Capítulo 117: Chapter 113: A Cold Turkey Reunion
"Although it is true the Bowery King isn't my name at my point of birth, it is who I became, who I am." The Bowery King smiled at Ricky, showing that person he was before isn't who he is.
"Then are you also a homeless guy as well?" Ricky asked, looking at his shabby and barely modest clothing.
"I am indeed." the Bowery King replied with a smile, choosing not to delve into the reasons behind his homelessness but affirming the truth of it nonetheless.
"You're about to go on a tangent, aren't you-" Ricky began, only to catch a familiar smile before being comedically interrupted by the Bowery King.
"You see, throughout humanity and its reign there has always been those at the top, those with immense wealth and power." The Bowery King gestured towards Ricky, humoring his ego before turning the conversation back around.
"And with those at the top, there have always been those scraping by at the bottom." The Bowery King then gestured to himself, Meyer sitting at the side as if he wasn't relevant in the least.
"So, does the Bowery King weaponize homeless people or something?" Ricky jumped to his own conclusion, prompting the Bowery King to erupt into hearty laughter.
"No, no, no. Not weapons." The Bowery King said with a shake of his head, reaching over to gently stroke his pigeon.
"Weapons fight battles, my people win wars." The Bowery King untied a message from the bird's claw, then looked at Ricky with a knowing smile.
"They're eyes in every alley, ears in every shadow. Appendages that do not fight, but inform. You'd be surprised how much power lies in what most would discard as worthless." The Bowery King extended the message to Ricky, who took it without hesitation.
A pulse of green energy flared in Ricky's eyes as he read the message, his nonchalant and arrogant smirk fading slowly while his expression hardened, and he turned to the homeless man with a serious look.
"What is it, Slick?" Meyer whispered uneasily, his skin crawling at Ricky's sudden change in demeanor, his gaze fixed warily on the Bowery King.
"It's a token of my gratitude, for taking care of Xarus all those years ago." The Bowery King gestured toward the paper Ricky clenched tightly in his hand.
"When he arrived in Manhattan, it wasn't just your friends he killed indiscriminately, but my eyes and ears as well." The Bowery King's expression darkened, his tone solemn as he recalled finding the bodies only after Xarus had succumbed to Ricky.
"This is my thank you." The Bowery King gestured, his gaze steady as Ricky locked eyes with him, slowly unrolling the paper in his hand.
On that note, the paper contained the names of the closest confidants of each head of the mob families within the tri-state area.
The only problem was, Ricky had only told one person, yet somehow they not only managed to get him the information, but had already deduced exactly what he wanted.
"And by no means are there any ears and eyes within your family's compound, I can see how that may come across, I apologize." The Bowery King realized who resided within the compound and quickly informed.
"Then how the f*ck did you get your dirty ass hands on information that my pops would never let slip?" Ricky waved the note around, his distrust clear as the Bowery King simply nodded, his expression calm.
"Because of the chain of command." The Bowery King explained, only for Ricky to roll his eyes, irritated by the delay as he wanted the point, not a drawn-out explanation.
"You see, Slick, may I call you Ricky?" The Bowery King asked smoothly, only for Ricky to burst out laughing.
"F*ck no." Ricky shot back, chuckling since even Lucky didn't call him Ricky, and that wasn't about to start here.
"Then, Slick, orders are given at the top, but they're trickled down to those they command, delegated." The Bowery King explained, gesturing with his hands in a watering motion, as if illustrating how information trickles down the chain.
"However, within those orders, when they're being processed, there's often a slip of the tongue in the passing alley." The Bowery King then nodded toward his lovely pigeon.
"And the reason you got it so fast was because of that rat-with-wings pigeon, right?" Ricky asked, smirking, knowing full well that pigeons were basically the rats of the bird species.
"You'd be amazed at what these amazing creatures can do."
"Trained birds, disregarded for their species, while secretly carrying notes; no telephone wires to tap, no operators listening in. They're fast, reliable, and most importantly, untouchable. A telegram might get intercepted. A pigeon? It's just another bird in the sky." The Bowery King spoke with enthusiasm, as if he were trying to sell Ricky on the timeshare that was these birds.
"Uh-huh, looking past this as your consideration and not the clear spying, what's to stop you from telling the other families or even the High Table?" Ricky asked, his tone skeptical. He didn't know much, but he knew this guy had to answer to them.
"It is true that I am an adjutant to The High Table, bound by their rules, but I operate independently." The Bowery King began, aware that his allegiance was sworn to the High Table.
"I do not have to disclose things unless they need to be disclosed. This is not the latter." The Bowery King smiled, and Ricky leaned in, his expression serious as he gazed at him.
"Then Bowery King, do you know why we're here-"
"Looking for your friend and your little brother, Jake Lankey, also sorry for interrupting you I know its-"
"Kind of annoying?" Ricky finished, a smirk creeping onto his face as the Bowery King laughed, clearly enjoying the taste of his own medicine.
"Very."
"Anyways, give him to us." Ricky gestured with a 'gimme' motion, getting straight to the point, unlike the man before him.
"Of course." The Bowery King shrugged, gesturing to one of his men, who nodded in acknowledgment.
"Really, it's that simple?" Ricky asked, looking at Meyer, who shrugged in return. Ricky then turned back to the Bowery King, who chuckled.
"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not someone who can take on someone like you, much less Dracula." The Bowery King smirked at Ricky, raised his eyes while making a mental note of their information gathering skills.
"Dracula?" Meyer asked, confused, not understanding why he even brought that up. Just then, a figure was escorted in, drawing everyone's attention.
"Jake stabbed one of my guys while in a drug-induced craze; an ear, replaceable, but still one of mine," the Bowery King explained, carefully clarifying why Jake was even here in the first place, mindful not to provoke any unwanted wrath.
"I was going to go through the proper procedures until I realized who he was, then decided to take him in momentarily and house him before sending him back," the Bowery King explained, his voice tinged with frustration as he knew some things had to be let go for the greater benefit.
