Chapter Twelve: Flashing Back
March 29th, 7:20 PM, Eastern Standard Time
"Frank, wait! I'm…"
"What the hell is this? You arrive at least two and a half hours late and I've got damaged goods! Do you see this? Do you? There's a hole in the bottom. That's dollars we'll never see again."
"I'll go out and buy some more-"
"Tell yourself that. You're not leaving."
Mark cringed as his body squeezed closer together as he huddled further away from the scene in front of him and hid behind the boxes, careful not to make any noise as to give away his position. There was a skull-shattering sound of flesh upon flesh and Mark peeked between the boxes just in time to see Tammy fly to the floor. Frank stood above her, eyes dilated beyond belief and clothes cut up from many scuffles, his jaw fixated in a tight frown as he hovered above the woman. A kick to the side and Tammy wailed.
"Get up! Get up!" Frank yelled; spit drawing out of his mouth. Mark guessed the man was drunk. "Don't be so lazy." He leaned down beside her frail body and kicked her absently. The smirk on his face made Mark bite his tongue from yelling out, Frank drew a finger out and tilted Tammy's chin to face him. "You're lucky I think you're too hot to kill." Tammy looked away and Frank gripped her chin tightly. "Aren't you lucky?"
Tammy nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah, Frank. I'm lucky."
"You're lucky." Now he was just playing. "And why are you lucky?"
"I'm lucky you're taking care of me so well," Tammy spit out a wad of blood, grateful that Frank didn't seem to notice her lack of respect in their present situation, "and I'm lucky you took me in."
"Good." He slapped her cheek lightly. Tauntingly, more like. He stood up and stretched, staggering so much in his drunken stupor Mark was amazed the man was even able to piece out coherent thought -albeit, not good thoughts. "Stay here. I know where The Man is and he owes me a favor for not getting him thrown his jail last night when I had the chance."
"Stay here?" Tammy uttered, eyes involuntarily flashing in Mark's direction. "What do you mean stay? Frank!" She struggled to her feet and watched with frightened eyes as she ran to the base of the staircase where she could see his fleeing form. "I've got to get some dinner! What about lunch?"
"Nuh-uh." Frank waved a finger tauntingly as another smirk crawled up his face. "See, before I came down here I moved that lock down over the window so you wouldn't be able to get out. Don't even try to break the glass; we've got plans for you soon."
"Frank, come on!" Tammy yelled, tears running down her cheeks. "FRANK! You can't leave me in here forever!" The door of the basement closed and Tammy immediately fell to her knees, drawing her legs to her chest protectively. "Shit…"
For a moment Mark couldn't even move, couldn't even comprehend the fact that he was stuck in a basement with a girl he could only consider a stranger. He pushed his camera away and released his legs from their fetal position before stretching his legs out in front of him and taking a deep sigh. All form of thought escaped his brain in that instant. Quickly, Mark closed his eyes and wrapped his hands together in deep thought
"This can't be happening…"
Eyes shooting open, Mark turned his head to focus on the raging form that was Tammy. Her brown hair whipped crazily around her quick form as she bolted from her position on the floor, fast for somebody who had just been kicked in the side at least five times, and Tammy stalked across the basement to the window. She let out a string of profanities as her shaky hands gripped the handle of the pane and struggled to open it from its lock.
"NO!" Tammy wailed, one last cry as she banged her fists against the window, not even denting the glass. She pushed herself off the wall and broke down to the ground. "Mark… I'm so sorry. It's my fault… all my fault…"
Mark shook his head absently, foolishly forgetting he was still hidden behind the boxes. Carefully, Mark crawled from his hiding place and moved toward the window where the broken woman was sitting. "How is this your fault?" Mark questioned, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. "The way I see it, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who followed you. I'm the one who kept you from getting here on time. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. You didn't know." Tammy sniffled, her hand moving to cover up Mark's hand. "I shouldn't-"
"No," Mark whispered, his hand moving out from Tammy's and covering it as he held it out in front of her. "You shoulda, woulda, coulda. It doesn't matter anymore, now does it? We're both in this together, whether we like it or not."
"Doesn't make it fair," Tammy muttered, burying her face into her knees.
"No, it doesn't," Mark whispered, "but it's what we'll work with." He patted her hand once more before clearing his throat and saying, "Come on, we'll figure something out. He's drunk, right?"
"He's going to The Man for some smack so there's a good chance he won't be back until tomorrow afternoon, maybe 12 PM at the earliest. He's usually sleeping off a hangover…"
"Ok, good." They stood up shakily and moved to the back wall, just underneath the window, to lean against the gray concrete. "Do you feel all right?"
"No. We're locked in-"
"Your side. Does you side feel all right?"
"It's fine. Not too bad, I've had worse."
"How worse?" Mark questioned, unable to bring himself to say how worse was worse.
