Chapter Ten: A Good Samaritan
"Do you ever wonder why it rains?"
"Excuse me?"
Mark pulled his legs closer to his chest, rested his chin on his knees and cocked his head sideways so that his ear was arched upwards listening to grunts of frustration. Blue eyes blinked blankly at the black shadow of Roger shuffling in front of him and it made Mark shake his head amusedly as he let out a deep sigh. "Do you ever wonder why it rains?"
The shadow in front of Mark froze suddenly and he nearly laughed as he pictured the look of confusion on his best friend's face. Roger turned on his heel suddenly and pasted his hands on his hips in an amused manner. "Do I ever wonder why it rains? Well, no. If you want, Mark, I can go get Collins' encyclopedia and find out."
"That's no what I meant." Mark sighed. "Do you ever wonder why it rains at such odd times?"
"In April?"
"What? April's not an odd time for rain."
"I was just trying to answer your question."
Stifling his laughter, Mark raised his head slightly and arched an eyebrow in the direction of Roger. It wouldn't have been such a funny statement if Roger didn't make it sound so pathetic. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh," Roger stated stupidly, obvious embarrassment etched in his voice. "What did you mean?"
"Rain. It always rains when something happens. It's not always bad, yet it's not always good either."
Suddenly there was a drop in the cushion and Roger was sitting down next to him. "I'm not following."
"Well, you know how when you go to a movie and you're watching a dramatic scene at the end of the movie where everything is being resolved and there's this scene where the main characters are talking to each other and they're having their moment and suddenly it rains. In a movie it builds out the emotion, but it happens in real life too. All these moments have been happening when it's been raining-" Mark stopped suddenly; Roger was holding a hand in front of his face. "You know that I can't see as it is, right?"
Roger laughed. "Would you calm down? I think you're over thinking this rain thing."
"Seems to be the case lately."
"Damn straight."
"Maybe, but what if I'm not. Huh? What if what I said actually makes sense?"
"Do you hear yourself, Mark? I mean, your making it seem like your life is one big movie and we actually have an audience watching our every movement."
"Hell," Mark laughed, amused. "I bet they'd get a kick out of my pathetic life."
"You're not pathetic."
"Roger, I was just talking about rain."
"Well, if we're going to be honest, I think thunderstorms would've been a better topic."
"Shut up!" Mark promptly grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it into his friend's face, smiling as he watched Roger's shadowed form fall back slightly at the impact off his face. "I got the projector set up. Are you done with the screen?"
Roger growled, picking himself off the floor where he had just fallen. "I'm working on it."
"It shouldn't be that hard," Mark said nonchalantly. "It's a sheet."
"Of course it is." Roger grunted, back at the front of the room standing on the very tip of his toes as he struggled to attach the sheet to the wall with duct tape- the duct tape was winning. "One audition and the Well Hungarians got into CBGB's, it took me two days to learn Musetta's Waltz, I dropped out of high school and came to live with Collins when I was sixteen, and I still can't figure out how to put a damn sheet on the a wall."
Mark laughed. "You realize that only one of those turned out to be a good thing, right?"
"What? Moving to New York and living with Collins in this hellhole?" Roger questioned, tearing more duct tape off the roll. "Yeah, that one is, I guess, but I always thought Musetta's Waltz was a good thing to. It is kind of my muse music."
"The music from hell?"
"Music from hell?" Roger turned suddenly. "I thought you liked when I played it."
"Not when you're playing it endlessly. You realize that last year, when you were trying to write Your Eyes, you played that damned song nonstop for months? It drove me up the wall. Hell, it got me out of the loft and I ended up at the Life Café having dinner with Joanne and Maureen!"
"Both at the same time?" Roger questioned, laughing. "Wow. Good to know how to drive you out of a room."
Mark laughed mockingly. "Feelin' the love Rog."
"Touché!" Roger mocked before, "Shit! Looks like we might need some more tape."
"You really are pathetic." Mark stood up blindly and waved his hands in front of him, feeling his way towards the front of the room and moving around Roger so that his hands were reaching out to take the sheet in his hands. Sighing heavily, Mark let his hands to the work for him as he ran his fingers over the back of the sheet and nodded triumphantly as he found what he was looking for. "There."
