Mercy

Chapter VI

/

"It comes and goes in waves

I am only led to wonder why"

- Comes and Goes, Greg Laswell

/

For three days I didn't see Dean. I spent that time mainly at the shelter hanging around with Jo and Ash, secretly wondering how to approach the situation I was in. Not my situation with Dean, of course. To be honest, I had more pressing issues to confront, though it still irked me to think about what had happened between us.

What was on the forefront of my mind was my mother's murder. I couldn't turn to the police because all the evidence pointed towards suicide. All I had was a son's conviction that he knew his mother well enough to believe she would never kill herself, and last time I checked that wasn't enough to send someone behind bars. But I knew I couldn't just let John get away with this. Now that I was thinking relatively clearly again, I began to hatch a plan. It was a dangerous one, but it was the only thing I could come up with. I would have to approach John. I would have to make him confess his crime and get it recorded somehow. Then I'd have evidence. The only problem was, my stepfather wanted me dead and he had many means to get the job done.

Right now I was safe. John probably thought I had been killed and, from what I could recall, I had never told him about the shelter. I doubted he would ever think to look for me here even if he suspected I was still breathing. But I couldn't stay here forever, and if John believed I was dead then he'd probably make it official soon. I had no doubt he could come up with a death certificate with my name on it in a matter of minutes. Then where would that leave me?

I chased these thoughts in circles as I listened to Jo complain about her last trick and Ash type away on his new laptop. We were sitting in the rec room, taking up one of the couches in the corner as a group of fifteen-year-olds played pool; three guys and a girl. It was obvious the boys were trying to impress the girl with their pool skills, but she seemed uninterested. She kept glancing my way and I smirked a little as the boys began to notice.

"Then he kept making this stupid noise and I swear he was about to have a heart attack," Jo said as she leaned against the arm of the couch, her legs draped across my lap. She was filing her nails to nubs. "Honestly, I'm never turning a trick older than fifty again. I don't even know what I'd do if he died right there. I mean, could you imagine if we were still in the act and then he suddenly-"

"Jo!" I held up my hands to stop her from finishing that sentence. "Can you please not talk about your clients while I'm around? I really don't want to hear it."

She scoffed. "Well sorry, Mr. Prude. I thought you'd enjoy my stories since you never get any action yourself."

I was about to tell her off when Ash chuckled over his laptop. "Sam isn't as innocent as he used to be." I turned to look at the man as Jo asked what he was talking about. "I saw you sneaking off with that young lady in the club the other day, Sam. You went to the back room, didn't you?"

"So that's why you didn't come back until morning," Jo giggled. "I take back what I said, then. Congratulations, Sam!" I felt my face flush red as she patted me on the shoulder.

"We didn't do it," I mumbled.

Jo's lips pursed. "Then where were you all night? You meet another pretty girl?"

"No," I said, growing irritated. "If you have to know, that woman led me on a bad trip and Dean dropped me off at a motel to recover. I was passed out most of the night." Of course I skipped the part involving Dean and me together.

Jo and Ash both burst out into laughter. "That's the Sam I know," Ash said, shaking his head. "Still so innocent."

I crossed my arms against my chest and scowled. "Whatever," I said, but I wasn't really that upset. Maybe I would have been if there weren't heavier problems pressing in on me.

"Where's Dean, anyway? I haven't seen him since the club," Jo said, her attention back on her nails. "I miss looking at his butt."

I rolled my eyes. "Said he'd be gone a few days. That he needed to take care of something."

"What's he need to take care of when he can't remember anything?" Jo questioned, but I didn't know the answer. She sighed as she got up and exited the room, claiming she had to use the washroom.

"He went to see Vince," Ash said suddenly, his eyes glued to his computer screen. I whipped my head around.

"What the fuck do you mean 'he went to see Vince'"? I demanded. "I thought you didn't know where he was."

"Well I found out," Ash said, closing his laptop and turning his attention to me. He tapped his head with a finger, smiling impishly. "I can find out anything."

"And you told Dean where Vince is?"

He shrugged. "The man wanted to know."

I rubbed my face with my hands before running my fingers through my hair. I didn't understand why this news bothered me so much. Maybe it was because I knew Dean was a guy with amnesia stumbling around in the dark and Vince was a monster who liked to hide in the shadows. "Where'd you tell him Vince was?" I asked.