"The man was a mess, like a rabid animal. So, I took him in until he was clean, then sent him back or until you came looking for him as you are right now." The Bowery King instructed though Ricky wasn't amused.
"And I take it you're just some generous soul?" Ricky asked, already knowing full well that this guy wasn't driven by kindness.
"Of course not. I simply want to make a favorable impression on a future pillar of a rising crime family," the Bowery King said shamelessly and Ricky nodded, leaning back while feeling a tad bit better when talking with him.
"Well then, I'll keep you in my good graces." Ricky shrugged, standing up as the Bowery King did the same.
"Hey, Bowery King, you want a piece of advice?" Ricky suddenly pulled the man in closer, though his ears were always open to advice.
"New York's gonna get messy soon. You should start pulling your guys underground, since fights sometimes involve outside ears." Ricky gave the warning, feeling like he owed the man, who had already guessed what was about to happen.
"Thank you, really." The Bowery King nodded, understanding the difficulty of territorial fights and knowing how it was always his guys, the homeless, who were affected the most by accidental casualties.
"See you around, Bowery King."
"Oh, I'm sure this won't be the last time we meet."
30 minutes later,
It was then that a hollow figure slowly stepped back into his dwelling. His body seemed a mere shell of what it once was.
Thin and gaunt, the flesh clung to his bones in a way that made it clear the past three years had been unforgiving.
His face, once sharp and defined, was now sunken, with dark circles etched deep beneath his eyes, as if sleep had become a distant memory.
His movements were slow, deliberate, each step a struggle against the weight of his own body.
The remnants of a once-muscular frame sagged beneath tattered clothes, the signs of neglect and constant drug use evident in the way his shoulders hunched and his spine curved.
His hands trembled, twitching with nervous energy, fingers stiffened from both withdrawal and the toll drugs had taken on his nervous system.
His skin had lost its natural color, taking on a sickly pallor, dotted with sores and the occasional bruise, as though he hadn't cared for himself in years.
There was a vacantness in his eyes, an emptiness that only came from being consumed by addiction; no longer the sharp, focused gaze of a man with purpose, but a lost stare that seemed to be seeing right through everything.
He had aged beyond his years, his spirit fractured by the unrelenting cycle of highs and crashes, each one taking more than the last.
This was now Jake Lankey.
"Thanks for helping me clean up after the place," Meyer said, attempting a weak smile at Ricky, though his heart ached as he looked at his hollowed-out brother.
Ricky was almost choked up, out of breath, and shocked to his core by what Jake had become as even from Meyer's reaction, seeing him three months ago, it was even worse than he had feared.
"Listen, I know you've already done so much, but if you could stay with him for a while since the bank has some-"
"Don't worry, Meyer. I'll take over from here," Ricky interrupted, nodding to Meyer as her managed a small, appreciative smile before leaving the partially cleaned house.
The door shut behind Meyer, and Ricky was left alone with Jake, who collapsed onto his rotted bed, wrapped in a tattered blanket.
Slowly, Jake's eyes flickered open, and he weakly lifted his gaze, looking up at Ricky.
"You're back," Jake rasped, his voice dry and cracked, his gaze hollow as each breath he took was loud and drawn out, as if every inhale was a struggle.
"Yeah." Ricky frowned, his fists clenching, nearly shaking with anger at how much of a piece of sh*t he felt like for allowing Jake, once so determined and eager, to fall into this pit.
He knew that coming back wasn't just about proving he could be better; it was about showing he could be someone others could depend on, someone who didn't need to use others as a crutch.
With his face set in determination, Ricky pulled out a senzu bean and walked over to Jake as he extended the bean, his gaze unwavering, as if offering not just the healing power, but a chance for redemption.
Slap
"Just stop it, whatever you're trying to fix it's already broken." Jake swatted Ricky's hand away, pushing him back as Ricky held the bean to him.
"I know it's been a while but listen Jake, this bean can help-"
"HELP, AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" Jake scratched out a yell, pushing Ricky back as the latter didn't even budge at the weak strength.
"LOOK AT ME, F*CKING LOOK AT ME!" Jake grabbed his rotted clothes, easily tearing them away as Ricky let out a small cold breath.
They were everywhere. Needle pricks traced every inch of his body, a map of desperation and decay.
His arms, legs, neck; no part of him had escaped the relentless assault of his addiction.
The skin was poked with tiny, healed-over scars, some fresh, others old, but all telling the same story of slow self-destruction.
"You think I don't know why you're here, why you came to get me." Jake hissed, wobbling up and limping towards the side as Ricky followed his walk.
"You probably think you could just come here with some stupid magic remedy and everything would go back to normal." Jake then stopped in front of a shattered mirror, seeing the cracked reflection of himself that made him saddened to his very core.
Sniff
"Hic*
"That I could go back to being normal." Jake slowly traced his hand on the mirror, until his eyes lit up in a fierce rage.
"THIS ISN'T SOME FAIRY TALE!" Jake, hateful at what Ricky looked like in the mirror as he had become a better man yet he had spiraled into this monster made his stomach churn.
BAM
Jake wanted Ricky to feel that churning weight, to experience the chaos of his own despair.
With a twisted, hollow laugh, he slammed his bony fist into the jagged mirror, the sharp edges cutting into his knuckles.
Blood splattered from the glass, spraying across the wall in thin, streaking lines as the sound of cracking glass and the sting of his own self-inflicted wound seemed to echo in the room, amplifying the tension between them.
"Jesus christ Jake-" Ricky walked over to him only for Jake to start throwing stuff at him.
"AND WHAT, AFTER RETURNING HOME LIKE SOME PRINCE, LIKE SOME CHANGED MAN, YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR LITTLE COURT JESTER? WELL, I'M DONE!" Jake's voice cracked, a volatile mix of rage and despair pouring out in ragged breaths.
He weakly pushed Ricky away, his bony hand slapping against Ricky's chest, but the force was almost nonexistent, like a broken man desperately trying to assert some kind of control over the ruins of his life
Ricky fell silent, the weight of Jake's words pressing down on him like a physical force.
