Jack and Mr. Grin (9 page)

When Jack was finished, Sam said, “That is
fucked up
!”

Then he screamed. Threw himself off the couch and onto the floor, his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, his girth covering both of his arms like he was trying to put out some kind of fire.

Jack went to him, kneeling down beside him as Sam flopped on the cluttered floor. Jack put his arm across Sam’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to comfort him. “Just hang on.”

“
Oh Jesus fuck!
” he shouted. He was now doubled up, his forehead resting on the floor, his knees pulled up into his ample stomach.

Jack held him tighter.

Sam suddenly uncoiled himself, pushing against Jack, forcing him onto the couch.

Sam’s eyes were full of rage. Jack saw the brand on his arm. This one was bloody, as though they had gained intensity. Or maybe it was because pain was the object of the mark and since Sam had undergone efforts to dull the coming pain, the mark had to be a little fiercer, a little more violent.

“
Get the fuck out of here!
” he roared.

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s just me, Jack.”

“
What did you do to her! What did you do to her you sick fuck!
”

“Nothing!” Jack shouted, feeling defensive. Sam had it all wrong. Jack was trying to
help
Gina. He would never hurt her.

Sam grabbed the heavy bong from the table. Jack stood up, backing away toward the door.

“Don’t,” Jack said.

“You’re not getting away.” Sam raised the bong over his head.

Before Jack could even attempt to leave the apartment or get out of the way, the bong was hurling at him, shattering against his shoulder, cutting through his shirt.

“Fuck!”

Maybe he
should
run. Just get the hell away from the suddenly raging Sam as fast as he could. But he was tired of running. If he just left it at this then he wouldn’t have got what he came here for, which was Sam’s help.

“Help me!” he shouted. “Help me find her, Sam!”

“I’m not helping you do anything.”

Sam crossed the room toward Jack, dragging comic books beneath his feet. He clasped his large hands around Jack’s shoulders.

“Get away from the fucking door. You’re not going anywhere.”

He threw Jack into the middle of the room, into the coffee table.

That one hurt. The wood dug into his back.

Sam stood over him, kicking at him. Jack rose up and lunged at Sam’s knees. He put everything into it and managed to force him back and then down onto the floor. It probably helped that Sam was so stoned. Otherwise, Jack didn’t see how he could possibly take him down.

Sam landed a punch to the side of Jack’s head. Everything washed red and black before he landed his own punch in the middle of Sam’s face. He didn’t like the way Sam’s nose felt under his knuckles. Popping and spewing forth blood.

Jack stood up. Sam quickly stood up right behind him. He swung his meaty left arm at Jack. Jack grabbed the wrist and yanked downward, catching Sam off balance.

Again Sam was on the floor.

And Jack was on top of him again. This time he went for the left arm. He held it extended against the floor.

He clapped his palm down on the brand.

It was hot, nearly burning his hand. He felt the raised pattern beneath his palm. He made a fist, trying to grab at the brand.

Beneath him, Sam winced. He bucked his hips trying to throw Jack from him. But Jack was small and wiry, not able to be bucked off so easily.

Jack pulled his hand away from Sam’s arm.

And the brand was gone.

He held his own hand out in front of him.

He opened it, looking down into the palm.

The brand was there. Part of Sam’s flesh lay in the palm of his hand.

Sam no longer bucked beneath him.

Slowly, Jack got off him, collapsing on the couch.

Sam continued to lie in the middle of the floor, taking long deep breaths. His left arm sprawled limply beside his head. There was a rectangular absence of skin where the brand once was. Blood flowed freely from it.

Sam’s eyes were closed.

“What the fuck was that?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Jack said.

“Jesus, I wanted to
kill
you.”

“You don’t want to kill me anymore?”

“No. You’re Jack. Why’d I want to kill you?”

“I don’t know. Why
did
you want to kill me?”

“The pain. God, I’ve never felt pain like that. Did you get that thing off me?”

“Yeah, I did.” Jack held it up. Sam opened his eyes and looked at it.

“You were right. I had a picture of you in my head when I felt that.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were doing things to Gina.”

“Like what?”

“Cutting her. Fucking her. Cutting and fucking her.”

“You know I’d never hurt Gina, right, Sam? You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re the best guy she’s ever had. By far. I know you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Then why did you see that... in your head?”

“I don’t know. It was like, for a minute there, I didn’t have any control over my thoughts at all.”

“I want to try and find Gina, Sam. Will you help me?”

“Like come with you?”

“Yeah. Will you come with me?”

“I’d do anything for my sister. If you think she’s in danger, I’ll come with you.”

Seventeen

It was well after
three o’clock
by the time they managed to raise Sam from the floor. Jack had put the brand/hunk of Sam’s skin on a glossy
Spider-Man
comic spread out on the coffee table. Once Sam was upright, he said, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and get cleaned up a little bit.”

“Okay,” Jack said. Sam was a mess. Blood coated his face from where Jack had punched him. He figured it was highly likely that he had broken Sam’s nose. He was sorry about it but knew it was all done in self-defense and there were a lot worse things than a broken nose. Then there was the matter of the missing skin on his forearm. It was definitely going to turn into a scar. While it was bloody, it didn’t seem to go down that deep. It was kind of like the outer layer of a blister had been pulled off.

