ONE
~MIA~
I’d been here before.
I wasn’t sure how or where—I thought I would remember being trapped in a hell like this!—but it was too familiar to not be the first time. Not that it being familiar made it any better. In fact, it made it much, much worse.
I was trapped. It was dark, uncomfortably warm, and there was a smell. The smell, like me, was trapped. It hung somewhere between sweet and sour; reminding me all at once of thawing meat, fresh mulch under a hot sun, and something earthy, ancient. A deep part of my brain chanted that it was the oldest smell in existence, and another part, deeper still, assured me that I’d one day come to contribute to it.
I knew that smell. I knew it the same way I knew I was on the first step of a twelve-step staircase that led down into deeper darkness; the same way I knew that the surface my hands pounded against was a door that should lead to freedom. And I knew that that door—that freedom—was closed and that it would never be opened; that freedom had been stolen from me. And my brother, Mack—though he was only Malcolm in that moment—was the thief.
I knew all of these things with such a startling certainty that I also knew I must have been here before. But, for the life of me, I didn’t know how that was possible.
Trapped. I was trapped in a dark, horrible, smelly place.
Whimpering, knowing what awaited me down in those warm, smelly depths but also knowing it was all my life amounted to, I turned away from the door and started down the steps.
One…
Two…
Three…
I counted to myself, talking me down the steps like an instructor working me through the motions of some horrible cycle.
Four…
Five…
Six…
Only halfway down the stairs to my new world and the voice had gone and summed it all up perfectly. A horrible, nearly precognitive fear took hold of me and I had to take hold of the rough, splintery railing to keep from toppling down the rest of the steps.
Seven…
Eight…
My hand traveled along the railing. As the eighth step became the ninth, it went from rough and splintery to smooth and tacky. It was unnerving, and while my eyes had come to adjust enough for me to investigate the spot where my hand lay I knew not to. Keeping my gaze trained on the darkness ahead, I removed my hand from the surface. I knew it would be better to fall the rest of the way into that black abyss than to let my hand spend one more second on that railing a moment longer.
I thought of my father’s paint cans. I thought of old Band-Aids. And then I thought I might turn around and try for the door again; thought that maybe Malcolm had let go and I might escape from this place he’d trapped me inside.
Then something at the bottom of the stairs, something waiting in the darkness, said, “You a whore or not?”
And suddenly, just like I knew everything else, I knew there was no turning back. There was no escape from this place.
I cursed Malcolm’s name—curiously calling him “Mack”—and continued down the stairs.
Nine…
Ten…
Eleven…
The hot, reeking stench seemed to reach out like a living thing and grab me as my foot fell on the second-to-last step.
Getting it, I took another step—Twelve—and finally dared to take another step into the darkness, away from the stairs.
Here it was dark. Here I had to look with my hands looking for something or somebody that might help me get out of this place.
“You got me?” the voice called out, seeming to offer itself to me.
And then my hands fell upon the soft, stinking mass of a long-forgotten corpse. Gasping at the fresh wave of rot that assaulted my nostrils, I blinked at a sudden wave of clarity—light!—that illuminated my freshly discovered treasure.
And there, before me, I saw myself. I stared back, naked and dead and rotting—my legs splayed and my body showing signs of recent use—and I held my arms open as a lover might when awaiting an embrace.
“You found me, Mia!” Dead-Mia moaned up at me, triumphant and elated. “You fou-ou-ou-ound me!”
Then, seeming ecstatic to answer the question, Dead-Mia leapt at me, grinning wide and exposing a length of latex still occupying the corner of her mouth. “AND I FOUND YOU!” she bellowed, taking hold of me and pulling me into her.
“JACE!” I cried out, not sure why—not sure if I was in the now or the then; not sure when “now” or “then” were or where the line between them existed—and fought to pull away from myself. “JACE! PLEASE! GET ME OFF OF—”
****
“—OFF OF ME!”
The cry that escaped my lips was muffled as I fell face first out of one of the hospital’s waiting room chairs. I landed on the floor in a heap, still seeing bits and pieces of that long-abandoned cellar in my periphery. Panting, one part panicked and one part embarrassed, I glanced around, thankful that the hospital was, for the most part, empty. Forcing my legs to work and lift the rest of me up, I began the tolling job of collecting myself. I caught my breath just as the receptionist managed to get somebody to come out to see to me, and I just as quickly waved them away. I figured I’d done enough to embarrass myself already. As I did all of this, I caught sight of my reflection in the polarized glass window behind me. My hair was a mess—I honestly couldn’t remember when I had last brushed it—and my unmade face was pale, sporting dark, worried circles that rode under my eyes. The part of me that was all-too used to staring at myself in the mirror—The whore! I reminded myself before just as quickly dismissing it; issuing yet another reminder that, no, that wasn’t me anymore—thought that what it saw was hideous. The other part, the part that was ecstatic to be free of the lifestyle of the first, thought I’d never looked more beautiful. A little silent war waged within myself regarding which one was right. Then I caught myself off guard, asking how I’d feel if Jace were to wake up this instant and see me like this.