Ricky knew those accusations weren't entirely true, he hadn't come back to solely save Jake, but he didn't correct him.
There was no point.
The anger in Jake's voice, the raw, guttural pain behind every word, stung too deeply to argue against and Ricky accepted the blame in silence, the familiar guilt gnawing at him as his eyes lowered, unable to meet Jake's.
Maybe he had failed Jake, maybe he had failed everyone he ever cared about.
Ricky knew he wasn't a prince, sometimes he thought he wasn't changed, and most of the time he felt like any other man, scrambling for a way to fix the mess he'd created.
But that didn't mean Ricky was going to let this problem fester like he had in the past and this time, Ricky wasn't going to run away from Jake's issues like he did before.
He was going to be there for the person he had once called a friend, for the person who had once stood by him and he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT-" Jake's voice broke, his strength fading as he sank back to the ground and Ricky could only watch, heartbroken.
Sniff
Hic
"You just have no right." Jake hit his head on the floor, completely defeated as Ricky lowered his hand and started healing Jake's wound.
"Listen Jake, I know, but even if you hate me, I'm still going to help you, really help you." Ricky said firmly as Jake laughed bitterly and turned away.
"All you ever do is help yourself-"
Dink
Jake slammed into an invisible wall, recoiling with a sharp gasp as he glared at Ricky, his fiery eyes burning with anger and confusion, as if trying to will him into backing down.
But Ricky stood his ground, unwavering, his hand clutching the senzu bean tightly, like a lifeline.
"Let me out of here, Ricky. This isn't funny." Jake pounded on the barrier, his fists hitting the wall with diminishing force.
Ricky clenched the senzu bean, knowing it would help Jake physically but that the addiction of the mind was a far more insidious challenge.
Ricky had seen many struggle with addiction in his past life, their minds convincing them to stay in this horrid state, and he understood that overcoming it required more than just a physical remedy.
"He needs to feel what cold turkey is like." Ricky whispered, steeling himself for the grueling night ahead as he knew it wouldn't be easy, nothing about this was.
But it was the only way Ricky knew that could break the cycle, to force Jake to confront the depth of his addiction.
BAM
"LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW, RICKY!" Jake's scream echoed through the room, his eyes bloodshot and wild as he glared at Ricky, each word laced with raw desperation, an attempt to strike at the guilt Ricky carried.
"No."
"W-What do you mean, no?" Jake almost laughed out, thinking it hysterical Ricky was trying to order him like in the days of old.
"I mean that I'm going to help you, like I said," Ricky replied, his gaze unwavering as he met Jake's desperate, bloodshot eyes.
"But for that to happen, you're going cold turkey." Ricky's words made Jake's anger facade shatter as the desperate side of him manifested.
"Y-You can't do this, not after what you did-"
"I'm doing this because of what I did to you and because of that, I need to say something I should've said to you a long time ago." Ricky pulled up a chair, sitting down then looking at Jake with a sincere expression.
"I'm sorry, Jake." Ricky's voice cracked with genuine remorse as Jake's lips trembled, shaking his head in denial.
"Shut up-"
"We were supposed to be friends, and I treated you like nothing more than my employee, like a servant." Ricky spoke the lines he always wanted to say to Jake when he was away, remembering how he treated Jake as nothing more than a paperwork machine.
Taking advantage of Jake's need to prove himself and delegating all the things he was supposed to do to him.
"Stop-"
"And when Rocco and Eddy died, I ignored the fact that they were your friends too, putting my own feelings above yours like I always did, making it about me." Ricky patted his chest, sighing a bit while letting it all out.
"SHUT UP, RICKY-"
"And I know I'm a selfish asshole, I know that we all profit off the cruelness that is this underbelly, but you didn't deserve the way I treated you, even if we are mobsters." Ricky's voice broke, and Jake sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face.
Sniff
Sniff
"I-It's all your fault. You and Meyer pushed me too hard," Jake sobbed, banging his head against the invisible wall.
"I couldn't handle the pressure and YOU F*CKING BROKE ME!" Jake slammed his head on the invincible barrier, his rage spiking at all those long nights.
All those long nights he bled for, sacrificed for, and the only applause he ever got were half-hearted charges, whispers of disappointment that cut deeper than any wound.
Each drop of sweat, each ounce of effort, all for nothing but hollow critiques.
It was the same endless cycle; he gave everything, only to be told it wasn't enough, that he could've done better.
The anger burned in him, raw and unrelenting, a fire fed by the realization that no matter how hard he tried, it was never going to be enough.
But even then Jake pushed forward, burning himself to his very limit for the people he thought cared about him.
"YOU STARTED ALL OF THIS, AND THAT DAMNED COCAINE, YOU RUINED ME!" Jake's mood shifted abruptly, yelling at Ricky while shifting the blame towards him as he pulled up his sleeves to reveal his ravaged arms once more.
"LOOK AT THIS, LOOK AT WHAT I'VE BECOME, A SHELL, RICKY, A F*CKING SHELL!" Jake's outburst was raw and devastating as he collapsed back to the floor, his anger dissipating into despair.
"So just one fix, to tie me up and-"
"No." Ricky's hands were clenched tightly, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his own emotions.
"PLEASE, JUST A LITTLE FIX YOU OWE ME THAT MUCH, FOR EVERYTHING!" Jake screamed, desperation and anguish twisting his voice.
Jake was relentless, berating Ricky with a tirade of hateful words about everything that had happened to him and all the pain that he had endured because of him.
However Ricky closed his eyes, tapping his foot as he fought to maintain his resolve.
Every plea from Jake was like a knife to his heart, knowing he was inflicting a form of torture that was both necessary and painful.
This was a trial not just for Jake, but for Ricky as well as it was his actions that had driven Jake to this point, and now he had to face the consequences.
Finally Jake became breathless, resting on the invisible barrier encasing him as he looked up at the ceiling.
"You're right, I do owe you, but I don't owe your f*cking addiction." Ricky's voice was steady but laced with sorrow, looking at the hollow husk before him.
