Mercer, Mercy, Me
The shores lapped at my feet, and I stared up, into the sky. The world was silence, but for the gentle wash of the surf, and the ringing in my ears. My ears had been ringing for the last ten minutes, and made me confused, unsure of what I was doing here. My head ached with a thousand voices, a thousand sights and sounds and words that made my thoughts agony.
The water cooled my feet, and I felt hot. The water soothed the tingling burn that touched my body, and made my head ache with thoughts that were not my own. I touched the back of my neck, sticky with blood, and gazed down at my fingers, the black hoodie stained, but drying slowly. It looked like it was soaked with blood, but my arm didn't hurt, letting me ignore it.
The great city of New York was some five miles to the north, and I continued to walk the shoreline; touched with oil and dead fish. I paused by one, and bent down to lift a large salmon up. It was beautiful, though it had no life to it. I sniffed once, it was freshly killed, perhaps no more than an hour dead, perhaps minutes in the sun. The fish was warm from radiation, and it made my flesh ache, feeling familiar.
I was suddenly hungry, I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten, last time I'd had the chance to enjoy a meal. It felt like months, long months. I gave the fish a hungry look, before my fingers slid in deep and broke the scales, sinking into the meat. I suddenly felt refreshed, as my hand swelled, and the fish's bones snapped, broken, and the flesh was drawn into my hand. I felt sated.
I screamed, trying to dislodge it from my hand, but it was gone in seconds, leaving no hint that it had been there. I shook, I retched, my brain starting to throb with flashes of thoughts, of the water and the burn of a sun beneath the waves. I shook out again, the dizziness leaving, while I walked on again. I didn't think about what had happened, I didn't want to think about it.
I walked until the sun set, and rose, and set again while trying to avoid the fish. They sated me, just walking past I felt my flesh stretch and grasp, engulfing the flesh, even without my consent. I had to have it - and each time my head felt a little less painful. I let the pain leave with each one taken up - to my disgust. It felt good, and I enjoyed the thoughts of water. The more I fed, the more I wanted to swim. But I ignored it, I had to keep walking. I had to keep moving, even with the sunlight glowing in the distance, threatening to break with sunrise. I shielded my eyes and felt the heat starting to grow. I took a deep breath, and continued, until I came across an old road.
The pavement was cracked, and in bad need of repair, and I felt it creak beneath my step. I ignored it. I felt the rain start to fall, the air speaking of it being winter. I wasn't sure if it was winter completely, but the air felt like it. The angle of the sun did too. My head hurt thinking about it. I continued my walk, not sure which way I wanted to go. I went south. South felt right. The shore was twenty meters away, and I wasn't hungry for fish any more.
The hum of a 232 horse power vehicle caught my attention, and I turned to look at the vehicle that drove on. It was cherry red, the windows dark tinted, and the female driver slowed to drive around me. She fit the vehicle well, both being curvy and filled with a graceful nature that made me think of a purring puma. I shook the thought out, and the vehicle slowed down, as well as a window sliding to reveal the light-bronze skin. She was a Latino, perhaps half native, half Spanish.
"Consequir un paseo?" I asked, the words tingling my tongue. It felt odd, I wouldn't want to speak it again. She lifted her brow up and coughed politely, shaking her head.
"Going my way?" I said, forestalling her from talking. She looked at me, down the way I walked, then up at the rain. I was soaking wet. The cold air didn't penetrate my hoodie. She gave a bit of a shrug and pushed the door open with a click of the lock. The door swung up, proving the vehicle to be far more fancy than I'd guessed.
"Sure. Hop in." I did, the vehicle shifting under my way with a groan. The steel frame held though, even though the engine would have to work hard to keep up with it. I'd devoured many fish, but was still hungry. I needed to eat more, but could wait. For now.
The oil was low, the tank was half empty, and the miles were less than twenty thousand, but in need of a tune up. The purring growl was slightly off, almost unnoticeable, but told me one of the gears was sticking. I grunted, but decided not to say anything about it. I looked over at the gear gauge, then up to the girl. her eyes were dark and her skin looked pale, her scent was off. I couldn't place my finger on it.
"Where are you headed?" She asked. I tore my eyes away from her own, they glistened like freshly turned earth beneath the rain. They were distant, as though in thought of something else. I gave her a smile.
"South. I think I'm going towards Georgia. Or Alabama." I gave a shake of my head. Alabama would be cool when I got down there. I had to get down there. I wasn't sure why. It'd be good to go. "Maybe I'm going towards Texas. I don't know yet."
"Drifting? Sounds fun. I'm going home to see some family." I gave her a look, she was lying. I could smell it on her. "You have family?"
"I have a sister." I replied automatically. I thought about it, my memory was hazy. I couldn't remember all of the words, or give words to the shapes that displayed. She was reaching for me, calling to me. I saw a bed, she was hooked up to machines. "She's sick."