I clenched my eye shut, looking away from my reflection and once again planted myself back in the seat.
Touché, I thought inwardly as I reached for my purse.
I figured a little foundation wouldn’t kill me.
It had been two days.
Two, too damned long days.
And Jace still wasn’t awake.
He’s never going to wake up. Face it, girl, he’s gone. You were too late.
I cringed at the thought as the voice of my depression forced itself upon me. I’d decided some time ago that Depression wasn’t unlike a personal mind-rape; you could fight and cry all you want, but it only seemed to make it that much worse when it wriggled its way inside of you. To the core. Making you its own and hurting you every second along the way. Or, of course, you could just sit there and take it—this seemed somehow worse to me, but I was no less guilty than others in allowing it to happen—and just stare, dead-eyed and broken, as it worked.
Then the after…
Oh shit, the after!
The sympathy that you were just so sure was forced or phony. The eye-rollers who were so certain they had it all figured out despite never experiencing the reality of it; they always urged you to shrug it off or forget about it—they (knew) thought a little fresh air or exercise was all it took to drag yourself out of it. Fucking know-nothing assholes! And then there were the fellow sufferers, who almost seemed worse than all the others at times. Oh, they were sincere. There was never any shortage of that, but they’re sincere in the same way a mirror is sincere. You see in them what you hate in yourself, and you’re brought back to it—forced to relive it—and you feel that pain and panic slip back around your neck like a noose and suddenly you’re crying…
And they call it healing.
Scab-Pickers Anonymous: join the group therapy and let others get their fingernails under that truly stubborn puppy; we’ll make you bleed yet!
A ghost from my past asked me why I should care about being raped by my own mind—demanded to know whether or not I was a whore—and my throat tightened and my eyes burned.
I’d almost forgotten that Depression liked to bring friends.
When I was around Jace, Depression was too scared to force itself on me; too worried to bring its friends.
And now he’s probably dead!
I was about to start crying, but the soft hiss of the automatic doors called to me and I glanced up as Danny walked through. The big, outwardly terrifying-looking man paused to look around, spotted me, and then resumed his massive, purposeful stride around a row of seats to approach me. A mixture of emotions flooded me at the sight: relief at seeing a friendly face as the frontrunner, but I couldn’t deny the narrow-but-deep well of spite and bitterness. Danny had been there in my old apartment as it burned around us. Worse yet, he’d been shot—what?—three, four, maybe even five times! By all accounts he should’ve been the worst off of the three of us—By all accounts he should be dead!—but, nope, he’d almost been out and about before me. And all I’d suffered was some smoke inhalation and a few minor burns!
Shot, burned, and sucking in God-only-knew how much poisonous smoke, and here he was, the picture of health.
“That’s me, girlie:” he’d drawled when I’d first seen him after the event, “a big, gay war machine. Like a tank with a giant fuckin’ rainbow painted ‘cross the side.”
I hated myself for that narrow-but-deep well. It wasn’t an emotional response I was proud to have, but…
For Jace, I thought to myself, refusing to believe what my depression kept trying to convince me of. I can do this for Jace.
“How ya doin’, girlie?” Danny asked as he plopped down next to me.
“Fine,” I replied, lying more with that one word than I thought possible from a single syllable. I hardly recognized my own voice as I said it; it was more of a croak—a dry, sad burping sound—than an actual word. It sounded as dead as I had begun to feel…
And I hated it.
I hated my reflection, hated my voice, hated Danny for living so easily through so much while Jace couldn’t even woke up. I hated…
I sighed, realizing Depression was busy in mid-mind-rape and convincing me I hated everything. Squeezing my eyes shut, I decided to just hate how I felt and leave it at that.
“Jace’ll come through, just ya wait. He might look like a frilly little faggy-boy, but he’s tough as week old steak, ya’ll see,” Danny assured me, setting one of his large heavy hands over my shoulder. “But he wouldn’t like seein’ ya this way.”
I glanced down at his hand, marveling out how it seemed to swallow the entirety of the area. It was like seeing a bear rest a paw over a child; it seemed so outwardly threatening and yet, in the moment it happened, too awe-inspiring and captivating to draw away from.
The laugh that escaped me was humorless and I looked down, ashamed that I had allowed it to slip out of me. Danny just stared at me, his face filled with patience and understanding. But, as briefly as I’d known him, I couldn’t help but understand this to be just the sort of person he was: bizarrely simple in his staggering complexity. Seeming to read my mind, he gently squeezed my shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. It was caring and sympathetic, but there was something coy there, too; as though he knew something that I would just have to wait to find out for myself.
