DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are the property of Paramount, all others are the product of my sleep-deprived, physics-homework-avoiding brain.
Demons in the Waters
At night, when the ship is quiet and everyone is asleep, I imagine that I can still hear her cries. Never mind that she is light-years away or that sound doesn't travel in space. When I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep, I can still hear her.
'Charlie...Charlie...' The very hull of the ship seems to echo her voice. 'Charlie...Charlie...'
It's those nights when every bolt of the ship whispers her plea that I spend wide-awake, begging my tired body to fall asleep but unable to relinquish my hold on consciousness, unwilling to shut out her voice.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
So instead I lie awake, staring into the endless black of the night, thinking about her. How could I not? How could I ever forget her? The truth is that I never do, she's always hovering on the outside of my thoughts even though I do my best to push her out of my head. But when I hear her voice in the walls, all of my memories of her coming rushing back.
I am twenty-four years old again, living in that tiny cubicle just a few blocks from Starfleet Headquarters. Fresh out of college and training to be a Starfleet officer, but I have plenty of baggage along for the ride. I feel as though I am surrounded by a thick fog that obscures everything in my path. The life has been drained out of me bit by bit, so slowly that I didn't even notice it was happening until it was already gone. Oh, I might smile and put on a good show, good ol' Trip Tucker, always laughing and ready for a good time...but underneath all that I'm Charlie, the kid who hasn't had a good night's sleep in years, who walks around with the world on his shoulders.
Looking back, I don't know how I did it. I still can't believe that I managed to get out of bed every morning, let alone work, study, and take care of everything. Those days are a blur to me, one great big headache. I lived in a daze and had been since...God, since I was about eighteen. I had to drink at least four cups of coffee every day just to stay conscious, more if there was something big going on. And I worked and studied so hard that I felt myself being pulled into a million directions at once, until more than once I found myself staring at a bottle of aspirin and wondering what was to stop me from swallowing the whole damn thing.
Of course there was a reason: Taylor. I couldn't bring myself to do that to her. She needed me, far more than any normal eighteen-year-old should need her big brother, but there it was. I laugh to myself. Normal. Mom leaves when our family's fortune disappears under our feet, Dad shoots himself, Will runs away to Scotland leaving me to take care of our schizophrenic sister Taylor, and I still try to pretend that we are a normal family.
I'm 34 years old and I still want a normal family. Oh, we can pretend with Will and his wife and kids, but there's still Taylor, locked away in a nut house in San Francisco. Putting her there was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I'd been fighting her doctors for years, arguing that I could take care of her myself. Ha. All that I managed to do was practically kill both of us. There was never enough money so we were always either cold or hungry or both. Even worse, though, was having to watch her every second. She tried to kill herself twice, although she would have done it more times if I hadn't been there to wrestle the pills or knife out of her hands. Other times she chased me with the knife, screaming that we were all against her, that she was going to get us all...
I wonder if I will ever get all this out of me. When I look in the mirror, I still see the tired face I woke up to every morning when I had to watch Taylor. Sometimes I would stay up all night, watching her sleep, afraid that if I closed my eyes for just a second everything would be over. I honestly thought that if I tried just a little harder, worked a little harder, then we'd be a family again. I honestly thought she'd get better, but you have to want to be cured for that to happen. Taylor liked being crazy. She begged me not to make her take her meds, and at first I let her. Later though I wised up and started forcing her to swallow them no matter how hard she screamed and fought. I still have the mark from where she sliced open my arm one night. It was her sixteenth birthday, and I'd gotten her a cake and a present. Not much, but it was all I could afford, and to do just that much I had to eat nothing but peanut butter for a month. And instead she spent the night tied up in the psych ward of the hospital. Happy Birthday, Taylor.
I can't really blame Will for leaving. He was scared, or maybe he was just smarter than I was and knew better than to try to take care of Taylor. He sent money once he got settled, but it was always me and Taylor. Even when we were kids, back when the Tucker family was proud and wealthy, it was always Charlie and Taylor, Taylor and Charlie. Back then we didn't know what was wrong with her, just that she was a little strange, but even then I watched out for her. I guess that's why I stuck with her through it all--I just couldn't bear to leave her alone. Even at the end Will had to argue and yell and finally beg me to give up and put her away. "You can't keep doing this, Charlie," he told me, and I knew he was right, hell I'd always known he was right. But it was still hard to admit it, hard to watch the pain in her eyes when we took her there. She was never the same afterwards, her moods came more often and she seemed so listless and unhappy. I visited her at least once a week, but she was always so sad to see me go.