First corner. Second corner. Third corner. Fourth corner.
The sheet hung on the wall.
Mark walked back, satisfied, to the couch and plopped down casually as if nothing new in the world had just taken place. He felt Roger plunk down next to him and blindly banged his friend's shoulder gently. "Is it up?"
"How the hell did you do that?" Roger questioned, a large roll of used tape wadded up in his hands. "After ten minutes and you didn't tell me anything!"
"That's not my fault." Mark laughed, putting his hands up in defense. "You're the one who kept saying "Don't worry Mark! I got this one. Just sit back and I'll have this sheet up in just one minute." no matter how many times I kept trying to help." Mark smiled. "It just got annoying."
"Still… how?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Thumbtacks. Jeez, Rog, there were a pack of a pack of em' sitting on the table. I heard them rattling when Collins brought it home from his tutoring lesson last night. He said something about using it for his World History lesson…"
"Whatever."
"Don't get mad at me for getting that screen up before you."
Roger laughed. "Fine. Kill my pride."
"What pride? I thought- Hey!" Mark fell into the back of the couch and grabbed the pillow that had suddenly smacked his face. He waved it in the air, "Thanks."
"Anytime."
"So…" Mark paused, careful of how to place his words. "Now what?"
Roger sighed. "You tell me. We got the projector set up, the screens on the wall, and I'm as ready as ever. The ball's in your court now Mark. What do you want to do?"
Nearly a month had past since that fateful March night and Mark had gone through this whole scenario in his head before. Now, Mark was mere seconds away from watching the damned film, with Roger at his side, and he was afraid. Did the film have anything to do with his vision? However, most importantly, why did Mark never remember what happened? Why did his mind block off such an event? Was he really ready to watch it?
There were just too many questions.
"You'd think that would be an easier question to answer," Mark finally said. He pulled his legs closer to his chest and carefully buried his face into his knees. There was a certain amount of safety in this particular position. Mark hugged his legs and blinked against the darkness of his knees.
"Mark," Roger sighed, "it's not an easy question. You know, as well as I do, that this film could determine a lot of things, but, at the same time, it could tell you nothing."
"That's not helping, Rog."
"Maybe it's not supposed to."
"Well, I'd appreciate help in this situation."
"Hey," Roger placed his hands on Mark's shoulders and lowered his voice to a calming whisper. "I am helping you the best I can, considering everything that happened a few minutes ago. Now, I told you I wouldn't run out on you again and I'm not going to break that promise this time. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me."
"I'm not saying that you aren't helping."
"Mark… damn, man, look at me." Roger squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "Stop trying to hide from the world. I'm living up to my fair share of the bargain; I'm going to take care of you like you've always taken care of me."
"You don't need to take care of me-"
"Maybe," Roger sighed. "You ready?"
"Just play it."
"Okay. Here we go…"
"You'll tell me everything that's going on?" Mark whispered, anxious. "I want to know what's on this thing."
"Every little detail, man." Mark felt Roger swing his arm across his shoulders and was suddenly pulled into a tight side-by-side hug. "Don't worry"
The film wasn't edited, Mark knew that much. He tilted his head slightly so that he could listen to the beginning of the reel as the projector wound up the film and got it ready for play. Sighing deeply, Mark let his knees drop slightly so that he was sitting plainly on the couch and wasn't wrapped up in his usual cocoon. Roger squeezed his shoulders one last time before letting go, but, Mark noticed, Roger stayed close enough so that their shoulders were still touching.
Good, Mark thought to himself. Reassuring contact…
Such a little thing like contact made Mark feel more comfortable as he waited for the film. Actually, it was the little thing of contact that kept Mark and Roger so close together.
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CRASH!
The gray phone Roger threw missed Mark's feet by mere inches; it fell to the ground and shattered into a million of little pieces. Mark cringed as the earsplitting wail of his friend cut through the loft's tense air like a bad slap on the face. He looked to Collins with wide eyes and mouthed the obvious question that was lingering in the back of both their minds. "What do we do?"