"Found out he likes to spend his weekends at a place called 'Betsy's' on the east side. I was told he'd be there today. Dean wanted to go early to see if he could stake out the place and learn a bit before he talked to Vince." Ash leaned back in the couch. "Judging by their last meeting, I don't think Dean's going to be well received."

I looked at Ash like he was the idiot he never could be. "No shit. He's probably gonna end up dead. Why'd you let him go?"

Ash shrugged again. "The man can obviously handle himself. You should have seen what he did to Vince last time he was here." He laughed, but I didn't share in his amusement.

"That's what worries me," I grumbled.

"He'll be fine," Ash reassured me. "Probably."

But that 'probably' was not enough. I realized then that I felt a bit of responsibility towards Dean. I didn't know when I had started feeling liable for the guy, but I did. Maybe it was because he had saved my life, or maybe it was because I was one of the only people he knew. After all, I was the one who had found him by the lake, half naked and surviving on fish, for christ's sake. I was the one who had brought him here and introduced him to Ash, who had told him about Vince. Therefore, if you connected all the dots, I would be the one responsible for getting him killed.

I shook my head, releasing myself from my train of thought. I wasn't responsible for shit. I hadn't asked to be saved. I hadn't even wanted Dean to follow me to New York or the shelter. It wasn't my problem that he had kicked Vince's ass and was now paying a visit to him, like a complete fool. I could care less about what happened to Dean.

But that wasn't true, was it? I became increasingly more aware of that as I spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about whether Dean was going to end up dead or not. Ash had told me Vince was due at Betsy's around seven o'clock every Friday. I glanced at my watch as I sat on the edge of my bed. It was six o'clock now. I wondered if I had enough time to go to Betsy's and try to intercept Dean before he made the confrontation.

I quickly threw on my jacket and exited the room. I didn't have enough money to rent a taxi. In fact, I had hardly any money at all, aside from a bit of change Ash had leant me the other day. It was barely enough for a two-way subway ticket, but it would have to do. As I walked to the nearest station I prayed that I'd get to Betsy's on time.

It was on the subway where I realized that it was my birthday today. May 2nd. Eighteen-years-old. I was finally legal.

/

Betsy's was a small little bar stacked between an adult movie store and a burger joint in a shady neighbourhood on the east side of New York City. It was nothing special to look at, but it seemed to me as good a place as any for a drug dealer to do business. Its front windows were blacked out, a cartoon picture of a blonde lady in a red dress lying across the words 'Betsy's Bar' scrawled across them in fluorescent wires. I sighed as I looked around. No Dean.

I couldn't go inside the bar because I wasn't old enough. I could legally star in a porn movie but I wasn't old enough to have a glass of beer... Welcome to the United States of America, I thought bitterly. I decided that I'd wait in the burger joint. Its windows were large and clear, and I could easily watch the entrance of Betsy's from one of the tables inside. It was ten to seven.

Twenty minutes passed and still no sign of Dean or Vince. I began to worry that I had come too late and the two men were already inside. Or maybe Dean had entered the bar before I arrived and was waiting in one of the booths, sipping a beer as he watched the front door for Vince's arrival, just like I was watching from the burger joint.

By the time it was 7:30 I decided I'd take a quick look in Betsy's. Maybe I'd get lucky and there'd be no one at the front checking for I.D.s, since it was still pretty early for the usual Friday crowd of bar hoppers to be out. The sun was already setting as I entered the dingy space, immediately skimming the room with my eyes for Dean. The place was practically empty, only a middle-aged woman behind the counter serving a single customer at the bar and a couple of old dudes crammed in a booth in the back, laughing as they illegally puffed on cigars inside. I sighed and was about to leave when I heard the bartender call me. "Hey kid," she said in an obnoxious New York accent. "You old enough to be in here?"

"I was just leaving," I said, making sure I was smiling politely even though my gut was twisting itself into knots. Where was Dean?

That's when I realized I should have left without saying a word, because Vince was emerging from a doorway at the back of the room and his attention was suddenly set on me.

