Session 12

~SPIKE~

Days had passed and yet his accusation still echoed through my mind. Even though the slap had long since faded from my cheek, I still felt the plaguing sting. Deep, far deeper than the skin.

I had been so foolish! I had dared to trust someone—again. Dared to believe that he actually cared. Let my damn guard down, now I paid the price. A man like him, not from this dump … I should have known he'd never understand. I couldn't just stop stealing. Sometimes I wasn't even aware I was doing it. It had been the line that meant my survival for half my life. Years of this had turned into habit. A reflex.

My hands flexed, dripping from the downpour. God, days of this bullshit broken climate center! Again! When the fuck were they going to fix it? Clothes sopping wet offered me no warmth in the night cast chill, I was soaked to the bone. I sniffled to no avail. The horizon starting to pitch. Shutting my eyes tight did nothing to alter it.

Each breath ghosted the air. Dimly I realized I was only breathing with my mouth open. If I shut it, I couldn't inhale. That wasn't just the rain running down from my face, my nose dripped like a leaking faucet. I touched my forehead trying to brush the matted hair out of the way. Instantly my head throbbed, unbearable pressure behind both eyes.

I stumbled, catching my weight against an alley wall trying to stifle the sobs. They came anyway. Tears now joined the rain in the efforts to blind me. I hung my head, fighting just to keep my balance. It felt as if I were standing on an off-kiltered board.

This wasn't good. My search for something to eat had produced nothing. I had to get to shelter, somewhere out of the rain.

I sneezed. The jostle of my head producing sparks of harsh light against the darkness, blotting out the dim outline of the alley.

Shivering, my teeth clattered making the headache worse.

No. I wasn't going to go out like this. I dragged my sleeve under my nose, snot clung to it in a long sticky string.

Shit … no! No no no! I couldn't afford to be sick. Staggering through the puddles I hugged myself tight trying to conserve what little warmth I had.

In a surge the crumbling asphalt rose up to meet me. Or maybe it was the other way … that vaguely made more sense.

My eyes opened and closed, watching the patter of the rain on the damp surface in front of me. I had to get up. I had to keep moving or the dogs would find me. Dragging myself up to my hands and knees I hung my head trying to dredge up the strength to stand all the way. But the world wouldn't stop pitching. I wanted to lie back down … my empty stomach twisted into sharp knots, a desperate reminder! I needed food, I needed shelter … my eyelids were swelling shut, the pressure building to unbearable pain.

A flash of lightning lit up the puddle showing me my gaunt reflection. A snot-nosed brat with bloodshot watering eyes. I had seen this before … that hopeless expression. Right before Deseado claimed another of its children.

A bitter sob escaped me. Because I had been an arrogant little shit … I stood at the threshold, about to forfeit my life.

~JET~

Rain pelted me in this God-forsaken crater, each breath a puff of condensation hanging in the air. There was no way the climate control center would have done this on purpose for so many days in a row. Something must have broken, or someone was sleeping at their post. I kept my head down, the rim of my drenched fedora barely offering me any protection. Hands in the pockets of my trench coat I trudged along with an ember of hope fighting for survival in my chest.

Days had passed since the last time I had seen him in his mad dash away from me. Every spare moment I spent wandering through the twisted, broken streets of this detestable rats nest hoping to catch a glimpse. But in this weather few were about. The kid was smart enough to have found somewhere. Either that or the little shit was covertly following me up on the roof tops with that agile trick of his.

A peel of thunder rumbled. Moments later a flash of lightning tried to blind me. One right atop the other. This really was misery.

Out of the corner of my eye something ruthlessly grabbed my attention. A sneaker, the stained laces flung out to the side, untied. Racing into the alley, I cried out, "Spike!"

A dark mop of hair lay over the face of a frail figure slumped against the wall. It was too dim to see much detail. I knelt down, afraid to confirm anything. There was no movement. Not even breathing. This was not what I wanted to find.

