Legal statement still counts. :)


Chapter 45: Out of the Frying Pan

Craig felt his heart sink. He pushed on the door again, turning the knob both directions. He felt his throat swell and the tears ran hard. "Bobby, it's locked." He cried out.

"Push harder." Bobby spoke from next to him.

"It's locked!" Craig nearly screamed the words.

"Calm down." Bobby spoke in a quiet voice. "Feel around the door frame, how strong is it?"

Craig did what Bobby told him. He felt at the wood, it felt as if it could crumble under enough pressure, but it was still strong enough to hold him in. "What am I supposed to do? He's going to come back and catch me out." He cried as he let the gravity of his situation hit him. He couldn't find his way back to the room in the dark and get back inside, and even if he could he had knocked the boxes over and Adam would know he'd been out.

"You can't turn back now Craig. You've made it too far." Bobby spoke from next to him. "You put your back against this wall and you kick the shit out of that door. As hard as you can, right now, kick it until it opens."

"It won't work." Craig cried. "It won't open and Dad will come back and he'll be mad." He shook his head. "He gets crazy when he's mad." He did let his body fall back into the wall, and he dropped his water bottle onto the landing. He sniffed at his tears and wiped at his wet cheeks. "He's gonna kill me."

Bobby was quiet for a long time. Craig closed his eyes and thought about his brothers, and his mother, and how much he'd wanted to be a part of their family. He realized that he never should have expected that much out of his life. His father had taught him from the time he was old enough to understand, just what he was supposed to be, and how he was supposed to act. He wasn't a real person, he was Adam Macks' son, and that meant he wasn't a person at all, he was something for his father to control and punish, and own. He wasn't a person, he was an object, and he had made the mistake of thinking he could get past that. Evelyn Mercer had told him he could get past that, and that his father was wrong, that he was more than that, but she wasn't there anymore, and his father was, and he was going to make him hurt for trying to get away.

"What?" Bobby finally spoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're my brother, and that's all you need to remember right now. The rest of it is bullshit." He sounded pissed.

Craig wondered how Bobby had known what he was thinking, but then his drugged and hazy brain remembered this wasn't the real Bobby, this was his made up version of Bobby. He was stuck with Bobby because he couldn't bring an image of his mother. He couldn't remember her. She was fuzzy in his mind.

"Oh, hell, you remember her well enough. You just wanted me right now; because you know I can get you the fuck out of here. That's why you wanted me. I'm your fucking brother, and I will take care of you. You know that." Bobby shook his head. "Ma, hell, she would run her hand through your hair, and make you feel better, but I'll get your ass out of here." He stood above the boy and leaned back on the door. "Now you do what the fuck I told you to do. You put your feet on this door and your start kicking the fuck out of it, right now." He ordered.

Craig looked up at Bobby, and wiped at the tears again. He was getting tired of his mirage making remarks about his private thoughts. He adjusted his body, pressing his back into the wall, and planting his feet on the door, right on Bobby's knees. He pulled his feet back and then thrust them forward with as much strength as he could put into the muscles of his legs. They bounced back at him, without having any effect on the wooden door. He did it again, with the same results. "It's not going to work." He cried out.

"You need to get something to pry around the edges of the door. You can pry it loose." Bobby suggested. "It has enough give to it, you can pry the whole door over, and it will open."

"What?" Craig shook his head, the suggestion confusing his already rattled thought process.

"You have to go back down the stairs. I bet there's something down there that you can use." Bobby nodded his head. "Yeah, you go back down there, in the dark and start feeling around for something that will work."

"No, I can't go back down there." Craig shook his head. At least next to the door there was a little light making it through, he couldn't stand the thought of going back down into the dark nothingness below.

"Then you'd better fucking kick harder!" Bobby yelled at him. "You kick like a fucking girl."

Craig stared at the man; his words were pissing him off. "Shut up." He muttered.

"You can't kick worth shit. You kick like you're my little sister, and not my little brother. You want to show me you're a real boy then kick the fucking door like you have a purpose. Kick this fucker in!" Bobby was yelling at him steadily now. "The wood is rotted out, you can get this thing open, just kick, put some effort into it!"

