CHAPTER ONE
Spinner Mason was late for work – again.
"Oh man," he said to himself as he looked down at his watch, practically speeding down the road to The Dot. "I'm dead. No, I'm deader than dead. I'm cremated, and my ashes are spread all across Canada." This was the 6th… no, the 7th time he arrived late to work this week. The chemotherapy was really starting to take a toll on his sleep patterns. It's not easy on someone's subconscious worrying about whether a set of chemicals were going to do their job and save his life.
"Gavin. In my office. Now," Mr. Hallowell ordered, sounding like a decorated drill sergeant, as Spinner walked into The Dot, pocketing his keys. Mr. H held the door to his office open, only closing it once Spinner was inside. A sudden impulse to fight or to flee hit Spin.
Mr. H leaned his body against his desk. "This is the 7th time you've been late this week. Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire you right now?" he asked.
He thought of the intense sessions of chemo and of the cancer, slowly rotting in his body. "Because I have cancer, Mr. H." Hey, maybe it would work. It's at least worth a shot.
"Gavin, be serious. Why have you been late all this week? And, please, no jokes."
"Honestly, Mr. H, I haven't been feeling the greatest this week. Chemo has taken a lot out of me – no bullshit." That was probably the wrong work to use, considering the situation.
"You know I hate that language in my restaurant." Mr. Hallowell was a devout Christian, like I used to be,believing that the non-usage of foul language was important in being a good person. The only real difference between Mr. H and Linus was that he didn't try to shove religion down other people's throats.
"Sorry, Mr. H." He tried to sound sincere. With everything going on, he just couldn't do it; it took too much effort to even care about anything more than Her these days. Every time his thoughts found their way to Her, anything else was a lost cause.
Mr. H said something Spinner didn't hear.
"Huh?" he said rather ineloquently.
Mr. H sighed. "Look, why don't you go home get some rest. I'll call Alex in." The glare in his eyes told Spinner that he was hardly happy to change the rotation at the café to accommodate Spinner, and if Spinner had learned one thing working at The Dot, it was that when Mr. H wasn't happy, the outcome was bad.
Spinner nodded reluctantly, not wanting to set his boss into an angry tirade. "Okay, but I swear to you, no more being late."
"Spare me the sincerities, Gavin. We both know it'll happen again. I know you." Mr. H stood up straight and rummaged through the papers on his desk until he found the one he was looking for – the list of employee phone numbers. Grumbling softly to himself, he dialed Alex Nunez.
"Alex, hi. It's Mr. Hallowell. I was wondering… I'm sending Spinner home, and need someone to come in to cover his shift. Would you be willing to do that for me?" He paused, listening to the response. "Great. Thanks. See you in a few minutes." He returned the phone to the cradle, only to find that Spinner was at the counter, not in Mr. H's office, beginning to set up for his shift.
"Go home, Gavin. You look like crap as it is. Rest – you need a break."
"I'm not going to leave you understaffed while Alex is on her way," Spinner responded, determined to redeem himself for his tardiness. He started to reach under the counter to get something for his area, but Mr. H blocked his hands.
"I told you to go home. Now." His tone brooked no argument.
"Fine," Spinner said testily. "Tell Alex to call or text me with the schedule when she can, okay?"
Mr. Hallowell's expression grew annoyed – well, more annoyed than before. His eyes were practically rolling out of his sockets. "If you're on, I will." In fact, he had the look of a man considering homicide, or just firing Spinner.
Same difference to Spin. I've already got one foot in the damn grave, don't I?
"Mr. H," Spinner started, "I need this job. I'd get down on my knees, but…" He stopped. Mr. H looked less homicidal and more like involuntarily committing manslaughter.
Spinner needed this crappy little job at The Dot. Chemo was hardly cheap and his mom sure as hell wasn't going to help him out, not with her spending her cash on her own vices. This was all he had.
"Gavin, I need to think this over. You know my policy on tardiness," Mr. H said with his voice growing louder until it reached shouting levels.
"Fine, I'm going," he said as he gathered up his jacket and pills from their place under the counter, "but, please, Mr. H, I need this job."
"So you said," Mr. H interrupted as he stood beside the teen.
"Don't fire me." He thought that sounded sincere, and just a tiny bit sad, enough for Mr. H to be convinced to change his mind.
Yeah, and maybe his heart will grow three sizes this day.
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Walking into the apartment he shared with his mother, he hoped that he wouldn't catch her in one of her moods. Pocketing his keys, he quietly slipped into his bedroom, and flopped on the uncomfortable bed that he slept on. It wasn't all that great for a guy his size, but try telling that to his mom.
He closed his eyes, trying to relax a little, like everyone had been telling him to do all day. His thoughts naturally led him to –.
"GAAAAAVIN!" his mom shouted from down the hall. "What are you doing home so early?" She didn't sound upset, but she did seem concerned whether he was feeling okay. Even her concern couldn't hide the slightly bubbly undertone of someone who had a few too many.
Sitting up, he shouted in reply, "Mr. H sent me home, said I looked like shit, and that I needed rest. So, he called Alex in." Oh, and I was late again. But I guess what you don't know won't hurt you, will it?
"Oh. Well then. Just get some rest, Gavin. You don't get enough of it."
Spinner rolled his eyes, but kept the emotion from his voice. "Whatever, Mom." But not from his words. "Anyway, I think I might go out. I feel fine."
From down the hallway, in the kitchen, it seemed, his mother said, "Gavin, you need to stay home, and get some rest like I said." She still sounded genuinely concerned for her son. For once.
"Okay, fine. I'll get some sleep," he replied, giving in temporarily. Soon enough, it wouldn't matter what she thought. She'd be out like a light in an hour anyway, if the smell of the tequila from down the hall was anything. He'd wait.
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Spinner ran around Degrassi, trying to get away from something that was chasing him. Just what was chasing him, well – he had no idea.
"What the hell do you want, freak?" he yelled to no one in particular. A feeling of panic began to set in, telling him to get the hell out of this place, but a voice stopped him.
"What do I want? Well, for starters, to put you through the same torture you put me through. Oh, and to make sure you get what you deserve." The maniacal voice came from the PA system in the school. Something about it was so familiar…
"Who the hell are you?" Spinner shouted at the speaker.
"Now, now. You haven't forgotten about your old buddy have you?" The voiced seemed to be having far too much fun with Spinner – almost better than he had planned.
Then it hit Spinner like a ton of bricks.
"Rick," he whispered, not wanting to believe it.
As Spin rounded the corner of the dark hallway he ran into something clammy, wet, and incredibly cold. The lights flickered for a moment, but eventually kicked on to reveal the person Spinner had feared it was behind this.
Rick Murray stood there, paint still in his hair and his glasses, blood all over his hands and white suit shirt, which, incidentally, wasn't that white anymore. It was covered in an orange-ish mixture of blood and sunshine yellow mix. Rick stood in the hall, looking like Hell itself.
"Why hello there, Gavin." The sound of hatred in his voice was palpable.
"What do you want, freak?" Spinner repeated, keeping his false bravado in place.
"To merely teach you a lesson, Gavin," Rick said, walking towards him, an arm outstretched ready to strike.
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