"Not that bad. Usually it's just a few slaps in the face and a good kick in the side." Tammy massaged her side, grunting against the pain. "Not too bad, considering."
Mark sighed slightly as they moved near each other and fought off the cold of the basement with body heat.
"Are you okay?" She questioned, her hand moving through his hair hesitatingly. "Considering how cold it is in here, you're burning up."
"I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long day."
"Bull. You're burning up." Tammy placed a hand to his forehead and whispered, "Go to sleep. It's almost 8 PM and we've still got plenty of time."
"We'll figure this out together," Mark whispered, eyes drooping.
"Yeah…"
"Happy birthday, Tammy."
XXXXXXXX
With a slight jerk, Mark awoke suddenly as a loud crash above him resounded through the room. Thunder rumbled outside and suddenly Mark was very aware of his surroundings. He turned his head to the side and found that Tammy, having abandoned her sitting arrangement, was now lying comfortably in a cat-like position with her back to the wall, sleeping peacefully. Not wanting to wake her with his movements, Mark quietly picked himself off the wall and turned to study their surroundings more, his mind calculating ideas of what they were going to do.
Mark cursed his watch; he knew Roger and Mimi were probably at the loft sleeping off their last night together. He knew they'd been hanging out with Collins all night, hell he'd been invited to dinner on Collins' bill for takeout but Mark had declined because he'd wanted to search the city for a new documentary idea, now he wasn't so sure.
Fortunately, Mark's headache had swelled down to a descent nuisance instead of the throbbing menace. He chewed his lip gingerly and peeked at the sleeping form of Tammy before squaring his shoulders and looking around. The basement was frigid, Mark shivered and pulled his corduroy jacket closer to his body, he kicked the weak concrete drawing up some dust before coughing lightly. He walked to the chipped plaster lining the walls and scratched at it, the white peeling off before Mark stopped and wiped his hand on his pants.
The room was dark though, a garbage dumpster had situated itself in front of the window - Mark didn't want to know who did that - and the little light that had peeked through the window had left. Mark quickly grabbed his camera bag and ruffled through it to grab a flashlight -he'd kept it on him occasionally for times he'd wandered into dark alleys and tunnels, though, considering how dangerous Alphabet City was, there wasn't many times he'd used it. He flicked the flashlight on, shaking it slightly before finally seeing the light, and whipped it towards the tiny couch, mini-fridge, and side table.
Tammy's current living situation.
First Mark went for the fridge, opening it and poking his head in to look at the scarce contents of three warm water bottles and a half-empty box of saltine crackers. Shaking his head disgustedly, Mark shut the door and moved to the wooden side table, he opened the drawer and found it empty besides a small black book that held numerous black and white pictures; on top of the table laid a set of keys. Next was the couch, duct taped like the loft's but this one a bit rattier and beer-stained.
Damn it… Mark let out a slight huff and flopped down onto the cushions, before he immediately jumped up.
He'd sat on something.
Mark glanced at the couch with an arched eyebrow, half-expecting it to grow an extra head and legs to beat him with its cushions. Cursing himself for having such a stupid thought, Mark crouched down in front of the couch and carefully peeled off the cushions-
"What in the hell…?"
A picture. Two women, one brown haired girl, that was obviously Tammy, was grinning brightly at however was behind the camera and her arm was swung around another person, slightly taller and probably a few years older. A familiar woman. Fiery red hair, bright red lips, and green eyes. The same green eyes as Tammy, the same haircut, the same bone structure-
April.
Mark whispered a curse, a finger running across the glass. He hadn't seen April in a long time, for when Roger was going through withdrawal after her death he went into a rage and burned all of her pictures. The only thing Mark had left had been footages, but it hurt too much to look at.
"My sister." The voice made Mark's head whip back to Tammy, very much awake and now standing with her back still leaning heavily against the wall. "I came to New York City about four years ago, when I was eighteen, and I came to live with her but she-"
"Holy shit." Mark cut off her words, suddenly looking at Tammy in a new light. "You're a photographer and dropout of Brown University."
"Yeah. I told you that."
"April, she committed suicide because she thought she had AIDS but she didn't, she had HIV, the onset of AIDS. Right? Her boyfriend was Roger Davis and he was the front man for the Well Hungarians. You met him at a bar the day after meeting up with April-"
"Either we've met or you're good at this game."
"Four years ago. In October. Remember? I got scrambled in the crowd when my glasses fell off…"
Tammy's eyes widened. "Mark! Mark Cohen! Oh my… I can not believe it's actually you! After the funeral you gave me your phone number-"
"I said if you needed anything I'd help you." Mark nodded. "You needed help, Tammy. What happened?"