"I always owe you more than you can imagine, Jake. But giving in to your addiction isn't going to help you. It's going to drag you further down into this hole." Ricky gestured towards Jake's own arms, the proof almost inscribed on his body
"YOU DON'T GET IT! I'M DYING IN HERE! EVERY SECOND FEELS LIKE A YEAR!" Jake's anger flared again, his fists pounding against the invisible barrier.
"JUST ONE, PLEASE JUST ONE!" Jake spat out his ragged plea, his hand sliding down as he pressed his face against the barrier to make himself look more pitiful.
"I know it's hard, I know you're in pain, but this is the only way to break free from the cycle. You need to face it head-on. You need to fight through this if you're going to get better." Ricky's eyes were open now, locking onto Jake's pleading gaze.
Ricky knew all too well what it was like to go cold turkey as his memories of the past were hazy, fragmented like shards of glass scattered across time.
Even in this life, as more days passed, it became harder to look back and piece things together.
But there were moments that still burned in his mind, ones that should've been lost to the fog of his past, but they were seared into his memory, nonetheless.
One such moment was when he had been addicted to angel dust since it was a brief but ugly chapter in his life, one he'd rather forget, but couldn't.
The only reason he had saved Jessica that day was because he had been desperate for a fix.
His mind, clouded by the drug, had barely registered what he was doing until he was knee-deep in a fight with those bikers.
When he beat them senseless, they blacklisted him, making it impossible for him to get his supply.
That was the moment that forced him to get clean but rather, he had no choice and the withdrawal was brutal.
The first few days felt like his body was slowly being shredded from the inside out.
It wasn't just the shakes, the sweat, or the nausea, it was the relentless cravings that gnawed at him like a beast inside his chest.
His skin itched and burned as if it was trying to crawl off his bones, every movement felt like dragging lead, every step a monumental effort.
His thoughts were a jumbled mess, his mind constantly searching for the next high, even as he knew he couldn't go back.
The physical pain was bad enough, but the worst part was the mental agony as it was like his mind was betraying him, urging him to break, to give in, to find a way to end the madness.
Sleep became an elusive dream. When he did manage to close his eyes, nightmares took over.
Then when he would wake up, it would be drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest as though he had been fighting for his life.
Every minute without the drug felt like he was suffocating, like he was drowning in his own self-hatred as he wanted to scream, to lash out, to run away from the unbearable emptiness.
Each moment stretched out forever, like time itself had become a cruel enemy and after Ricky had managed to scrape himself out of that rut, he never wanted to go back which is why he never touched another hard drug after that.
However, Ricky wasn't going to let Jake endure the full, brutal process of withdrawal, but he had to make him feel the essence of it but just enough to show him the rawness of what it truly felt like.
"I can't-.....I can't do it. I'm too far gone, Ricky. You don't understand what it's like." Jake collapsed against the wall, whining as his shoulders shook while he started sobbing uncontrollably.
"I can at least try, just talk to me, just tell me how this happened." Ricky's gaze was locked on Jake, who propped himself up with his back to him, staring blankly ahead.
"It was after you left-"
Jake's Narration:
The clubs doubled from two to four, and the work just piled up to the point where even sleeping felt like I was falling behind.
At first, the cocaine was just a way to keep me awake and focused, something to prop me up while I juggled managing the clubs and funneling the money.
It was supposed to help me keep up with the demands.
The bank was assisting, but slowly, it just wasn't enough for Meyer and he needed me to shine more, to prove myself within the family while solidifying myself within the space.
He ordered me to clean even more money, and overnight, my responsibilities exploded as I went from managing around $50,000 a month to handling $250,000.
The pressure, that very same I took on to prove myself, just became so suffocating.
That's when the insomnia set in.
I couldn't sleep, no matter how exhausted I was, having to push myself to the brink just to meet the quotas.
I mean, the clubs were making money, the family was making money, and my position within the family was rising, I was becoming the next Lankey my brother wanted me to be.
But that profit, that money, came at my cost.
Soon, the cocaine wasn't cutting it anymore, I needed more just to get that same high, that same focus, and my health was crumbling.
But I pushed through, ignoring the signs until one day, I just snapped at Meyer who was lecturing me, demeaning me.
I was too worn down, and everything started spinning too fast and my mind couldn't keep up.
I stormed out of the club, desperate to escape the relentless whirlwind in my head that just throbbed in my head.
That's when I found heroin and that first hit was like a revelation.
For the first time in months, I felt a semblance of peace and the chaos swirling in my mind quieted, and I slept like I hadn't in ages.
It was a temporary escape, but it was enough to pull me in deeper.
Heroin became my sanctuary and I started neglecting my work, my life, and everyone around me, just to chase that elusive high.
I knew I was sinking, even now I know, but I don't care.
It is easier to drown in this numbness than to face the harsh reality of my situation, go back to what it was before.
Now, Ricky, you're here, offering to help me, but I can't go back.
I don't want to.
I'm too far gone, and I don't need your help, I don't want to confront what I've become or face the wreckage of my actions.
I want this, to be trapped in this cycle with no responsibilities or effort, and the idea of breaking free feels so suffocating.
So please, don't bother. I've made my choice, and I'm sticking with it.
END
"I know-.........I know I don't look too good but I swear I'm fine Ricky-"
"Dammit Jake, no-"
"You sell it, distribute it to everyone, but now you feel sorry because one of your 'friends' uses it? You're a hypocrite." Jake's words cut through the air, blunt and unforgiving. It stung, but Ricky couldn't deny the truth in them as he nodded, unable to argue.
"I am a filthy, idiotic, hypocritical, alcoholic, and most of all a degenerate." Ricky introduced himself, spreading his arms wide so that Jake could see it all.
"I know what I am Jake and I won't sit here, lie to you, and tell you otherwise cause I'm not some white knight in shining armor here to free the world from the sin of drugs." Ricky Explained, before slowly pointing a single finger at him.
"Just you."
"I'm hypocritical in the sense that I'd let the whole world suffer, just so the people I care about most don't have to." Ricky's voice hardened, his eyes steady on Jake, resolving to pull him out of this pit at all cost.
