Jack And Mr. Grin Part 7

He thought he could trust Sam.

And Sam couldn't tell anyone else if he came along with Jack. This was what he was hoping for. He didn't know if he was putting him in danger or not. He didn't feel any sense of pressing danger. And if he sent Sam away before they came to Mr. Grin, if they came to Mr. Grin, then there wouldn't be any harm done.

"Sit down." Sam tossed a blanket from the couch and gestured for Jack to sit down. Jack did, feeling a little dirty as he nestled into the once-off-white-now-more-brown cus.h.i.+ons. The television was paused. A woman was in between two men, one of them f.u.c.king her mouth, the other f.u.c.king her from behind. A band of static ran through the middle of the screen. Jack found that he did not want to look at it. Thankfully, Sam grabbed the remote and turned the power off.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"It's okay."

"I just get so used to being alone I forget what I'm doing sometimes. Everything okay?"

"Not really."

"You're soaked," he observed. "You walk here?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to the car?"

"It's a long story. It's all a pretty long story."

"Gina okay?"

"No, Sam, I don't think she's okay at all."

"Are you serious?"

"I am. Things are... well, they're really f.u.c.ked. That's what they are. They just haven't been right since this morning."

"You going to tell me what happened?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you. Although I don't think I'm supposed to. Before I start though, let me give you a warning. In a few minutes, you're going to feel a very intense pain in your left arm. No, you're not going to have a heart attack. But you will be left with some kind of brand. And when you're having these pains, you're going to see a picture of me in your head. I want you to remember what I'm doing in this picture. I think the pain will go away. But I'm not sure."

Sam stared at him, digesting everything. Jack knew Sam was a smart guy, it just took a moment for reality to penetrate through the layers of chemicals usually surging through his body.

"If you say you're serious," he said. "I believe you. I should probably start numbing the pain then, huh?"

He sat down beside Jack and grabbed a water bong from a table beside the couch. It must have been packed and ready to go. He put his lips to it and held a lighter to the bowl on the other side. Once he had sucked a good lungful, he offered it to Jack.

"No, thanks."

"That's right. I forgot. You don't do this, do you?"

"Not in a while."

"You're missing out."

"I've heard."

"So," he hissed as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Where's Gina?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? She run off or something?"

"Has she done that before? Run off?"

He inhaled again. "Not that I know of. Not when she was living at home anyway. I think when she was dating Tim Fox, she might have ran off a couple of times. Came here to just chill out after a fight or something or..."

"Or what?"

"Well, there were a couple times I know of- like after she knew that s.h.i.+t was f.u.c.king around on her- when she would go out with some friends and pick up a guy. Just to, you know, f.u.c.k him out of spite or something."

Jack was kind of surprised. If this had happened, she hadn't told him anything about it.

"She did this a lot?" he asked.

"No. Not a lot. Like I said, just a couple times maybe. I told her she shouldn't do that. A lot of girls end up getting hurt that way. Hurt or catching some kind of disease." Sam shook his head, inhaled again.

"Do you know if she had any stalkers or anything like that?"

"No. I don't think so. Gina didn't really let guys down easy. Once she was finished with them, they didn't really have any interest in her."

"Why's that?"

"She just doesn't let them down easy, that's all."

Jack wondered if that's what this was. Could it be? Could she have grown tired of him and concocted this whole thing just to make him want absolutely nothing to do with her? It was possible, he guessed. h.e.l.l, anything was possible. But this was Gina, his Gina. They loved each other. He didn't think she would do anything like that to him.

"So what's been goin on?" Sam asked.

Jack told him. He told him as quickly as possible but tried not to leave anything out. Even the smallest detail that meant nothing to him might mean something to Sam. All the while, he was conscious of the time, slipping through his fingers.

Sam sat back on the couch, completely stoned, his eyes barely opened, listening to it all.

When Jack was finished, Sam said, "That is f.u.c.ked 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 f.u.c.k!" 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, pus.h.i.+ng against Jack, forcing him onto the couch.

Sam's eyes were full of rage. Jack saw the brand on his arm. This one was b.l.o.o.d.y, 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 f.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.k!"

"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 s.h.i.+rt.

"f.u.c.k!"

Maybe he should run. Just get the h.e.l.l 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 f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.k 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. G.o.d, 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. f.u.c.king her. Cutting and f.u.c.king 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?"