"I went back home to spend some time with my mother and father, I thought they'd be mourning after April's death because they didn't come down to the city for the funeral. They weren't. My father told me April got what she deserved and I came back in a few weeks to look for you and Roger." She hugged herself, shivering. "I needed help and I remembered your offer, but it had been so long ago, nearly half a year, and I lost your number and didn't know where you lived."
"We only met twice," Mark said, gesturing her to sit next to him on the couch. "There was no way you could've remembered."
"I looked, though, went to where we met but the bartender said the Well Hungarians broke up after Roger quit the band. Then I saw Frank…" She trailed off suddenly. "He was a druggie and I needed a place to live."
"What about this?" Mark questioned, wanting to get the whole story out so he could know what they were dealing with. "How long has this been going on?"
"Frank wasn't always a bad guy, you know? Like April and Roger, he had a drug problem, but his was a bit more advanced then there's was. We dated for a few months when I came back to the city, and he'd been in withdrawal for at least three weeks when I asked him to quit. He didn't want to go to a rehab; I didn't want to force him to go anywhere he didn't want to-"
"It's not easy handling a druggie by yourself." Mark nodded. "I handled Roger by myself most of the times my roommates were out but they were still there to help me. Roger made it; I'm guessing Frank wasn't too lucky."
Tammy shook her had. "He changed; he wasn't the man I knew anymore. I thought I really knew him, but he was more of a relief to me than anything else, something I had to cling to my sister's memory… Anyway, he went on this rage and got a buddy of his, Jimmy, to buy this place and he sends me out to buy drugs and get food and booze whenever he needed it."
"Why didn't you run?"
"To where? I'm not stupid, I could've gotten far before that bastard tracked me down. Look at me. After one year of being cooped up in this basement I'm malnourished and in no shape to handle two full-fledge druggies. The only way out of here is through the bar, which is crowded with other druggies, or through the window. I tried to escape once," she shuddered, "got out of the window and made it about three blocks before he caught me."
"What happened?"
Wordlessly, Tammy lifted her sleeve. "Cut me with a knife and took me to the hospital. I was so out of it, I couldn't say anything. He healed me to take me back here and you me as a servant. I've been here for nearly a whole year."
Mark wordlessly traced the red scar with his finger.
"They threaten me. Threaten to kill me; they claim to know where my family lives. I hate my family, but I don't want them dead. I may be stupid to believe that pack of shit, Mark, but I'm not going to ignore it. I'm not going to chance it… Not now…"
XXXXXXXX
"You're still a bit flushed. Are you all right?"
Mark shot her a small glare. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Are you sure-"
"Drop it," Mark muttered as he moved towards the window and stood on a box to look through the dirty glass. He knew the dumpster was still obscuring his vision of the outside but there had to be something he could do to push the window out. Frank and Jimmy might be out there somewhere but they still had to take the chance to get away. "What time is it?"
"Almost 12 PM." Tammy sighed; tapping her watch to make sure it was working. "If I'm right then we've still got about a few minutes until Frank or Jimmy comes down here."
Mark cocked a brow and turned. "Why exactly would he come down here?" She gave him a look. "Ahhh… Well, we shouldn't worry about that until he's actually down here. Roger and Mimi are probably wondering where I am right now, assuming they actually got up this morning."
"Is this Mimi girl nice?" Tammy questioned suddenly, eyes averted. As they'd been searching the basement for another way out, Mark had taken the time to try and get Tammy's mind off the situation and told her about the Boho boys' present situation. "She sounds nice."
"She's good for Roger," Mark said, uncomfortable with the fact that he was basically telling Tammy that Roger had moved on from her sister. "He hasn't been this happy in a long time."
"I wish I could meet her." Tammy whispered, eyes getting a far off look. "I'd love to see Roger again, too. We only met that once, but he was so nice and very lively."
"You'll meet him." Mark smirked. "You'll meet all of them. You'll see." He grabbed the handle of the window and pulled it. "Here, help me." Tammy climbed onto a box next to him. "Okay, put your hand over mine and pull with me."
"All right."
"One…two….three… Now!"
Together, hands gripping onto the handle, Mark and Tammy pulled at the window with all their might but it did not budge.
"How the hell are we going to get out of here?" Tammy questioned, stopping suddenly as her breath came out in shallow gasps. "The window won't open and we can't go through the bar. We'd get caught by Jimmy or Frank."
Mark shook his head. "We have to break the window."
"Are you crazy? They'll hear us!" Tammy hissed. "It wouldn't work."
"We have to take a chance." Mark shot back. "Don't you want your freedom?"
"How free is Alphabet City? It's dangerous out there."
"Helluva better place than here. This is our only exit, we have to take it."
"We can't. They'll know!"
Crash!
Heads whipped to the staircase. Mark knew that wasn't the New York storm, but he sure as hell wished it was. They shared a mutual glance of fear and suddenly Tammy was shaking at the realization.
"If he finds you here, we're both in for it!" Tammy cried. "Hide!"
