Mercy

By Amethyst Turner

On a day when there's nothing left to do but cry

When there's nothing left to drink but tears

When there's nothing left to do but try

To drown ourselves in our worries and fears

There is a man with a knife

He waits in the woods

I'll go with you to meet him

I think that we should

He is called Mercy

He is kind an vicious

Darling don't worry

Life's just a sickness

The lines are all blurry;

Death is delicious

XXX

Davey found Annelise lying in her hospital bed, nursing the baby.

His heart filled with such an intense joy that he nearly cried. Here, here was his family. His wife and a tiny baby boy. And they would go home and start their life together and live happily ever after.

When Anne saw him, she let out a shriek. "Davey!" She cried. Her face lit up, and then crumpled into tears.

Davey ran to her, leaving the door open behind him. He threw his arms around her, taking in her familiar smell. Her skin was shiny and sticky with sweat, her hair stringy and tangled from days without brushing it. But Davey didn't care. Right now, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I love you, Annie," he murmured.

Annelise wrapped her free arm around him, her fingernails clutching the back of his shirt. They sat like this for a few minutes, grasping each other for dear life, until Anne broke the silence. "This is Davey Junior," she whispered.

He pulled back to look at his son. Was there a more beautiful baby on the planet? He watched Davey Jr. drink from his mother's breast, his eyes sealed shut and his fragile bones still. He seemed to be an origami baby, folded of the most delicate paper.

"Sweetheart, he's gorgeous," Davey whispered back. He spoke softly -- Annelise seemed to be on the verge of tears. A harsh word might break her.

But she collapsed into tears, anyway. "I know," she sobbed. "I know, I know."

XXX

Amethyst thought crying was weird, because it seemed sort of contagious, the way yawns were. The woman in the bed started crying, and then Davey started crying, then the baby started crying, and now Amethyst felt like she wanted to cry too.

She wasn't sure exactly why. Images of different people flashed across her mind: Minka, Leafy, Orion, Daddy, Mama, Mommy . . . she'd have to go home now, wouldn't she? A tear spilled over on her cheek. Davey's family held each other while they cried. Who would hold Amethyst?

She missed Minka. No one had ever held her as warmly as Minka, or brushed her hair so gently. She'd had to brush her own hair ever since the circus.

For some reason, Clark wasn't allowed in the hospital, so Amethyst was alone. She tip toed away from Davey's room.

She didn't like the hospital very much. Everyone talked in hushed voices, at the colors were all muted. Plus, it brought back memories of Mommy. Of falling down the stairs. Another tear followed the first one at the thought of going home to that same staircase, to that same family.

Kochanie wouldn't like the Turner house, Aimee thought. She liked the outdoors, the trees and fresh air. So did Aimee. More tears came. If she went home would she ever go outside again?

She missed Scrubbles. Hopefully, Minka was taking good care of him and Molly and Brandon. Aimee wiped her face on the back of her hand.

She wandered down to the waiting room. Here, in the middle of the room, sat a short little table with crayons and paper strewn across it. Seven other people inhabited the waiting room: a lady with lots of makeup and a stern frown, a boy who looked about Aimee's age, playing with legos, a girl with no hair who was reading a book called The Lightning Thief, an old woman holding hands with a young woman who looked just like her, and an older boy who sat silently on the floor at the feet of a man she assumed was his father.

Avoiding the eyes of the others, Amethyst sat down at the little table. She could feel the other little boy watching her as she sorted the crayons into color categories. When she finished, she selected a piece of paper and a black crayon.

She thought about the day in the woods when Orion showed her how to write her name with a stick in the dirt. He wrote with neat, measured letters. She recalled how happy he'd been when she emulated his writing exactly. Amethyst looked down at the paper, planting the crayon on a point at the left side. A was the first letter. She drew a slow, careful diagonal line. Then another connecting to it. And one last line to tie them together . . .

"Tha's a A."

Startled, Aimee dropped the crayon on the floor. She whipped around to find the boy standing behind her, his fists clenched around two clumps of legos. He had darker skin than hers, but lighter than Leafy's. His hair was shaved short against his scalp. He smiled at her with an almost dopey grin.

He kept smiling. Amethyst stared at him. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she tried to regain control of her breathing. "You scared me," she admitted, her voice coming out shaky and small.

"Sorry." The boy shrugged. To her surprise, he picked up the crayon from the floor and handed it to her. When he did, his skin brushed over her palm. Aimee marveled at its roughness. She couldn't remember ever meeting another kid her age.

She put the crayon down on the table. "How old are you?"

The boy held up three fingers. "I turn four in Set-ebber."

"Do you have a cold?" Aimee asked, cocking her head to the side. He sounded like it.

He shook his head. "Wha' bou you?"

She wanted to ask why he was talking like that, but didn't. "I'm three," Aimee said. "My birthday's in January." She put extra emphasis on her correct pronunciation of the month.

"Wha's your name?"

"Aimee."

"I'm Nick."

She liked that name. It sounded like snapping. Leafy had said he'd teach her how to snap. Amethyst looked down at her fingers, feeling tears poking at her eyes again. She looked up at Nick. He looked so happy. She bit her lip.

Nick's grin widened. "You wanna be frien's?" He asked.

She matched his smile. "Yes."

XXX

Leafy stood over his lover's corpse, wondering if he should run.