"I'm sorry to hear that." She said. The music was Gaga, something prattling and annoying. She wasn't listening to it; I wasn't listening either. I reached down and flicked my fingers, turning the music off. The rain clattered upon the roof, upon the glass, the wipers squeaked with the rain washing over the view. THe road was empty. "At least she has someone who cares about her, right?"
"I love her. She's wonderful." I felt my cheek tug up. "She's the only family I have left. She's sick, but she's a good person,. Very good person, most loving person I know."
I looked out the window, my hand slid across the glass, leaving no streaks. She glanced at me. I felt hungry. I reached down, into a pocket in my pants, and felt the warmth of flesh. I grunted, squeezing and searching for the leather lump - and found it with a moment of thought. A wallet. I opened and looked inside, the leather slick, like water had soaked it. I opened and gazed at the inside, and saw my face looking back.
"My name is Alex." I said. The wetness made a lot of it blurry, but I knew my name. I shook it a bit and tried to reach for some money. The wallet was sealed shut, and I put it back into my jacket. I had no money. I couldn't afford food. I was so hungry. "Alex Mercer."
"Alex Mercer?" She asked. "I'm Celestina Savatorre."
"Well, it's nice to meet you. I think I can take you a while, but you'll have to pay for gas beyond that." She smiled a bit, half serious, half joking. I reached up and scratched at the back of my head through the hood, and gave a shrug. I didn't know what to talk about. My mind was racing with half remembered thoughts. "I'm hungry. You look hungry. There's a restaurant about thirty miles down if you'd like to eat?"
I nodded again. It sounded good. I ran my fingers along the leather interior, it was comfortable. It creaked. It felt good. I wanted to like the vehicle. It spoke of wealth. It spoke of esteem. My head started to throb again. I rubbed my temple and grimaced.
"Hunger headache?"
"You have no idea."
The restaurant was small, a diner. The waitress was old, she had a wig, it didn't match the eyelashes. She had too much makeup on. I wanted to wash it off, it made my skin itch. I gave my head a shake, and looked down at the plate full of food. Fried chicken and potatoes and coleslaw. It looked good, and I ate quietly. The music twanged, country. I liked it. I hated it. I ignored it.
"These dinners usually have the best food, and lower prices than fast food. I mean, it's greasy, but no one is going to live forever, so why bother?"
She wasn't eating healthy herself; it being a large hamburger and seasoned fries. The meat was medium-rare. I licked my lips and sucked the oil off my fingers, then dug back in, eating the meat off, and leaving the bones. I wanted the calcium, but something told me no. The meat helped me relax. It killed the headache, even if it didn't taste that good.
"I agree. It beats rations." I made small talk, my thoughts becoming a little more clear, a little more open to remembering. I remembered New York, standing high on one of the great buildings. I felt free, running across one and leaping to another. Parkour. I practiced parkour?
"You were in the military?" She asked, working through the first half of the overly large burger. "How interesting. I had a brother who went into the marines. I haven't heard from him in a few months, I think he's out in Iraq. He's a good kid."
"Semper Fidelis; always Faithful." I said, bringing a hand to my heart. I grunted, and lowered my hand down into my jacket. I took another bite of the fried meat, and then started to finish my vegies. They were good, sweet. I could get plenty of fiber from them, fiber that helped me heal. But, it wasn't meat, it wasn't fat.
"Thank you for your service. Consider this dinner my treat, then."
I looked out over the empty diner. It was late; the rain continued to fall, intermittent with hints of snow. It was cold outside, but I didn't feel it. I gave the window a tap, it shook. The wind was going to get hard and fast, I wouldn't want to walk in it, but, I probably didn't have a choice.
"Thank you. Is there a place to sleep around here?" I asked of her. She gave a smile, and a shrug, before taking up her drink and downing it - nothing alcoholic. I saw her remove some pills from her purse and furrowed my brow curiously, but again, said nothing. She took one and swallowed it down. She winced. I could tell the flavor wasn't that great. She smiled a bit, and gave a shrug.
"Astavin. It's buying me a little more time." She looked at the pills, showing me the label. Her smooth fingers stroked the edge of it, before putting the bottle back into her jacket. "It helps me control my tumors, giving me a little more time."
"Time for what?" I asked. I regretted it.
"I have a brain tumor. I've got about two months before it kills me."
I was speechless. I tried to think of something to say, but nothing felt right. My head hurt, and I gave her a pained look. I wanted to comfort her in her moment, but she was staying strong. No. It was better to continue on, letting her face it at her own pace. I placed my hand on hers, and gave a squeeze. She stiffened her breath catching. I was not going to hurt her, I wouldn't want to hurt a friend.
She was a friend?