No. Please no. Don't let it be him.

As my hand trembled in the air inches from contact another bolt of lightning lashed the night. That hair was dark blond. The eyes peering through the soaked strands fogged over. There was nothing I could do to help the dead. But … it wasn't him.

I sat back on my heels, rubbing my forehead. Another dead kid. What was it with this place? How could there be so many orphaned children?

Around me was the evidence of the answer. Ruined burnt out buildings of the like Spike had taken me to … what had once been his home. This place was rife with crime. It was a wonder there was even a police precinct. They clearly weren't able to do much to stop the gang activity.

Resuming my wandering I shivered, deeply bothered. Here I was searching for one in the multitude of children left to their own fates. Where were they all now? I had scarcely seen a soul tonight. Even the dogs weren't around.

I sighed, apparently they knew better than I did.

Spike had … that boy, what I had taken for being a wise-ass was truly just a reflection of his circumstances. He hadn't been living a normal life, he'd been forced to grow up too fast. Learn, or die. He wouldn't learn … why had I said that to him? I hadn't meant to chase him away. I hadn't meant to strike him—and yet I wondered, which cut him deeper? My hand or my words?

Please, Deseado, I just want a chance to make things right.

Crows burst into the air high overhead, their ruckus catching my attention. I held my fedora brim over my eyes as I gazed up. I stood at the foot of that old church the kid had showed me. My eyes narrowed. Huh, those birds were really worked into a frenzy.

From the broken window I heard it, following a rumble of thunder. A harsh shouting, "Get back here!"

I stiffened. That sounded as if it were close to the rickety belfry. The voice gruff and definitely from an adult. Well, Spike had said others claimed this place from time to time. So … someone was in there.

"Fuck off!"

My chest tightened. I knew that defiant little cusser!

Without a second thought I raced up the stairs into the crumbling church. I had heard his voice. He was in here, but he wasn't alone! Staring up into the rotting rafters I had to shield my eyes from the streams of rain pouring down through the holes in the ceiling into the basement through the yawning hole in the floor—that hadn't been that large last time I was here. Without the daylight, the arches vanished into darkness. The crows screeched their displeasure. If I squinted I could see them darting around, congregating above a balcony.

Another flash of lightning set the inside of the structure briefly alight. There they were. Two figures. A burly thug in a black leather jacket covered in patches, the main one on the back a flaming skull. Above him, climbing higher toward the bell tower … Spike!

"There's nowhere left for you to go, you thieving little asshole! So give it back! Gah!" The thug suddenly took a step backward, wiping something from his face. "You spit on me! Disgusting little gutter rat! Ooo I'm gonna beat the shit out of your corpse!"

That kid had balls of solid steel!

Swiftly I raced up the staircase, taking them two at a time. I had to reach him! The thug was right, up there left nowhere to go. Spike was cornered. Rainwater washed down the ruined staircase no doubt making it slick. One misstep and it could be over.

Let that happen to the asshole chasing him!

Hold on, Spike, I'm coming.

Thundering along the flights of stairs I cleared the balcony, recalling the path Spike had shown me to reach the belfry, a hidden stairwell.

"Heh heh, one last chance before I snap your neck, kid! Where is it?"

Spike snarled back, "I told you, dickhead, I don't have it!"

"Too bad. Cause you just backed yourself against the wall."

That terrifying statement ripped my eyes up above through a crack in the wall concealing the staircase. I was only halfway there, but the thug was right. Part of the dry-rotted stairway had collapsed above Spike, the next flight far higher than even he could reach.

Still, Spike glared at him. "Oh yeah? Shows what you know!"

To my horror I watched as Spike sprang out into the air, throwing himself feet forward against a rafter. His shoe touched it and launched him to the next one.

"No!" The thug growled, trying to grapple the kid as he shot by. Barely catching himself on the railing, he missed!

But in the next second—so did Spike.