Running seemed practical. Getting away sounded good to him. Away from the blood, the stench of spilled entrails, the whimpers of his dying dog. Yeah, running seemed like a good idea.

Yet, there he stood, rooted to the spot.

He still held the knife. Realizing this, Leafy dropped it on the floor, gagging at the spatter of blood that landed on his shoes when he did. Orion's blood, Pippin's blood. Disgusting, horrifying, but worth it. Worth every stab of pain he felt in his own body right now, worth being alone.

Pippin kept whimpering, every time he seemed to be gone for good. He'd lift his head, try to look at Leafy, but Leafy stood behind him because he didn't want to see the light leaving his milky eyes.

He wished Orion would whimper, too. Instead, he laid still and silent, drenched in blood and white as a sheet.

Leafy dropped to his knees beside him. "What have I done?" He whispered. The blood seeped out of Orion's stomach, saturating his shirt and the dirt beneath him. Leafy tore the cloth away from the wound, his entire body shaking with disbelief.

He threw himself over him, like his warmth could infect Orion, bring him back to life. "Don't worry, My Love," he whispered. "The pain is over."

XXX

"Hello?" Davey tried not to let his voice sound too deflated. He leaned back in the waiting room chair, sighing to himself. Of all the long days, this one had been the longest. "Hello?" He said again when there was no reply.

"Who is this?" said a breathy voice. It sounded shaky, but distinctly masculine.

Davey knit his eyebrows together, unsure whether or not to hang up. "Um, Davey Springs," he sighed. "Maryland Police Department? Search and rescue? Yeah."

Silence. Then, "Can I speak to Amethyst Turner?"

Davey felt his eyes widen in shock. He looked up, looked around the room and then at Aimee. She was still playing with that kid Nick. They were drawing pictures for a story Aimee had tried to explain to Davey, but had given up when he didn't comprehend. Apparently, some things could only make sense to three year olds.

How would this man on the phone know about Aimee? His heart sped up. Davey knew that if he was caught with the missing child, he'd be in big trouble. So who was this? It had to be someone in the room, right? If they knew she was here?

"Who are you?" Davey demanded.

"The name's Leafy," the man breathed.

Davey almost dropped the phone. Leafy, that sounded familiar. Right, right, that was the name of one of the men Aimee said he been living in the tent. Leafy and . . . Oliver or something.

"As 'er if she want to talk to me," Leafy said. "Ask 'er, she'll tell you. We're friends."

Friends? Friends. Okay, then. "Hold on," Davey told him. He covered the receiver with his hand. "Amethyst," he called.

The girl looked up from her work. "I'll be back," she told Nick. The boy responded only with his usual grin. She ran over to Davey, eyebrows raised in a question.

He cleared his throat. "Um," he began, "There's this guy on the phone . . . he wants to talk to you."

The girl's expression didn't change. "Who is it?"

"Leafy."

Several emotions flickered across her face: relief, sadness, anger, confusion. Davey winced. Poor kid.

"He's on the phone?" She asked, giving his cell phone a leery glance. Davey nodded.

He gave her the phone when she reached for it, regretting it already. If there was one thing he knew about Amethyst Turner, it was that she'd been hurt by a lot of people. How did he know the man on the phone wasn't one of them?

XXX

"Hello?" Said a familiar voice. "Amethyst? Hello?"

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. What was there to say?

"Are you there?"

"Yes," Amethyst sighed. Davey watched her. She sat down on the floor next to his feet, wanting to give the phone back to Davey. Leafy's voice sounded out-of-breath, ragged and kind of scary. She wanted to yell at him, though. She wanted to scream and cry and demand answers.

"Aimee," Leafy said. "Aimee, I'm sorry."

Amethyst took a deep breath. I'm sorry. Weren't those the words she'd wanted to hear all along? But they sounded hollow, somehow. Untrue. If he was sorry, he wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have killed somebody. He wouldn't have run.

"I'm on my way."

Aimee frowned. She didn't meet Davey's eye. On his way? "What?"

"I'm on my way," Leafy repeated. "I'm coming to get you."

Her blood suddenly went cold. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Is . . . Is Orion with you?" She imagined Orion, Leafy and Pippin, all piled into a car with the tent folded up in the trunk, riding down the highway from Little Rock to come rescue her from going home.

But Leafy sighed. "No."

"Where is he?"

There was a growling noise from the other end. "Do you want the truth?"

"Yes."

"I killed him."

Amethyst couldn't help it. She burst into tears. Because not only did she believe him, but she could see it. Could see Orion's eyes draining of life, could see Leafy standing over him, a glint of madness shining in his. "Why?" She demanded.

"Well, Amethyst," Leafy said, measured and quiet. "Sometimes, when you love someone who's in pain? You have to put them out of their misery. Sometimes, that is the merciful thing to do."

She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Are you in pain, Amethyst?"

There was no air, no air in the building, in the world anymore.

"Are you?"

She chucked the phone across the room with all her strength, throwing herself into Davey's arms when she heard the machine crack against the wall. She grasped the back of his shirt for dear life, sobbing harder than she had ever cried in her life. Because she was in pain. And she wanted someone to be merciful. 

XXX

When the pig runs slower
Let the arrow fly
When the sin lies bolder
I'll pluck out thine eye

These stand for me
Name your god and bleed the freak
I like to see
How you all would bleed for me

-Bleed The Freak, Alice In Chains