"And if you want to hate me for it, then fine. If you never want to see me again after all of it, okay. But at least I'm doing something, even if it's not what you want to hear." Ricky crossed his arms, showing that there wasn't any way he could be convinced otherwise.
"You can hate me all you want when you're clean and living the life you deserve," Ricky said, his words firm and resolute as he had spoken his truth, and if Jake couldn't accept it, then that was on him.
If this was how it ended, Ricky had done everything he could to help Jake get clean.
If Jake chose to disregard it all and go back to that life, then fine, Ricky would accept it.
But not like this—not with Jake trapped under the grip of heroin, his mind clouded and lost as that, this wasn't the real Jake, and Ricky couldn't stand to watch him fade away like that.
BAM
"You're trash Ricky, f*cking trash!" Jake egged him on, trying to get a rise out of the big loaf in front of him.
"Ha, tell me something I don't know." Ricky laughed, leaning back in the chair, his sleazy smile widening and Jake scoffed, his hollow eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"And there it is, classic Ricky."
"You think you can f*ck everything up, make a joke, fix it, and then expect everyone to just move on like nothing happened?" Jake slammed into the barrier, his body trembling with fury.
"It's always the same with you! My life's just one crash after another, and you act like you can just sweep it all away like it never mattered, like my struggles didn't matter!" Jake's voice cracked as he shouted, every word laced with years of frustration.
"Well I'm not like the others Ricky, I see you for what you are." Jake, from all the years he had known Ricky, saw him for what he truly was right in this moment or at least, what he thought of him from his previous experiences.
"A joke?" Ricky asked, trying to predict his words as Jake slowly shook his head.
"A coward." Jake's words sliced through the air, a cold, sharp accusation that hit Ricky deeper than he expected.
For a moment, Ricky froze, the weight of the insult sinking in as the word hung in the room like a suffocating cloud, and he could feel his chest tighten, as if Jake had just ripped open old wounds.
It was then Jake smiled, thinking Ricky was going to walk away or lash out at him then apologize later to make it all better, but he didn't.
"Yeah, but I'm trying to be better." Ricky admitted, his voice steady as he gave a genuine nod, surprising even himself.
For once, he didn't deflect or push back and he didn't throw up walls or make excuses, he just owned it.
Jake, still reeling from his own anger, blinked in confusion as this was different, Ricky wasn't trying to dominate the conversation, wasn't shoving blame away.
For a moment, it was as if the old Ricky he knew had suddenly grown a bit as that old reflection of him seemingly faded, and Jake wasn't sure how to react.
"I'm trying to be rooted here, in the moment, rather than running around and leaving only broken pieces in my wake." Ricky's voice was quieter now, almost reflective, as if he was talking more to himself than to Jake.
"That's why I'm going back to pick up the pieces I broke, starting with you."
1 hour later,
BLERGH
Jake's body shook violently, his hands gripping the sides of the bucket as he expelled the contents of his stomach.
Sweat soaked his skin, his face pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps as his body was betraying him, every muscle aching as the withdrawal clawed at him.
He barely registered Ricky sitting across the room, silently flipping through the pages of a dusty, leather-bound diary.
The world felt like it was spinning, and all Jake could do was focus on the acidic burn in his throat and the tremors that rattled through him.
The nausea came in waves, and each time it subsided, the relentless craving would come back, aching, gnawing at him.
He gritted his teeth, trying to hold it together, but the bitter taste of regret clung to his mouth.
Jake had been here before, and every time he'd thought he'd hit rock bottom, he'd fallen lower and this time didn't seem different.
Through it all, Ricky remained quiet as the only sound in the room was the occasional rustle of pages as he read through Dracula's diary
Diary Entry: February 12, 1901
I must admit, after becoming this symbol of a fairy tale is slowly taking its toll. The weight of this mantle grows heavier with each passing day. The grandeur I once sought, the recognition of my power and dominion, now feels like a shroud of relentless pressure.
In the beginning, the allure of becoming the archetype for all vampires was intoxicating. The promise of immortality and the dominion over both the living and the supernatural was a seductive prospect. Yet, as time has worn on, the reality of this role has revealed itself to be far more burdensome than I ever imagined.
The expectations that come with being a symbol are immense. I am not merely a creature of the night; I am to embody the very essence of a vampire. Each of my actions is scrutinized, each of my decisions weighed against the grand image I must uphold. The grandeur of my presence is now intertwined with the constant struggle to maintain the mythos that surrounds me.
My power, once a source of pride, now feels like a prison. The responsibility to be a beacon, to represent the ideal of the vampire, imposes a ceaseless strain on my very essence. The constant balancing act between maintaining the fearsome reputation I have cultivated and the internal turmoil it brings is exhausting. The legends, the tales of my prowess, all weigh heavily on me, creating an incessant pressure to live up to the glorified image that has been crafted.
Furthermore, the isolation that accompanies such a role is profound. My very nature demands solitude, and the role of the symbol only exacerbates this loneliness. The distance I must maintain from those I once held dear, my family, my loved ones, even my own kind, has left me adrift. The camaraderie and kinship that once brought me solace are now overshadowed by the expectations and the solitary path I must tread.
The fear I invoke in others is a reflection of the fear I now grapple with within myself. I am trapped in a cycle of proving my worth, of living up to the expectations of a role that I fear I can never truly escape.
The burden of being a symbol has seeped into my very being, gnawing at the edges of my once unshakable confidence. I am caught between the desire to uphold the legacy I have built and the yearning for the freedom to be something, or someone, more authentic.
As I pen these words, I tell myself that the tribulations are worth the end goal. Since for all that I've suffered at the hands of my actions. Vampire kind has entered an era of peace.
Although we were once at each other's throats, vying for the power vacuum always sinking our own growth, it has become clear that someone must stand in the center so that others spread their wings and fly all around.
I am trapped, I know this. But with this sacrifice I give our race a chance to blossom in which it was never thought possible.
Dracula
Closing the book, Ricky let out a slow breath, the weight of Dracula's words pressing on his chest.
