Chapter Thirty-eight: Wake Up Call

This made the second time Mickey had ever woken up in a hospital hooked up to bags of blood. His vision was blurry as he looked around him. Finally it came to focus and he groaned, trying to move his arm. He looked down at it, bringing it in front of his line of sight. His arm was wrapped in thick bandaging. Mickey could feel the stitches beneath itching him horribly. They were tight and they stung. His arm throbbed, aching. Mickey felt weak. So much so that he could barely lift his head. He let his arm fall back down, and tried to contain his roaring thoughts. Finally he just settled for screaming. Doing so at least drowned out his brain. It didn't take long for a nurse to rush in, tranquilizer in hand. Mickey shoved her off of him, instantly calmer now that he had someone in the room to give him god damned answers.

"Fuck off!" he snapped at the nurse, fighting her off until she eased back and held up her hands, needle included.

She was young, around Mickey's age. Tall, thin, too thin, and her blond hair was short and greasy looking. She looked tired. She spoke, and her voice was hesitant, airy. Her accent was think and Mickey didn't recognize it. "Look, mister," she said. "either chill out or I'm sticking you with this." She studied him as Mickey sat up and winced. "Lay back down," she instructed. "You lost too much blood."

Mickey did as he was told. Not because he wanted to, but because his body didn't seem to want to allow him to defy the nurse's orders. He fell back to sleep soon after. When he woke back up, the nurse was removing the bags of blood while another woman wheeled in a tray of covered food and a card that was addressed to him, hooked to a stuffed bear, unannounced. Mickey sat up, ignoring the nurse to his side and not thinking on the letter for now, and wrinkled his nose. He hated hospital food as much as the next person. But his stomach growled as the woman handed him over the tray and a bottle of water. It smelled good, but Mickey knew that was just deceit. The woman left without so much as a word, wheeling a large cart full of other trays past his door. Mickey watched her then turned to the nurse. "Why am I here?" he asked bluntly. And indeed, why? Christopher had slit Mickey's arm deeper than shit. Mickey should have bled out in that field.

The nurse, holding onto the empty bags and walking over to the hazard can attached to her cart, just outside his door, answered him as she walked away. But Mickey didn't hear her well because of how low her voice was. He rudely asked her to repeat herself and stop whispering. Stepping back into his room, leaving the door open, the young woman put her hands into the pockets of her pink and white scrubs. She cleared her throat, this time speaking up. "A couple found you near a park. Someone attacked you," she said. "Fortunate for you, also, that the couple found you time."

Mickey looked down at the card, thumbing his lip with his good hand. "They see who did it?" Mickey asked, cautious.

The nurse shook her head. "I don't know, mister," she said. "I wasn't the nurse on duty when you were admitted and the cops were here." She looked at him, trying to will his eyes to look her way. "Would you like me to phone the police? You can give a statement?" she asked, concerned.

Mickey twitched, turning on her then, eyes ablaze. "No!" he growled. "Don't you even!"

Startled, the nurse stared at him. She looked down at his dirty knuckles, obviously reading the words written across them for maybe the first time. Realization dawned on her. Mickey watched it wash over her face. She left right after. And Mickey knew he had to get the fuck up out of that bed and flee the hospital. No two ways about it. That bitch was probably phoning the cops right now. Even if she wasn't, he was still fucked because they had identified him, most likely. Mickey could not afford for them to come snooping ever, especially right after he'd been released from two months of jail time. It would look suspicious, even though he was a victim. They would snoop. They would find shit they shouldn't, and Mickey would be fucked. Still staring at the card, Mickey thought of another reason he had to leave quickly. Someone knew he was here, and it was probably Christopher. If the Italian thought for even a second that Mickey would talk, he'd end Mickey like he'd meant to. Or maybe it was Julio sending him a get well soon card. Not like it mattered. He was fucked if he didn't get out now and run. Problem was, Mickey was still feeling more than a little weak. Not to mention he was hook up to an IV drip and had no idea how to get it out properly. So he acted fast.

