Who: Dylan Hayes and Mac MacKenzie What: Running away When: Sunday, midnight Where: Mac's apartment
He was blasted out of his mind on the magic mint, that was the name of his - his closest friend now that Dave was- but he didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to think about the dim light of the street lamps as they glimmered on the dew that coated the foliage. He was back to square one, buried up to his eyeballs in drugs; salvia, mostly, and he had tried to take a little PCP, too, but his throat had filled with bile after the first puff and he had thrown his stash of the stuff away. He was stuck, leafing through leaves and trying his damnedest to ignore the weight on his shoulders that meant he had packed up his life and put it all in his backpack; being in his apartment - the apartment he and Dave had shared so many nights - it made him stick, too. The drugs - they helped him forget, and since it was all salvia- Sylvia- it was all hallucinations and visions. Nothing evil or cruel stalking him, no Charlie trying to take him down. Just Ryan. Standing there with a hole in his head. He was tall, white with enough tattoos to shame a member of the Yakuza, and what was left of his head was shaved, spattered with blood like it had been the night Dylan had shot him.
"Tainted blood." Dylan said to no one in particular - possibly a street lamp, since it was the closest thing to him and it looked friendly enough. Oh. Right. He was fucking depressed. "Fuck." He muttered, and pushed around his right pocket for another Salvia leaf, which he jammed into his mouth, crushing it between his teeth. Sweet relief soon followed, and he was able to remember to forget. It felt good. He needed this. He shuddered, tears ran down his cheeks, he felt hot and the air was cold and he just needed, needed the HEROIN but he had thrown all of his away. Mac. Mac. Right. He had said he would see Mac because for some insane, inexplicable reason, the older man gave a shit about him. And he didn't want to be alone. He knew that when he ran out of leaves, things would start creeping in from the jungle, and maybe, maybe Ryan would start talking again. Dylan couldn't handle the thought of that happening.
He pulled the paper that he'd written Mac's address on and found the apartment fairly easily, and the door was unlocked, just like Mac had said. Dylan entered the apartment as quietly as possible, shutting the door. He turned to lock it behind him and as he turned the bolt, he noticed that his hands were shaking something frightful. He let out a long, slow breath and sunk to his knees, his forehead pressed against the door. He let his backpack slide off of his shoulders and covered his face with his hands. "Dave." He whimpered, and there was no stopping the tears now, not even with the salvia. She couldn't really promise him everything.