Ricky hadn't yet felt the full scope of the mutant community's power, nor the burden it carried.
It was a world in constant flux, a world where those who wielded influence were both revered and feared, but also targets.
Ricky was still in the early stages of this new life, this new path and because he was still learning, still building a foundation.
The path ahead was clear now, but it required more than just strength, it required more than just physical strength.
Ricky had gone through all the trials and tribulations to grow his physical power to stand with the most fearsome beings on this planet, but that still wasn't enough.
Power came in so many shapes and forms; the political maneuvering, the intricacies of gaining and holding power, they were all part of this endless game.
If Ricky truly wanted to control this community, to harvest its benefits, and to become the symbol he had always envisioned, he had to prepare for what was coming, the weight of all the responsibility that would come with it.
In the silence of the room, Ricky's thoughts turned inward, back to who he was before leaving New York.
He had grown, yes, but at his core; his desires, his ambitions, had remained unchanged.
The hunger that had once driven him to the brink of destruction against Xarus, fueling him to go to such lengths to reach that pinnacle never truly subsided.
Leaving New York had been a temporary pacification, an illusion of control, but now that he was back, that same bubbling hunger that had always been within him had slowly started to creep into his mind.
Ricky had tasted what power felt like in its purest form, the way others bowed at his very appearance, his very name, and with it, he wanted more.
No, even that wasn't enough, he wanted it all.
To get there, to get everything he wanted, he needed to become a force that could not only withstand but bend the world around him to his will.
But to do that, he had to be ready for everything: the games, the sacrifices, the betrayals.
Ricky knew what it took to rise to the top, and now he was willing to do whatever it took to claim what he believed was his.
To claim what he desired, Ricky knew that sacrifices would be made, the common person being one of them.
The realization didn't bother him in the slightest and in fact, it was almost expected at this point.
Ricky had come to learn that power wasn't given; it was taken, and in the pursuit of it, casualties were inevitable.
There was no room for the considerations of bystanders, no room for hesitation in this game.
Yet even so, priorities needed to be made and considerations followed which is why all of that was all on hold for now, his mind distracted by the bitter, hate-filled gaze that Jake shot at him.
Jake's eyes, bloodshot and dull, fixed on Ricky with an intensity that could have burned through steel.
Despite the weakness in his body, despite the shakes and nausea coursing through him, Jake found the strength to hate Ricky, as if that hatred was all that remained of who he once was.
They were about to embark on a journey together, a journey that would drag Jake through the raw, painful reality of his addiction and Ricky could see it in his eyes, the first stage of what was to come.
Ricky knew all too well where Jake was right now since he himself had gone through all five stages including; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.
But right now, at this very moment, they were on the cusp of the stage that had haunted Jake for the last three years as the addict, broken and battered, had once again finally settled into the first stage, Denial.
Denial:
"How many times do I have to f*cking tell you Ricky, I'm not the problem, I'm fine!" Jake laughed bitterly, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn't comprehend why Ricky couldn't see it.
"Jake you're an addict, an addict-"
"I'M NOT-"
Sigh
"Ricky, I'm not addicted! If you even cared to be here the last three years, you would know. But no, you've been too busy getting your dick wet to notice," Jake spat, his words slicing into Ricky who nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in Jake's scorn.
Jake continued, desperately clinging to his denial, trying to convince Ricky that he didn't have a problem.
Jake repeated his defenses over and over, seemingly memorizing them, even as the truth was right in front of him: his body was a shell of its former self, skinnier than the skeletal figures Ricky summoned in his darker moments.
But Jake couldn't see it, not yet as he was too deep into his own lie to see the real truth of this matter.
As the minutes ticked by, that denial began to erode, replaced by confusion, frustration, and a growing rage.
The pressure inside Jake built until it exploded as his breath hitched, his eyes darkened, and suddenly, without warning, he lunged at Ricky, fists flying and only contained by the invisible barrier around him.
Anger:
"YOU FCKING BASTARD, FCK YOU, FCK MEYER, FCK LUCKY, F*CK ALL THE LUCIANO FAMILY, JUST DIE, DIE, DIE!" Jake roared, his rage palpable as he slammed his head and fist into the barrier before him.
"I HATE YOU, I'LL ALWAYS HATE YOU, WHY WON'T YOU LET ME LEAVE SO I CAN CONTINUE TO HATE YOU, DAMMIT!" Jake wobbled to his feat, his crazed eyes gleaming while looking towards the quiet Ricky.
"You don't get it, do you? You think you can just waltz back in, pretend everything's fine, and I'm supposed to go along with it? You think you can make me forget all the sh*t I've gone through?!" Jake laughed out, seeing the humor in it all while acting as if Ricky was one big joke.
"You don't get to walk in and fix everything with your little sob story, you made me this way! You let me rot in this hellhole! So don't stand there like you're the goddamn hero!" Jake's anger resounded, spitting on the invincible barrier while looking towards him.
"JUST DIE, DIE ALREADY! YOU AREN'T A HERO AND YOU NEVER WILL BE, NOT AFTER EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE. DAMMIT, I HATE YOU! I F*CKING HATE YOU!" Jake hurled himself at the barrier one more time, his fists colliding with it again.
Jake collapsed to the floor, his head dropping into his hands as the tears mixed with the sweat and dirt on his face.
His body trembled with the aftershocks of his rage, and his sobs were desperate and raw, the anger fading into something deeper, something even more painful.
Bargaining:
"Please Ricky, please~" Jake whined, propped up against the barrier with his hand firmly pressed on it as if he was reaching out his hand.
"Just one tiny fix, to wean me off." Jake cried out, his voice audibly shaking as the cravings took hold, making him all but desperate.
"I-I'll do anything man, please~" Jake let out tears, sliding down the barrier while hitting his head on the floor.
"I'm sorry about all the things I said, you're a good guy who's trying to help your friend, this friend." Jake then looked up, showing a rare smile as he looked at the quiet Ricky.
"So please, help your friend with a tiny fix, just this once." Jake held out his hands, desperate for literally anything but Ricky was firm in his silence.
