The Mesmerizing Man

Chapter 4

Michael Carter quickly pondered the meaning behind John Miller's words. Was he trying to recruit him by bringing up David Harris, or was he just fishing for information?

Before Michael could respond, John continued, "Michael, why follow David when you could follow me? Look at you, with your delicate skin. It's not good for someone like you to be out there fighting and killing."

*So he really is trying to recruit me.* Michael scoffed internally, about to speak, when John suddenly lifted his leg and began rubbing it between Michael's legs, from his calf to his thigh.

"If you follow me, you won't have to endure such hardships. Don't waste your potential."

Just as John's chubby foot was about to reach an inappropriate area, Michael snapped back to reality. With all his might, he slapped the short leg away and quickly took a few steps back.

Caught off guard by the forceful slap, John lost his balance and slipped from the table he was leaning against. Luckily, one of his lackeys reacted quickly and caught him before he hit the ground.

"John, what, what's the meaning of this?" Michael's mind was in a frenzy, like a shaken bottle of sparkling water. He couldn't bring himself to even consider the implications of what had just happened.

*This bastard wouldn't have some kind of weird fetish, would he?*

The thought made Michael's skin crawl where John had touched him, as if hundreds of ants were crawling all over him. He felt sick to his stomach.

After being helped up, a flicker of anger crossed John's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. He patted down his clothes, walked up to Michael, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Michael, relax... This kind of thing, you don't understand?"

As John chuckled, his hand slid down from Michael's shoulder towards his chest.

*What the f**k?* Looking at the short, fat, greasy, bald man in front of him, Michael felt utterly disgusted. As he cursed internally, he instinctively grabbed John's groping hand and executed a swift over-the-shoulder throw.

A yelp followed by a heavy thud filled the room, leaving John's two lackeys stunned.

"Hey, what are you standing there for?" John groaned, twisting his head back with difficulty as he lay sprawled on the floor. "Get this little bastard!"

Before his words could land, Michael made the first move.

Ten minutes later, all the lackeys present, including the cleaners, were lying on the ground.

"You, stay away from me!" John cowered, his hands gripping the edge of the table, fear etched on his face.

Michael, his ponytail loose and eyes bloodshot, glared at John furiously. He raised his hand, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Michael Carter, stop!" David Harris's voice boomed from behind.

Michael froze, just as John raised a set of keys he had grabbed from the table.

David was horrified. "Cao Bichuan, you son of a b***h!"

---

Jack Thompson woke up with a stretch, feeling much more rested after a night with fewer nightmares. He glanced at the clock and realized it was already 11 am. *Time to get up and eat.*

As he walked to the kitchen to grab instant noodles, he couldn't help but think of Michael Carter, who had lit his cigarette in this very spot.

A blush crept onto his face as he bit his lower lip, contemplating how he could find the will to live.

He racked his brains, but nothing came to mind. He had no education, no work experience, and his introverted personality made even basic communication a challenge. If others didn't initiate contact, he might never take the first step.

*It seems like death is the only way out after all.* Jack lost his fleeting hope. He knew he was no different from a useless person. How could he have dared to rekindle his hope based on a tiny bit of warmth?

In the end, he didn't even have the capital for hope.

Everything remained the same. The only difference was that the constant clanging and banging from next door had ceased. Jack couldn't help but wonder if the man had been rummaging through his belongings, searching for a lighter...

As bizarre as the thought was, it stuck with Jack.

Two days later, his food supplies completely depleted, he was forced to leave his apartment again, his remaining $211 clutched in his hand.

Yes, he had decided to end his life and planned to use up the last of his money.

*Might as well have a good last meal.* There were plenty of restaurants on the commercial street outside his apartment complex.

Despite this thought, he found himself walking into the familiar small supermarket, the place that had offered him a sliver of warmth.

The owner recognized him and teased, "Here for instant noodles again?"

This time, Jack didn't lower his head. Though still shy, he figured that since he was going to die anyway, he should at least look at the people who had shown him kindness.

*Maybe I can pray for them in heaven.* He believed that someone like him, who had never done anything wrong, wouldn't go to hell.

He gave the owner a sheepish smile and walked straight towards the shelves.

Instant rice, potato chips, bear-shaped cookies... He grabbed one of everything he had ever wanted to try.

*Might as well enjoy a feast before I go.*

Seeing the mountain of snacks on the counter, the owner raised an eyebrow. "Eating this much junk food is worse than eating instant noodles," she chided, sounding like she was scolding a child.

Jack offered a small smile and mumbled, "I haven't had them in a long time."

The owner continued as she scanned the items, "Even so, you should only have them occasionally. You can't make a meal out of this." She looked up at Jack. "Look at you, so thin..."

For some reason, the owner's nagging didn't bother Jack. Instead, it brought a touch of warmth to his lonely heart.

*If Mom were still alive, this is what it would be like.*

Jack smiled faintly and placed all his money on the counter.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a small box on the counter, filled with lighters.

He remembered the man who had come to his door asking for a light.

His gaze lingered on the lighters for a moment before he finally reached out.

Just as his fingers touched a lighter, a hand shot out from behind him, gripping his hand briefly before snatching the lighter away.

Startled, Jack turned to see a pale neck marred by bruises, the protruding Adam's apple a dark shade of red.