"I said shut up!" Craig kicked at Bobby's knees as hard as he could. His brother continued yelling the insults at him, and he kicked again, and again, as hard as he could, aiming a little higher than Bobby's knees, trying to get him to stop yelling at him. He kicked nonstop, over and over and over.

The door popped open with a loud crash, flying back to bang against the plaster wall with the peeling patches of paper. The sudden light blinded the fourteen year old, and the door releasing under his kick had left his feet with nowhere to go but straight out to land on the floor with a hard thud.

"Well it's about fucking time." Bobby stood just on the other side of the door, his arms crossed at his chest. "That's what the hell a Mercer does Craig. A Mercer fights, no matter how hard something is, we keep fighting, and don't you ever forget that."

Craig's throat tickled at him, and he coughed hard, his chest aching from the effort. The coughing seemed to irritate his already aching head, and he reached up to hold onto it in an attempt to make it stop spinning around on him. He looked back up at Bobby, who was still surrounded in the multi colored patterns that his mind was creating, though it wasn't as vivid in the light as it had been in the dark. He snatched up his bottle of water and crawled into the room, making his way to his clothes on the floor against the opposite wall.

He looked up at Bobby while he sat down to slide into his sweat pants. He pulled at the dirt caked shirt his father had put on him, ripping at it until it came off, and he managed to pull on the jersey. He reached down to the hem of the jersey and located the spot he'd found comfort in rubbing between his fingers just hours before. He felt a sense of calm fill him on the inside. "How am I going to get out of here? I can't walk. My legs don't want to work." He muttered.

"Get on your feet; you have to at least try." Bobby walked towards the door on the other end of the room; the one Craig was sure led to the porch.

"I don't have any shoes." Craig felt more tears building up, and found he had to cough again.

"Why do you have to bring up all the shit that's wrong here?" Bobby asked. "You're out of the fucking basement. You've got the hard part over with, right? Now get your ass in gear and let's get moving."

Craig stared at Bobby. "You aren't going to leave me alone, are you? You're coming with me?" He asked.

"I'm coming for you Craig, don't give up on that. Until then, I'll be right here, for as long as you keep me here." Bobby pointed to the door next to him. "Now come on."

Craig used the wall next to him for support and forced his weak legs to raise him from the floor. He could feel them shaking under him, wanting to buckle. "I can't do this." He muttered.

"Don't say that, you just do it. Come on." Bobby pushed him. "Don't make me start calling you names again."

Craig forced his legs to move, and made his way slowly to the door. He stared at the knob for a long moment. "What if this one is locked?" He asked.

Bobby laughed and pointed to the lock, on the inside of the door. "Then unlock it."

Craig laughed at his own worry and reached out to pull the door open. The sound of an approaching car engine alerted him that someone was there, before he had the chance to pull the door open. "Bobby?"" He looked up at the image of his brother.

"Go, the other way." Bobby moved through the room to go into the next room. Craig followed, his weak legs struggling, but his fear of his father coming through the door seemed to give him the strength he needed to get to the next room. He followed Bobby's image on through to what would have been the front room as one time, with a charred and rotten staircase that led up to the second floor. He didn't want to go up the stairs. What if he was found up there? Bobby was going up the stairs through. He looked at the door at the front of the room, and didn't understand why he couldn't go out the door.

"He's going to be expecting you to be out there. He'll come after you and he'll catch you, you can't move fast enough. You come with me. You come up here, and hide. He's not going to look up here for you." Bobby called from above him.

Craig could hear the sound of car doors slamming closed, and he moved as quickly as he could, making his way up the stairs. The second floor was mostly a burnt and blackened shell of a house. The floors were solid, or so it seemed, but one end of the house had no walls at all, and the cold wind was howling through the skeletal remains. Craig moved to the end of the hall, where there seemed to be rooms still intact and found one with an old bed and a dresser, though the furniture was yellowed and the stench from the smoke and flames that had over taken the house was still strong. There was also a closet. He cringed inside when Bobby appeared next to the closet and pointed at it. "Get in."

Craig shook his head slowly. "Please Bobby, not in there." He barely got the words out.

"Yes, in there. Come on." Bobby motioned for him to open the door.