Collins could only shrug in response. The anarchist kicked through the broken telephone pieces and stepped closer to their sobbing roommate, Roger, who had just dropped to his knees and was currently burying his face into his hands. "Roger? I know it's hard, but you've got to understand that this is not a death sentence. I've survived this for nearly ten years; you can too."
"No…" Roger sobbed, his shattered body shuddering with building sobs that continued to wrack his body, "it's different this time Thomas. You can survive this because you're so much stronger. It's nothing like me. I'm too weak-"
"Hey now," Collins kneeled down in front of Roger and squeezed the man's shoulders lightly before forcing the musician to look him eye-to-eye so he could say in a stern voice, "You are not weak. This disease is a damned burden, sure, but it does not kill your will and pride."
"What's the point?" Roger questioned, tears streaming down his face. "Day by day I'm dying. Why not just make it today. Save everybody the trouble."
"The hell you are," Collins muttered angrily. "Don't take the easy way out. Don't be a coward."
Mark cautiously started forward, watching the exchange between his two friends with a heavy heart, his eyes widened as they never even noticed his approach until he was right in front of them. "Rog," he whispered, kneeling down next to Collins. He watched as Roger's head whipped to him, and for a split second cringed as the musician's eyes widened in surprise. "We'll both be here for you-"
"No!" Roger wailed suddenly, limbs flailing blindly. He backed up subconsciously until he was a few feet away from Mark, Mark's hand falling to where he had picked it up to squeeze Roger's shoulder. "Stay away!"
"Roger…" Mark whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Maybe," Roger sobbed, "but I'll hurt you."
Collins moved closer. Mark watched with hurt eyes as Roger let Collins place a hand on his cheek, forcing Roger to look at him again. "You are not contagious!"
"I don't want to…" Roger sobbed, green eyes moving past Collins' brown orbs and looking into Mark's very core. "I don't want to hurt you."
Mark moved closer, hand reaching out. "Then let me-"
"No!" Roger squirmed, curling himself into a tighter ball. "Don't let me hurt- I don't want to hurt you… Please, Mark. Please…"
"You're not hurting him!" Collins shouted, shaking Roger's shoulders. "Don't ever fear contact! A simple thing such as touch can assure even the most shelled person."
Mark watched quietly as Roger battled his inner demons, face contorting in pain and conflict. Eyes widened suddenly and Mark watched a flicker of realization burst through Roger's face.
"It's my fault… Man, it is, isn't it? I did this. Those damned drugs are killing me." Roger's face crumpled and suddenly he lunged past Collins and dove for Mark, who stumbled backwards at the weight of the bigger man jumping into his chest. Roger sobbed, wrapping his arms around Mark and burying his face into his chest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
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"Why do I think this isn't going to end well?"
"You're still over thinking," Roger muttered. His finger hovered over the play button, "You ready?"
"Hell if I know," Mark mumbled, more to himself than to Roger. He looked up and watched as Roger's shadowed form tensed slightly. "Play it."
The beginning of the film was usually Mark's favorite part of the whole footage. Not because of what was usually in the beginning. Sure, the A Mark Cohen Production always had a nice ring to it- but Mark liked it because of the symbolism. The beginning of the film usually meant that Mark had completed something; he had taken the time to shoot, edit, and screen an actual film.
Of course, Mark thought to himself. This is way different.
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Roger watched the black and white scratches as the projector flickered to life and began to form the image on the white screen in front of them. It always creped Roger out how such a lively film like Mark's could start with such a rough, bland beginning and go into an astonishing masterpiece. Of course, maybe that was why Roger was so enticed by Mark's films. Ever since Today 4 U: Proof Positive was shown to their little bohemian family, and possibly before that, Roger had always wondered how Mark could recreate such images, good and bad, and make them so… entertaining.
The screen flickered to life before them and, as Roger leaned forward slightly, anticipating the image that would appear, he felt Mark go tense. Green eyes flashing back to his friend, Roger shot Mark a worried glance and, after realizing Mark couldn't see his look, he quickly nudged Mark softly.
"What's the focus?" Mark questioned, voice in such a whisper that Mark had to lean down slightly so that he could make out the words.