Judging from his words, this wasn’t far from the truth he was trying to convey.
I took a deep breath and nodded slowly, offering a silent “thank you” as I let myself lean against him. There was something incredibly comforting about cozying up beside a big, gay war machine. Far as I was concerned, every girl should have at least one.
“Candy’s worried about ya too,” he smiled. “She should be here soon.”
I perked at the mention of my ex-whore-mentor and now just best friend. “Has she been busy?” I asked, curiosity driving my eyes in an upward glance.
“I should say so. Ever since she took Jace’s offer she’s been scouring the city, practically takin’ to the damn streets like some kinda big-tittied superheroine—saving all the whores she can find. A good number of ‘em bailed on the Crew when ya two slipped through the cracks, but some were too scared to even try.”
I stared in astonishment at that, imagining Candy putting herself on the line like that for our old… what? Colleagues? Sisters?
Was it better to think of fellow prostitutes as co-workers or as members of some sort of sorority of sex-merchants?
Except they weren’t my co-workers anymore; weren’t my sorority. I wasn’t a prostitute anymore. I wasn’t!
Still awestruck, I said, “Guess she’s taking this new job seriously, huh?”
Danny nodded, shrugged, and stared off at a bland bit of hospital wall art. “Whorin’s what she knows,” he said, punctuating it with a not-quite-shrug that only served to cock his head slightly to one side. “Least that’s what she says. Says that she wants t’see them girls in a good place—makin’ good money and bein’ takin’ care of.” He smiled and cleared his throat, saying in a not-very-good Candy-esque falsetto, “‘Those fine-ass bitches work their asses off—literally!—to show the dick-swingers of this here city a good time! I owe it to them to make it worth their while!’” Finished with the mock-quote, he looked back at me, seeming to wait for my assessment on his impression.
I could only offer a smile, punctuated with a gentle, albeit forced, giggle.
He scowled, knowing I was politely telling him (without telling him) that his Candy was nothing short of shit, and shrugged yet again. This time with both shoulders. “Either way, the girl’s motivated. The promise of overseeing a privately-owned brothel has put the very spark o’ life into her; done lit a fire in her panties that I’m sure no John ever had.”
“You sound like you’ve got a little crush,” I teased him.
Danny scoffed at that and shook his head. “Not likely, girlie,” he said. “‘Less she’s hidin’ at least eight inches o’ spicy sausage in them fishnets, of course. And believe me when I says that I’m not sure there’s much room in what little she wears to hide much o’ anything. I’d be damn lucky to fit a pinky in them shorts if I was so inclined, which I ain’t; be too scared I’d touch somethin’ I shouldn’t.”
I laughed and shook my head at him. “And what is it that you think we have down there?” I demanded.
“Girl, I know what y’all got down there; ain’t no mystery. ‘Cept what us fags know that no arrow”—the word I’d come to learn was Danny’s term for straight men—“knows is this: y’all girlies got teeth in yer pussies.”
I nearly doubled over with laughter. “Ex-excuse me?” I finally coughed out.
“Ya heard me, girlie,” he insisted. “Teeth!” He made a show of hinging his palms together so that his hooked fingers snapped together like bestial jaws a few inches from my face. “Centuries ago, us faggots learned the terrible secret of Cuntus Fangata and swore a holy oath to use the soft, gentle, toothless depths of our fellow man’s poop-chutes. That’s how I knows if I go pokin’ ‘round in Candy’s no-no-zone just to try an’ prove it can’t be done I’m prolly gonna wind up losin’ a finger.”
I was nearly crying with laughter at that point. “P-puh-please te-tell me… you don’t… really believe all that!” I begged through panting bursts.
Danny smirked and gave me a playful look. “Nah. But it’s good propaganda to pass around in our conversion efforts. But ya didn’t hear that from me, kay?” He paused then, drawing in a heavy breath and groaning. It occurred to me that he was putting a lot of effort into keeping me relaxed—keeping me laughing and staving off my depression in Jace’s absence—and forcing himself not to worry. Or at least not to show it. “But… yeah,” he finally said, seeming eager to keep the silence from getting too thick around us. That Candy… she’s a feisty girl, ain’t she?”
I laughed and nodded. “You have no idea,” I said, but the line felt forced.
At the other end of the room, where the door that separated the waiting room—us—from where they had Jace—him—a doctor slipped through to consult the receptionist. For a long, teasing moment, I was offered a glance to the other side. It was nothing special to look at: just a sterile, long corridor lined with doors. An empty wheelchair waited beside one of the walls, looking like an abandoned soldier of war under the glare of the indifferent fluorescents, and the urge to break free of Danny’s banter, slip past the still-closing door, and take to the hall like a rogue warrior was upon me. After braving a burning building for him, it seemed a pathetically tame follow-up to steal across the imaginary “DO NOT CROSS”-line separating us from him. I wanted to be there with him, damned all the rules!