Mickey gripped the tape over the needle sticking out of the hand on his wounded arm. He pulled fast and bit down on his lip, growling as the needle popped free, blood squirting on the white sheets. He put pressure over the wound with his bare hand. It wasn't bleeding horribly or anything, so Mickey rushed to free up a pillow case from behind him. To do this, he let go of his bleeding arm and let it drip down his gown and lap as he violently turned and shook free the pillow. Once done, he tied the case around his arm tightly to help stop the bleeding. Mickey swung his legs over the bed, looking down at himself, pissed. Where were his fucking clothes. His back was cold from the opened gown. His ass was probably hanging out, for all who walked by his door to see. But Mickey didn't care as he ran around the room looking for his clothes. Naturally, they weren't in there. The nurse probably had them. Hissing to himself, Mickey decided that fuck it, he was leaving commando. They hadn't given much choice. Besides, he could always mug some clothes off someone once he was free and clear. So Mickey made do with what he had. He walked back over to the bed and quickly pulled loose another pillow case. This one he tried to tie around his wait, in order to seal shut the back of his hospital gown. But the case was too small, so he made fast and got yet another one, tied them together, an fastened them around himself. He ran into the bathroom of his room and washed the blood from his hand and random other placed on his neck. Stepping back, Mickey took a glance at himself. He looked fucking ridiculous. Like when he'd once dressed up as spider man and tied his sheets to himself, trying to swing from his walls as a child. But it would have to do. So he left the bathroom quickly and went to the window. Lucky for him, he was only on the second floor and his window was in a groove right on a piece of the oddly placed roof. He flung open the window and put one leg through, flashing the pigeons hanging about. But he turned back, letting his curiosity get the better of him. Hearing a cart coming his way, followed by the sound of a police radio, Mickey grabbed up the car and fled. He hid against a wall, beside of some other random window and watched carefully as the policeman and nurse panicked at his disappearance. The policeman immediately went to the window, yelling. Mickey darted. He heard the officer following him, but kept on. Kept on even though his head was light.

It had been a feat getting away from the officer, but Mickey had managed to do so. Actually it had been quite the rush. Mickey had broken a random window and ran through another patient's room, only to race the emergency stairway up to very tip top of the roof. The officer had followed, almost catching Mickey by his gown twice. But Mickey had made it to the roof. And he was one lucky fuck today, because the roof to the neighboring building was low and close by. It was crowned with cars. It clearly belonged to the parking deck. Mickey looked back at the officer, laughing and flipping the guy off as he jumped to the other roof. The officer was not as brave as Mickey.

His landing was rough. He scrapped his knees and elbows. His his back pretty hard. His head spun. Mickey felt faint. But he knew he needed to get up. So he forced himself to his feet, grabbed the car that had fallen from his makeshift belt, and ran down the ramp to the next level. Diving between cars until he finally grabbed the handle of one that wasn't locked, Mickey fought to keep himself from falling over. Finally he got into the opened car and pulled the underside of the older model Ford truck open. He was pretty damned decent at a fast hot-wire job. Mickey didn't bother to buckle up as he spend down the deck, mingling in with the flow of traffic easily.

Mickey drove until the radio clock read three in the morning. He finally stopped at a rest area just outside of Hammond, Indiana. He flipped off the radio and turned off the car. He sat there for a while, just looking out at the dark expanse. His was one of the only three cars in the large parking lot. Perfect. Mickey really hoped, as he got out of the car and walked casually into the men's restroom, that one of the other people wore his size clothes. Or close. He'd settle. Mickey was fucking sick of the god damned gown bunching up under his ass while he drove. So he stepped into the restroom and stared at the back of a man using the urinals. The guy, taller than Mickey but only by a little, hadn't noticed his stalker yet. Mickey eyeballed the man. He was much heavier than Mickey, but whatever. The pants would probably fit if Mickey held them up some when he walked. The shirt would probably fit him like a sack, though. Plus it was yellow and Mickey hated yellow. But he wasn't going to be picky. Cracking his knuckles as he stepped up next to the guy and took a whizz, Mickey smirked. The man turned to him, did a double take at Mickey's attire, and zipped up his pants, stepping away slowly.