Craig shuffled his feet over to the closet and pulled on the handle slowly. He was surprised to find clothes still hanging there. Long sleeve shirts and pants. They were yellowed, as was the rest of the room, but they were clothes, and at that moment, they could provide some warmth from the bitter cold that was quickly penetrating every bone in his body. He stepped into the closet and pulled clothes down, dropping them in a pile on the floor before closing the door after him and easing himself down into the makeshift bedding.

His chest constricted and he wanted to cough again, but he held it in. He could hear movement below him now, and he couldn't risk anyone hearing him.

He was waiting to hear his father's yells from below. He knew that his father was going to go into one of his rages once he found he was out of the basement. He would know as soon as he walked into the room that he had broken free. He would see the basement door standing open, and would have to know. The yell never came though. He listened, and was sure that he heard voices, quiet, and distant. He felt his body starting to warm up a little, with his own clothes on, and the clothes from the closet under him. He reached around in the dark closet, finding some of the clothing, and pulling it up around him.

He looked at Bobby, who was sitting cross legged on the other side of the closet. He felt his eyes growing heavy, and let them slide close as a sense of warmth seemed to fill him. He felt his chest wheeze as he sucked in a deep breath, and he rested his head back against the wall. "What if that isn't him?" Craig asked as he listened to the voices. "What if that's you?" He looked at the imaginary Bobby sitting across from him, though his eyes were still closed. "Will you find me?"

"Of course I will." Bobby smiled at him.

Craig nodded his head slowly and let his mind drift, exhaustion tugging at his brain. He could see the colors again, but they didn't seem as strong as before, and they weren't swirling around him. He felt his body relax and was soon floating into a calm sleep.


Adam Macks answered the call from Jessup Winston, using all his inner strength to hold in his anger. Yeah, he already knew the son of a bitch had given him over to the police. Higgins had told him what he'd needed to know, but now he wanted to see what the hell Winston was gonna try. "Yeah, what the hell do you want?"

Curiosity had always been one of his weaknesses. He liked to know shit. It had gotten him where he was now, holding Victor Sweet's money, and his property. He'd been curious and had found answers to the questions that mattered. Like, how the hell does a man get so many contacts in high places? Yeah, he blackmailed people; he paid them off and got them in his pocket. He just had to find out what the hell it was that Sweet had on these people, and use it to his advantage, and he had done that.

He was in the same position as Victor Sweet had been, but he was smarter than that arrogant ass hole. He was powerful, and no one was going to stop him, not Winston, not the detective that Winston was feeding his information to, and not the Mercers. Hell, least of all the Mercers. He had his son back, and he'd kill the kid before he let anyone else take him away from him again.

"You called me, what did you want?" Winston spoke his question harshly. "I don't have time for your games Adam."

"Oh, I wanted to know where the hell you wanted to meet up with me." Macks grinned. "I should be hitting the city in about half an hour."

"What about your place? That warehouse?" Winston asked.

"Sure, that sounds good. Be there in an hour?" Macks looked the signs lining the interstate, letting him know where they were, and how much longer it was going to be before he they got back to the exit they would need to get to the house.

"Okay, then I'll be there in an hour." Winston went on to talk about some cop, the detective talking to him, and telling him a bunch of bullshit. Macks knew it was bullshit, but he played along with it. Let Winston play his games, he had a few games of his own that he could play.

"What about the Mercers?" Macks asked.

"I don't know about them. I haven't seen them since they busted my teeth out of my mouth." Winston spoke angrily. "I do know that they won't stop until they find you though Macks, so you'd better be watching your ass."

Macks laughed. "Hell, they can look for me all they want. They will never find me. You have no idea how easy it would be for me to disappear right now Jessup. I'm good at disappearing."

"Then maybe you'd better consider doing that. I want my fucking pay off before you do though. Don't make me come hunting your ass down Macks, I won't be as friendly as the Mercers. I'm just a little pissed at you right now." Jessup threatened.

Macks laughed. "We are partners, partner. Remember?" He sighed loudly. "You be there in an hour." He hung up the phone before Winston could say anything else. He looked at Jordan and shook his head.