I felt confused, and looked away. The lights flickered outside. I watched a military hummer drive past, and tensed up with a sudden grunt. I didn't like that. I stared out, my vision shifting into the heat of the engine, as the hummer turned into the parking lot. My fingers tensed beneath the table, and I felt the wood start to bend and creak. I withdrew my hand and glanced down. They had taken the shape of blades, and withdrew, reforming into hands. I wanted to panic. I kept calm. Nausea over-whelmed and faded. I looked back at her, smiling.
"Make the best of life while you have it?" I asked, hesitant about what to say. I kept track of the four soldiers who came in, dressed in fatigues. The small door gave a 'ding' up over the door frame, and I avoided looking at them. "You are a beautiful woman, you've got some time to do something."
"Fucking easy for you to say." She muttered. She was not angry. Upset, maybe, but not angry. "You aren't going to be dead in sixty days."
I remembered fire. A sudden rush of heat and the crumpling of metal, and the explosion of jet fuel and the lift of a helicopter before thrown into the air and licked by atomic fire, these images fell into place, into thoughts. I held a hand to my neck and rubbed slowly, feeling disquieted about it. Afterwards was the shore, the water, the feeling of the sun upon me. My head hurt.
"Sorry. I don't know what to say about that. I mean, I've never..." I trailed off, and she looked down at the table. The soldiers sat near the door - it would be trouble. I looked about again, then spied the bathroom. "Are you ready to go? Or, would you like to leave me here? In either case, I've got to use the restroom."
"I'm ready to go if you are; I think it'd be good to get onto the road. I'll go pay and head on out to the car, see you in ten?" She stood and made her way out to pay for the meal. I finished my coffee, and my hand pushed onto the plate to suck in the bones, and the rest of what she hadn't taken. The plates were clean after absorbing it through a quick dash of black tendrils shot from my arm. No one noticed. I was glad.
I stood up and turned to walk into the bathroom, and bent my head to wash my face and hands. It was a ritual, more than a need; there was no oil on my fingers or lips, having been absorbed with chicken, the burger, the drink. I licked the water off my hands. The water tasted good, I could feel iron inside of it. It would wash out. I let the water run, my fingers underneath, before pushing them up, and feeling the inside of the faucet. I stretched my flesh and pushed deep inside of it, and withdrew my hand - the fingers having merged into a long, black and red tendril. I lifted it and gazed at it in the mirror, before fingers reformed, then back again. I forced it to re-take flesh. I remembered this.
What was I? I could remember, on the edge of my thoughts. I reached, sorting for it. My memories were coming back slowly, it'd be a few days, I felt. Eating helped them return, so did the whispers of other thoughts, other minds. The mirror steamed from the flow of hot water, and I turned it off, to turn, facing a soldier, who stared at a hand, which was rippling, before shaping into long, black claws. He jerked back, as I lunged forward, and grabbed him about his throat.
"Mercer!" He strangled out, his hand grabbing at the wall and kicking the door sharply. He had a gun, a pistol from his hip. He raised it, and I slammed my hand into his wrist, forcing it to discharge. That would alert trouble, trouble I didn't want. I slammed him into the wall and felt the plaster break beneath the force, as did the mans back. He groaned, sagging in pain.
I shoved my fist into his face, and felt the skull crack, before splaying my fingers into his head, and absorbed his mass, pulling his brain from his skull. I kept my hand there, and felt my flesh ripple, pulling itself out of shape, and slamming into his body, and slid through his flesh. I sought and found his heart and silenced it, ending the spasms of his pain, and drew him deep, his flesh meeting mine, in a rush of heat and fire and blood. I absorbed him, and he was no more but for a whisper of his thoughts, his dreams, his memories. I felt a pang, but my mind cleared, just a little more. I remembered.
"I'm sorry, Private Allan, you really did deserve better." I looked up at his face in the mirror, I saw the soldier looking back at me. I drew my hand up to pat my cheek, and sighed. The eyes stared at me with a look of guilt, before I retook my face, my form, the fatigues fading into my old outfit - a leather jacket and hoodie, and a dark pair of jeans, slightly stained. I washed at the stains, but they wouldn't come out, and the water was absorbed after a few quick moments.
They weren't clothes. It was my flesh, my body, a part and completion of who I was. I shook a thought out - and rubbed my temples. I stepped out of the bathroom, into the face of three guns aimed at me. Two were rifles, a third a pistol - leveled at my face. I stared back at them, and over at the waitress who held a knife and a phone up to her ear. She was calling the police, her voice a hushed whisper. I felt a pang of sorrow for what I was going to have to do. She was an older woman; a ring said she had family. They all did. I didn't need any more voices in my head.
"You know who I am." I said, looking at the three. They were trembling. They had been in New York; I knew this just from their eyes. I had seen thousands of soldiers, and hundreds of thousands of people. I didn't want to add to the numbers killed. "Let me walk away, and we can let this go."