Green eyes looked back towards the screen; Roger narrowed his eyes and watched as the silent camera movements switched randomly around the area. He made out the trees, uncut grass, and various people and responded, "Tompkins Square Park." Roger looked towards Mark. "I thought you went to Central Park."
"I didn't know."
"Oh, well maybe you were there earlier."
"Right."
Roger's eyes flickered back to the film. Mark counted on him to recount the image on the film and that's what Roger was going to do, not leaving out a single detail- just like he had promised. No more breaking promises.
"March 29th, 1:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time."
The onscreen-Mark's voice flittered through the air, his voice so carefree that it almost made Roger feel sick. However something stuck out in Roger's mind that he had to ask, "Did you say it was the 29th? The day you went into the clinic was the 30th."
"Really?"
Suddenly his head fell into his hands and his nails were digging into his hair. Roger muttered, "I was downstairs with Mimi all night and I called you- but maybe you were screening that night and I thought you picked up the phone. You were gone for eight hours though… Was it longer than that?"
"Rog-"
"I should've realized… I was downstairs with Collins and Mimi all night and we didn't even realize…I didn't notice."
"Roger." Mark whispered. "Wait, listen…"
"Yeah… Okay, listen… No. No. Yes, Rog." Onscreen-Mark's voice flittered to life. "I'll think about it okay… Hang on- No! Listen just stay out with Mimi, okay? She needs you right now… No, I'm fine… Probably- Okay? No. We can catch some dinner tomorrow at the Life Café? Yeah…" Onscreen-Mark paused. "My camera is on… No, I'm thinking of a new documentary idea…"
"See?" Mark sighed. "You did call me. Man, don't freak out on me… I don't know what I'll do-"
"Okay… Yeah, Rog, I'll be careful." Onscreen-Mark said. "Listen, I've got to go, you're running film out on my camera… Yes! Are you happy? I'm still filming… What? Well- No, I guess. Okay, maybe I am desperate to film something. Right, whatever… See yah later."
Roger sighed. "Call it a mini-breakdown?"
"Just forget it. Forget regret."
"Right." Roger cleared his throat. "Okay, let's see. Looks like you hung up the phone and now you're shooting around the park."
"What do we have here…"The camera slid to the side quickly. "Looks like our old friend is taking on some new client since he lost Roger and Mimi to us."
"My old drug dealer." Roger's eyes widened. "I swear, if he did anything-"
Mark went fidgety. "What's happening?"
"Nothing really. It looks like you're hiding behind a tree and you're zooming in on The Man- damn, you're lucky he doesn't see you. Did you know he carries around a knife?"
"Well, considering I have no knife wounds, I don't think he did anything," Mark muttered. "Who's the new client that I'm talking about?"
"Some woman. She kinda looks familiar, though I can't place it." Roger fixed his eyes on the woman's petite figure. "She's got straight, shoulder-length brown hair, kind of like Mimi's but much lighter, almost like my hair color but a little bit darker-"
"Rog, I know you're helping, and I appreciate that, but you're overloading me with details."
"Sorry." Roger blushed subconsciously. "She's wearing baggy jeans, a long white sweater, and she's got on a jean jacket… Okay, now she's taking the baggie and exchanging it with money."
"Imagine," Onscreen-Mark's voice came back into focus, "what her story is…"
"Now what?" Mark questioned Roger. "What's happening?"
"I don't know…you're in the city. Riding on your bike, I think. Yeah, you're on your bike!" Roger frowned as he cursed himself and his observation skills. "Okay, it looks like you're heading back to the loft."
Roger watched the footage carefully, the only sound coming from the film were the annoyed honks of the cars- which were probably for Mark for riding his bike on the street weaving through the New York City traffic in record time. There wasn't really much to see though: businessmen walking with their briefcases, passersby, parents holding their children's hands, homeless people lining the sidewalks, teenagers wandering aimlessly-
"Shit!" Onscreen Mark shouted suddenly.
"What happened?" Mark's eyes had widened at the sound of his own voice on the screen, yelling. "Rog? What did I do?"