His airborne path through the rafters aborted when he collided off-step with the next one sending him into a tumbling plummet. He cried out in shock.

"Spike!" My scream echoed through the gutted building a second before he landed with a sickening thud into a ragged pile of fabric, what I assumed must have been banners at one time. He lay crumpled on his side on the edge of the balcony, one arm hanging over.

That had been close!

Hasty footsteps pounded above. "God-damned shithead! You better not be dead before telling me what you did with it!"

I waited in the shadows, fist pumped. The second the thug came around the bend of the narrow staircase I socked him in the gut, doubling him over with a grunt. "He better not be dead for your sake!"

The thug leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, his eyes wide in shock. "Who the fuck are you?"

"ISSP."

He cocked an eyebrow, holding up his hands. "Ehhh, ok ok pal. Look see, that kid stole something belonging to me. Alls I want is it back. Besides, since when do you guys give two shits about these little fuckers?"

I growled, fully prepared to pound the crap out of this punk. "Where do you get off beating up a kid?"

A crow cawed, darting by me, almost clipping my hat. The big one I had seen Spike trading with. Even in the dimness I knew her, was it her distinctive call?

A cracking pop echoed off to my right. The stairs rumbled. But not from directly below me. This carried from … the balcony!

The edge where Spike lay, even his meager weight was enough. The dry rotted supports groaned, the whole structure shifting. The thug scrambled, pushing past me. "Shit ain't worth dyin' for!"

My heart thundered in my ears. "Spike! Get up! You have to get out of there!"

He wasn't moving.

Creeeeeak!

Debris clattered into the bowels of the church, down into where the main floor had given way exposing the vast maw of the basement. If that balcony collapsed Spike would fall over two stories into a pit of splintered beams.

"Spiiiiike!" I watched in terror as the edge pitched out further. Racing gravity and the wings of the crow, fear lent me speed I didn't know I could posses. I wasn't going to make it! Diving, I slid on my knees the final distance, ripping through the knees of my pants.

The support beams cracked, dumping the pile of rotting fabrics into a free-fall—taking Spike's limp body with it. He tumbled out into midair—for a moment I glimpsed the slivers of his eyes, a brief gleam in a flash of lightning before he slipped over the edge.

"Noooo!" I flung my arm out, extending in a desperate grab. My fingers touched something warm, snatching at it in a blind hope. The weight halted in my iron grip, swinging, limp.

A pulse beat against my fingers. I had him by his wrist.

But my celebration was short lived. This edge was precarious. My shoulder strained by the added weight.

The crow dove erratically as I grunted and huffed, the angle awkward. It was hard to haul him up, even his scant weight. It didn't help that he was soaked and threatened to slip from my grip. "Hey, birdbrain! Knock it off! I'm not hurting him! I'm trying to save him!"

It did nothing to stop her frantic crisscrossed flight nor stop her panicked caws.

Inch by inch I yanked Spike back away from the edge, carrying him hastily away from the crumbling floor as more of it fell behind me. Back against the wall I had to catch my breath for a moment. Opening my eyes I stared down into my lap. Spike lay there drenched to the bone and shivering, his eyes barely open. The lids swollen, but not bruised. Despite the chill in the air, his skin was warm to the touch, too warm. His mouth hung open, gasping in each breath. I realized why as a slow stream of tinted ooze flowed from his nose. Not blood, but thick mucus.

He was a mess—but I didn't care, relieved to have found him alive. I held him up to me, chest close to my ear listening to his heartbeat, listening to each breath. Good, it wasn't in his chest. I brushed a hand against his feverish forehead, he moaned and tried to turn away. Pain in what little I could see of his bloodshot eyes. That explained his slip. This congested there was no way his equilibrium wouldn't have been shot. It was a miracle he had managed the first leap.

"You're ok. I got you now, kid." I hugged him closer.

He sneezed, splattering my neck with the thick ooze.