Once more seeming to read my mind, however, Danny’s grip on my shoulder tightened. It was nothing painful, barely even a genuine hold, but it was the sort of gesture that reminded me I wouldn’t make it more than an inch from my seat before he’d be keeping me from making a mistake I’d likely regret.
“Ye’ll see him soon,” Danny said, starting to stand then. “In the meantime, why don’t ya come with me?”
“Come with… where?” I asked, stupefied by the shift in tone. “What about Candy?”
Danny chuckled at that. “Girl’s got a cell,” he reminded me. “I can give ‘er the ol’ ringy-dingy an’ tell ‘er to meet us somewhere…” he paused to look around for effect, “Well, somewhere less depressin’.”
“I think I’d sooner stay here. You know, just in case anything happens,” I said.
“Don’t make me carry ya outta here, girlie,” Danny said as he rose to his full height, reminding me in that instant that he could make true on such a threat.
Damn, I thought, it’s like he really can read my mind!
Still standing over me, he placed his hands on his equally large hips. “Besides, ye an’ I both know ya can’t get a decent sleep here in the waitin’ room. So let’s go. These twats know my number an’ know to call it when Jace is done with his crazy-ass nap.”
Before I could open my mouth to offer another protest, Danny had my hand in his and was leading me out the door. The rush of the cool night air hitting my face felt incredible and I could feel myself relaxing a bit as Danny led me to his bike. It, like him, was incredibly massive and intimidating until you stopped to truly study it for what it was.
The words “HARLEY” and “FAT BOY” were easy enough to see, but when you looked closely you saw any number of playful tells that I, for one, found rather comical. The seat, when one looked straight down at it, was a gay pride flag stitched in strips of colorful leather, and there was something undeniably phallic in nature about the gas tank, which shone a bright and seemingly regal purple under the parking lot’s lights. The license plate—“MERC”—was a bit more obscure, something that I’d first mistook as an abbreviation of “mercenary.” Given his size and intimidating stature, I’d been certain early on that his involvement in Jace’s motorcycle gang was on par with breaking kneecaps and smashing skulls, and so I felt justified in assuming such a thing. But, no; like all thing’s related to Danny, they were simple in their complexity. And while I still had no idea why he had the nickname, “MERC” was short for “Mercury,” which was what everyone who knew him was expected to call him.
He’d been patient with me thus far, but I’d started to notice a creasing in his brow whenever I slipped up and called him “Danny.” I’d since taken to “cheating” and just avoiding using any titles when it could be avoided.
In that moment, being forced towards the giant motorcycle and guided away from the hospital—which was undeniably the source of a great deal of anxiety judging from how much lighter I felt with every step I took away from it—I couldn’t deny how thankful I suddenly felt. Suddenly I was every bit as certain as he had been in the waiting room that I needed this. I needed the feel of the night air on my face. And, though I wanted to consider myself a monogamous girl and had undeniably fell in love with the sensation of flying on the back of Jace’s motorcycle, I decided I was feeling naughty enough to “cheat” and accept a ride on the back of Danny’s Fat Boy.
Yeah, I needed this!
“Ya look a million times better already,” Danny grinned triumphantly.
“Ha ha,” I said in an attempt to sound sarcastic, going so far as to roll my eyes, but couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks for this, Danny. You really are a true friend.”
“Nothin’ like a gay redneck to be a girl’s best-friend,” Danny smirked.
“Funny that you should say that. I was just thinking the same thing,” I replied with a giggle as he handed me a helmet and before slipping it on, glanced back at him. “Is Candy still working then?” I asked, tilting my head and feeling like a bobblehead doll as the helmet overbalanced the gesture.
“Nope,” Danny answered, pulling his own helmet on as he spoke. It was a strangely foreign sight, and it occurred to me this was actually the norm and I’d just grown used to riding with a man who never wore a helmet. “She’s back at my place fer the time being; sleepin’ off a long night.”
“Your place, huh? Has she tried to make a move on you?” I smirked, remembering how Candy was during her first meeting with Danny. She hadn’t been shy about showing her disappointment when Danny confessed to her, but it seemed to me that she’d seen this more as a hurdle to be vaulted rather than a dead end to be abandoned.
“We’ve gotten past that, I think,” Danny replied, his eyes twinkling with merriment as he glanced back at me.
“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the tone in his voice. “And why do you think that?”