If it had been any other time, Roger might've thought that question to be funny, but, right now, it wasn't time to think like that. "Looks like you crashed," Roger stated monotonously.
He watched with wide eyes as the silver metal of Mark's bike flew onto the screen and smashed into the wall of a nearby building. It was odd though, Mark never crashed his bike. Roger physically cringed as he watched his best friend fly over the handlebars and land with a quick 'thud' on the ground. The bike, which had hit the wall, had overturned as the whole image turned sideways -since Mark always fastened the camera on his bike.
"Damn." Onscreen-Mark cursed a few more profanities as he picked himself up off of the dirty cement and rubbed his knee with one hand and rubbed his head with the other. "Great. Now they're going to think I got mugged."
"Hmm-mm," Roger thought, "so I guess that's where you got the cut on your knee and the bruise on your temple. Hell of a fall." He looked towards his tense roommate. "Do you remember?"
"Flashes of it." Mark responded, absently rubbing his knee where the scratch was. "I swerved to miss a woman who had run out into the street and ended up hitting the curb and flipping a bit-"
There she was!
That same familiar woman…
"I'm so sorry!" She shouted, running up to Mark with a small frown plastering her face. Her green eyes glimmered lightly, like she was about to cry any minute. "Are you okay? I'm really sorry about that! I thought it was clear!"
"That's all right." Onscreen-Mark laughed, brushing the dirt off his dark jeans. "I didn't hit you, did I?"
"No. I'm okay." The woman had answered, her head bowed in shame. "It was my fault…"
"I'm Mark Cohen. And who, may I ask, are you?" Onscreen-Mark flashed a smile; he seemed to be trying not to scare the new acquaintance away.
"My name is Tammy."
"-Tammy." Roger whipped his head to the side and was surprised to see Mark sunk back into the couch, his sightless blue eyes wide with shock. "I remember her, Rog. She's Tammy. I met her and we went to the Life Café, I bought her some lunch."
"I really couldn't." Roger's eyes flickered back to the screen where the girl, now known as Tammy, was having a win-lose conversation with onscreen-Mark about the Life Café, just like Mark had said. "It was my fault you're bike is ruined. I don't think it would be fair if you paid for my lunch…"
"It's an old bike." Onscreen-Mark lifted the camera from it's place and zoomed it in on the crushed metal piece that was his bike. "I'm just glad nothing happened to my camera. Come on, what do you say? I'm offering free lunch! Unless… do you have to be somewhere?"
Tammy looked at her watch. "No. Well… I guess I could come for a few minutes. I've really got to get back home before somebody finds out I left again."
"Great!" Onscreen-Mark's voice shouted happily.
Mark blinked, his body sinking lower into the couch. "Are we going to the Café?"
"I guess." Roger shrugged. "The screen is blank… Can you hear the noises in the background? I think you forgot the lens cap…" Roger arched his brow and questioned, "Since when do you forget something like that?"
"Be careful with that! It's not a toy, ya know?" Onscreen-Mark's voice lifted through the darkness as the black screen jumped up and down before Roger's eyes. "You could at least take the cap off…"
"Heh," Roger laughed as he saw Mark on the footage, his face zoomed in on so close that he was watching the icy blue of Mark's eyes through his dark-rimmed glasses. "Looks like that girl, Tammy, took your camera."
"Shit! How the hell do you work this thing?" Tammy questioned, the footage panning out slightly so that it showed Mark's face, who didn't look too happy that his camera was being touched by a novice filmmaker. "What's up with you? Problem with the way I operate your overrated camera?"
"If you think it's so overrated than give it back to me," Onscreen-Mark grumbled, he reached his hands out and grabbed the camera from her grasp before turning it around so that it would focus on Tammy.
She giggled and waved at the camera shyly. "Jeez, you're such a filmmaker."
"She was really sweet." Mark's whisper brought Roger out of the footage. "I remember that day… or, at least, I remember some of it. We got along really well though; she's a photographer and a college dropout who went to Brown, though, not the same year. I think she said that she came to New York to be with her sister…"
"Do you want me to turn this off?" Onscreen-Mark questioned. "Usually most people don't like me filming them."
