Chapter Eight
~~ Nowhere to hide, 'cause I'm in too
deep
Bury the light, 'cause I'm in too deep
Can't see the light, 'cause I'm in too deep
Bury the life, oh no, I'm in too deep
I'm over my head
Over my head, over my head *
Lucky carried two black plastic bags with all of his worldly possessions into the dark night. At 1:00 AM, with a body full of vodka, he wasn't sure where he'd go. He'd shown no emotion when he walked down the stairs at Jakes and out the front door. He just turned right and started walking. Eventually, he planned to camp out at the park near the old house on 24 Royal Street, but it was far enough away from Jake's that he'd need a bus ride, and the buses quit running after midnight.
Lucky decided he might as well stay in the nearby alley that night, then start out first thing in the morning. He was too fucked up to be walking the streets tonight. Lucky walked to a dark corner and deposited his trash bags. He groaned as he sat on the ground and edged toward the brick wall. He held his hand over his throbbing eye and wished for a bag of ice. He looked up to see the silhouette of Jake in his old apartment. She walked over to the window, slammed it shut, and then the lights turned out.
Sighing, Lucky took out his remaining white powder and thought about finishing it. Remembering Taggert and friends, he didn't want to be on the streets with any drugs. He had one used syringe left, and he removed it from the baggie and used a capful of vodka to prepare the remaining quantity of the drug. After fumbling and cursing for a few minutes, Lucky finally found a vein, or so he guessed since it was so dark in the alley, and plunged the drug deep into his arm. Grunting with pain and frustration, Lucky removed the syringe and threw it far away from him. The syringe landed with a soft tinkle against the far wall. He felt a trickle of blood running down his arm, but was too wasted to care. Lucky reached for his new jean jacket and crumpled it into a makeshift pillow. His high was almost immediate, and he felt his head sag onto the ground on top of the jean jacket. His eyes stared out into the dark as his mind wavered and dipped and mellowed.
He thought about his mother and her beautiful, long blond hair fanning out from her pretty face. His mind became confused as he switched back and forth from Laura to Carly. Pain mixed with pleasure, and he remembered the hugs, fierce kisses and soft, pleasing bodies. Lucky grabbed himself and starting crying and rocking back and forth on the dirty alley ground. He felt nothing, though he cried and cried through the mellow hazed curtain of the drug. I
n his mind's eye, he saw faces jumping out and swirling around him, the faces of his mother, Jason, Faison, Carly, his dad. They laughed, shouted, cried and screamed at him. Lucky placed his hands over his ears, trying to keep the voices from depositing words into his mind. Everything was all rotten, jumbled together and stabbing at his heart like a knife. The war between his buried emotions and the physically brutal drug resulted in a violent bout of vomiting and gagging. Afterwards, Lucky just laid there and breathed in and out with with short, harsh, gasping breaths. Soon, an unnatural calm descended upon him, and he laid perfectly still with no thoughts, feelings, or emotions. The drug won as it always did. Lucky gratefully gave himself over to the dark nothingness of unreality.
~*~*~*~
3:00 AM
Lucky jerked awake when he heard the voices of several men in the still, dark alley. He quickly scrambled to a sitting position and listened intently.
"Ahh, man," once voice muttered drunkenly. Lucky heard the sound of zippers and streaming urine.
"Shit!" another voice yelled as the sounds of stumbling feet scraped along the alley.
Lucky felt dizzy and reached out a hand to steady himself. He accidentally brushed his hand against one of his plastic garbage bags.
"Whassat?"a drunken voice hissed.
Again, the sound of zippers and fabric.
"Check it out," a gritty voice said. "Somebody's over there."
"Come on," one man slapped another's arm. "HEY!" he yelled in Lucky's direction.
Lucky, still dazed from his recent high, shrank further against the wall and hugged his jeans jacket while wishing that he had his gun.
A beefy arm reached down and jerked him to his feet. Lucky made like a raggedy doll and lolled and swayed under the man's firm hand.
The beefy guy laughed at the sight of the shrinking violet. "Did we scare ya, kid," he laughed and roughly slapped and shook Lucky back and forth.
Another guy picked up Lucky's trash bags and began sifting through them, pulling out briefs, a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans and strewing and kicking them through the alley. When his hand hit a bottle, the man pulled it out and snorted. "Jim Beam. Good taste, punk."
Lucky looked on, trying to reach his anger through his drugged haze. When he saw one of his shirts land in a dirty puddle of water, he opened his mouth to protest.
"Uhh, he-ey…" Lucky spat out.
The beefy guy shook him harder and slammed him into the brick wall. The back of Lucky's head hit with a sickening thud. Lucky's vision blurred, and he felt his head explode in sharp, ringing pain. Lucky sagged, and the beefy guy felt the burden of all that weight shift to his arm. He threw Lucky down in disgust.
"Where's your cash," the other guy demanded.
Dazed by drugs, alcohol and concussion, Lucky said nothing.
Beefy guy slammed a kick at Lucky's midsection, and Lucky's stomach absorbed the hard force of his boot. Lucky let out a swift rush of breath and a guttural grunt.
Lucky felt his wallet sliding out of his back pocket, and he heard a hand rifling through it, throwing out photos and other non-cash items. His mind registered relief at the thought of the wad of bills that he had hidden in his right shoe.
"Let's ditch this loser," beefy guy sneered as he kicked Lucky one more time. He and his friend walked out to the street and left a groaning Lucky on his side in a fetal position.
~*~*~*~
5:30 AM
Lucky stirred, sat up and began coughing
long and hard. He felt liquid in his mouth and grimaced with memory when he tasted blood.
*** "Your stupidity never stops, Master Spencer," taunted Faison. "How many times will you try to escape? Even the white lab rat learns eventually. Spencer rats apparently require additional tutoring."
Faison's hand reached out suddenly and slapped Lucky hard and full across his face. Faison grimaced and rubbed his palm. "Wake up, Lucky Spencer. Pay attention, this is your life." Faison emphasized the last two words with vicious punches to Lucky's left ribs and abdomen.
A bent over Lucky defiantly glared hate at Faison as blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin.
Owww! thought Faison as he walked over to the metal door and rubbed the reddened knuckles of his hand. I'm getting too old for this. ***
* lyrics from Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band, "In 2 Deep"