As Zack stood on the curb, huddled into a ball with people throwing money at him, he thought of running away. But he didn't. He also thought about killing himself. He didn't, besides, he threw away the medication and the razor anyway. All he had now was some cloths and a few stray bills in his wallet and pockets. And, he thought and smiled as he noticed the bulge of coins and a few bills in front of him, a couple other funds.
A pick-up pulled up onto the corner. The topper's glass read BOSTON HOPE REHABILITATION. The driver was about forty, forty three, with thinning hair. What was left was a bald crown but the sides of his head were brown with grey streaks in them. Zack noticed the taser and felt for the revolver, though he knew he had thrown it in a nearby river.
"Zackary Martin?"
"N…yeah."
The man lifted an eyebrow and sort of chuckled.
"Who called in?"
"Me."
The man fell silent.
"Well," he said slowly. "That's ironic."
"Why."
"Because there's a thirty some odd thousand dollar award for any information regarding you."
2
The cell room held a small sink, a round table in the middle, and a desk pressed against the twin bunk bed that was moved against the far end of the room. The desk held a decent laptop, a Dell, anyway; and there was a small, actual bathroom with no shower or tub.
Zack sat down on the bottom bunk and pulled out the letter from his mom, for the tenth time that day.
'Dear Zack, please know that I'm not angry. I'm just concerned. I'm to blame really. Two years ago, I began to notice that there was blood on the counter. I didn't think anything of it. I found that small mirror with some dust on it. I assumed it was left from the last resident. Then I noticed that the alcohol bottles were slowly disintegrating. If I had talked to you, then you would have never been in this hurt; a criminal record at fifteen? Two arsons. That's all that matters now. But when I heard that you were the one that had called the Addict Hotline, I knew that you were not going to just...to just leave yourself in a Hell like no one dare speak of. I knew you wanted to get clean. I knew you cared, at least now, that you have a problem. The bail was set at $135,000. Maddie's parents got it down. There's a big pot in the center of the lobby now. It goes to that bail and to fund your rehab stay. London's a big supporter of it; I've noticed that everytime she passes the jar, she slips a hundred in. One time, a man tried to steal the money. She had him in the hospital soon after. I know that once bails done you may leave rehab. Just, please, honey, Zack, please stay until you are clean. I love you, so much. Mom'
3
"C'mon, Zack. It's easy. One-half times one-half it equal to X, which is equal to one times one-fourth."
"Uh…four-sixteenths?"
"Good! Can you reduce it?"
"Yeah, uh…one fourth."
"Excellent!"
Mr. Triggs threw Zack a pack of Crazy Gum. He stashed it in his pocket quickly. The bell rang and Zack grabbed his math binder and headed towards the next class.
As it turned out, Hope Rehab, or Jerusalem of Suburbia as it was called, had classes for its 'prisoner'. I say prisoner mostly because many of the screw-ups here were suicidal and were kept in the West Wing. No one every passed there. Some joked about some nuns that went there, saying they'd get raped by psychos and give birth to Freddy Cougar. Scary.
As Zack headed towards class, he noticed a small kid about thirteen. Two older kids were hovering above him. Zack went closer.
"C'mon, loser. Fight back."
"Yeah, fight back."
"Yeah, get away, jerk-offs."
The kids looked up and saw Zack. Zack winced when he saw one of them was Ricky.
"Hey, look what the cat dragged in."
"Hey, look at what the cat crapped out.'
"Back off. This kid owes us money."
"For what? Drugs? I thought you were here to get clean, ass hole. Not to spread your sales."
"No. Not drugs. Protection."
"The kid has no need for a rubber. He not screwing another man."
"Bitch!" Ricky screamed.
"Me? No. And this kid doesn't need protection from you."
Zack helped the kid up.
"Next time I see you near this kid, Hell and High-water get in my way, cause I will strike you down."
"Who are you? God of Suburbia?"
"Nah, just Saint Zack, protector of all who get clean."
"Oh, wanna-be Jesus of Suburbia."
"I don't need to want."
3
Zack dropped the kid off at the nurse. His name was Tyler and he had a couple of bruises. Zack looked at them and decided that they weren't any issue, but decided that a nurse would know more about bruises than he would.
The kid was pretty silent until they reached the door. Them he thanked Zack and walked off into the infirmary.
4
That night, Zack got an email from Max.
'What's up, Druggie? I'm visiting tomorrow about three o'clock. I don't want you high when I get there, so keep your stash away.'
Zack laughed and shutdown the computer.
5
In a way, the following was actually good for Zack. But not in a complete way.
He was in the front row in a lecture about four things; wrist slitting, alcohol, powder sniffing, and injections. Three of which he was addicted to, and if he hadn't of called , he'd probably be boosting right now.
Then, the squirrel came in. It was a fake custom that was a cross over from Rocky the Rodent and a freaking drunk. The familiar smell of booze drifted from the costume.
"What the duce? I thought this was about normal junkie stuff, not licking squirrels."
"Shut up."
"No. So get the hell out of here before I BB your butt back to gestation."
"Shut up!"
"Y-no."
The squirrel began to sing the worst song you could think of.
"Sometimes in our lives, we all have faith, we all have sorrow-"
"And you're gonna have one helluva lump on your gay head when I'm done with you!"
Zack kicked the squirrel in the stomach and grabbed his head, pulling him down. He then began to upper-cut the squirrel's face.
"Nice one, Zack," a female voice commented. "Beating up a rat."
"Sorry, Max. The beaver just showed me some lip so I thought I'd teach it some discipline. Isn't that right, Rat-Face?"
"I'mma-"
"Shut up."
Zack tripped him.