Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross

With the little bit of information that Mabel had provided, Dean had easily tracked down his prey. He sat in the Hummer parked a few alleys down from the shithole Jeremy was currently calling home. According to the receptionist working the homeless shelter, he’d left his bed a week ago, and they had to fill the spot with someone that really wanted it.

A bad move for Jeremy, but a good situation for him.

“Hey Sexy, schematics and heat signatures of building 6969.”

Dean smirked at the address number. He’d definitely preferred to be in the ‘69’ position than the one he was in now. He adjusted his pants at the thought of Yasmine screaming his name as she came on his face but quickly shook his head. He needed it in the game, not daydreaming about a sweet pink pussy.

“There are nine heat signatures spread out over the three floors,” Sexy said. “There is structural deterioration in several key areas, and there are no cameras in the vicinity.”

“Are there any phones with video capability?”

“Thirty-three phones in a two-block radius have video capability.”

“Shut them down.” Dean adjusted the lens over his eye. “Color map and send to my helmet.” He got out of the truck and closed the door. “Initialize lockdown, code word Ginger.”

“Lockdown initialized. Mapping has been sent.”

Dean walked to the end of the alley and peered around the corner. There was a man standing on the same side of the street smoking a cigarette and whacking his cell off the palm on his hand.

I guess the cameras were shut off.

Dean jogged across the road, avoiding the street lights and sticking to the shadows—his black fatigues would be hard to spot. Not that there were very many people around to spot him. He picked up the pace and ran down the alley that had definitely seen its share of piss. The entire length stank of ammonia even with the cold snap. The end of the alley spit him out on a rundown residential street. Fortunately, the houses all faced the other direction and had tall fences, like even the builder didn’t want the houses to be subjected to the things that went on one road over.

A homeless person’s tent set-up slowed Dean’s pace. There was one heat signature inside, but they seemed to be sleeping the way their forms were curled up, so he silently slipped by them. Dean gave the back door a gentle pull and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. It made a bit of a squeal as he opened it enough to fit, but as he inspected the dots indicating people, no one seemed to be heading his way.

He took a moment to look around the stairwell. The stench of body odor, old grime, and rotting food was plentiful while graffiti covered every wall. On the ground, Dean saw dirt, cardboard, and a slue of random items. He couldn’t take a step without crushing some form of garbage.

Pulling the knife from his vest, he spun it in his hand as he picked the least obstructed way to enter. He knew that Jeremy was in the building, but he had no idea which one of the dots was his target.

Deciding to check the left first, he headed straight for the person sitting in the hall on some cardboard. As he drew closer, it wasn’t difficult to determine that this woman wasn’t going to notice him. The female was alive, but her eyes stared blankly at the wall, and a band was wrapped around her arm, with a needle sticking out of her vein.

Dean stared down at the young woman and shook his head.

He’d seen a lot of this. His father loved keeping the women that serviced his guards and workers very compliant. Force-feeding them drugs was an easy way to make them dependant and coming back for more, even if the men treated them like a slab of meat to abuse.

Moving on, Dean looked into the next room, and there was a man lying on his side facing the door, but his face was too old, and the beard was a giveaway that he was not who Dean was seeking.

Room after room was the same, people high and staring blindly at nothing or rocking back and forth as they came down off their high. Either way, none of these individuals were able to think clearly enough to remember him being there. So, Dean jogged up the stairs to the top floor, where the last heat signature in the building was located.

Unlike the other people he’d found so far, this individual was moving around. He could hear the distinct sounds of mumbling and shuffling of feet. Dean leaned in closer to the entranceway and saw this person’s shadow on the hallway wall.

“What have I done? What have I done?” a male voice moaned.

Dean watched and waited until this person's shadow stopped moving and peered around the doorway into the room. There Jeremy was in the same black hoodie and ripped jeans, smacking himself on the head. “What have I done? Oh god, what have I done?”

Quickly assessing the space, Dean spotted the gun Jeremy had used to rob Mabel. It was lying on an old sleeping bag. Unfortunately, Dean had no way of knowing if it still had rounds in it from earlier or if Jeremey had reloaded the weapon.

Jeremy stopped pacing, and Dean held his position. When he turned his back to Dean, he grabbed the rotting frame around the window and continued ranting. “What have I done?”