“Because she walked in on me buried to the hilt in another guy,” he answered, kicking the motorcycle to life and letting out a laugh that rumbled along with the engine. “She wanted t’know if I’d seen her body glitter,” he went on. “Long story short:” he started us rolling and started laughing all over again, “I had!”
Then we were both laughing together as we rode off.
The feeling was completely different than when I had ridden with Jace, but I could still feel myself relaxing. The sensation gave me that same freedom I had felt before, though there was an undeniable difference in the machines, and I relished the sensation.
God! I’d really, really needed this!
Needed to stop thinking, even if only for a brief moment.
I moved my hands to Danny’s stomach, chuckling at how much more stomach there was to hold onto, and Danny turned his head to glance back at me. “I heard that, girlie!” he had to yell to be heard over the roar of the engine. “Ol’ Mercury’s got a gut, no hidin’ it, but I ain’t had a complaint about my it yet! Just more meat to throw around, y’know?”
“I bet,” I called back as I coughed on a laugh and held on tighter, shaking my head at that.
I caught sight of Danny grinning as he turned back to face the road, revving the engine as he began to speed out of the hospital’s parking garage. I closed my eyes, allowing the sensation of the bike to take over. A sensation of nothingness grew and I welcomed it. Welcomed the lack of thoughts, lack of emotions, lack of…everything.
I was, for that instant, free from my own burdens; free from my own mind.
And, again, it was exactly what I needed.
There was no pain; no Jace; no threat of gang war.
There was just the air on my face; just the nothingness of flying—sweet, sweet nothingness.
Then, not long after, I felt the bike was slowing and, with it, I felt everything start to come back at once.
It was a jolt of awareness, and I held back the whimper that threatened to spill past my lips as everything came back to me. Taking a deep breath, I held it together—knowing I had to be strong for myself. I had to be strong for Jace.
Like Danny said, he would wake up. I had to have faith in that thought. No matter what Depression tried to tell me.
Moving off the bike, I looked up towards Danny’s place. It was a small ranch-style home and even with how dark it was, I was struck to see that it was painted bright pink. I blinked, glancing over at Danny.
Before I could think it over, I heard myself say, “Don’t tell me you chose this paintjob.”
“What? Don’t like it?” Danny grinned. “Well, too bad. Pink’s my favorite color.”
God help me, I couldn’t help it. I fell forward across the motorcycle in laughter. Tears streamed down my eyes at just how ridiculous this was. The idea of a large, tattooed motorcycle gang member who spoke like he was from the south telling me that he deliberately made his house pink—that his favorite color was pink—was so over-the-top hilarious that I felt like I’d died and been reborn in a Saturday morning cartoon.
“There ya go,” Danny laughed as well, patting my back. “It is kinda ugly, ain’t it?” he admitted with a sigh, shaking his head. “Something I didn’t exactly consider when I picked it.”
I was about to say something—maybe something reassuring or maybe something playfully mean, I was still undecided—when the front door swung open, lighting up the front entrance from the light that spilled out from inside. Hearing a familiar, high-pitched squeal, I looked over in time to see Candy running towards us. I gasped as her arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tightly against her, in an embrace that was as much a hug as it was a standing tackle. With Candy’s arms around me, I finally let loose everything I had been holding back. The tears finally fell. The emotion finally came screaming out of me and Candy was there to take it. She was there to hold it all together for me.
“There, there,” Candy whispered, shifting gears quickly from girly and excited to motherly and comforting. “Let’s get inside, shall we?”
I nodded against her and let her lead me inside, Danny lumbering after not far behind. We moved into a brightly lit living room and sat down on a large sofa. I fell back against the softness, my eye lids beginning to grow heavy. Candy stroked my hair as Danny thumped past. The two exchanged words, but I was suddenly having a very hard time grabbing the words out of the air.
I…
I needed this.
That damn waiting room; that damn chair…
Candy kissed the top of my head and said something that made me smile, though I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was a moment later.
She was right. Just like Danny had been right.
I… needed…
****
I came awake to the small of eggs and bacon and coffee. Anybody who says it’s not the best way to wake up is a liar, and it doesn’t take a college education or a lick of street cred to know that fact of life.
I sat up from the sofa, stretching out and loosing a yawn that was borderline orgasmic as I did. Floating on the euphoria that comes from good rest and glad awakenings, I followed my nose towards the source of the aroma and spotted Candy through the divide that separated the living room from the kitchen. She was standing over a stove, wearing an apron over an otherwise topless torso; a pair of loose-fitting pajama bottoms keeping her from being totally naked.
I peeled myself from the sofa, amazed at just how much better I had felt in such a short period. I had slept long and hard and was grateful at how dreamless my sleep had been. I bit my lip as flashes of the nightmare from the waiting room came to mind and quickly shook them away. I stepped into the kitchen and saw that Danny was sitting at a small table off to the side of the kitchen, looking down at a stack of papers.