"You killed Allan!" I heard one growl, the gun lifting to my forehead. My flesh began to darken, as my claws grew out from my fingers. I could move quick, I could kill them. I needed to protect myself, but they were no threat. I could take on a tank. I had taken on a tank.
I'd taken on worse things I didn't want to think about.
"I've killed a lot of things. I don't want more people on my conscience. You don't want to have to make me kill everyone in this place. I don't want that. You don't want that. Just let me go, forget you ever saw me."
I hoped they would let me go. One gun lowered, a second, but the third raised up, against my temple. The flesh hardened up to prevent any injuries from occurring; a single bullet would only shatter, especially of a lower caliber gun. I gave him a hard stare, my claws stretched almost two feet in length. I had sliced through steel, I had carved through the solid side of a tank and used the gun as a bat to strike the skull from a grand Hunter. I had done so much.
"Let him go." The last gun lowered, even with a look of anger on that face. He stepped back, and jerked with his gun. "We can't do anything for Allan; and getting killed for him won't do shit. Plus, you saved my life from one of those Blackwatch Bastards. I say that's worth a twenty minute head start."
I nodded to him. Private First Class Bradley. I gave him a salute, and he grimaced, but gestured for me to go. He was angry, he wanted to kill me. Frankly, I didn't blame him. I walked out of the dinner, into the rain. Celestina gave me a glance, her brow up, curiously. She didn't know what had happened, and I didn't want her to.
The Dahl Hotel flickered with a Vacancy sign, and the red Mazda of Celestina sat in front of our room. She sat on the bed, and I stood near the window, gazing at the outside road, and the small lights in the distance. I stared at the flickering lights, and felt the memories stir deep inside. I'd been here before. Alex had been here before. I was Alex. I wasn't Alex. I was the Blacklight Virus, a virus self-aware, and with the memories of a thousand marines, a hundred civilians, and one brilliant, but sociopathic monster of a person who released me, and who became my host.
"Alex, are you alright?" She asked. Celestina drew my attention from the outside world, to look upon the long-haired beauty. She had a soft smile, a friendly smile, a troubled, pained smile. I could see the heat pouring from her, and I came closer, and gave the bed a stroke. There was only one bed, large enough for two, but only just. I sat on the edge, and felt the mattress dip, the bed protest. I sat back gingerly, and laid on my back. She rested a hand on my arm, and squeezed my hand gently.
"I'm alright, Celestina. I am alright. I've just been thinking about what to do in life. I've done some bad things in life, and want to make it right. I've got to hunt down someone who hurt a lot of people and make it right." I looked at her, and drew her hand up, to kiss against the finger tips. I wasn't tired, I don't think I could sleep even if I wanted to.
"You are a bounty hunter?" She asked me.
"No. I'm... I'm a scientist, I study virology and infection spreads. I used to work for a corporation, but it fell through. So, I'm doing what I can." I looked over at her, and she lifted her hand up to my chest in a soft, slow stroke on the edge of my sternum. She needed to be held, and I leaned in, and wrapped my arms around her, closely. I was careful not to engulf her, but just hold her close.
"Maybe you can find out what caused me to get the tumor." She said. I smiled, almost sadly, before lifting her chin with my fingertips. I caressed slowly, feeling her skin, and the soft scent that warmed the air. "Make sure no one else gets sick?"
"I wouldn't want anyone else to get sick. If I could cure everyone, I would. But it takes years to even identify a cause..." I trailed off, she didn't seem to be hearing me, her eyes distant. I could feel her pain, the pain of a massive headache. I stroked her cheek, and bowed my head down to kiss her softly upon the lips. My tongue flicked over her own, and drew a breath of her, before locking my hands above her backside. She clung to me in those moments, her face pushing to mine. The kiss lingered, I read her genetics, and read the damage. She would not live very long at all. The pain would just get worse.
"Celestina." I said, while feeling her drift off, comforted with me. I felt her pain, as my fingers drew up the back of her neck, and sighed. I felt the need again, the hunger, I felt the pain of her body, just by touching her. She was asleep in my arms. I held her, and kissed her brow. "Sleep forever. There will be no more pain."
My skin turned black, and my fingers grew into claws, then the length of great blades. I drew the blades along her back, and turned to pull her up atop me, and felt her body shift, then rock against my frame. I wrapped my body against her own, and carefully gripped the back of her neck with one hand, and middle back with the other.
"I give you peace." I twisted sharply, and engulfed her inside of me. And for a moment, I felt myself flooded with her memories and her peace. I felt her inside me, and cherished it, before it fell into the soft din of memories and voices and endless moments I could not forget. Alone, in bed, I remembered her scent, and quietly wept.