I grimaced and reached up to try and wipe the snot away. Couldn't even be mad at him for that. He slumped against me, watering eyes barely open. I pulled off my trench coat and removed the mostly dry hooded sweatshirt beneath, wrapping him in it. "You need this more than me."

Reality sunk in as he offered me no resistance. He had nothing left. The images of the other kid's fog-eyed corpse in the alley plagued me. This ill Spike wouldn't be capable of scavenging. This church had nearly been his grave.

The crow hopped forward, up onto Spike's chest. The bird stared me in the eyes, cawing loudly. I had the feeling I was being scolded.

"I'm sorry, he can't stay here any longer. I have to take him out of here. He needs someplace warm and dry to recover."

She darted her head about, looking between us. Leaning over, she plucked a hair from Spike's head and flapped off toward the belfry.

"I promise, I'll take care of him." Pulling my trench coat back on, I lifted Spike's bundled body and tucked him close to my chest. Curled like this he was so small, and far too warm. The fever didn't seem too severe, but it was hard to know. I was cold out here too.

"Come on, Spike-o. Let's get you to a nice warm bed."

Lightning flashed immediately followed by thunder. This time I knew the way to the hotel.

~JET~

Damn, this kid had uncanny luck. Back in the hotel room, under better lighting I checked him over while cleaning him up in the tub, after all he'd landed hard. Apparently the pile of old banners had cushioned the blow enough to spare him anything more than a bit of bruising. He lay there, passed out from exhaustion which hardly surprised me. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him, now that I got a full look. Anything that he gained from the time spent with me had burned away, likely spent fighting the fever. And there were scars. Not just the nasty one on I had briefly glimpsed his calf, but multiple healed dog bites and knife slashes. He had survived a remarkable number of close calls.

This, I was determined, would be another one. His last one, if I had any say about it.

Now back in my old sleeveless undershirt he lay curled on his side bundled in the covers, dripping snot everywhere. The poor kid couldn't breath through his nose he was so congested. He wasn't crying, his closed eyes watered constantly. I had no doubt that he must have a powerful sinus headache from all that pressure. The good news was he was sweating from the fever, so he wasn't dehydrated, yet.

After washing and hanging his clothes up to dry, I carried over a mug of soup and coaxed him awake.

He groaned, barely able to open his swollen eyelids.

"Here, you need this kiddo."

It was a struggle as he tried to drink and breathe at the same time. He completely lacked coordination. The fever was high, but not dangerous. The trouble was Spike had nothing left to draw from. Without reserves, what was nothing more than a rotten head cold could have easily cost him his life.

After a few gulps he was sinking back to sleep. I hated to do it, but I forced him back awake. "All of it, you need it to fight this. Then you can go back to sleep."

He tried to wipe his eyes and caught the mucus leaking from his nose pulling a long slick string. Cross-eyed he stared at it before sneezing and making a rather astounding mess.

Heaving a sigh I didn't envy housekeeping. I waited for Spike to catch his breath before coaxing more of the soup into him. Before long, he finished it, laying back against the pillow, shivering. That soup at least was something to fuel his recovery. I touched his forehead, making sure the fever wasn't getting worse before tugging the blanket up. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better soon enough."

Colds were miserable. I'd had a few that landed my ass in bed over my life. But I had the benefit of a home, proper food, … my parents looking after me.

Spike took a deep breath, by the time he exhaled his eyes had shut again. I doubted he would wake for some time.

I settled on the couch and tried to distract myself with an old spaghetti western. But it kept bothering me. It begged the question I would have to ask him. What had he taken from that thug?

A strange sound startled me.

I opened my eyes to the broad daylight. When had I fallen asleep … sitting up on the couch? Stiff, I rose and stretched. Again I heard it. I whimpering cry, vague snatches of words. Under the covers, Spike tossed and turned, thrashing against the tangle.

"No … Joe … please … don't! Not out … " His voice was hoarse, thick from the congestion, but even in the weary cries I heard terror. His arm reached up. "I can't … the dogs … not the dogs!"