"We got another one, Betsy?" he joked as he walked over. He looked just as I remembered him: rat-like face, shaved head, baggy clothes draped over a body that looked a bit scraggly but I knew could do serious damage to a face. "Sorry kid," he said as he lit the cigarette sticking out of his mouth and breathed in a lungful. "If it was up to me I'd abolish the whole idea of a drinking age." He blew the smoke from his nose. "Goddamn government."

Betsy laughed from behind the bar and I realized she was the woman portrayed on the front window, though I bet she wouldn't look as good in that red dress anymore. Her blonde hair had probably once shined, but now it looked like the colour of piss.

"That's all right," I mumbled, just wanting to get out of here. I didn't want Vince to recognize me from the shelter, though I doubted that he would. I had always steered clear of him whenever he'd visited. "I was just looking for someone, but he's not here."

Vince looked at me curiously. "What's your name, kid?"

I paused, feeling uncomfortable. Like maybe I was supposed to use a fake identity or something. But the way Vince was looking at me, combined with the stories I'd heard about him and the things I'd witnessed myself, made me quickly stammer my real name. I had never been much of a liar anyway.

"Sam?" he asked, like he recognized the name. Then he grinned, his bald head gleaming in the bar's lighting. He placed a hand on his hip as he took another drag at his cigarette and I saw a flash of metal sticking out of his pants as his sweater pulled back. My heartbeat quickened as I recognized it as a gun. "Hey Leo," he called over his shoulder to the man sitting at the bar. "This is Sammy."

I physically flinched at the sound of my nickname. My mom had always called me 'Sammy', and my stomach lurched as a sick feeling filled it.

Vince's buddy came over, looking me up and down. He was a large man with dark skin. His head was shaved bald too and a number of earrings studded his left ear. "Sammy, huh?" The guy's voice was like a low rumble that emanated from his chest and around the room. "What a coincidence. I think I know a Sam."

"Me too," Vince piped up, barely containing his laughter. I wanted to know what was so damn funny but I kept my mouth shut. My instincts were screaming at me to keep quiet; to tread carefully. I cursed myself for having gotten myself into this situation.

"Look, I thought someone I knew would be here but he isn't, so I'll just leave, okay?" I explained again. "I wasn't planning on drinking underage or anything. I know that can get a place shut down."

The two men began to laugh loudly. "He's underage," Leo said like he was speaking about a cute baby. "Poor kid."

"I'm not a kid," I growled, but I immediately regretted it.

Vince pinned me with a hard glare. "Then how old are you, kid?" he asked, his lip curling into a sneer.

I had to swallow before I answered him. "Eighteen."

"Well he's legal after all," Leo said in a low voice, his eyes dragging over my body. I clenched my teeth as he said, "Not that it matters."

I had the sudden thought that I should bolt to the door. That I should just run, but I was too afraid that before I made it Vince would have his gun out and pointed at my back. So I let him put his arm around me as he led me to the back of the bar, Leo following.

"You see, Sammy, I think we have a mutual friend." Vince's tone was back to friendly as we walked down the back hall, passing the seedy washrooms. "That makes us friends, doesn't it?"

At first I thought it was a rhetorical question, but then I realized he wanted me to answer him. "I guess," I managed to say as we stopped in front of the back door, the red 'EXIT' sign casting Vince's face in red. I wondered who this 'mutual friend' was.

"Dean mentioned you," he said, as if he had guessed what I was thinking. "Said you two were very close."

So Dean had been here, but what had happened? Vince didn't look like he had been beaten up again. I thought of the gun and could feel the rest of the blood in my face drain. But Vince had looked a bit irked when he had mentioned Dean's name. It wasn't much, but it made me feel slightly better.

Then I began to wonder why Dean had mentioned me. I couldn't connect the dots; couldn't understand why Vince seemed interested. He smiled again as he saw the confusion on my face, his teeth stained red in the light. They looked like they were covered in blood, and I couldn't resist the urge to run now. I was about to make a break for the exit door when I felt a hand cover my mouth and a forearm squeeze against my throat. Before I could process what was happening, Vince had pushed open the back door and I was being dragged outside by Leo.

The man threw me against one of the large dumpsters in the alley, my ribs smacking against the edge and the wind knocked from by chest. I tried to suck in air but pain burned through my chest and suddenly there was someone behind me, pushing me harder against the green container. I tried to shout but found I couldn't with my lungs void of air.