"Why not?"
"Probably because I do it 24/7." They both laughed at that.
"It's no problem. Here," her hands reached out and adjusted the camera slightly so that it was resting on the table facing both of them equally, "now I can see you eye-to-eye."
Roger stifled his own chuckle as he watched the blush burn on his friend's face, both onscreen and off. It was odd, however, to see Mark asking somebody if they wanted to be film. Usually Mark stuck his camera in their faces whenever he had the chance. Roger remembered when he first met the kid that he wasn't even shy to pan on Roger and narrate his every movement. Not that Roger minded the attention much back then.
"So, you said you dropped out of Brown? How old does that make you?"
Tammy smirked, "I don't know. What's the date?"
"March 29th."
"Today is my birthday, which would make me twenty-two." She rose her beer glass and smiled.
"Nice job," Roger chided Mark, who still wore his blush, "looks like you found a woman."
"Well, obviously it didn't work out too well… considering."
Oh, yeah… Roger mentally slapped himself. What did Collins say to you? Think before you open your mouth…
"It's your birthday?" Onscreen-Mark's eyes bugged out. "What the hell are you celebrating your birthday with a stranger for anyways? Or is that why you were running across the street? Am I holding you up to meet a friend to do something?"
Tammy frowned. "You could call him a friend. I wouldn't… It's complicated, really." She looked to her watch and practically jumped out of her seat. "Shit! Frank's going to kill me! I'm late!"
Onscreen-Mark stood quickly and threw a wad of bills on the table before grabbing his camera hastily and rushing out the door of the Life Café to follow the fleeing woman. "Wait! Do you need some help? I mean, I saw you in the park earlier…"
The frown on Tammy's face fell, if possible, deeper. "So I did see you at Tompkins Square Park, huh? Did you see me buying the smack from The Man?"
"I wasn't spying…" Onscreen-Mark's voice, though he wasn't on the camera, came on. "Do you need some help? I mean, I know some this place that could help."
"A rehab? No thanks. Listen, Mark, you're a really great guy so I'm going to tell you now that I don't have a drug problem. That smack that I bought, in the park, that's not for me." Tammy chuckled hollowly. "I know that seems like something a druggie would say, but you've got to believe me when I say that I'm not like that. Not after what happened… You know what? Forget me. Forget everything."
"Does she look as truthful as she sounds?" Mark questioned.
Roger squinted, his green eyes focusing on the woman's own shimmering green ones. It never seemed to Roger that he would actually look at somebody and be able to tell if they're telling the truth. Still, something about how this woman looked -albeit the image was crooked because Mark's camera was around his shoulder- she looked truthful.
"Roger?"
"She's telling the truth." Roger said back, voice soft.
"It's for somebody else?"
Tammy got desperate, so she reached into her purse and pulled out a few dollar bills. "Here," she said, "at least take my share of the lunch. I'd hate for you to pay."
Mark wasn't letting her get away that easy, though. "What's wrong? Is it this Frank guy?" He grabbed her wrist gently and questioned, "Is it something he does?"
"She's crying." Roger whispered to Mark, absorbed in the film. "Why'd you grab her?"
Next to Roger, Mark shrugged. "I think… I don't know, bits and pieces are coming back to me but it's all scattered. She brought out this vibe…I had this feeling that something wasn't right. She looked too familiar…"
"You were trying to be a Good Samaritan." Roger frowned. Good Samaritan's never go off well.
"I guess you could say that." Mark sighed. "So, what's happening now?"
"Come on, Tammy. I'm not going to hurt you or anything, please. Let me help you." Onscreen-Mark pleaded.
"Please!" Tammy yelled. Roger watched, his head tilted to get a better view of the slanted screen as Tammy broke free of Mark's grasp and rushed off into the street. "I don't want to drag you down with me!"
"With you where?"
"Oh…" Mark whispered silently. "The bus."
Eyes flashing back to the footage, Roger watched as Tammy broke free of Mark's grasp and ran right into oncoming traffic. The screen went blue suddenly -Roger guessed it was the sky- as the sounds of screeching tires and a strangled scream filled the area. Then there was a silence… wracked sobs… heavy breathing…sobs…
"What happened?" Roger mumbled, more to himself than to Mark.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Tammy's face covered the footage. "Are you okay, Mark?"