Like a shadow of death, Dean stepped into the room and again stood perfectly still. Jeremy’s fist slammed into the wall beside the window, causing small bits of rotted drywall to scatter around the floor, and Dean pounced. He grabbed Jeremy around the waist and lifted his thin frame easily, slamming him onto the sleeping bag.

Jeremy grunted with the explosive impact as Dean quickly pinned him with his knee on his chest and one boot on his arm. His wide, bloodshot eyes stared up at Dean and then glanced toward the gun.

“Do it, and I will slit your throat before you can even get a grip on the gun.” Jeremy’s hand shook, but he laid it flat on the floor. “Good choice. Considering you’ve made some very terrible ones this evening.”

Jeremy’s eyes blinked, and then his mouth dropped open a little. “You’re the-the p-priest,” Jeremy stuttered. “But you look like a super-soldier in a movie.”

“What I am is the man that is holding your life in my hands. What you choose to do next is going to determine if you live or die tonight. Do you understand me?” Jeremy licked his lips and nodded. “Very good. Let me be clear with you, so we don’t have any mixed signals. I want to kill you.” The body under his knee shook a little harder. “And if it weren’t for the sweet old woman you stabbed and robbed tonight, we would be having a very different conversation right now.”

“Wait, Mabel’s alive?”

“No thanks to you, but yes, she pulled through the surgery and seems to be heading in the right direction.” What Jeremy did next shocked him more than anyone had in a long time.

“Thank you, God!” Jeremy’s eyes found his, and tears spilled down his dirty cheeks. “Kill me, please just end this. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t be this person. Mabel was the only person that treated me with any kindness, and I hurt her, I…” Jeremy looked away from him. He no longer was tense beneath his knee, and he seemed to have resided himself to his fate.

“My only friend and I tried to kill her when she tried to give me food instead of her money.” Jeremy slowly looked back up at him, and the pain he saw was too familiar.

Only a soul that has seen horrific abuse for far too long had a look like that—a bottomless pit of true despair, so death becomes the best option.

At one point, before Dean escaped the prison that was his father’s compound, he felt like that, and he knew the look on the young man’s face all too well because it had been on his own. Now, he understood what Mabel saw in Jeremy. He wasn’t a malicious person by nature—he was a product of his circumstance. The question was, what would Jeremy do if he was given a better choice?

Taking a chance, Dean slowly rose and stared down at Jeremy. Predictably, Jeremy grabbed the gun, and his hand violently shook as he pointed it up at Dean.

“You need to kill me! You can’t leave me to live like this anymore. I’m worse off than the rats that come in at night to steal my food. Please.” Jeremy’s bottom lip quivered as much as the gun.

“With your hand shaking like that, you may kill me before I can kill you.” The young man looked at the weapon in his hand and then tossed it down on the floor.

“I have no more bullets. I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to? If you had one bullet in there, what would you do with it?”

Eyes, as lost as a ship stranded at sea, looked up to him. “I’d put it in my mouth.”

“Stand up,” Dean ordered.

“Why?”

“Stand up and find out.” Jeremy stumbled to his feet. He was tall, the same height as Dean, but wiry and thin. His scraggly dirt brown hair needed a cut, and the kid needed to be taken through a car wash to get all the dirt off of him, but he might clean up okay. Dean walked over and grabbed the discarded gun. He double-checked, but the kid had told the truth. It was empty, so he tucked it away and walked for the door.

“Follow me.”

It took a minute, but eventually, Jeremy came out of the room and joined Dean in the hall. He marched to the door that led to the roof and jogged up the steps to the top. It didn’t take much to jimmy the old door open. Stone crunched underfoot as he walked toward the edge.

“What are we doing up here?

“Come take a look.”

The wind picked up, a swirl of snow spun around the roof. Jeremy wrapped his meager hoodie tighter to his body and shivered as he tentatively stepped closer.

“Mister, I don’t know what you want from me.” That leery look was back in Jeremy’s eyes. Unfortunately, things were going to get a whole lot worse for him before they got better.

“Take a look down there and tell me what you see.”

Tentatively, Jeremy stepped forward, and Dean nodded. Jeremy turned away and peeked toward the ledge. Quickly, Dean reached behind his back and pulled the end of the repelling rope attached to his vest forward. Swiftly, he tied a bowline knot and waited.