"Tammy, we can't-"
"No!" She pushed him to the floor and hastily began pushing boxes in front of him. "Stay down! Don't move, no matter what! He won't see you. Please, Mark, just stay down. I don't want you hurt because of me."
"Tammy-"
"Shhh!" Tammy whispered, "He'll hear you!"
"TAMMY! OPEN THIS DOOR!" Frank's yell was slurred, he was drunk. "COME ON!"
"Coming, Frank." Tammy yelled, composing herself by the door, Mark was amazed out how strong her voice was. She opened the door and ran back down the stairs; she stood in front of Mark to make sure Frank couldn't see him from his spot above. As he walked down, more like stumbled, Mark doubted he could see anything through his bloodshot eyes.
"Got the goods today?" He questioned, moving to stand near Tammy. His back to Mark. "I need some to keep my friend busy upstairs."
Tammy shuddered, but luckily it went unnoticed by the druggie in front of her. "You locked me in, Frank. Remember?"
"No excuse!"
Frank slapped her across the cheek but Tammy held her ground. His eyes were wide and dizzy as his eyes searched the room wildly. A shudder ran through the filmmaker's body, he recognized that look as if he'd just seen it yesterday. Two days after Roger expressed his wishes to quit smack he'd caved and went out to buy some, the next day Roger stumbled back to the loft looking for more. It was the first time Roger had really hurt Mark. The first time Roger had raised a hand to the blond. They'd taken the look away from Roger's eyes and brought back the real Roger. Mark's Roger.
This was different. Frank was different.
The eyes of a druggie.
The flare of desire.
Frank wanted a hit.
Desperately.
Crash! Mark shuddered. Frank was running around the basement, he was tearing apart the whole room look for any trace of smack. Behind his back, Tammy looked to Mark and shot him a look.
"WHERE IS IT?" Frank roared, eyes widening with realization. "YOU TOOK IT, DIDN'T YOU?"
Tammy whipped around. "What? No, Frank. I swear there wasn't anything I could do. You locked me in here last night."
"NO EXCUSE!"
"Let me out," Tammy tried helplessly. "Let me out and I'll buy some more."
"You're going to run." Frank rounded on her. "I know that look. We caught you last time. You can't run."
Tammy shrunk. She was listening to him, Mark realized. Hell, he couldn't blame her that much, for it was like she said. There'd been so much shit Frank had told her and she did not want to chance it. She'd grown accustomed to listening.
Crash!
More boxes flew, Mark cringed; he was sitting behind the only set of boxes that weren't knocked over. Tammy was growing frantic; she didn't even bother to check if Frank was looking at her, she locked eyes with Mark and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Bracing himself, Mark realized that Frank was right in front of him-
"FRANK!" A voice shouted from above. "What the hell are you doing?"
Jimmy. Mark hadn't seen him in years. He'd first met the pudgy man when he first came to New York, bartended at his bar and cleaned up after and before it opened and closed. Years ago the bar had been shut down because of drug bust-up and Jimmy fled. Was that where they were now? In the basement of that same old bar?
Frank spun around and glared and the fat man. "I thought you were going to wait upstairs."
"That entire racket is drawing ears."
"From who? The only people who give a damn are the cops and we're surrounded by homeless people."
"Doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful."
"It's nearly been a year! Don't lecture me now."
Tammy heaved a small sigh, her breath catching in her throat as eyes turned to her. Jimmy walked up, bubbly hips swaying with every step, and stopped in front of her with a blood-thirsty look in his eye. "Got somethin' to say?" Tammy shook her head, recoiling slightly only to have the man swipe her wrist tightly.
"Let her go, eh?" Frank spat, suddenly much softer now that somebody else was hurting the woman. "She didn't do nothin'."
"Yet." Jimmy hissed. "We should just get rid of her."
"It's too late now. She'll tell somebody."
"That's why we get rid of her." Frank reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a black object that Mark knew too well what it was. Tammy's eyes visibly widened at the sight of the black menace. "What's the matter? Scared of me now?"
Tammy gave a breath and quickly responded, "Scared of you? No. I'm scared of the big black gun." She spat in his face and was quickly granted a large slap by the gun that sent her sprawling to the floor. Blowing her hair out of her face, Tammy looked up with eyes of a person who could care less of they died right then and there. It was then Mark realized that Tammy had had enough of their shit. If she had to die to get out of there then she would die. It didn't matter anymore.
She'd given up.
Biting his lip from screaming out to her, Mark clenched his fists tightly and cautiously poked his head out. It didn't matter, they wouldn't see him in the dark of the basement with their attention averted, but Mark didn't take a chance.
"Shut up down there!" Another Well Hungarian, Tony, yelled as he poked his head out the door. He wiped his hair away from his eyes and gave a small look of disbelief at the sight before him. "What are you doing, man? We were going to save the gun for later at the poker game."