A dog barked on the screen. I instantly hit mute and dashed across the room.

Poor kid. He was covered in a feverish sweat, fighting with the sheets. The pillow crusted over where a mucus puddle had formed. Screaming he grabbed his arm, I spied a series of healed punctures there.

Carefully I touched his shoulder. "Spike. Spike, wake up, kid. It's a nightmare. You're ok."

" … I can't make it out here … the dogs … the dogs!"

His eyes were still closed, the fretting intensified. He was fighting me, spending little strength he had. This wasn't good. He didn't anything to spare on nightmares. I leaned in closer, trying to break through and reach him. "Spike, you need to wake up. You're alright. You're safe."

Scrambling, he shoved his shoulder against the pillow as if backed against an alley wall. His panicked cries broke my heart.

"Kiddo, you have to wake up!"

He threw a punch at me. I caught his fist and held it. The panic increased, he was going to hurt himself. Wrapping my arms around him, I picked him and held him. The jostling did the trick. His eyes cracked up, dazed and confused.

Running my fingers through his sweaty hair I spoke to him softly. "You're alright. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you."

He coughed and groaned, fighting to catch his breath. Barely coming to the surface he was already sinking back down.

"You're going to be alright, kid. That wasn't real." … and yet, by his scars I knew it had been.

The feeble tension faded away. His eyes gradually rolled back and he lay limp in my arms, rasping out each breath through his mouth.

Settling him back down on the pillow, I tugged the blanket back up over his frail shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Spike. You really need to rest."

I had only just gotten him situated when someone knocked on the door.

Damn it! Complaining neighbors? He hadn't been that loud.

The knocking started again.

"Hold your horses, I'm comin'. Sheesh, what's the ruckus about?" I threw back the lock and opened the door.

Rich peered at me. "Hey Loany. We been tryin' to reach yah. But you haven't answered your phone."

I glanced over my shoulder, it was still in my trench coat pocket. Muffled it wouldn't have been enough to wake me. I shrugged. "Oh yeah, sorry. Had a late night and must've overslept."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Dressed? What were you up to?"

Before I could answer he craned his head and peered over my shoulder. His eyes widened. He pushed past me, heading for the bed.

For Spike!

I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "The kid is sleeping."

Rich rolled his eyes to the side. "Relax, I ain't gonna hurt the little squirt, just want to talk to him down at the station."

He wasn't a little squirt, or a shit, or an asshole! "Spike," I corrected him, holding his shoulder a bit tighter," is sick in bed. He needs to rest."

The efforts to tug out of my grip failed, Rich smirked at me before holding his hands up. "Alright. Alright. I guess it can wait. Seriously, what is it with you and taking a shining to that punk?"

"What's it to you?" Fixing him with a glare I cracked a knuckle, a bruised one from punching the thug the night before.

His eyes widened for a moment as he stared at it. "Remember, you're here to work with us, satellite man."

"Did you have something for me to do?"

He swiftly shook his head. "But uhh … keep your phone close. Never know." He turned with a sour expression and closed the door on the way out.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Spike stirred, his eyes trying to open against the puffy lids. The conversation must have woken him. This time I was ready with a box of tissues. I held one out to him just in time for the powerful snot-laden sneeze.

"Fever's still given you grief, huh."

He tried to nod before wincing, which only seemed to make it worse.

"Got a headache? Hurts behind your eyes?"

"Yeah." Oh that was a thick reply. He tried to sniff and it only made him cough.

He didn't seem to recall waking from the nightmare, now I wondered if he even had. I wasn't going to get anything else out of him. "You're going to be alright, it's just a miserable cold. I'll heat up some more soup, ok?"

He didn't reply, but he was visibly fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Don't worry, I'll wake you up when it's ready."

As I stood he sneezed again. Moaning as he burrowed in deeper.

I did not envy him. He looked like death warmed over—but at least he still had a pulse. I could work with that.