Finding Mercy

Prologue

On the night of July the seventh, the night was an inky black, dripping through every crevice until it reached my eyes. Not even the lights of the nearby buildings could penetrate it, only leave a two-dimensional imprint, reminding me that those people were safe and I wasn't.

My faded cargo pants were tucked carelessly into my battered rebel boots, and my bag was slung over a jacket that was slung over my shoulders. I kept my fiery red hair hidden under a hat I'd stolen from a thrift store, and my foxlike face was shadowed  with about a week of dust in the Southern heat.

Puddles slithered across the empty road, sparking with streetlights and lighting up the shadows laced across my face. Luckily the police had long stopped looking for me; they believed I died three years ago. All there was left of my legacy was the occasional 60 Minutes story--"Where Did the Monster Go?"--and the drifting questions of whether I lay six feet underground or if there was some other, sinister truth. But the monster I created will never die, even if it's now long dead and documented to the world history books. The monster still invades the people's nightmares...and eats away at my heart.

It was on this night, three years ago, that the monster broke loose of its chains. That night changed my life forever, and though I'm on the brink of death these days, I died then, all those years ago.

I clenched my fists against the chains that cut into my skin. "Let me go," I said through grimaced teeth.

The man before me laughed. "Why would I do that, sweetheart? I thought you loved me."  He twisted his face in an attempt of a pout that really just made him look a twisted gargoyle. He leaned in close, and I flinched as I felt his hot breath against my neck. "Take the serum."

"No," I managed to croak out.

"Goddam it, Azure!" My employer threw his hands in the air before me. "You developed the serum. You're the one who came up with the frickin' idea! And now you're pitted against your own creation?"

"I was an idiot then," I said, squeezing my eyelids shut to accentuate the truth.

"You had the self-judgement then, I'm sure, you were--"

"I was twelve!" I shouted. "Sure, I was a criminal genius then, and I had the means to replace even you one day. But I was just a pubescent fool. It was wrong for me to play God's cards, wrong of me to even think of such an idea--" My words were startled shut with a stunning slap to the face.

"Mercedes, I think you're forgetting who you're speaking to," he growled too kindly. "I could kill you if you give me fifteen seconds, and seeing that you're in chains, I doubt you can do anything against me. The entire point of the serum was to play the hands of God, in case it's slipped your mind."

I felt my limbs shudder in rage. "I'm fifteen years old, you bastard," I spat. "I have a long, full life ahead of me. I won't ruin it by taking an untested and potentially fatal serum just to earn a few easy bucks. Just get another of your minions to do it...you know, someone you haven't completely brainwashed."

His upper lip twitched in annoyance. "Fine, then. Have it your way." In the dim light of the warehouse, I couldn't see what he removed from his trench coat, but I knew that it would hurt, whatever it was.

My suspicions were confirmed. I let out a small shriek as he jammed a wire-thin needle through the skin of my palm, dragging a thread along with it. Black washed over my vision slightly with the intense pain, and suddenly a weight was attached. I shook my hand; the weight stayed attached.

"I've got the serum attached to your hand, Mercedes. Be careful not to clench your fists, because if you the needle will plunge the solution into your wrist, and we don't want poison being spread through oh-so powerful veins, do we?"

I snapped my still-painful hand to the side and held it taut, sending a throbbing up my wrist. My employer smirked and pulled a lever, releasing the chains and sending me sprawling onto the ground. I groaned in pain and struggled to hold my hand still. Still smiling that snarky grin, he strode away with me curled in agony on the concrete surface of the floor.

What little light remained in the warehouse faded to complete darkness, and I was left in the pitch black that echoed with threatening metallic clangs. The pain was blossoming all over my body, making my head throb and my stomach feel queasy. Unable to resist any longer, my torso spasmed and I vomited all over the floor.

I was alone now; if I ingested the poison now, it was all me to blame.

My fingers automatically brushed over the ugly, jagged scar on my palm. The serum was long gone... as far as I knew. But one thing I could never seem to forget..

On that day, three years ago to the hour, I wore the exact same outfit.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The road before me was long, straight, and empty; I could trust that no one would discover my evening travels. Yet, in my ears, I could perceive a faint rumbling that grew louder with every second...

Just the pounding of your blood, Mercedes, I told myself. Nothing more. I could never forget what happened after the serum was fused to my hand... I could never forget what left the true scars within me.

In an almost drunken state, I pushed myself through the scrubby undergrowth of the forest. The woods were thinned from the onslaught of industry, but they still seemed interminable in my search for safety: a safety I knew did not exist but my heart still hoped for. My brain thought it heard invisible footprints all around, and I couldn't distinguish between reality and fantasy. But my eyes weren't lying when a figure emerged in front of me, holding a flashlight in the faint misting of rain.

My vision practically skimmed over his--yes, it was a boy--portfolio, only taking in a mop of chestnut curls, a lean frame, and, thank God, a pair of biceps that could carry me out of this horrible place... possibly to the safety I never knew existed.

As I collapsed, he rushed forward, grasping me before I could hit the ground. My vision still swam, and nausea still dove through my system. Yet, it felt different somehow encased within his arms.

"Who are you?" he whispered with a strange sense of urgency.

I rolled my eyes groggily. "Mercy me," I groaned. Inside I thought--WTF?

"Mercy," he said quietly, a half-smile alighting his face. "Mercy. I like that name. Mercy, I'm Damien."

My sight cleared somewhat, and I examined him in his entirety. His eyes were a spiced green, and his face was chiseled but stretched with grins. So beautiful, was he... I could say I fell for him instantly, but I knew that it truly happened a few moments after I first saw Damien, when he first grinned, first called me Mercy.

But I would never forgive myself for anything else.

Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my hand and held it tight, squeezing our wrists together. A dull ache tattooed up arm, and the red alarm entered my mind immediately--but it was too late.

I could hardly bear to watch as the serum worked its way through him, first bloating his limbs to a deathly green, then sending them into epileptic fits, then finally, putting them still.

And suddenly, the boy who had been my true love for only a few seconds, was dead.

The rumbling had grown into a roar in my ears, accompanied by a blaring of horns. I tilted my head, eyes still closed. What was this chaos? Was this all me? All my imagination? All the guilt that rushed through me without halt? My eyes snapped open, and I could at once perceive the strong golden light that washed over me.

Those headlights were the last thing on Earth I ever saw.