What in the hell happened to them when April died? Mark questioned himself. After April died Roger left the band and it had apparently all went down hill from there, for Mark knew that they didn't do anything but get high and drunk at parties. Roger was the lucky one, even with his HIV status, because Roger had friends that got him clean and to a better lifestyle.
So if we didn't help Roger then he would have… died…
Hell, Frank, Jimmy, and Tony were as good as dead the way they were now.
"Put that down!" Frank shouted, stepping up slightly. "You'll hurt yourself, asshole!"
"No way," Jimmy growled. His eyes trailed on the cowering Tammy. "She's gotten away too much."
"He's been drinking!" Tony shouted dumbly, bumbling down the stairs with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "That fool is going to go all trigger-happy on us."
Jimmy whipped around and the gun pointed straight to the chest of Tony. "Be on your guard. You'll be dead before your brain can even process another stupid thought. Now… you have a question for yourself. Do you feel lucky?" Tony gulped. "It that a no?"
Mark gulped, still biting his tongue to keep from screaming out.
Tony whispered, glaring, "You-"
BOOM!
There was no more playing around, not with a gun on the loose. Tony had fallen forward and everything seemed to freeze in place as his sightless eyes remained open and blood oozed from his chest. It was a shrieking sound that drew off the gunfire as Tammy scrambled backwards until she was cowering in the corner of the basement. The sight before Mark made his stomach tumble, a lurch inside of him made him swallow down whatever was climbing up his throat. Quickly, Mark stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit down hard.
Don't scream, Cohen. Whatever you do, don't scream.
"YOU IDIOT!" Frank yelled, pointing stupidly at the fallen man. "YOU DRUNKEN IDIOT!"
Jimmy laughed drunkenly.
"What the hell did you do that for?"
"You know why?" Jimmy staggered forward and waited until their faces were inches apart. "It's because I never liked him anyway." He shrugged. "Drank all of my beer."
"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." Tammy mumbled, pressing her legs against her body.
They weren't kidding. Mark realized. There were really going to kill her if she escaped.
"Now it's your turn." Jimmy turned suddenly and pointed the gun right at Tammy. "Stand up. Let me get a look at you." Green eyes trailed on the barrel of the gun, Tammy could do nothing but oblige to the order. "Lucky to survive this far, eh?"
"Only to die in front of your ugly face," Tammy hissed, spitting onto his face. She smirked.
She's done… Mark thought to himself. Shit, she's given up.
"Stop!" Frank yelled. "Jimmy, what the hell? We're using her."
"To run errands!" Jimmy spat, gun still unsteady in his shaky hand. "Run your own damned errands. Soon she'll spill everything. Do you want that?"
"No, but-"
"SHUT UP!" Jimmy readied the gun. "Say goodbye-"
BOOM!
Oh shit… Mark wiped his brow as he squared his shoulders and tried mentally to calm his beating heart. There'd been a lot of instances in the alley's of Alphabet City that he had gotten out of some sticky situations. Knives, chains, broken bottles, and glass- you name it. However, as that gun steadied in Jimmy's drunken hand and that man's chubby finger hovered over the trigger, Mark couldn't even think as his feet moved. Instantly he'd run full force into the offended hand and the bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall. Various boxes went sprawling and Mark didn't think to breathe as he came between the two druggies and Tammy.
Jimmy staggered backwards, his gun flown out of his hand. "Who the hell are you?"
Mark steadied himself, feeling nothing but the numbness of his beating heart. "Mark Cohen."
"Holy shit!" Frank staggered forwards and grabbed Mark by the scuff of his shirt. "Well, I'll be damned. Cohen, is that really you?"
"What do you think?" Mark took in a deep breath and let it out easily. He was thoroughly surprised he could keep his voice steady. Out of the side of his eyes he watched Tammy tremble, she was eyeing the gun.
"You were a good kid." Jimmy said suddenly, still swaying in his drunken state. "Too good, really. Got Davis on the wagon and kept him there. Still there, is he?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Davis was… Lotsa talent."
"Whose side are you on?" Frank slapped Jimmy's arm. "How drunk are you, you idiot!" The crazed rocker turned to glare daggers into Mark's eyes and questioned, "How did you get here?" Mark remained silent. "Well?"
Mark reeled back at the punch hit his cheek. He lay on the floor, hand on the concrete holding him up, and spat a sudden wad of blood. Turning his head, he found that Tammy had frozen herself to the floor. "Tammy," he whispered, "move- Ahhh!" A painful surge jolted through Mark's body as Frank grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled him back up to his feet.
"Cat got your tongue, Cohen? Well, we'll just have to fix that." Another blow, one to the cheek and two to his already bruised side. Mark's glasses flew from his face, a broken mess of glass shattering to the ground. "Better?"