“Mornin’, girlie,” he said, looking up from his work. “Sleep well?”
“I did, surprisingly,” I smiled. “Thanks again for this, Dan—uh, Mercury. I obviously needed this.”
“No duh!” Candy said, turning to half-face me from her pan of sizzling bacon. An aggressive amount of side-boob stared back, as well.
I blinked at the jiggly display and looked back at Danny, who was already consulting his papers once again. “That doesn’t bother you?” I asked.
He shrugged, not bothering to look up—obviously knowing to what I was referring. “Tits is tits, girlie. Even I got ‘em.”
Candy giggled at that and gave three little hops to get her assets bouncing. A pink patch of areola peeked out on the second and third, but went back into hiding once she stopped. “Long as I’m makin’ bacon he wouldn’t care if I was fisting my—”
“Don’t be too certain, jiggles,” Danny interrupted her, giving her a stern look. “Ya can air out the girls, sure, but don’t be thinkin’ this means a damn thing.”
“This is because I caught him having sex with a guy,” Candy mock-whispered behind a the flat of her hand. “Two of them were covered in my body glitter. All of it. All… of… it!” she giggled at the confession and shrugged, giving her breasts another victorious shake as she returned to her cooking. “Now I get to ‘air out the girls’ all I want.”
“Jus’ so long as ye’re ready for it when I start airin’ out mine,” Danny muttered before taking a sip from a nearby coffee mug.
“Hope you’re hungry!” Candy said, ignoring him. “I’ve got about a pound of bacon cooking here and almost a dozen eggs!”
“That much?” I blinked. “Do you really think we’ll be able to eat all that?”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Danny scoffed. “What do ya think happened to the other pound of bacon and dozen eggs?”
I stared at him, stunned.
Candy just nodded that, yes, he was serious.
I laughed and moved to sit beside Danny at the table and glanced down at the papers. I could see something about the Carrion Crew before he moved the stack away, setting it face down on the table. I looked up at him and saw that his face had gone serious and he shook his head at me.
“What is all that?” I asked.
“Oh, this? This here’s a big stack of you don’t need to worry about what all this is,” he replied.
I looked over to Candy and saw that she had gone back to cooking, deliberately ignoring us as she did. I frowned, feeling that something was up, and leaned over, snatching one of the sheets of paper and looked down, freezing.
The page appeared to be a printout from a series of one-sided text messages:
Papa Raven is sending additional
crew into the city.
Eager to see a return on lost
profits.
Not happy about losing product.
Enlisting support of known CC
allies and dependents.
Known Crow informants missing.
Increased security measures
suggested.
“What is this, Danny?” I asked again.
Danny let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl and snatched the page out of my hand. “We are taking care of it, Mia,” he said in an eerily different voice; his hands working the array of pages into a sloppy pile that crammed them blindly into the folder. “These are just notes from an informant we are working with.”
“This didn’t end with T-Built, did it?” I bit my lip.
Danny only stared at me.
“Of course it wouldn’t. Shit! I’m so stupid!” I groaned.
“Hey,” Danny said, moving his hand over mine. “This ain’t yer fault. It ain’t any of ours. It’s that damn Carrion Crew! They started all this shit years ago, and they’ve just been itching for an excuse to escalate things ever since. Now they got a reason, and that gives us a reason to up our own game. And, simply put, that means we will end it. As soon as Jace is up, I’ve got some plans to stop them once and for all.”
“At what cost?” I glanced up. “We got lucky this time, sure, but what if we aren’t so lucky next time?”
“Then we deal with it,” Candy replied, looking over from the stove. “That’s what we do, right? We dealt with working with T-Built. We’ll deal with this too. Together.”
I frowned at that, not satisfied with the cliché speech and all its empty promises. “And you, Danny? You’ve already been shot over this! What if you aren’t so lucky next time?” I demanded, eager for a little sense to counter Candy’s blind optimism.
“Me?” Danny scoffed and shrugged, the look on his face almost childlike. “I been shot before, gonna prolly be shot again, I’m sure,” he smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, I got lucky. Luck’s part of the life, girlie. Explosion knocked me down, kitchen held together decent enough so I didn’t get burned up too bad from any falling nastiness. I got saved from a belly full o’ smoke, an’ T-Built is—was—a lousy shot. Missed all the good parts. Hurt like a whore…” he trailed off and gave the two of us a look. “Sorry,” he offered.
I blushed.
Candy smirked and shrugged.
“But, yeah, shit fuckin’ hurt good enough. So I stayed down after Jace emptied his piece into yer old boss. Somewhere along the line I musta gotten sleepy, fell into a sorta doze. Doctors called it somethin’ else, but—”
“‘Something else,’ in this case, being cardiac arrest,” Candy injected then, shaking her head and beginning to plate the bacon. “The big bear was saved by a heart attack of all things.”