"F-Fine, how about this look!" Jake then threw away that notion and started fumbling around his person, pulling out his watch.
"This is my dad's. He gave it to me before he passed. It's worth something, right? You can have it!" Jake tossed the watch onto the floor, then immediately went for something else, digging into his pants.
"Fine that's not enough, fair-ah, and this! This is my golden money clip. The one you gave me, remember? I've kept it all this time. It's yours, just please, Ricky. Please." Jake held out the two most valuable things towards Ricky, hoping that he would at least humor him.
But Ricky didn't respond, he didn't even look at the items, his expression unchanging.
The silence between them grew thick, suffocating, as Ricky's eyes remained locked on Jake, his resolve still steadfast, unmoving.
Jake's hands quivered, the tears still streaking down his face, his chest hitching with broken sobs.
The bargains, the apologies, the pleadings, they all hung in the air, meaningless to the man standing on the other side.
"I can't-"
Sniff
"I can't take it anymore. Just one more hit, and I'll stop, I swear. You don't know what it's like to need it, to feel it crawling under your skin, eating at your insides. Please, I'll do anything. Just this one last time." Jake pleaded with every emotion he had bottled up, pouring them all out but Ricky simply looked at him with a resounding gaze.
"No."
Depression:
The shift from bargaining to depression came like the slow, inevitable fall of a stone into still water.
Jake didn't even fight it, his body crumpling in on itself, defeated, and his eyes, once filled with fiery rage or desperate hope, now seemed empty, dull.
He didn't move, didn't speak for what felt like hours, as the weight of everything that had been said, everything he had been running from, crashed over him all at once.
He let go of the watch and the money clip, the last things he had clung to, dropping them onto the floor like discarded memories.
His hands, which had trembled with the need for the drug, now lay limp at his sides, lifeless.
His eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him, but he wasn't really seeing it as he wasn't seeing anything.
"I can't-"
"I can't do this anymore Ricky, I don't know how or if I even want to anymore." Jake was at a loss, poorly trying to explain the feeling so clearly heard by Ricky.
"I'm nothing." Jake spat out, looking up at the ceiling while recollecting everything he ever was and has been.
"All I ever wanted to be was to be someone, someone my family could be proud of, someone like my brother that others could depend on." Jake's eyes watered, sniffling while grabbing his heart.
"I wanted to great, I wanted to sour into the sky like a bird while revealing in the warmth of the sun-.......but I just burned, I f*cking burned." Jake reached out his hand, the light reflecting all across his fingers before clenching them tightly.
"I fell and now I'm drowning." Jake's hand slowly fell to the ground, closing his eyes as he wished this pitiful life of his would just end right here.
"I'm stuck in this hole and the only way forward is down, further into this depth, and no matter how hard I struggle to pull myself up, I just fail to reach the surface. Every. Single. Time." Jake's words really made Ricky listen, really hearing what it was Jake was going through.
"I am not a fighter and I'm tired of pretending that I am, tired of pretending that I am anything more than this sinking figure since no matter what I do, I can never keep my head above water." Jake then turned his defeated eyes back to Ricky, looking at someone who seemingly flew in the skies as if it was his right by birth.
In a way, Jake had always been jealous of how Ricky could have everything and never appreciate the things he always yearned for.
The admiration that didn't come from his success, but from his failures.
When he could find people who would pull him up at his lowest points and be that backing he needed to move forward.
How Ricky was the center of it all, how the spotlight, how the sun shined down onto him in ways it never could for Jake.
"What do I do Ricky, what would you do?"
Acceptance:
Lying flat on the ground, Jake sniffled as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes vacant and distant and slowly, Ricky's figure came into view, holding a single bean in his hand.
"I ran away for a long time Jake, like you're doing right now." Ricky really beared himself to Jake, about to tell him what to do and it was going to be up to Jake whether or not he listened.
"People think that you can just pick yourself up the first time and just keep moving forward, but those people can shove it." Ricky honestly said, knowing how many times he had fallen just fall once again.
"But living isn't just about how you move forward, it's living with yourself, your choices, and all the sh*t you end up making in the process." Ricky then extended the bean, placing it right next to Jake.
"I just can't live with you not being my friend, Jake." Ricky put his hands in his pocket, backing up slightly while releasing the barrier.
"I want to make things right, to go back to how things were before, but I know it doesn't work like that." Ricky said, his voice heavy with frustration but beared with it.
"I'm not gonna force you to live your life Jake, not anymore." Ricky paused, looking down as a wave of doubt washed over him.
Ricky wanted so badly to push Jake to get better, to make him snap out of it, but he knew deep down that it couldn't work like that and Jake had to want it for himself.
"But if you want to get your life back on track, if you want to stand up and try again, take this bean and come see me tomorrow morning." Ricky let out a small laugh, wiping his nose before looking towards the door.
"Because things are going to be different from now on, I promise." Ricky's voice was steady as he gave Jake those final words, then backed away, heading toward the door as Jake wiped his eyes, the weight of Ricky's words hanging in the air.
"Why did you come back, Slick?" Jake finally used the nickname as Ricky sighed, scratching his head.
"I just didn't want to run away anymore." Ricky admitted, his voice low as he turned to face the door.
"I hope I see you tomorrow."
Stepping onto the street, Ricky pulled out his flask and took a swig, the cool burn of the liquor briefly settling his nerves as he sat on the corner of the block, chuckling softly to himself.
Ricky's senses, honed through relentless training with Alexander and Rachael, were sharp, so sharp, in fact, that he could feel the slightest shift in the air, the faintest hitch in someone's breath nearby.
Anyone dumb enough not to conceal themselves was an open book to him.
It was why Ricky turned his gaze to the shadows, a flash of movement catching his eye.
A low, familiar chuckle echoed from the dark corner, and a figure slowly emerged. Ricky's lips curled into a wry smile.
"Slick." Joe then walked out, revealing himself before Ricky in all his past glory with a warm and inviting greeting.
"Bananas." Ricky grinned, knowing exactly how much Joe hated that nickname.