Onscreen was filled with a tight groan, the camera lifted and suddenly Roger was looking at the side of a New York City bus. "Zoom in," the heavy breathing continued as Roger recognized Mark's voice, cracked and shaky, "on what couldn't been…"
He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus.
Roger's thoughts were a haze; he couldn't seem to get the words forming. Unknowingly, Roger's blank gaze had shifted over to Mark, who sat tense-still on the couch with his head bowed down in shame, almost as if Mark knew Roger was sizing him up.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Tammy cried, voicing Roger's thought. She had tears streaking freely down her face and was holding her hand to her chest.
"What were you thinking?" Onscreen-Mark hissed back. "Who the hell runs in front of a bus! Didn't your mother ever tell you to look both ways before crossing the street? Jeez, you're forehead is bleeding…"
Tammy let out a hollow laugh. "Me? Mark, look at your arm."
Roger's head shot back to Mark, who continued to slouch on the couch. "You seriously saved that girl?"
"Appears so…"
"Let me see." Roger reached over and carefully rolled up Mark's sleeve. "Holy shit… The doctor said that she had to pull some piece of gravel out of your arm but I thought you got knocked to the ground when you were mugged. Was this from that bus?"
"Yeah." Mark winced. "Shit, one month and it still hurts."
"It's probably because you just realized where you got it." Roger sighed; he quickly fetched a bag of ice. "Here, just keep some pressure on it for now."
"Thanks." Mark sighed pathetically. "What's happening now?"
"You're getting out of the street." Roger laughed at the rocky image. "Looks like you're running away from that bus driver."
"Come on! Down this way!" It appeared that Tammy was dragging Mark down the streets.
"Wait!" Onscreen-Mark questioned, "Where are we going? Would you slow down?"
"We're going to an alleyway." Mark said suddenly, his sightless eyes growing wider by the second. "Rog, I remember this now…"
"What?" Roger questioned eyes wide. "What is it?"
"Shit, man. I left her…"
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March 29th, 6:32 PM, Eastern Standard Time
Tammy looked behind her shoulder. "Just keep up, okay?" She let go of his hand. "Stay with me!"
At first Mark didn't know what to do. Should he go with her, a total stranger? Or should he just stop and watch her run away… It didn't even seem like an option to go back to the loft anymore, though, and Mark knew that he'd receive quite a speech from Roger and Collins once he got back, but, for once, Mark didn't seem to care. There was just something in Tammy's eyes that screamed the need for help.
The need to be wanted.
Mark understood that. Roger, Benny, and Collins saved him from it when he first moved to the city.
"Where are we going?" Mark questioned. He pumped his arms at his side and slowly fell in step with her fast pace, breath hanging on to each bout of air that his lungs seemed to cling to. "How did you learn to run like this?"
"I had to learn," Tammy whispered. "Not here, Mark. I'll tell you in a second, okay?"
There was nothing to do but obey and follow. All Mark knew was that his limbs were burning immensely and there was nothing to do about it, plus his arm, which he had just scraped, wasn't doing any better. To make matters worse, Mark kept thinking of what he was going to tell the rest of his friends about what had happened.
"Come on." Tammy sighed. She led him down a dark alley and shoved him behind a large green dumpster. "Okay, look here," she pointed to a small, dirt caked window that was hidden behind a heavy green dumpster.
Mark blinked. "You can't be serious."
"Look, you could've left before when I ran into the street, but you didn't. You could've easily ran the other way when I let go of you wrist, but you didn't. Now this time isn't going to be any different. Follow me now and I'll tell you everything, but if you decide not to then I won't hold that against you either," Tammy whispered, looking up every few seconds as if to see if anybody was following. "Look, you didn't pick the safest person to hang out with-"
"Yeah, that happens a lot." Mark mumbled, thinking of his three HIV friends, the dark-skinned lawyer, and the rebellious diva. "So I just slip in there and wait for you? You know it would be easier if we just talk in a bar or dinner or something."