He looked up to meet a sharp jawline and thin lips wrapped around a cigarette. He knew who it was.

The owner gasped. "Oh my god, kid, what happened to you?"

Jack flinched, finally noticing the gauze covering Michael Carter's face. The white fabric was stained with blood, completely obscuring his left cheek.

"Oh, I fell," Michael said casually. He glanced down at Jack and raised the lighter. "Thanks."

His long thumb flicked the wheel, producing a spark that ignited the cigarette, sending a bright red glow into the air.

The soft words and the faint scent of tobacco that wafted through the air brought a blush to Jack's face. He quickly turned away, lowering his head, feeling as if that small flame had ignited something within him.

The owner continued to fuss. "Don't lie to me. You young kids are always up to no good." She glanced at the computer screen and then at Jack. "That'll be $136.50. He can pay for the lighter himself."

"Ah, I didn't bring any money."

"Use Venmo."

"Don't have it."

"Always picking on the quiet ones. Let me tell you, don't you dare do anything illegal like robbery, or else..."

"Oh, come on, Nora Perry, it's just a lighter."

Jack, still flustered, quickly started counting out his money after hearing their conversation.

At that moment, the two thugs behind Michael grew impatient. They were already annoyed by the delay caused by Michael's conversation with the owner, and now they were even more irritated seeing Jack struggling to pay.

One of them slammed his items on the counter and yelled, "Are you gonna pay or not? What's taking so long? And what's with the cash?"

The outburst made Jack panic. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the bills. He regretted exchanging his larger bills for smaller denominations when he had paid his rent.

*I need to be quicker. I'm holding everyone up.*

"Take your time." Michael's hands reached out from behind and gently grasped Jack's trembling fingers. He leaned down, resting his head on Jack's shoulder. "You have so much money..."

Perhaps because of the cigarette dangling from his lips, Michael's words were a little muffled. However, his hands deftly organized the bills and handed them to the owner. He then freed one hand to take a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke directly into the face of the thug who had yelled.

"What the..." The thug coughed, waving his hand to disperse the smoke. He stopped abruptly when he got a clear look at Michael's face.

Michael's expression was serious, his upturned eyes shooting a menacing glare. Coupled with the blood-stained gauze on his face, he looked every bit the part of a dangerous man.

The owner, not wanting to cause any trouble, quickly bagged Jack's groceries and handed them over. "Alright, alright, here you go. Let's not cause any trouble." Her words were directed at Jack, but her eyes remained fixed on Michael. "The lighter's on the house. Just go."

Michael, taking the bag from Jack, instantly switched back to his previous demeanor. He flashed a playful grin at the owner. "Another free lighter. Thanks, Nora Perry."

And with that, Michael, cigarette still dangling from his lips, slung the bag of groceries over one shoulder, hooked his other arm around Jack's neck, and led him out of the supermarket.

Jack was in a daze. Michael's appearance had been unexpected enough, but the encounter with the other customer had been utterly nerve-wracking.

When his father was alive, he never had to say a word even when they went out together. Now, having to do everything himself was already hard enough, and communicating with others was terrifying.

It wasn't until they were out of the supermarket that Jack came back to his senses. He hurriedly reached for the plastic bag in Michael's hand, stammering apologies. "Thank you... Thank you... I can carry it myself."

Michael pulled the bag behind his back and asked out of the blue, "Have you eaten?"

Jack froze, tilting his head in confusion. He shook his head instinctively.

The next thing he knew, Michael had grabbed his arm and was dragging him towards a nearby stir-fry restaurant.

The restaurant owner seemed to be well-acquainted with Michael. He asked with concern about Michael's injury, then without even asking for their order, shouted to the kitchen, "One meat, one veggie, the usual."

Jack, still in a state of panic, sat restlessly, staring at the tabletop, too afraid to look up.

Michael stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, then picked up the steaming cup of tea on the table and emptied it into the trash bin under the table. He then grabbed the cola Jack had bought, twisted off the cap, and poured him a glass.

Because of the gauze on his face, Michael couldn't open his mouth fully, and the movement pulled at his wound. He sipped his cola slowly, his eyes scanning Jack.

*He was smiling when he was talking to the owner at the supermarket. Why is he back to hiding in his shell now?*

Michael extended his right hand towards Jack, tapping his index and middle fingers on the table. "Hey, head's up."

Jack lifted his head slightly, peering at Michael like a cautious kitten.

Michael reached into the hood of his sweatshirt, pulled out a small plastic bag, and tossed it in front of Jack. "Help me change my dressing."

"Huh?" Jack blinked his innocent eyes, clearly confused by the sudden request.

Michael frowned, narrowing his left eye as he turned his bandaged cheek towards Jack. "What? You don't want to help?"

"No, no, it's not that..." Jack finally snapped out of his daze. Blushing furiously, he quickly opened the bag and began rummaging through its contents.

Gauze, antiseptic, cotton swabs... It seemed like everything was there. The problem was, Jack had never changed anyone's dressing before. He stared at the bottle of antiseptic, unsure of what to do.

Fortunately, Michael was observant. He tapped the table again. "Forget it, put it away. I'll do it when we get home."

Relieved, Jack quickly put everything back into the bag. But then he froze again.

*Do it when we get home? Whose home?*