Tammy scrambled forwards, diving for the gun-
"Nuh-uh!" Jimmy was quicker to the punch as he kicked the woman away and knelt down to get the gun. "Damn bitch. I told you she'd only bring trouble to us." Tammy glared and Jimmy waved the gun in her face. "Let's finish her off."
"No way." Frank grinned maniacally. "Keep her alive."
"But-"
"No! We've got what we want right here." Frank grinned as he shook Mark in his hands, the blond moaning in pain. Another blow came, one to the neck and two to the gut. Frank held Mark up off the ground, Mark's feet dangling slightly, and squeezed his throat. "Let's finish off this guy. Always was causing trouble for Davis, 'course the pretty boy front man never listened. This'll teach him."
Jimmy grinned and knelt down so that his face was inches away from Tammy. "See that?" he held her chin and forced her eyes to the sight of Frank strangling Mark. "You did that." Tammy tried to look away, but Jimmy kept a firm hold. "Look at that and see if you have a guilty conscious."
Mark felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but he was sure it was from the lack of oxygen and not a blush. "Let go," he managed to croak.
Frank laughed. "Hey, Jimmy! You wanna do the honors?"
"I already had an honor," Jimmy smirked, kicking Tony's dead hand away as he stepped over the young man's body. "It's your turn."
"Pleasure." Frank reeled Mark around so that Mark was ready to fall right on the couch. "Give it here-" the gun was placed into his hands and suddenly the eyes were back. No longer did the death of an old friend matter to him. Frank wanted blood.
"Stop it!" Tammy scrambled forwards but was held back by Jimmy. She beat her fist against his chubby chest and cried out, "Stop, Frank! Please, Frank, stop! PLEASE!"
"It all started when Davis met you." Frank ignored the angry rant and cocked the gun. "Well, now it ends here."
Mark's eyes widened, his heart beat heavily in his chest and suddenly the gun was shoved in his mouth. The metal touched his tongue and Mark chocked slightly, careful not to squirm thinking one movement and he'd be doomed. He gagged though, unable to take the mixed taste of the coppery blood and black metal hitting his taste buds at the same time.
"Say goodbye-"
"NO!"
BOOM!
The gun was suddenly ripped out of his mouth and the bullet flew away, inches away from hitting his face.
The images of a girl swam through his gaze suddenly and the gun was flying the floor. He heard the ricochet of the bullet bouncing off the wall and then a sudden pain in the back of his head. He'd hit the side table. Voices swam through his mind:
"YOU KILLED HIM!"
"He's unconscious. Shut up and sit down before I blow your head off."
"What now?"
"Throw him out."
"I thought you were going to kill him."
"Throw him out. Grab the damned thing and go. He won't say anything about this if he knows what good for him." Shadowed image hovering above him, something slapping his cheek. "Will you? If you do, the girl dies. You don't want that, do you?"
Mark was in a haze. There was no need to comprehend anything. Hands branched out to grab his arms and legs and suddenly he was being thrown into an alley, but he wasn't aware. Everything was dizzy. Nothing made sense.
"MARK!" Tammy was yelling. "Wake up!"
"Shut up!"
"Lock the window."
"Don't think of helping him or you'll be joining Tony. You don't want that."
Footsteps carrying away. Mark couldn't see anything, his head rolled back and forth and his ears were perked out but he couldn't comprehend anything. Everything was so dizzy…
"Mark… Mark… Take this and forget me…"
His camera.
XXXXXXXX
Wetness on his face. New York rain. Mark jolted awake and the only thing he was aware of was the blackness staring down at him and the unbelievable pain coursing throughout his body. Hands reaching out blindly, Mark felt the metal that had to be his camera and held it close to his body. His camera was safe and he was safe. But where was safe?
Mark blinked against the shadows.
Nothing.
Another blink.
Nothing.
What the hell happened?
When nothing turned came into his sight, Mark stumbled to his feet, camera held tightly to his chest, and walked-
A garbled voice coughed. "Watch it!"
A blunt object, probably a person, rammed into Mark's shoulder, causing him to yelp out in pain. Without thinking, Mark rubbed his sore shoulder and tried, desperately, "Excuse me? Can you help me?" He turned to where the person would've been and squinted as he came face-to-face with a tall, shadowed figure.
"Wha's da' matter? Are ya lost?" The mysterious figure questioned, and Mark could almost hear the smirk in the stranger's voice. Suddenly Mark knew what he'd done was a bad idea. "Ya look a bit rich, despite the ruggedness. So how's 'bout it Mista' Filmmaker?"