As I struggled to breathe, shoving back against the man, I felt hands at my waist. They were fumbling with my zipper, and a new fear clenched me as I realized what was about to happen. For a moment I couldn't move and the man behind me shifted back a bit, like he thought I was giving in, accepting it. But as soon as I felt air inflate my lungs I was filled with adrenaline, and I struck out behind me with all the power I had. I wasn't incredibly strong to begin with and the position I was in gave me no advantage, so my attack was fruitless. I did manage to clip the guy in the face with my elbow, though, and as he cried out I knew it was Vince behind me.

"Little fucker," he growled, and then he was slamming my head down onto the dumpster's lid. The lower half of my face collided with the metal but I ignored the pain as I tried to push off from the dumpster.

"Help me out here, Leo," I heard Vince snap, and in mere seconds a gun was shoved in my face. Leo stood to my side, the glock looking comfortable in his hand as he pointed it directly between my eyes. I stared down the barrel for a moment, suddenly recalling the last time I had faced the same sight, up on the train. It felt almost the same to me, except this time a stranger was holding the weapon. I didn't really know if that made things better or worse.

"Now Sam, you behave and Leo won't blow your brains out, you got it?" I felt myself nod as I bowed my head and returned my gaze to the top of the dumpster lid. I could breathe now, but it was like my body had stopped functioning. It refused to take in oxygen, causing my head to swim.

I felt my pants drop to my ankles, followed by my boxers. The chilly night air brushed against my legs and I shivered as I listened to Vince's belt being undone; then the sound of his zipper and the rustling of his clothes. In the fading light I looked at my hands planted palms down on the dumpster lid. I didn't dare look to my left, and I knew the entrance to the alleyway was too far to the right for anyone to notice what was going on inside. Not that anyone would have helped me if they did. All I could do was choose where to stare: my hands, the dumpster, the brick wall in front of me, or the darkness of my eyelids.

I chose the brick wall.

Vince’s bare hips dug into mine and I was pressed against the edge of the dumpster, my limp dick cold against the metal.  And then he was hurting me. Each thrust of his hips sent pain lacing up my body and down my legs. I felt like I was being torn apart, but I couldn't move as he pushed himself inside of me, sliding back out only for a second before he was invading me again. Over and over, my hips sore and bruising as they continuously bumped against the dumpster.  Those few moments were the worst of my life. I wanted to scream, but the sound was lodged in my throat. Instead I had to listen to Vince’s heavy breathing next to my ear as he fucked me; the disgusting chatter of Leo as he watched. I felt like throwing up. I felt like dying.

Then it was over. I didn't know how long it had lasted; just that it had felt like hours to me. They left me in the alley with my pants down and for a moment I didn't want to pull them back up. I didn't want them to be stained with the blood running down my legs. They were my favourite pair. The one my mom had patched a hole in the knee last summer.

It hurt to walk, to move, but I made my way down the alley somehow, walking funny. Vince and his friend had disappeared back into the building. A light drizzle began to cover me as I turned onto the street. Everything was painted in shades of grey, like I had lost the ability to see colour. I thought about calling a taxi but then I remembered I had no money. And I honestly didn't know if I could sit down right now, not with the conditions of New York's roads being what they were.

It's funny, because as I wandered the streets I kept thinking about my shoelaces, like that time I had been high and had wondered if they felt pain. I recalled the day, a couple of months ago, when I had bought my shoes and worn them for the first time. The laces had been white and strong then, their plastic tips keeping the threads in place. They were nothing like that now. I had never bothered to tie them, and since then they had become dirty and frayed at the ends.

Fuck. Why couldn't I get them out of my head? Why did I keep picturing how they used to be? All clean and white and neat. Before they had been dragged through the mud and trampled on and whipped about. Before they had belonged to me.

I realized I was standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. I'd been staring at my shoelaces the entire time, but now I glanced up to see where I was. For the past ten minutes I had been wandering aimlessly, not really sure where to go. My hair was damp from the rain and I realized I had no clue where I was. There was a small bakery to my left. I could see platters of colourful cupcakes and éclairs piled in the window. A lady with a shopping bag walked past me, followed by a middle-aged guy in a cheap suit. The woman gave me a strange look over her shoulder and I wondered if the blood had seeped through my pants.  Maybe it looked like I had shit myself. 

