop, exaggerating my outrage. "Excuse me?"

The girl opened her mouth to say something else, but Ash suddenly interrupted. "I already know his name."

"Huh?"  Jo and I simultaneously turned our heads to stare at him. "How?"

"He told me it. His name is Dean."

Jo gave me a glance before she prompted further. "It is?"

"Yah," Ash nodded as he chomped down on a fry. "His name's Dean."

"Wait, what?" I was confused now. "When did he tell you his name?"

He cocked his head to the side as he thought about it. "A couple of days ago."

I shook my head as if the motion would make the situation reasonable. "But you just met him this morning."

Ash took a bite of his hotdog, speaking around the mass of food. "He was here a few days ago."

"I was?" The voice came from directly beside me, and I looked up to see Dean standing by the edge of the table. He had obviously taken a shower, his hair now light and soft-looking instead of greasy and matted. His jeans looked washed and dried as well. He still wore the 'I'm Awesome' shirt and no shoes, but his feet were clad in grey socks.

"I guess you don't remember, considering your amnesia and all," Ash winked, raising his hotdog in the air as he gestured to the bench I sat on. "Take a seat, Dean."

"I've been here before?" Dean asked, sitting down next to me as I slid over.  He barely glanced at me, his attention focused on Ash. 

"You seriously don't remember?" Ash gave him a wary stare, like he thought he was lying. Then he pressed his lips together before explaining, "You pulled some kind of karate crap on Vince and his guys. You're damn lucky they ain't here right now or you'd be dead already."

"You've been here?" I questioned Dean, still unable to get my head around that fact. It was too much of a coincidence, but the confusion on his face told me all I needed to know.

He shrugged. "Guess so."

"Vince," I stated, addressing Ash. "You know why Dean was kicking his ass?" Vince was not someone who was often messed with. There were rumours going around that he was a drug dealer, and a fairly dangerous one. He came to the shelter once and a while to stir up some trouble. He didn't often do much harm, so he hadn't been banned yet, but I had always had the suspicion that one day someone would end up hurt or dead because of him.

"You were looking for someone," Ash told Dean. "Didn't catch the name, though."

"I say anything else to you?"

Ash shook his head. "Afraid not. After you did the beat on Vince I came up to congratulate you on a job well done. You introduced yourself as Dean and then you left. Never saw you again until today."

"You know where I can find this Vince guy?" Dean asked.

"Whoa, hold on." Ash raised his hands in front of him. "You sure you wanna find him? He's out for your blood, compadre."

"Just tell me where he is."

"All right," Ash said in his lazy drawl. "But don't say I didn't warn yah." He shook his head slowly, like he was about to hand a set of car keys to a drunk. "He usually comes by the shelter every couple of weeks. You wait here long enough and he's bound to show up again."

Dean sighed in frustration. "How long do I have to wait?"

"Don't know. I'm not Vince's secretary, but waiting here ain't so bad. You can hang with Jo and Sam and me." He grinned. "It'll be fun."

/

One hour and four hotdogs later, Dean and I found ourselves on the roof of the shelter, facing the waist high ledge and looking out at the bright city. Ash and Jo were down in the lounge watching the latest episode of Gossip Girl, a show I had absolutely no interest in.

"So Dean," I began, drawing out the name now that I had something to call him. "Any memories returning?"

"Nope."

"Nothing at all?" I enquired further. "Even after you found out your name?"

"Nothing."

"Jeesh, you'd think you'd remember falling fifty feet."

"Maybe you could tell me what it was like," Dean suggested.

I looked at him, but then quickly turned my gaze to the city. The conversation had started out light, but now it was going somewhere much darker. A place I didn't want to go, but found I couldn't really avoid. "It's not fun," was all I said. Truth be told, it was terrifying. It was like... I couldn't continue to think about it because suddenly I was reliving every moment of that horrible event.

"I think I have an idea how it would feel," Dean said, pulling me away from my sudden terror. "I feel like I'm constantly falling, but I have no idea when I'm going to hit the ground. I can't even see where I'm going to land. I can't remember why I fell, or where I fell from, or if I even fell at all. There's just darkness everywhere. I can't see anything."

"Your memories will come back," I reassured him, though I didn't know where my confidence came from.

Dean let out a chuckle, though the sound lacked any humour. "What if I don't want them back?"

I glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Not remembering could be better. What if all my memories are bad ones?"

"Everyone has at least one good memory."

"Maybe that's the only one I won't get back," he said grimly.

We were silent for a few moments. Then I decided to speak. "People who've survived really big falls… you always hear them say things like, 'It felt like I was flying', or… 'I was floating'. Some crap like that. Well, they're obviously lying because it's nothing like that."

"What was it like?"

I clenched my fists. "It was… It was the scariest moment of my life. I wasn't flying or floating. I was falling. I was falling to my death, and there was nothing I could do about it. All I could do was…" I trailed off, but Dean finished my thought for me.

"Watch as death grew closer and closer."

"Yeah," I agreed. "And wonder what was on the other side."

"What lies on the other side of the impenetrable surface." Dean's voice had grown distant, and he said those last words almost to himself, or perhaps to no one at all. "Why'd you do it?" he asked suddenly. I looked over at him but his eyes were on the sky. I wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. Trying to find stars in New York City was like searching for water in the desert.

"Do what?" I inquired.

"Jump."

I didn't understand what he meant at first, but then it came to me. Dean thought I had jumped from the train by my own free will. He thought I had tried to commit suicide.