Joe's smile faltered, freezing on his face as his eyes immediately turned cold, a silent warning flickering in them.
"I see you grew some hair on your balls, good for you." Joe's warm tone vanished in an instant, his eyes conveying an intense tide of hate while his smile still remained.
"Well, your mother prefers them hairy," Ricky chuckled, watching as Joe tensed, visibly holding himself back from reaching for his gun.
"Let me guess, is this some warning?" Ricky asked as Joe pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.
But Joe didn't respond, instead taking a slow puff and sizing up Ricky, who stood there completely devoid of fear.
'This might be annoying,' Joe thought, irritated by how different Ricky was now compared to the last time they crossed paths. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
"Listen Slick, I know you're not one to drag things like this out, so I'll make this brief, leave." Joe looked at Ricky, pointing his cigarette at him since things were going as planned and him being here would only ruin it.
"You might've gotten a little stronger-"
"Sure, I'll leave." Ricky took a swig of his flask, interrupting Joe, who was taken aback as the words hung in the air for a moment as Ricky's nonchalance seemed to throw Joe off balance.
"What?"
"I am leaving, soon, heading down to Texas." Ricky confessed to Joe, who was surprised by the admission before his expression shifted to one of weariness.
"But you just got back, what's the rush?" Joe asked, unconvinced as he squinted his eyes since his words reeked of something he couldn't quite put a finger on.
"To say hello to my pops. I mean, no offense, but why would I want to come back to a place that doesn't want me?" Ricky laughed cynically, turning away as Joe frowned at the bitterness in his words.
"Nah, I'm going to carve out my own place. Probably LA," Ricky added, lying through his teeth as Joe stood there, contempt lining his face.
"But first I gotta go down and really make good on a promise I made a while back." Ricky pocketed the flask while standing up, walking right in front of Joe and gazing down at him.
"But let me make this clear, since I feel like you've got some idea about me, I'm not afraid of you, I mean how could I?" Ricky looked down at Joe, towering over him as Joe met his gaze.
"Look at you, I mean, you're as skinny as a f*cking plank of wood." Ricky slightly pushed Joe, smirking as he saw his face bubble with rage.
"And listen, just 'cause I'm leaving, doesn't mean I won't crack a few skulls while I'm still here, kapesh?" Ricky poked Joe lightly, who laughed, wiping the spot Ricky touched before turning his back.
"Then have fun."
Joe didn't believe Ricky for a second, but he couldn't say anything, not without risking further antagonizing him.
They both knew the situation wasn't as simple as it appeared, any action would only cause greater grief for both of them.
Ricky could easily murder Joe, leave him a pile of mush, make him disappear, but the sudden power vacuum that followed would trigger an all-out war in the underworld, and worse, draw the government's intervention.
Arriving at a payphone, Joe dialed for a while, his fingers moving quickly across the buttons. Ricky stood atop a nearby building, his eyes locked on Joe below.
From his vantage point, he could almost make out the words muttered from Joe's lips, but the wind and distance blurred them.
Still, the tension in the air was palpable, and Ricky couldn't help but wonder who Joe was calling, and why.
"He's back," Joe muttered into the payphone, his voice low and grim. There was no response from the other end, just a heavy silence.
After a beat, he slammed the receiver down and turned away, walking off without a glance back as the weight of his words lingered in the air, unanswered and unresolved.
Soon after, Ricky strolled over to the payphone, his fingers steady as he dialed the same numbers Joe had just used.
He waited in silence, the faint clicking of the line ringing in his ear until the phone finally picked up.
"Were my words three seconds ago not a clear indication to never use this line again." The voice gruffed out in an unpleasant tone as Ricky adjusted his throat.
"I forgot to mention one thing." Ricky said, his voice effortlessly mimicking Joe's through his voice manipulation ability, a skill he had perfected under the haul of innate skills gained from Agatha.
His tone was perfect as he spoke, the rhythm and cadence indistinguishable from Joe's.
"My guys have picked up on him about to create a stir in LA." Ricky leaned casually on the booth, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he spoke, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
He wondered who this mysterious man was, but kept the thought to himself, unwilling to give anything away that might blow his cover.
"And."
"And I'm not going to tell you another detail unless I'm given some assurance," Ricky added smoothly, his voice low and controlled.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, stretching out before the man finally responded.
"In matters relating to the Luciano family, their territories, and assets, I will relent to anything seized from them." The man on the other side offered, his tone reluctant but clear.
Ricky scoffed at the proposal, a small, dismissive chuckle escaping his lips as he had expected this, an offer of surrender that was probably already on the table.
"Listen, I am no fool, I know that the second I take out the Luciano family the others-"
"My assurance is that it will be yours. Now, tell me about Ricky Luciano's movements." The voice was firm, almost impatient and Ricky nodded as he leaned against the phone booth, a small smirk playing on his lips as he had to be careful not to reveal too much btu just enough to make it seem reasonable.
"The word is he wants to take over the underground in LA through boxing. Back then, he was looking for someone, but we exiled him before he could really get into it." Ricky paused, letting the words sink in, knowing full well that a half-truth would be enough to keep them satisfied for now.
"I'm told that he's looking for talent to streamline all his dirty money through the events, then use that to access Hollywood-"
"Criminals and mutants, that's all I asked for, not his hobbies." The man clarified, his voice tinged with irritation.
Ricky's smile widened, enjoying the subtle irritation he was causing as he could sense it in the man's tone, the growing frustration every time he spoke of him.
"Drugs, he's going to restart his drug smuggling but more aggressive."
"His mutant activities, tell me."
"Do I look like the type to hang around freaks? I don't have any information on them," Ricky played his part smoothly, his tone casual and dismissive.
The silence on the other end lingered, the tension thick as the man absorbed the words, his quiet presence felt even through the phone.
Click
The phone clicked dead as Ricky hung it up, the echo of the call fading into the still night.
With a wide grin stretching across his face, he stepped away from the booth, his footsteps echoing against the empty streets.
"I can already tell, this is gonna be fun."
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