It had all started with a problem with public transportation, and when Mark would look back to these events, that was the The Mistake he had made. Sure, there had been other mistakes on the way, but they had all seemed like the natural result of this one, and this one was the one he had been regretting as soon as it had happened.
Everything that came after was so weird and unexpected it couldn't have been expected of him to know how to act. But that first mistake was something completely avoidable, a small, common mistake that wouldn't have even slowed down most people. Most people managed to ruin their lives with big stupid mistakes. While even Marks mistakes were small and seemingly inconsequential. Until they grew like a snowball, rolling down the hill, picking up other small mistakes along the way, until they grew into a one huge catastrophe.
He had been working late, and was worried he'd miss the last bus. So when he saw the bus on the stop, he ran to it, frantically waving his suitcase. For a moment he thought he was too late, but the driver saw him running and flailing, and stopped, re-opening the bus doors.
And at that moment Mark noticed it was the wrong bus. Nevertheless, he stepped in, thanking the driver.
He cursed inwardly. He should have just told the driver he was mistaken and that wasn't the bus he wanted, but he had panicked, and now it was too late. He wondered what was the minimal distance he should travel before dropping off, so as not to seem like he had made a mistake.
Why this particular time did the driver had to see him and stop? There had been countless times when he had missed the bus by a few seconds, and the driver hadn't noticed him, or probably they had, but just felt like making his life miserable. That's what the bus drivers did.
Mark wondered if being a bus driver was a profession that attracted dickheads, or if it was the job that turned people into that. Except for this one nice driver. Who just happened to cross his path this one time when he would have preferred a tosser.
Figuring three stops was long enough, he quickly got out.
And found himself on a dark street corner.
On second thought, he should have ridden the bus to some busy place where he could get his bearings and get back on the right route. But now the bus-doors closed behind him, and the bus started again.
For a fraction of a second, Mark thought of turning back, but even if the driver stopped for him, again, he'd end up looking twice the weirdo. Maybe he should mention he was new there, but this was close to the office, so there probably were people in that bus who had seen him before.
Besides, running after the bus had been what got him into this trouble in the first place.
None of the buses that stopped there, according the schedule posted on the bus shelter, seemed familiar. But it wasn't too far from where he had gotten in the bus, which was familiar ground. And this area was maybe not that well lit, but he could see better lighted areas nearby.
Actually, if he stayed on this stop, he was easily seen, and that was just the kind of sight that attracted hooligans, he was at a disadvantage here.
He started walking back the way he had come. The bus ride hadn't been that long.
Nothing to fear in the darkness, if you didn't see them, they didn't see you. Darkness protected you, yes, that was it. And it wasn't like he was middle of nowhere, this was middle of the city, if some less populated area.
Nothing to fear.
And there were people around, in fact he could see a group of people coming towards him. Noisy people. Oh God, they looked like a gang! And the noises they made were just the kind of noises drunken people made! He had been wrong, there was a lot to fear, gangs of drunken mobsters roaming the streets, looking for people just like him to mug and beat and worse!
Should he run? But that would show he was afraid, and even if they hadn't noticed him yet, or for some reason were the kinds of drugged lunatics who didn't maim decent people on dark alleys for fun, running away would attract their attention and they might decide to hunt him for sport.
What to do?
Maybe he should just ignore them and walk briskly past them, although they were taking the whole sidewalk, and he'd have to cross on the street…
Or, he could slip into this small dark alley.
Yeah, slip right past them. Hide in the shadows.
He did so, stumbling to the dark. But it wasn't pitch-black, so his eyes adjusted, and he could make out the vague shapes of the alley. He stepped into something, possibly a puddle of water, and hesitated. But, deciding that ruined shoes were a cheap price to pay in this case, Mark staggered forward.
Damn it, the alley was a dead end. It looked like a back entrance to somewhere, and based on his sense of smell, the lumpy shapes he was seeing around him were piles of rubbish.
He took a step towards the wall, as close as he could, without actually risking touching it.
And held his breath.
And the gang actually passed him, without even slowing down!
Yeah, he had made the darkness to work for him! Like a ninja.
"Got a light?"
Mark could swear he jumped into the air.
He turned, stumbling to the wall (great, now his coat was probably ruined as well), and almost fell over.
He had been so focused on the gang that he had somehow missed this girl. Where had she come from? Had she been on the alley the whole time? Probably, as it was a dead end.
"No", he managed to mumble.
Calm down, Corrigan, he reminded himself. She's just a girl.
He took another look, trying to estimate his chances if it turned into a fight.
Even though he had initially thought she was a kid, he estimated she was probably older. Maybe a teenager, or on her early twenties, although it was difficult to tell. But very skinny and petite, almost fragile-looking.
Yeah, he could take her. In a fight. If it came to that.
The girl took a step closer, and instinctively, Mark took a step back.
"I don't have a light!"
Deciding that had sounded a bit desperate, he added:
"And kids your age shouldn't smoke anyway."
That's right, show her who was the adult here. Who was the authority figure she couldn't hope to intimidate. Not on her own, anyway, but it was possible she had backup coming, so just in case he should leave.
The girl took another step towards him, smiling.
There was something very unnerving about that smile, but Mark couldn't make out in the limited light what, exactly.
He couldn't keep backing like that, he was bound to fall over.
Trying not to completely turn his back on her, Mark stepped towards the alleyway, nervously returning the smile.
And then there was pain.
She had hit him. Probably, it had been fast, and it was difficult to see in the dark. But something had hit him on his jaw. And he could see the girl moving towards him again, and there was something strangling him, it looked like the girl was holding him by the throat with one hand, but surely that wasn't possible?