Carefully taking a step back, jamming into a wall, Mark clutched his camera into a tighter grasp. "No… You've got it wrong. I'm poor–"
Useless. The larger man pushed Mark into an alley. Loud crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning continued to boom overhead. The little illumination brought the man's shadow-form in front of Mark's face as a fist connected with his gut and a hand pushed him to the pavement. Mark blinked tears back as he crumbled against the concrete wishing with all his might for some sort of solace. The offended mugger, however, was soon joined by two more figures as they tore his jacked from his body and tried to swipe his camera away from the death clutch he had on it. Mark kicked until his limbs were about to give.
"HEY!"
A bark-like growl followed as feet stomped through the alleyway and pulled the nearest shadowed-figure, who happened to be working on Mark's shoes, away. Mark continued to blink against the rain and tears as he looked up to the dark figure above him, who had built up his own strong scuffle against the three muggers. He wiped the blood from his lips and spat out the wad of crimson liquid building in his mouth before letting the hacking coughs wrack his thin body. Not even noticing that the three muggers had run, Mark cringed as his savior bent down to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Whoa, buddy. Are you okay?" Eyes flickering upwards to the man, Mark watched the shadow-form ran a hand through his hair before grasping Mark's shoulder comfortingly. "Mark?"
"Rog?"
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April 24th, 7:35 PM, Eastern Standard Time
Mark pressed his palm to his temple and screwed his eyes tightly shut as another headache came one. One hand snaked up to grab a fistful of hair as the incessant throbbing pulsed through his brain. Tears welled in the back of Mark's eyes as his grip tightened. Mark vaguely felt Roger and Collins's gazes shooting daggers into him as he attempted to sink deeper into the couch cushion. It was no use. He let his head fall and continued to massage his temple from the agonizing migraine.
"It was… there just- I wasn't thinking. Or, maybe I was. Shit… I'm just… I don't know anymore…" Mark muttered, more to himself than to his two companions as he struggled to piece together the puzzles of his mind. "Maybe it was just-"
"Breathe, Mark."
In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.
For the third time that day, Mark hadn't realized his breath was coming out shallow until he heard Collins's voice. The anarchist swam across his vision as Roger; Mark guessed, pushed away suddenly and started pacing. If not for the sound of the rain pattering heavily onto the window behind him, Mark would've gone crazy from the silence. He dropped his elbows to steady on his knees and continued to massage his head as his breathing slowed to a reasonable pace.
"Okay. Just keep taking deep even breathes." Collins continued in a whisper, his hand moving to massage his shoulder reassuringly. "Just slow down and breathe, boy. You got that? In and out. In and out…"
The muttering curses of Roger filled the air and soon Mark was flinching against the pained noise. He couldn't stop the slight moan eliciting from his mouth as a crash emerged from somewhere in the loft. This much was what Mark remembered as his worst memory: Withdrawal-Roger in such a rage, items being thrown around the loft aimlessly, the New York rain beating down, thunder and lightning crashing, and everything was just chaos-
Crash!
Thunder or a lamp breaking, Mark didn't know. Everything around him just made his headache burn ten, second after second as more noises invaded his ears. Blindly, Mark reached up and grabbed the hand of Thomas Collins, ceasing the anarchist's calming movements. "Stop him," Mark croaked out, instantly surprised at how fragile his voice came out. "Just… It's so loud." He was vaguely aware how weak that made him sound, but Mark could've cared less as his head dropped again and his hands went back to massage his temple.
A simple squeeze to the shoulder and Mark knew everything would be all right. Mark watched through squinted eyes as the shadow-formed Collins pushed himself off the couch and made his way toward the other shadowed-form who could only be one Roger Davis. Wincing as another crash occurred; again Mark couldn't tell if it was the storm outside or inside the loft.
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
Roger let out a yell that could've shattered anybody's eardrums, had they been close enough to the enraged rocker. Mark watched as his friend grabbed an object, what looked to be a coffee cup, and hurl it at the loft's large window. His hand whipped out again and in an instant another cup flew after the first one, and Mark could see the shadowed-form of little shards of glass piling on to the floor. Legs tightening against his body, Mark curled up on the couch and leaned into the back cushion of the couch as his head fell down to bury into his knees. Dominant ear tilting toward Roger…
Mark listened.
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"This is just marvelous!" Roger growled, another glass hurling into the window and shattering to pieces as if fell to the floor. "How in the hell are we supposed to comprehend this? We're not dealing with a druggie anymore! We're dealing with a murderer!" He reached to pick up another glass and once again hurled it against window, watching in pleasure as the glass fell again, colorful shards gathering at the base of the windowsill.
Collins muttered a curse under his breath as he stalked towards the enraged musician and grabbed his wrist before he could toss the next defenseless glass toward the window. He angrily spun Roger around so their faces were inches apart, hot breath brushing each other's skin as fiery green eyes met those of warm brown.