"No," Tammy sighed, "if you listen to me when we get in here you'll understand why we have to stay."
"Okay," Mark gestured to the widow, "lead the way, my good woman."
Rolling her eyes, Tammy heaved another sigh, her eyes widening and looking into Mark as if she was studying his very core. "Why didn't you just let me get hit by that bus? It would've done us better than what is about to happen."
"Just being a Good Samaritan." Mark sighed, helping her move the dumpster out of the way.
Tammy sighed, she took searched her brown crown for a hair clip and undid the lock with practiced ease. "You should know that, in the end, the so-called Good Samaritan is the one who pays for everything."
"I'll take my chances." Mark slipped through the window first, barely fitting, even with his scrawny body. He watched with worried eyes as Tammy climbed down after him, her holey-shoes tearing at the heel as she slipped down onto the large box. "Where the hell are we?" he questioned as she turned to face him.
"This, Mark, would be my home."
Mark looked around. It was easily some sort of basement, to what; Mark didn't think he wanted to know. Squinting slightly through the darkness and cocking his head so that his ear was facing the ceiling above, Mark listened to the muffled voices above- not that there was a point in eavesdropping if Mark couldn't even make out a word of it. He sighed softly and turned his attention back to his surroundings: a tattered couch, even more ripped than the loft's duct-taped one, a small side table, a mini-fridge, and a frail blue thing masquerading as a carpet.
"It's no much, is it?" Tammy sighed as she moved over to the lone fridge by the arm of the couch. "Do you want something to drink? I don't have any liquor but there's some bottled water in there."
"No thanks." Mark sighed; he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Now, when Mark compared the loft to Tammy's home, it made the loft feel like a million-dollar suite. "An explanation would be nice."
"What's there to say?" Tammy sighed, chugging her water before plopping lazily down on the couch.
Mark settled down on a lone cardboard box filled with, what Mark guessed was, clothes. "Try with the beginning."
"All right. Well, what I told you about me dropping out of Brown… erm, what else? Okay, let's see, I told you that I'm a photographer and that I basically abandoned my parents. After the big falling-out with my parents I escaped to come here to New York City to stay with my sister and that's how I met- Oh shit! Frank!"
Mark recoiled; Tammy's tone change from calm to fearful scared him. "What's wrong?"
"Tammy! Tammy!" Voice clattered from upstairs and soon the door near the staircases began to rattle. "Damn it! What the hell are you hiding down there? Get your pretty ass up here now! You're late!"
"Frank?" Mark whispered, afraid that even the slightest noise would call attention to the stranger above. However, the question wasn't even necessary as the fear in Tammy's green eyes shone through Mark.
"Leave! Leave, now!" Tammy hissed, jumping frantically from the couch and rushing towards the window. "Get out! Get out before he sees you and kills you!"
"TAMMY! OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BLOW IT OFF THE HINGES!"
"Hide!" Tammy wailed, already rushing up the stairs to unlock the door. "Hide and don't make a sound! No matter what, okay? Don't make a sound!"
"But…" Mark only shook his head. The basement was dark enough, maybe he could hide. It would be a long shot, but, still, Mark ducked behind the mount of cardboard boxes before carefully looking between tem up to where Tammy was standing by the rattling door. She shot him the most truthful apologizing look she could muster. Mark knew better than that though. It was just like she said: In the end, the so-called Good Samaritan is the one who pays for everything…
Blue eyes widened. Down the stairs came the druggie that Mark had been worrying about.
XXXXXXXX
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The camera cut off. Static bursting through the duo's ears.
"How could I forget?" Mark whimpered, blinking back tears. "How could I forget her like that? I just left her to him and for one month she's still there!"
Roger blinked. The footage, along with Mark's tale, still didn't make sense to him- hell, it wasn't even from the day Roger had realized Mark had gone missing! He guessed it wasn't really hard to believe though…
After all these years.
After all those drugs.
After all that shit.
It had to be Frankie, Roger's old band mate.
After never seeing her for years.
After leaving her alone.
After everything he left her with.
It had to be April's sister, Tammy Carson.