As soon as Jeremy was close enough to the edge, Dean made his move. Grabbing a fist full of the back of the kid’s sweater, Dean pushed him down, so he was dangling over the edge from the waist up. Desperately, Jeremy tried to scramble back, but Dean had him pinned with his knee and forced him to stare into the depths of the street below.

“What the fuck?” Jeremy swore, fighting his hold hard.

Dean pushed harder on his back. “Look. Tell me what you see,” and Jeremy froze.

Dean used that moment to slip the knotted rope around Jeremy’s legs, braced his feet, and gave Jeremy a shove over the ledge. Fully hanging over the side of the building by his feet like a helpless piñata, Jeremy screamed.

“Oh my god! Pull me up, man. This isn’t funny.” Dean dropped him a couple of inches, and Jeremy screamed louder. “Please! I’m scared of heights. Pull me up. Oh my god.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? You just begged me to kill you,” Dean called out.

“Not like this!” Dean dropped him a couple more inches, and Jeremy swore and yelped again. “Please, man, I’ll do anything you want, just pull me up.”

“I want you to say it.”

“Say what?”

Dean leaned forward in a sudden motion, and Jeremy screamed the loudest yet. “Fuck me! Tell me what you want me to say.”

“Do you want to die?”

“Yes, but…” Dean dropped him a little again. “I mean, no.”

“What was that? I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you.” Dean smiled.

“No! No, I don’t want to die, okay! I… I want to live, just not like this.”

“You said you’d put the gun in your mouth. Was that true?” Dean asked. The answer didn’t come fast enough for him, so he pulled back and then dropped Jeremy a solid foot.

“Ahhhhh—Noooo…Fuck!”

“So if you were given another way to live, a second chance at a better life, would you take it?”

“Yes!”

“Would you work your ass off?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure? I can’t hear you,” Dean tested.

“Fuck yes!”

“The correct answer is, yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir!” Jeremy yelled.

Satisfied, Dean walked backward until he pulled Jeremy back over the ledge. The guy was shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face as he sat curled up with his arms around his knees. Dean walked forward and squatted down in front of the kid to untie the rope.

“You, son, are one lucky SOB. You may not realize it right this moment, but what I’m going to offer you will change your life forever. But, you must be willing to go through the hard shit. The withdrawals, the fear, and even confessing all your sins and pain. If you can walk away from the demons that have brought you to this moment and become a man, you will have what you really want.”

“What’s that?”

“A chance to be a better person. A life that will allow you to look in the mirror and feel pride.” Jeremy looked away from his eyes and wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“You’re one fucking crazy priest, Mister.”

Dean laughed and stood, offering his hand to Jeremy. “That is not even up for debate, son. I most certainly am.”

“Now, there are three things you must agree to first. Make sure you’re paying attention. None of these are negotiable.” Jeremy’s eyes were glued to his face. “First, you will attend rehab, one of my choosing, and you will not leave there until I say you’re ready. Second, before you head to rehab, you will come with me to the hospital and apologize to Mabel for what you did to her. Once you are out of rehab as your penance, you will help her in the restaurant doing whatever she asks until I say otherwise.”

“I see a common theme here.” Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest.

“You catch on quick. Third, and this is very important. You must agree to complete secrecy about me and my involvement because if you do not follow through, if you break any of the conditions, I will slit your throat. I promise you that, and I always keep my promises.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not a very good salesman?” Jeremy asked, his face as white as snow on the rooftop.

Dean laughed hard and held out his hand. “Let’s go get you that second chance.”

Jeremy looked at the hand for a moment and then slowly reached up, pausing just before their hands touched. “You’re not going to put me back over the ledge, or something, are you?”

Dean laughed again. “No, not tonight, but there’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s not even fucking funny.” Jeremy clasped his hand.

“First rule. Don’t swear to your superior. That will get you put back over the ledge.”

Jeremy swallowed hard, but the kid had balls—he stood a little straighter and nodded.

Dean might be crazy for doing this, but it felt right. It felt like he was paying it forward and like it was time he took on a protégé. But, first the kid needed to get clean, which meant a trip to Morry’s rehab clinic. Plus, the middle of butt fucking nowhere, off the books, boot camp would either make Jeremy or break him.