I blinked at that, a myriad of questions coming up in response to this new information, but the one that burst forth was, “Should you really be eating bacon if—”
“SO HELP ME!” Danny growled, slamming a fist on the table, “If I gotta hear ‘bout my fucking heart and whether I should be eating this-or-that I swear—I fucking swear it—today will be the day that bitches die!”
“Yeah, yeah, tubby,” Candy said, rolling her eyes at him. “You’ll get your bacon, ya dick-loving oinker, but don’t you come sobbing grease to me when you’re doubled over all over again, got it?”
“Deal,” Danny said, perking up at the promise. Then, offering me a shrug, he continued on his prior point: “Either way, we’re past that mess and working to clean up any others, alright? It’s what we do, Mia; it’s what I do. I been doin’ it for a long time, too—ever since Jace’s daddy first ran things. I knew what kinda work it was then, and I’m still willin’ to do it now. Hell, I love my job! This ain’t gonna stop me. Ya’ve got a choice, though; ya both do,” he said, nodding to the two of us. “So if ya don’t wanna be a part of this, ya don’t have to be.”
“And leave those girls to the streets where the Crew can just pluck them up all over again?” Candy asked. “No fucking thanks!”
I frowned and shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere, either. It’d mean leaving Jace, and I won’t do that; not for the world. Plus, if what you paper says is right and the Carrion Crew is on the lookout for me, well, it’s only a matter of time, right? Wouldn’t be smart to cut out and run from the only people who can do anything to help me.”
Danny nodded at that and took a long, deep breath. I stayed quiet, glancing down as I fought to stay calm. Though it was vague and unclear to me, it sounded like Candy’s and my escape from our “employers” had started things moving in a dangerous direction. I wasn’t sure if it was me, personally, that they were after or if they viewed all of their prostitutes as nothing more than property that they were eager to reclaim, but, either way, it meant I was far from safe for the time being. Moreover, it was putting everyone else—especially Jace—in a great deal more danger. I clenched my eyes shut, needing to think. I’d have to be careful until Jace was awake.
If Jace ever does wake up…
“Let’s eat!” Candy said, interrupting my depression and setting down a plate filled with eggs and bacon in front of me.
I glanced down at the heap of breakfast food and while I had thought it impossible to feel hungry with everything happening, I was proven wrong as my stomach let out a loud growl. Deciding that there was nothing more we could do until Jace woke, I swallowed back the panic and concerns I had with the Carrion crew and began to eat.
“And mine?” Danny asked, looking up as Candy settled in beside me and began to eat from her own plate of food.
“Burn a calorie; save your heart,” she said around a mouthful of eggs, nodding back to the counter where the third plate was waiting.
“Whore,” Danny grumbled, pulling himself up to retrieve it.
“Faggot,” Candy said back after him with a laugh.
The way the two said it, I could tell it was a back-and-forth they’d already shared—and, from the looks of it, laughed over—a few dozen times already.
Twenty minutes later and there was nothing left. We had killed almost a dozen eggs and nearly a pound of bacon. Groaning, full, I sat back on the couch, Danny and Candy sitting around me as we relaxed after the meal and I looked over at Candy.
“Thanks for this, Candy,” I smiled. “This was—”
“‘—exactly what I needed,’” both Candy and Danny said in unison.
I blushed, realizing I might’ve said that once or twice already.
“I know,” Candy said with a nod. “Glad to see you back to your usual self, at least somewhat.”
I smiled back at her, reminded all over again of how lucky I was to have her in my life, even if the circumstances surrounding our meeting weren’t the best ones. Then, sighing, I turned back to Danny and asked, “Mind if we go to visit Jace?”
“Ya sure ya want to? No call prolly means no change, y’know,” he warned.
I nodded and offered a halfhearted shrug, saying “Visiting hours,” like it really meant something. It did to me, anyway.
Obviously it did to him, too.
Standing, he said, “Ya promise to come back afterward? I have another guest room ya can stay in, an’ I’d feel better with ya here over slummin’ it in the ER’s waitin’ room.”
I realized that while it was phrased as a question, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. “I will,” I nodded.
“Good, then let’s get going!” Danny said, beginning to gather his things. “Ya need anything while we’re out, Candy?”
“Lube, licorice, and lice shampoo for you, you mangy beast!” Candy called after.
“Never gets old,” Danny grumbled, leading me to the door.
****
The heavy dread was upon me the moment we walked through the sliding doors and into the waiting room. It was like a thing—like a flesh-and-blood creature—that I’d left behind and had since been waiting for me to return. Now I was back, and all that heaving, panting negativity was reclaiming me.
