"Perfect isn't it? I thought it'd make you feel at home, you know put the the hill in hillbilly." Murdoc chuckled. Jack narrowed his eyes and took in the part of town they were pulling into. It was part of a failed amusement park. The row of buildings lining the dirt road would have fit in perfectly if they were in California two hundred years ago. The old west town had the atmosphere of a true ghost town. Jack's mouth went dry. He felt as if a demon or ghoul was about to jump out of every blackened window or creaking door.
Murdoc bounced in the driver's seat like a kid at Disney wanting the ride to be scarier. Jack's heart sank. The morgue, of course.
"Isn't this fun?" Jack bit his lip and looked down at Mac considering their situation. He gently leaned Mac back in the seat and winced at the squish of blood soaked cushion. Mac's face leaned to the side; his left side was a sticky mess of blood. Jack's stomach churned. He pushed Mac's hair away from his face. Jack closed his eyes, his hand working the handle of the knife.
"I'm sorry, kiddo." He whispered to Mac. Murdoc pulled up to a newly painted two story black building. A wooden sign hung over the door. In ornate gold lettering "Morgue" was written. As they stopped, Jack saw small print under that in crude scratches "where everyone knows your name." Jack's lip curled on one side. Murdoc got out of the Tahoe. He waved an expansive hand.
"I made this as homey as I could for you. I suggest you get Angus up and ready; they'll be here in twenty four hours to kill us, high noon. Poetic don't you think?" Jack growled. Murdoc turned and gave him a cold look.
"You owe me, Jack. You and your precious little Angus." Murdoc turned toward the building pulling a large ring of keys out of his pocket, "Besides it's not like you have a lot of choice." Jack climbed out of the rear of the Tahoe. The wind whispered over the dunes, but did nothing to cool the excruciating hot air. Jack shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck. He gently laid Mac's head on the seat.
"Oh, there's always a choice." Jack murmured. Murdoc moved to turn around. Jack moved faster than a cobra. He grabbed Murdoc's greasy hair yanked his head back and sliced the assassin's throat.
Pain. Mac gasped. A spear stabbed him clear through. Mac tried to take in air, but couldn't. His lungs were stapled to the table-he was a butterfly in someone's collection tacked in a display by a pin. Mac's eyes snapped open. Everything was blurry, spinning. Mac arched his back his hands yanking at his chest trying to pull it-whatever it was- out of his chest. His fingers white-knuckled around empty air. Mac tried to call for Jack, but only a gurgle and whimper came out. Tears streamed down his face. His gut churned.
"Oh, hey, brother. Easy, easy I'm here." Mac opened his eyes. When had they closed? Jack's blurry face spun in circles over his head. Mac reached out trying to wheeze in air. Jack grabbed his partner's hand.
"I know it hurts, kiddo, but you need to take in air, c'mon now." Mac squeezed Jack's hand and kept his gaze focused on Jack's gentle brown eyes. It hurt worse than anything Mac had ever felt. Everything went fuzzy and grey. Mac wished it would dim to black.
"Mac? Mac? Can you hear me?" Jack's voice echoed through Mac's head. Mac sucked in a desperate breath. The more he breathed, the easier it became. Mac blinked the room faded into focus. Jack's pale face seemed to swing over Mac's head. Mac frowned. How are you doing that? Jack frowned in confusion.
"Doing what?" Mac licked his dry lips. His mouth tasted like rusty nails. Blood? Mac reached up to wipe his mouth. Jack caught his hand.
"Your swinging from the ceiling...did you just read my thoughts?" Jack laughed. Mac smiled. It was a good sound to wake up to, but that still didn't answer his questions. Mac shivered. They were in almost total dark. A single light bulb dangled above kept the blackness back. Long shadows seemed to reach across the ceiling and walls like sharp claws. Mac gulped. He was cold.
Mac turned his head and frowned. He was on a metal table. A worm niggled in the back of his mind. Over the table hung sharp implements of all kinds. Saws, knives, spikes...the wall at his feet was lined with rows of silver refrigerator doors. Mac's eyes widened like the moon. His hand travelled his chest. Stitches, tape, and gauze. An incision? Everything snapped together.
"Morgue! Morgue! I'm in a morgue!" Mac tried to sit up. He cried out with pain. He flopped to the side rolling off the table, "I'm not dead! I'm not dead!" Mac slid off the steel morbid workbench. Warm hands caught him and steadied him upright. Mac wheezed. Everything see-sawed back across his vision.