The back of his head erupted in pain, hitting against the brick wall. Mark tried to shield himself somehow with the suitcase, but that wasn't really helping.
And suddenly the girl was on top of him. Mark managed to pull his suitcase to cover his torso, maybe its sharp edges would hurt her as much as they did him.
The girl reached for his throat.
What if this was a strategy prostitutes used? Forcibly serviced men on dark alleys, and then made them pay for it? Or worse, what if she was actually underage, and this was all a part of some nefarious plot to frame him as a pedo, and then they would blackmail him-
The wall hit his head again. Or maybe it was the girl, he wasn't certain what was going on anymore.
His last thought was that if he would just lie still and not fight back maybe it would all be over soon and he'd escape at least with his life. Yes, just closing his eyes and letting things happen sounded pretty good…
Mark woke to a horrible smell.
He tried to stand up, but found it more difficult than usual. He felt mild throbbing pain all over his body, especially his head, but simultaneously there was an odd numbness.
But if his other senses seemed dulled, the stink everywhere around him assaulted him with a horrid force. Holding his breath, he pushed the garbage bag off of him.
It all started to come back to him.
She had beaten him up, and left him for dead under a pile of rubbish.
And his suitcase was gone. She had probably nicked it. But he still had his keys, and his wallet and mobile, they had been in his pocket. Although his phone had either ran out of battery or broken.
All they had gotten were some papers from his work. And the joy of beating him up.
God, his head hurt.
And he reeked, and was wet.
Mark stumbled unsteadily out of the alley.
How long had he been out? It was still dark.
He felt like crap, he needed to get home. Or to the police? No, home first, he should clean up first. If he went to the station smelling like shit (literally, he was pretty sure some of that wetness in his pants was his shit) they would only think he was a crazy homeless person.
He stumbled forward. It felt like his whole body had fallen asleep, but forcing himself to walk managed to get some feeling to his legs.
Somehow he got back to his flat, certain he had gotten bad looks on the way and that everyone thought he was a crazy homeless man using public transport without paying. If he had his suitcase they wouldn't think he was homeless. They'd realise he was a respectable member of society who just had been in an accident.
Luckily Jeremy wasn't in, Mark didn't feel like dealing with anyone right now. Finally in the safety of his room, he passed out on the floor, not wanting to dirty his bed and just way too exhausted to clean up.
He woke up after an unspecified time, still smelling like shit, but feeling a bit better.
There was still pain, especially around his joints, and he felt numb, but also a bit elated, like he was slightly buzzed.
He made his way to the bathroom.
But had the light always been so bright? It hurt his eyes.
It seemed like his coat was beyond any help. Still, maybe it could be cleaned up. He dropped all the soiled clothing on a heap on the floor.
After the shower he felt a lot better, although still very weird. For one, his sense of touch seemed dulled, and he couldn't exactly tell if the water was cold or not. And there was something even stranger going on with his body, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. Still, he didn't feel as sick anymore, it was probably just a flu.
Some horrible mutant flu that was most likely slowly killing him. He got a plastic bag, and started going through the pile of clothes. The shirt could most likely be salvaged. Pants and socks no, but they could be sacrificed.
He checked his phone. At least it had just run out of juice and seemed to be working now. He checked to see the time.
And realised it was early Tuesday morning. It had been Friday when he had left work. He had just assumed it was still the same night, since it was still dark outside.
But had he been out, lying on the alley for the whole weekend? Or had he been lying unconscious on his floor that long?
Damn it, he had missed a day of work. And no one had come to look for him. Or maybe they had. And he had just lain on the alley covered by stinking rubbish.
He felt like he should complain to someone. Surely it was against some regulations not to clean up your alleys for days, so that unconscious human bodies went totally unnoticed?
He sent a message to work, telling them he was sick, and couldn't have come to work. Hopefully he could get some sleep before morning, and shake off whatever what illness he had before the next day.
"Jeremy!"
No answer. He hadn't probably even noticed Mark had been missing. Probably partying somewhere, while Mark was working and getting lost and being assaulted in a probably non-sexual way and almost dying.
Wanker.
He walked to the kitchen, since if he hadn't been eating for days, he should feel starving.
Should, but the thought of food was making him slightly nauseous.
Still, he should get something to eat. He made some toast.
Mark stared at the toast. It didn't look appetizing in the slightest. He took a bite. And spit it out. It tasted horrid.
He was actually feeling more thirsty, he could get water down, and forced himself to eat the pieces of bread.
And so he found himself gagging on the toilet, throwing up everything he had managed to eat. And apparently because just spewing stuff out of one end wasn't enough, there was pain in his stomach, accompanied by a gurgling noise in his gut.
He spent what felt like hours on the toilet, but after his body had done its best to spew his innards out from both ends of the digestive system, he felt better.
Although it was very alarming he was throwing up blood. And teeth. One tooth fell in the toilet, but the other one Mark managed to spit out on his palm. Maybe the dentist could reattach it? Assuming he wasn't falling apart due to some weird plague.
He did his best cleaning up, flushing the toilet (he figured he could do without one tooth) and washing his face.
He had better check out what teeth he had missed, and how ill he looked, exactly. He would probably have to go to the hospital, but what if it was something he had caught on that alley? Actually, what were the chances that it wasn't?
There would be questions, maybe he could claim he had been attacked by a group of huge gangsters-
But, as he looked in the mirror, all his worries were momentarily pushed back by what he saw.
Or rather, what he didn't see.
He brought his hand to the mirror. There was no reflection.