With Sam in the bathroom, Jack picked up the brand, holding it delicately in his fingertips and sitting back on the stinky couch.

What the hell was it?

No longer did he think the mark was on his side. Now he thought the mark was given to people to make them turn against him. To hinder him in his quest. Jesus, just thinking like that made him feel like he was going insane. A quest. He didn’t have a quest yesterday. Yesterday was a Saturday and he was just a guy like a million other guys who dreaded going into work on Monday. Today he would have been content to just sit around the house on his one day off and enjoy the company of his girlfriend. His girlfriend who he was going to make his fiancée.

Now that had all been blown to hell.

This was how he was spending his day off.

A day he would have hoped to remember as the day he proposed to Gina. Now he would remember it as the day he either won or lost Gina.

The brand had come away just as it was on Sam’s arm. That is, only the lines of the brand came away. That rectangle with the horizontal line through it.

Jack thought it had to mean something. It seemed to be some kind of design, almost like a logo. If it was just meant to inflict pain and keep people away from him then he figured it could have been a less intricate mark like a simple slash or “X” or something. But this looked like it was trying to be some kind of stylized symbol.

Maybe Sam would have an idea where to look for her.

Absently, Jack stared at the brand until Sam emerged from the bathroom, his face wiped clean and a bandage applied to his arm. Then he slid the brand into his pants pocket.

“Ready,” Sam said.

“Do you have any ideas where she might be?”

“Not really. You already check with her friends?”

“I don’t really think she’s with her friends. The phone calls, remember? And I was with her right before she went missing. I did talk to Maria though, from the coffee shop?”

“Oh, yeah, Maria. Hadn’t seen her?”

“No. Didn’t have any ideas at all, really. She got branded too.”

“Did she try and kill you?”

“No. I think I left before she could really get the urge. And I think she wants to sleep with me.”

“Have your babies, huh?”

“Gross.”

“So... no ideas?”

“Well, not any legitimate ones. I mainly just feel like we should keep moving, you know. I don’t know that it’s doing any good just to sit around talking about it but at the same time if we keep moving and we’re going in the wrong direction, then that’s not going to help a lot either.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Basically until tomorrow morning.”

“And then?”

“It’s over, I guess. Either someone dies or he takes Gina away.”

“That’s like kidnapping isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I can’t call the police. He said he would know if I called the police and he would just finish her right there.”

“I’d like to get my hands on that guy.”

“I’d like to know who the fuck it was. I did have one idea...”

“What’s that?”

“I think maybe he took her to some kind of hotel or motel.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Just kind of a hunch.”

“Well,
Alton
’s got plenty of those.”

“Do you know of most of them?”

“I think most of them are up by the highway.”

“I’m thinking it almost has to be one that isn’t really populated, you know?”

“Well, I don’t really know about that. I don’t know how full they’re going to be on a Sunday morning. This
is
Alton
, you know. There isn’t much of a reason for people to be here unless they’re just passing through. I’m guessing most of the truckers and the business-types check out early. If they would be here on a Sunday morning at all. And really, what are a few screams coming from a hotel room, anyway? Someone overhears them, as long as they aren’t too prolonged or desperate-sounding, and they just dismiss it as laughter or sex or something else.”

“That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

“We’ll find her,” Sam said.

“You have a car, right?”

“You’re going to use me for my car?”

“It would help a lot.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a car. You want to go up by the highway?”

“I guess that’s a good place to start.”

“Let me get the keys.”

Sam disappeared into the kitchen to get the keys. He came back, turning off lights as he did so, and Jack followed him through the front door.

A cop car was in the driveway.

Jack’s heart lurched. His first thought was that the cop was here to tell them something terrible had happened to Gina. His second thought was the cop was here to put a bullet through each of them. To punish Jack for getting Sam’s help.

The cop got out of the driver’s side and raised his arm, “Can you two stay right there?”

Jack and Sam both stopped, stupidly raising their hands above their heads.

“Do you live on the ground floor?” the cop asked.

“I do,” Sam said. He nodded toward Jack, keeping his hands raised. “He doesn’t live here.”

“There was a complaint about some noise. The caller said it sounded like there was a fight going on. Were you two fighting?”

“No, sir,” Sam said. “We were watching a movie. Maybe I had the TV up too loud.”

The cop moved closer to them. He looked at Sam and said, “What happened to your nose?”

It was bulbous and purple.

Sam laughed it off. “I wish I knew.”

“What kind of answer is that?” the cop asked.

“Unfortunately, it’s the only one I can give. Some of my friends took me out last night. I’m afraid I had a little too much to drink and when I woke up this morning I found I had this little souvenir.”

“Regardless, I think I’d better come in and take a look around.”

“I kind of need to get my friend here to work...” Jack knew this was a mistake as soon as Sam began. It made it sound like he was hiding something.

“Shouldn’t take long,” the cop said, already approaching the apartment. “You guys can put your arms down.”

Jack and Sam followed the cop to the apartment. Jack couldn’t begin to fathom the ridiculousness of this. Here was a cop not two feet away from them. How easy it would be to just say, hey look, I’ve got this situation... And tell him everything. The idea almost sounded good to Jack. If what Mr. Grin had said was true. If
Jack
called the
police
, then maybe Mr. Grin would know because his connection was the dispatcher or something. But if the police were already
here
then how could Mr. Grin possibly know if Jack told them anything?