I began to move forward again, trying my best to walk properly. It was another ten minutes before I recognized one of the street names. Then it was a ten minute walk to the nearest subway station. I rode it standing all the way back to the shelter.

There was only one thought in my head as I climbed the large oak stairs to the second floor, thankful that the building seemed to be emptier than usual today: I needed a shower. That's all I could think as I walked down one of the hallways, my hand slightly skimming the yellowing wall.

"Sam?"

I stopped in my tracks. Then my mind was sent into a panic.

Fuck! Not now. Please not now. Please let me take a shower before I see you. Please let me feel clean again. I need to feel clean.

I heard the voice call my name behind me a second time but I refused to turn around and face it. I started forward again, not caring that I was walking funny. Not caring that blood had dripped all the way down to my ankles and was probably leaving a bloody trail behind me. All I wanted was soap and water. And a drain. A drain to wash all this filth away.

"Sam, hold on a second." The voice was angry now. I jumped as a hand grabbed my shoulder and tried to spin me around. God no. He couldn't see me like this, but I let my body turn. As my back halted against the wall I kept my face to the side. I couldn't look Dean in the eyes right now.

"Hey, listen. If you're acting weird because of the other night, just forget it, okay?" he said. "What happened, happened. I have bigger news. I found Vince. He told me a few things and I think-"

"I don't care," I whispered, shutting my eyes. It was the truth. I didn't care what Vince had said. I didn't care if Dean remembered. I didn't care about any of it.

"You don't care," Dean repeated, but not as a question. He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "Sam, I'm sorry, all right? I took advantage when you were-"

I turned my head, the cold anger I suddenly felt allowing me to meet his eyes. After all, this was his fault. If he hadn't gone to see Vince by himself I never would have followed. If he hadn't saved my life I never would have cared if he got hurt or not. If I hadn't met him I wouldn't be standing here, wrestling with my brain, trying to tell it that those hands were not still on me. That no fingers were gripping my hair or digging into my hips or pinning my wrists. That nothing was inside of me, violating. Violating everything.

"We're done," I said, my voice strangely calm and level. I could tell he was confused, so I clarified. "I helped you get to New York. I helped you find your name. I helped you find Vince." I swallowed, unable to believe that I had been able to say that name aloud. "I think I've helped you enough."

Dean stared at me for a moment. "Sam," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "Are you all right?"

I returned his gaze and lied. "I'm fine."

His head tilted as he gave me a one-over, as if he was making sure I was telling the truth. "You're bleeding," he said as he met my eyes again.

My heartbeat quickened. Was there a puddle of blood by my feet?  Did he know? Would I have to suffer through more humiliation? I clenched my teeth, ready to refute anything he thought he knew. But then he said, "Your lip. It's bleeding."

I raised a hand to my lip, feeling hardened blood where it must have busted open. "Bit my lip," I told him.

"Is it cold outside?" he asked me, and I wondered why he was suddenly curious about the weather. Was he leaving again? "Your hand is shaking."

I looked down at the hand I had raised. He wasn't lying. Quickly dropping it again, I hardened the expression on my face. "I've got to go," I said, saying nothing more. After all, we weren't friends. I had paid back my debt to him. I didn't owe him any explanations.

He nodded his head, still staring. Then he backed away and gave me a little smirk, though I could tell it was more out of habit than anything else. "Maybe I'll see you around, Sammy."

I watched him walk down the hall, and as he vanished around the corner I felt myself relax, my body slumping against the wall. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding as I closed my eyes and let my head drop to my chest. I was relieved he was gone but the anger I had felt earlier had now disappeared and I didn't quite know what replaced it. I knew I might feel regret later on for having said what I had said to him, but right now all I wanted was a shower.

As I opened my eyes my sight fell on my shoelaces a second time today. They were lying limply on the wood panelled floor, and I found, once again, that I couldn't lift my eyes from them. But it wasn't because they were frayed and torn and I regretted not taking better care of them. It's because now I realized something I hadn't before: they were red. Splattered red with my blood, and I knew that Dean couldn't have missed them.

---

To Be Continued.