I must have made a sound or moved somehow in response to the shift, because Danny suddenly placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. Reminded of the night before and remembering how good it felt to leave, a part of me felt suddenly eager to turn around all over again. But something—the something; my everything—kept me from doing so. I clenched my eyes shut, fought to regain my composure, and then exhaled what I imagined to be all the toxic air in my system.
I liked to consider myself something of an expert in that subject at the time.
Then, nodding my appreciation to Danny for his support, I stepped free of his hand and started for the front desk. The receptionist, despite knowing that I already had all of the details memorized, ran through the details regarding visiting hours and where we could find Jace before nodding us towards the doors—the divide been us and him, I thought—and buzzed us through. As I crossed the imaginary divide, Depression began to chatter-rape me:
What if he doesn’t wake up?
What if he doesn’t want you after all this?
What if he thinks you aren’t worth the trouble?
I frowned at all the “what ifs” that swam through my mind and I could feel myself heading towards another breakdown. Danny, ever the (seeming) psychic, wrapped his arm around my shoulder and helped to steady me. We walked the rest of the way to Jace’s room that way. I couldn’t find the words to say just how thankful I was that he was there, so I just leaned against him and hoped that it would be enough.
Then, finally, we stepped into his room.
I saw Jace lying on the stark white bed. The peaceful look on his face helped to relax me and I stepped forward, walking around the IV station and glanced down at him.
“Jace…” I croaked.
“Want me to leave ya alone for a minute?” Danny offered.
I nodded and didn’t look back, knowing he was already leaving and moved one of the hospital chairs beside the bed. I sat down and took Jace’s hand, squeezing it gently as I looked down at him.
“Jace,” I whispered. “I’m… it’s me. I-I don’t know if you can hear me—I hope you can—but… fuck,” I whimpered and hung my head, whimpering and shivering; holding back a wail of sobs. Much as I wanted him to wake up, I hated the idea of that being what he might wake up to. “Please, Jace. Please, come back to me soon…”
Nothing.
He didn’t move; didn’t show any sign of acknowledgement. I frowned, continuing to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. It had been two days already and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong. It was just like he refused to wake up and I couldn’t fight the wave of emotions at the idea that he would never wake up.
“Come back, please,” I repeated. “We need you here. I know it’s not fair, but we need you, Jace. I need you.”
I looked up into his face and thought I saw his mouth twitch. I blinked, watching to see if it would happen again.
Nothing.
He didn’t move, and I looked down again, wondering I had just imagined it. I clenched my eyes shut, working to get a grip. I needed to stay strong. Jace would come back to me and I had to have faith in that alone. I looked over as a nurse walked in with a chart and bit my lip.
“How is he doing?” I asked her.
“His vitals are fine,” she offered a kind smile. “The doctor said it’s only a matter of time.” Then, pausing to look around, she whispered, “Men have a way of milking things like this to get a few extra days of lounging. My boyfriend, every time he gets a cold, acts like it’s the end of the world and just lies around for almost a whole week playing Playstation and eating Ramen. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying.”
I forced a giggle, deciding I didn’t care much about her, her thoughts, or her idiot boyfriend, but knowing this was just her way of reassuring me. The act served its purpose and she offered a “it’ll be okay” before excusing herself to continue her rounds.
Annoying as they were, her words had relaxed me, though. I took another deep breath and nodded to myself.
A moment later, Danny stepped in.
I gave him a smile, sincere in its emotion but an effort to show all the same, and nodded to the unspoken question. I knew that he knew I should leave—just like he’d known the night before. It was a theme that wasn’t yet done running its course: “Danny is right; you need this.”
Knowing that nothing would get done just sitting around the hospital, I stood up and planted a small kiss on Jace’s forehead. I thought I might have seen another twitch as I did, but passed it off as a trick of the light. If he was about to wake up then it would happen, but if I kept standing around and waiting after every little “maybe” I’d likely never go.
All the same, I held my breath, watched him, and counted to five.
Nothing.
Sighing, I turned away and followed Danny back out.
“He’ll be awake soon,” Danny assured me, “but it’ll be when yer not around.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, glancing over.
“’Cuz he’s the sorta guy that likes to be on stage before the audience takes their seats,” he explained.
I raised an eyebrow at that. “You saying Jace is dramatic?” I pressed.
Danny chuckled at that. “All guys are dramatic, girlie,” he assured me, “but Jace… that boy’s all about showmanship.”
He sounded so sure and I glanced over. He offered me a smile filled with confidence and I couldn’t help but return it. As we made our way out of the hospital, I realized I felt a lot lighter than I had for the past few days. Thanks to Candy and Danny, I knew I’d be able to stay strong until Jace woke.
The stage is set, Jace, I thought. Now come back to me. I’m waiting.