"What the hell, Davis?" Collins spat, grabbing the younger man by the neck of his shirt and tightening the hold. "You can't keep yourself calm for even two seconds before going into a rant. You are not a child! Don't expect me to be okay with the fact that your fits come and go as you please, because we've all been through hell this past month. Some of us have to hold it together though. Especially you-"
"Sure," Roger said, voice coming down a notch to a throaty whisper, "tell me that I've matured to the point that I won't go crazy, Thomas. Tell me, truthfully, that you don't believe I won't up and run. That's who I am! You can't change the fact that I'm the same bastard who ran off to Santa Fe after Angel's death," Collins cringed. "because I thought things were too damned difficult. I am-"
"Were," Mark piped up suddenly. "You were that guy…"
Heads turning, Collins and Roger saw that Mark had not even been looking up, his face still buried in his knees. Coughing, Collins pushed Roger away like he was a disgusting piece of filth that had grown off of the mold on their crusty bread. "Listen to me, man," he poked Roger's chest for emphasis.
Roger glared. "I'm not a child-"
"You sure as hell are acting like one. If you're going to blame yourself, throw your damned tantrum, and growl like a dog, you're a child." Collins jabbed his finger in the direction of the blond heap on the couch, "So, if you're not listening for me, do it for your best friend because he's sure making a lot more sense then you are in this situation."
Green eyes moving, Roger took in the shivering filmmaker with one blink before turning back to the anarchist in front of him and giving a single nod of mutual understanding. The coffee cup in his hand faltered and soon Roger slammed in half-heartedly onto the dining room table. "What?"
"Don't give me that sarcastic shit. Not today. I've gotten enough of it from Mark, Maureen, and you." Collins pushed Roger slightly and said, "Listen to me, man. Okay? Don't talk." He waited for the musician to nod before continuing. Collins heaved a deep breath and said, "If you don't think I don't remember what happened after Angel's funeral then you're dead wrong. Nothing can come close to how hard that's been for all of us; especially considering it's obviously been having a lasting effect. We were all affected. Emotions ran high that day and you thought to up and leave New York for Santa Fe, but you came back after you realized your mistake. We all make those mistakes, man, but in the long run we learn from it."
"How is that possible?" Roger argued. "I ran off after April died."
"For one week. Mark and I found you in Tompkins Square Park."
"It's still running off."
"You were high, man. After we got some coffee into your system you asked us to keep you in the loft. You asked us not to send you to a clinic but I was this close," Collins held two fingers close together, "to sending your smack-induced ass out of here. Mark didn't let me. That damned boy may be scrawny and, at times, uncoordinated, but he knows what's best for his friends, even if he doesn't know what's best for himself. It's the same for you, Roger. You know what's good for Mark, somewhere deep down you know just what to do. You're not listening to your heart. You're listening to your mind."
"Sometimes it's not enough."
"Isn't it?" Collins questioned, eyes squinting as if thoroughly investigating the rocker in front of him. "You're right, Roger. You ran off after April died, you ran off after Angel's funeral, and no matter how you say it you were still running off. Don't you get it? You've changed. In a big way. Don't think about the past, think about right now." Collins paused. "Where are you?"
"What?" Roger recoiled, hand running through his hair.
"You heard me, man." Collins repeated, "Where are you?"
"New York City." Roger replied, chewing his lip gingerly. Collins nodded, urging him to go one. "I'm at the loft. What the hell are you getting at here? We know-"
"You're a thick-headed asshole, you know that Davis? For once in your life listen to yourself! You're in New York City, with all of us enduring the same pain that's been on everybody's mind. You haven't run off."
"Well…"
"See? It's changed this time." Collins grabbed Roger's shoulder and squeezed it. "Don't screw that up."
"Dammit." Roger muttered. He paced in the kitchen for a few seconds, hands running through his hair, down his leather jacket, into and out of his jeans pocket, but never stopping from his incessant movement. Roger sauntered casually towards the couch and placed a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "Man, I'm so-"
"Don't say it." Mark muttered into his knees, "Please, don't say it."
"Mark, man. Look at me."
Head coming up, hair suddenly very disheveled looking; Mark pushed himself out from the comfort of his knees and looked towards Roger. His eyes were screwed tightly against the darkness that he knew danced before his eyes as the familiar trace of a bruise lined his right cheek. Roger cautiously brought a finger to trace the red line running across his eye, suddenly very aware of all the scratches that lined his best friend's face.
"Mark," Roger coughed, uncomfortable at how weak his voice sounded. "Mark, man… Neither of us can do this alone and I promised that I wouldn't leave you, but you've got to help me to. I've screwed up a lot of our promises, but I'm not going to be making promises anymore. This is my word to you, because I know there's nothing else that can break through that. I'm here for you, Mark… Mark?"
Eyes opening, glazed and unseeing, Mark's lips quirked up into a tiny smile. "I didn't think you'd leave. Ever. I never believed you'd leave." And he fell into Roger's warm and comfortable embrace.
Collins looked on.
"What now?"