Page 6 of Shades of Mercy
She had no choice but to continue through the passage. The incline of the duct made it difficult for her to maneuver, but sherefusedto go back.
Finally, she came to the next vent cover—the men’s restroom.
And it was occupied.
Mercy peered through the slats and saw a man snorting cocaine in a stall. Why was he hiding his drug use when it was welcomed in the club?
Swallowing the tightness in her throat, she knew she needed to take the risk, and she called to the man. “Hello.”
The man stiffened, jerking his chin from left to right. “Hello?”
“Can you help me, please?” she whispered. “I’m stuck.”
He poked his head outside of the stall. “Mom? Is that you?” The manscrubbedhis nose clean of white powder. “You always said if I weren’t a good boy, you’d come back from death to haunt me.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he were seeing heaven.
Mercy rolled her eyes, although hisaffectedstate would weigh in her favor.
“I need you to open the vent cover.”
He searched the bathroom and came to stand below the vent. “How’d you get in there, Mom?”
“It’s a long story. Hurry.”
“I’ll go get help.” He took a hurried steptowardsthe door.
“No! Please, no.” She calmed down, so she didn’t make him more suspicious. “You can do this yourself.”
He hesitated, as if he were in a dream, trying to process the event. “Okay.” Hespottedthe wide vase, turned it over and used it as a stepping stool.
“Do you have something sharp to unscrew the bolts holding the cover in place?”
“No.” His lower lip puckered. “Wait!” He dug into his suit pocket. “A pen!”
It was better than nothing.
“Please hurry!”
He swiftly got to work on the bolts. One loosened, and soon the other followed suit. Mercy was never more grateful that the vent covers were the originals, which made them rusty and loose.
He pulled the cover away from the opening and squinted.
“Mom? You’re young.”
“Sorry. I’m not your mom, but can you help me down?”
Jumping off the vase and kicking it aside, he offered her a hand. With his help, she was able to squirm through the opening and into his arms. He carefully set her to her feet. “Am I being punked?”
“No, you’re not,” she said, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and cringing. She was covered in dust and cobwebs, and her dress was ruined.
“Did Mom send you here?” The man continued to stare in confusion.
“I would stay and chat, but I need to scoot.” She rushed to the door, then looked back at him. “Could you do me another big favor? Don’t tell anyone about this?”
“I won’t. Did Mom send a message for me?”
Mercy started to ignore the question, but instead, she said, “Yes, she wants you to stop using drugs and get some help.”
He nodded.