"Look, man," he said, holding up his hands, "I don't want any trouble."

"Too bad," Mickey said before decking the guy, still grinning, head cocked. His fist connected and Mickey let himself sigh, content in the sound of cracking bone. It was almost as satisfying as sex. The stranger didn't move, just lay there terrified as Mickey stripped him. Finally, after Mickey had dressed himself in the yellow shirt and black jeans, he hopped up and down, trying to fold the belt of the large pants a few times, hoping to secure them a little if the pants were rolled some. It helped. But not much. He laughed and licked the corner of his mouth, eyes dancing over the scared man on the bathroom floor. "You not even going to defend yourself?" he asked, spreading his arms. "Damn," he laughed. "and here I was worried." He spat on the ground near the man's head, just as the bathroom door opened and a thirteen year old boy stepped into the room. He looked at the kid, faltered for a minute, then went about his business of digging the keys to the man's car out of the jean pocket. The kid stared at him, frozen in place. Clearly terrified. Mickey thumbed his lip. "You see anything when you came in here?" he asked, threatening.

The child shook his head fast.

"Fuck right you didn't," Mickey said, smiling. He walked past the kid and patted his shoulder. As he was about to walk out of the door, Mickey froze and turned around, now smiling as the thought dawned on him. Chiding, he asked the man on the floor which vehicle was his.

An hour later, Mickey was pulled off the side of the road at a Burger King, munching on onion rings and a chocolate milkshake, curtsey the money in the bathroom stranger's wallet. He hadn't used the credit card. Was too smart for that. He sucked his fingers clean, burped, and began digging through the wallet, counting the remaining bills. There was about eighty dollars left. Mickey licked his teeth and dropped the wallet into the seat beside of him. He watched out of his windshield, figuring he would need to switch cars soon. Not until he was out of Hammond, though. Flicking his eyes back to the passenger seat, Mickey stared at the still unopened car. He kept his eyes on it as he reached out to the cup holder near the steering wheel and grabbed the basically empty milkshake once more. He slurped at it until it rattled, eyes never leaving the card. Swallowing, Mickey tossed the empty cup back into the holder and picked up the card. He wasn't sure where he was heading, but he was sure of at least one thing, now: wherever he went, it was going to be far the fuck from Indianapolis and Chicago. He thought about Mandy as he sliced the card open with the corner of his thumb nail. Thought he surely couldn't risk taking her with him, even though some part of him wanted to. Felt like he was deserting her. But it was for the best. Even though thinking that gave him a lump to the throat and chest. Besides, Ian's brother would probably help her some. If not, Mickey was certain that Ian would send money back to her from California. Mickey's hand still as he pulled the folded up piece of paper from the card, his thoughts elsewhere now. His eyes dropped and he frowned, face soft. He licked the middle of his bottom lip and reached up to touch his mouth. Fucking Ian Gallagher. Mickey cringed because he had actually allowed himself to let go. Had, for just that minute in the bathroom, let himself know. But fuck all if he was going to do anything about it now. He couldn't if he had wanted to. So Mickey pushed away his thought and unfolded the paper. Something slightly heavy fell out of it, onto his lap. Scowling, Mickey sat the letter aside and picked up the object on his thigh. It was glossy. It was a picture. Mickey's frown deepened and he picked it up and flipped the photograph over.

What he saw made his eyes bulge and his heart stop. His wind caught in his throat and he threw the picture down, hurrying back to the letter as if his life depended on it.

He speed read the letter, breathing labored.

'I want the money.' The letter read. 'I know about it. Now you know I know. I'll be in touch.'

Signed Marcus.

Mickey's face twisted with rage. He wadded up the letter and threw it violently against his windshield. "Fuck!" he screamed, banging his back against the seat spastic, just as he banged his hands on the steering wheel. Mickey cursed himself. He should have know Tony was up to more than just getting his grubby hands on Mickey's stash of heroin. Should have known Tony better than that. Shouldn't have bothered leaving Chicago without Mandy. Shouldn't have even gone back to Indianapolis.

"Fuck!"