He couldn't believe he was stuck with a wiener like Jordan. The man was the only one who seemed to be able to do what the fuck he wanted him to without any arguing. He talked about not wanting to be there, but he was getting a thrill out of it, Macks could tell. The man had lived such a dull and boring life for so long, he'd been fighting down what he really was, trying to live a normal, straight life with a wife and kids, but here he was, delving right into the excitement. He laughed slightly, yep, he was stuck with the bastard, until he could get the kid and take off. He couldn't take Jordan with him, he'd have to leave him on the side of the road somewhere, and he wouldn't be able to leave him alive either.


"Jack Mercer, I thought we'd seen the last of you." Sarah, the cute nurse Bobby had found so interesting, stood next to the young man's bed, smiling down at him. "You look like shit Jack."

Jack forced a small grin as he woke completely from his sleep. "Yeah, well I feel much worse than I look." He reached up and scratched at an itch on his chin, and then let out a yawn. "How long have I been out?"

"Well, you came out of surgery about twelve thirty, and you've been out since. You're actually very lucky." Sarah gave him a curious gaze. "Your tube was pulled out pretty clean, and the bleeding wasn't that bad."

Jack felt around his chest for the tube, but couldn't locate it. "They didn't put it back?" He sounded confused.

"No, the doctor believes you will be fine without it, but he wants you to continue your breathing treatments. You have been keeping up with those at home, haven't you?" Sarah took hold of Jack's left arm and prepared it for taking his blood pressure.

Jack could feel his face flush. "Well, kind of." He gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "But, I will make sure I do better." He gave the nurse a shy smile.

"Good. I'd hate to see you back in here with pneumonia." Sarah flashed a smile, but it seemed to hold a scold behind it. "Sofi and Camille are both here; they just went down to get some coffee." She announced as she worked. "You should be out of here by noon."

"Have any of my brothers called?" Jack asked quickly, wanting to know what was going on, and not wanting to wait for Sofi and Camille to return to find out.

"No, they haven't but I'm sure they will. Lord knows they can't give you a moment's peace when you're in here." Sarah was teasing, but she was right, the last time Jack had been in that hospital there had been a brother in his room continuously.

"Where is my cell phone?" Jack asked.

"I don't think it's here." Sarah continued her examination and wrote on Jack's chart. "There is such a thing as a regular telephone. I know it's a bit outdated, but it does work. It has push buttons and all." She gathered her supplies and headed for the door while she pointed to the phone sitting on the stand next to Jack's bed.

Jack sighed and reached for the phone. Now, if he could just remember Jerry or Angel's cell phone number he'd be all set. It wasn't as if he'd ever had to really think about the number before, since they'd been programmed into his phone already. He was racking his brain, staring at the numbers on the phone when a sound from the door drew his attention. He looked up to see Officer Higgins standing there, looking at him with a smile on his face.

"Mr. Mercer, I need to ask you a few questions; that is if you feel up to it." Higgins spoke the words in a pleasant tone, but the sound of his voice made Jack feel nauseous.

"Officer Higgins, I don't believe I will ever feel well enough to talk to you. When I feel up to it, I'll talk to Green." Jack couldn't keep the loathing out of his voice. "I think you should leave, now." He carefully set the phone back down.

Higgins took another step into the room. "I really need to ask you some questions Mr. Mercer. I need to know how to get in touch with your brothers, I have some information that I need to get to them, immediately." His voice sounded threatening, and Jack could feel the chills running down his spine.

"Jack, you're awake." Camille walked into the room, pushing her way past Higgins. Sofi followed, giving the uniform blocking her way a close look from head to toe before moving past the man.

"Do we need to leave?" Sofi looked at Jack while pointing towards Higgins.

"No, he was just leaving." Jack kept his tone even, and his stare fixed on the son of a bitch standing in the doorway. "This is Officer Higgins. The same friendly cop who tried to tell Craig he was going to have him taken away from his family."

Sofi spun around to look at the man, and Camille carefully set her cup down on the stand next to Jack's bed before turning to the man herself. "You did what? You are supposed to be an officer of the law. You told a little boy who was already scared that you were going to take him away from the only family he's ever known?" Once she was started, there was no stopping her. Jack laughed at the sight of Camille and Sofi both moving in on the man, backing him out the door, and he could still hear them going at him down the hallway, Sofi's Spanish mixed in with Camille's barrage of words.

Jack sighed. "Well, maybe I should call Green." He muttered to himself as he picked up the phone again and started dialing the number for the police department. That was one number he did remember.