My first reaction was anger. My life was obviously not perfect, but I'd never take that route out of it. I was about to explain to him what had really happened when I realized what a mistake that would be. Maybe it was better this way, having Dean think I had jumped from the train willingly. Technically, I had. He didn't have to know a gun had been pointed at my head at the time. Telling him a hitman may still be on my trail was going to do no one any good. Like I had said the first time I had met him: he wouldn't want to get involved with me or my problems.

I shrugged. "I guess I was just having a bad day."

"Bull shit," Dean said. "No one tries to kill themselves because they had one bad day."

"My mom killed herself," I blurted out. I had no idea why I said it, or why I had the sudden urge to tell Dean everything I had been struggling to accept for the past few days. I physically bit my tongue, not caring if I tasted copper.

"Why?" he asked, and I couldn't look at him. Instead, I stared at my clenched fists, which were resting on the cement ledge. I didn't answer him because I didn't know myself. I didn't know why my mom had decided to take her own life, and I wanted to tell him that. There was just something about Dean... I couldn't quite place it, but he was easy to talk to. Maybe it was because he had amnesia. His lack of memories made him seem unprejudiced, like I could say anything and he would never judge. I was about to let everything out; every pent up emotion that had threatened to shatter me from the inside out, and almost had on a number of occasions, but instead I bit my tongue harder.

"You feel that she abandoned you," Dean said.  It wasn't a question, but a statement. And it was true.  My dad had died when I was five and afterwards my mom had raised me on her own. We did all right, even if we lived in a ratty apartment with some annoying lady as our landlord.  I was happy. Still, my mom wasn't used to living on her own, so she ended up marrying this rich guy. She said it was love at the time, but… well, she never got over my dad, and I later understood that the part of her that had allowed her to love had died with him.

Funny thing was, this guy she married, John, ended up being some major mob boss or something. There's no proof of course. I mean, it's not like I ever witnessed him kill a guy or found his secret stash of smuggled cocaine, but it was easy to tell. Just the way people looked at him. They treated him with respect. Not because he was some awesome business man, but out of fear. They were terrified of him.

My mother was no exception. She was scared too, but she never left him. Even when she had bruises the size of continents, she stayed. I hated her for that, but I didn't try to run away either, because I could never leave her behind. Besides, someone had to stand up to John, and I was the only one who would. I was just some stupid kid to him, so I got away with a lot of the stuff I pulled, but there was a few times that… Well, it was worth it.

It was just last week when I woke up to the worst day of my life. It seemed like every other morning, except my mom wasn't in the kitchen when I went to eat breakfast. She was always there, either making breakfast or sipping her coffee. Except that day she wasn't, and so I went to look for her. I knew something was wrong, but… I would have never guessed that she'd leave me that way. She left me. And now I was alone.

"It just doesn't make any sense," I heard myself say aloud.

"What doesn't?"

"My mom's death..." I mumbled.  "Something's off about the whole thing."  I thought for a moment. I'd been having strange thoughts ever since that day, but this was the first time I was voicing them aloud. I couldn't see it before. I was too close to it, but after everything that had happened since then, I'd taken a step back. "The puzzle's missing a piece," I said.

"And now you're searching for it."

"Yeah, I mean…" I stopped myself from saying anything further, afraid revealing more would be a bad idea.  But my mom had been acting weird the night before she had taken her life. Usually she said goodnight to me from my bedroom door. A quick head pop in and a blown kiss, but that night I remember her coming in and sitting on my bed. She looked at me really intensely, told me she loved me and always would, and then she kissed me on the forehead and walked out. I remember that being kind of strange, but then she turned around just before exiting and told me we were leaving. I mean, I couldn't believe it at first. I had begged her over and over again in the past to leave John and just run away, and now she was finally agreeing to it. I was so happy.

But that didn't make any sense. Why would she say that? Why would she tell me that and then kill herself? She wouldn't do that.

Realization suddenly dawned on me and my eyes widened.  Fuck no. She couldn't have been. My mother couldn't have been... My breathing began to accelerate. It was the only way to explain it. My mother knew something. She was close to John. She had been his wife for ten years, so she must have found out something in that time. And she was planning to split. John must have found out, and that's why he sent Bobby after me. He thought I knew something too, so he sent someone to kill me, just like he had killed Mary.

I knew John was capable of such actions. All this time I had been resenting my mother, convinced that she had killed herself and abandoned her only son, but now I knew that wasn't the case. Not even close.  I wanted to finally allow myself to grieve for my mom, an act I had been unable to do because of the anger that had clouded my vision before, but I wouldn't allow myself to. Not with Dean here. I couldn't cry in front of him.

"Sam, you okay?" I heard him ask, and I realized I was gripping the edge of the building's ledge with white knuckles, staring down at the city. I could only imagine what I looked like. Dean probably thought I was planning to jump off the roof.

"Yeah," I answered in a distant voice. Then I cleared my throat, tearing my eyes away from the long drop down.

"You think your mom would have wanted that?" he asked me in a hard voice. "You think she would have wanted you to kill yourself?"

"No," I said honestly, though I couldn't meet his eyes. "She wouldn't have."

"Then stay away from ledges," Dean said as he placed a hand on my chest and pushed me back gently. I couldn't tell if he had just made a dark joke or if he was serious. Looking up, I registered real concern on his face. Tears threatened to cloud my vision, so I blinked rapidly and turned around before Dean could see them. Then I was walking back into the building. I didn't stop until I had slammed by room door closed and locked it. Then I curled up on my bed and finally allowed myself to cry.

To Be Continued.