"Mac? Mac! MAC!" Mac froze looking up. His nerves tingled with dread. Jack leaned in close pulling Mac to his chest. Mac clutched Jack's T Shirt and leaned forward forcing himself to keep breathing.
"Easy, brother. I know you aren't dead. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Just breathe, ok?" Mac nodded and closed his eyes.
"S-sorry, not sure what that was…" Mac mumbled. He felt Jack run his fingers through his hair. Jack's laugh echoed through his chest and wrapped Mac in familiarity and safety. Breathing hurt, but was easier. Mac slowly pushed away. Jack held his shoulders supporting him. Jack ducked to meet Mac's gaze.
"You with me, brother?" Mac nodded and offered Jack a watery smile.
"I feel like a harpooned fish." He rasped. Jack didn't laugh. Mac frowned, "Jack, what's going on?" Jack looked down and huffed a deep breath.
"What do you remember?" Mac closed his eyes rubbing his face with a shaky hand.
"I was at Gelson's. Dropped the groceries-"
"Again." Mac shot Jack a cold glare.
"Then-" Mac's eyes widened and he sat up straight turning to take in the shadows of the room waiting for them to come alive and slither out in a black long coat, "Murdoc! Jack-"
"Easy, partner. He's not here." Mac frowned and looked down at his chest. Blood soaked the middle of a pillow's worth of white gauze. He ran his hands over it. He could feel a matching one on his back.
"Jack, what happened?"
"From what I could piece together, Murdoc set us up to protect him from a group of mercenaries."
"He saved my life." Mac wrinkled his nose at the taste of bile.
"He also put it in danger, and wanted to kill you. I think that makes you even." Mac snorted and nodded. He winced as he slid off the table. Mac reached out and put his hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack ducked catching Mac's shoulder over his as the blond tilted.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jack did not like the see- through blue-white Mac had become or the trembling of his entire body. Jack held onto Mac's waist careful to avoid the wound on his back.
"O-out of here." Mac met Jack's gaze his own full of fear and pleading. Jack glanced around him and grimaced.
"Yeah, ok. Let's go upstairs." Jack let Mac set the pace. The kid moved at a slow shuffle. He'd only gone ten feet before he faltered. His knees buckled. Jack had been waiting. He crouched and scooped Mac up. He hadn't wanted to take Mac upstairs. Murdoc had an...unusual taste in decor. He really didn't have much of a choice, they were stranded.
Murdoc hadn't survived by being overly trusting. Jack had checked the Tahoe and found several explosive devices planted under the driver's seat, attached to the engine, near the front axles and who knew where else. The desolate empty land around them acted like a magnifying glass to the triple digit heat. Jack had moved Mac downstairs to where it was cooler. The hose over the table had also proven useful to wash away blood. All the blood. Jack cleared his throat but a ball of mucus and sand seemed to stick behind his tongue. He turned Mac sideways and worked him up the rickety wooden stairs that lead from the morgue to the upper living area.
The furniture was definitely not from the 1800s. It was sleek and comfortable and covered in plastic. Jack ducked through the narrow living room. There were no windows, all of the walls, floor and ceiling were black. On the wall were pictures, selfies Murdoc took with bodies broken in the most extreme and grotesque ways. His greatest hits, Jack assumed. Through the living room, the kitchen was blood red-appliances and walls. Again, no windows. Both rooms were lit by red lights.
Jack let out a deep breath of relief. Down a small hall there was half a bathroom, closet and two bedrooms. One was inexplicably done up as a nursery. A doll with x'd out eyes laid in the cradle. The room was perfectly organized and well kept. The other bedroom was a disturbingly normal sparse bedroom. A bed covered with a simple blue quilt filled most of the room. A closet without doors was neatly stacked with black slacks and T-shirts on the left side, the right reserved for long black coats.
Jack scratched at the neck of the T he had commandeered. It was longer and tighter on him, and itched. Murdoc evidently wore new clothes without washing them. Jack laid Mac on the bed and flopped on his back beside him.
A long window without glass ran the length of the room. A crooked bamboo shade swayed in the soft wind. The light wood tapped against the window frame. In the distance, he could hear the hushing of the ocean. He didn't hear any birds. It was getting near peak of the day. Jack wiped at the thick sweat pouring down his face. He closed his eyes. It was too hot to move.
