// COLD // ALL TIME LOW

19). MERCURY

I'm so bad at updating

The plastic bag threatened to split and spill the contents all over the pavement. The bottle store had a habit of giving out the worst bags. Last time, the girl at the counter had given him a bag littered with holes. Letting a sigh escape, Zack twisted the bag around his wrist. It wouldn't stop the bottles from escaping the plastic but it gave him a sense of stability. He was a couple of blocks away from the college campus, on the shady side of town. It was literally shady, the tall concrete buildings blocking out any sunlight. It seemed typical that in places without light things festered in the dark. For this part of town, it was the crime. This was allegedly where Jack had killed that man. Down an alley, a couple streets over. Disemboweled body found on 52nd Street: that's what the newspaper had headlined. Jack didn't seem like a killer but maybe that was Zack's nativity. May had always commented on how he saw the best in people.

It was dangerous for Zack to walk around this side of town. The amount of violence here could make a Tarantino movie look tame. Yet, he couldn't allow himself to care. He had purposely chosen this bottle store. He needed the walk, to get away from May.

As lovely as she was, sometimes he couldn't stand her.

Taking a step forward, Zack could hear his feet hit the concrete. The sound wouldn't have been disheartening if it wasn't this side of town. The silence was unusual, eerie. Picking up his pace, Zack hurried through the streets. Nobody would dare approach him in broad daylight. He was bigger than most, quieter too, giving off an unapproachable impression. Taking a sharp turn around a corner, Zack breathed a sigh of relief. There was no gang of thugs waiting for him, just an empty street.

"Mate, a little help here," A raspy voice called out, disembodied. Darting his eyes around, Zack spun on his heels, searching for the owner of the voice. By the sound of it, the masculine voice belongs to someone who chained smoked. "Not there, you fuck, over here."

Zack's eyes landed onto an alleyway, he could swear that's where the man was. It was in the middle of two brick buildings, a crumbling bar and what looked like a boarded-up apartment complex. "Come here," The voice beckoned, and Zack took a hesitant step towards the alley. Nobody jumped out at him as he took another step. "Kid, I'm not going to fucking jump you," the voice called out again, before breaking into a fit of coughs.

The man, he assumed, was sitting behind one of the bins. Pausing, for a moment, Zack spoke, "What do you want?"

"For you to help me, idiot," The man grumbled before his voice trailed off into another fit of coughs.

Finally, gaining the courage to look, Zack peered to see him. He didn't look old, late twenties or early thirties at most. His cigarette tainted voice painted him older. "Can you call someone for me?" The man asked, tilting his head up. His hands were cupping a fresh wound on the side of his body, blood dripping through his fingers.

"Oh fuck, do you want me to call 911?" Zack stuttered out, dropping to the level of the man to check his wound. "Jesus Christ"

"No, do not do that kid. I need you to call a friend of mine, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, ah, what's his number?" Zack asked, his eyes captivated by the wound.

"Mate, give me the phone and hold my wound for me. Can't be losing any more blood today," He told Zack letting out a throaty laugh. Despite, the threatening persona his dark brown eyes showed a softer person.

"Uh, yeah okay," He replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He hadn't even realized when he dropped his bag, but it lay dormant at his feet. Giving it to the man, he bent down applying pressure to the wound. It probably didn't look right, to any passerby, the two men cramped down an alleyway.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," The man groaned, as Zack pressed a little too hard against his wound. He could feel the sticky warmth of the blood against his hands. The wound was near the man's stomach and whoever did it had the intent to kill.Pushing in the numbers, the man dialled someone. His fingers leaving a bloody residue on the phone screen. "Pick up you, asshole," The man groaned, his hands shaking with the phone. "Fucking hell pick up," He continued.

Not knowing what he was doing, Zack continued to crouch placing pressure on the wound. If he could guess, he would put his money on it being a knife wound. The pieces of the man's black shirt in tatters.

"Jack, fucking finally, I need your help. Yes, I know. Pirates Cove? Yeah right? 32. No, no, no, no cops," The man spoke. The words he spoke seemed fragmented, it was some kind of code. The hairs on the back of Zack's neck stood up but he couldn't remove his hands from the man's wound. If he let go, he would surely bleed out. "Right, bye, I love you," The man ended the call. The whole, bad ass vibe that he had going for him shattered at the words "I love you." Running a bloodied hand through his black hair, he gave a tired smile at Zack. "Let me hold the wound, you can go kid."

His eyes wide, Zack removed his hands once he knew the man could apply pressure to his own wound. This man was obviously associated with some shady shit but Zack couldn't move. His feet had grown roots into the concrete.

Stepping back, Zack almost fell backwards. His centre of gravity changing from the crouching position. Putting his hand back, to stop his fall, he felt the bottles in his bag. "Fuck," He swore his mind high on adrenaline. He had seen enough action movies to get a rough idea of how to stop the bleeding.

Groaning, the man looked at Zack shaking his head. He had a rough idea what the kid was about to do.

His fingers grasped at the bottle of Vodka, unscrewing the lid. Pouring a little on his hands, he let the blood wash away. "You don't have to do this, kid, " the man coughed, watching him from a blackening vision. Zack was pulling off his shirt, ripping the dark red material.

"This is going to hurt," Zack told him, repeating the words he had seen in so many movies. He didn't even give the man a warning before pouring the cheap vodka over his wound.The man didn't make a noise but his body fell limp against Zack. "Dude?" Zack asked, placing the bottle down. The man had passed out, his head resting against Zack. Tying the wound the best he could with his own shirt, Zack still left his hands on the wound praying.

It took thirty minutes until the other man found them. By that time, Zack was cold and tired. His body coated with another man's blood in an alley. It didn't look good for his situation. He had enough time to study the other man's face, on the off chance he would need to describe it to the police.

He had darker skin, black hair, and stubble, those were the features that the cops would want. He wasn't the most attractive either, his nose had ridges where someone had broken it.

"Hey," Someone else's voice had finally greeted.

Jack.

The name hadn't clicked at first. He hadn't thought of murderer, Jack. The dude at therapy. Yet there Jack stood, silently above him. He didn't look so young in the afternoon right, bags under his eyes, and ill-fitting clothes. He didn't have shoes on and held a backpack slung over a shoulder. It was evident that he had rushed over.

"Mercy you absolute fuckwit," He swore. Jack didn't pay Zack any mind, he couldn't care less about the other man. His eyes focused, instead, on his boyfriend bleeding out in an alleyway. "Here, hold him," Jack instructed, pushing the man into Zack's body further. "I've done this a thousand times," He reassured, pulling out some items from his bag. The look in Jack's eyes told Zack that this was not the first time he had patched up someone.

The whole situation was beyond Zack so he held Mercy without a word. How nobody had noticed them proved how much the police care about this area of town.

"Wait, don't I know you?" Jack questioned, after spending time stitching the wound on Mercy. "Zack, right?"

"Yeah."

"You won't tell anyone about this will you?" He pleaded.

"I won't."

Jack's shoulders relaxed, "Do you think you can help me move my boyfriend?" He then asked.

"Yeah," Zack agreed seeing no way out of the situation. If he left alone now, he wouldn't survive this part of town.