"Charlie..." she'd cry over and over again, those desperate cries that would wake me in the middle of the night, "Charlie...Charlie..." Even now when I sleep I half expect to hear her crying for me.
I've been thinking about her a lot lately. Will promised to check on her, but knowing him he hasn't seen her since I left. And knowing she's there alone...it's enough to wipe away every trace of sleep. God, I just can't escape her, she's got this hold on me, she just keeps dragging me back with her pitiful cries.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
I close my eyes and try desperately to think of something else, anything else.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
I want to scream and throw something. I want to grab a knife and watch my blood dye the sheets red and drip onto the floor. I want to do anything that will get her voice out of my head.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
Is this what it is to be crazy? To hear these voices all the time, to feel that gnawing pain and feel like your going to explode? Just the thought that I might be like her sends a chill up my spine.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
No, I won't surrender to the voices. I can keep this all inside. I've been doing it since I was a kid, ever since I saw my father lying on the floor of his study with his head blown to pieces. There are some things that stay in the family. Even Will knows that. He and I keep our secrets: Mom's leaving, Dad's death, Taylor's insanity. There are some things you don't let the world see no matter how painful it is to keep them inside. So I cover it all up, I flash a grin and let the world see my cheery facade so that they won't even suspect that there are demons in those waters, lying just beneath the surface, waiting to hunt for my soul at night.
Demons in the Waters
At night, when the ship is quiet and everyone is asleep, I imagine that I can still hear her cries. Never mind that she is light-years away or that sound doesn't travel in space. When I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep, I can still hear her.
'Charlie...Charlie...' The very hull of the ship seems to echo her voice. 'Charlie...Charlie...'
It's those nights when every bolt of the ship whispers her plea that I spend wide-awake, begging my tired body to fall asleep but unable to relinquish my hold on consciousness, unwilling to shut out her voice.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
So instead I lie awake, staring into the endless black of the night, thinking about her. How could I not? How could I ever forget her? The truth is that I never do, she's always hovering on the outside of my thoughts even though I do my best to push her out of my head. But when I hear her voice in the walls, all of my memories of her coming rushing back.
I am twenty-four years old again, living in that tiny cubicle just a few blocks from Starfleet Headquarters. Fresh out of college and training to be a Starfleet officer, but I have plenty of baggage along for the ride. I feel as though I am surrounded by a thick fog that obscures everything in my path. The life has been drained out of me bit by bit, so slowly that I didn't even notice it was happening until it was already gone. Oh, I might smile and put on a good show, good ol' Trip Tucker, always laughing and ready for a good time...but underneath all that I'm Charlie, the kid who hasn't had a good night's sleep in years, who walks around with the world on his shoulders.
Looking back, I don't know how I did it. I still can't believe that I managed to get out of bed every morning, let alone work, study, and take care of everything. Those days are a blur to me, one great big headache. I lived in a daze and had been since...God, since I was about eighteen. I had to drink at least four cups of coffee every day just to stay conscious, more if there was something big going on. And I worked and studied so hard that I felt myself being pulled into a million directions at once, until more than once I found myself staring at a bottle of aspirin and wondering what was to stop me from swallowing the whole damn thing.
Of course there was a reason: Taylor. I couldn't bring myself to do that to her. She needed me, far more than any normal eighteen-year-old should need her big brother, but there it was. I laugh to myself. Normal. Mom leaves when our family's fortune disappears under our feet, Dad shoots himself, Will runs away to Scotland leaving me to take care of our schizophrenic sister Taylor, and I still try to pretend that we are a normal family.
I'm 34 years old and I still want a normal family. Oh, we can pretend with Will and his wife and kids, but there's still Taylor, locked away in a nut house in San Francisco. Putting her there was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I'd been fighting her doctors for years, arguing that I could take care of her myself. Ha. All that I managed to do was practically kill both of us. There was never enough money so we were always either cold or hungry or both. Even worse, though, was having to watch her every second. She tried to kill herself twice, although she would have done it more times if I hadn't been there to wrestle the pills or knife out of her hands. Other times she chased me with the knife, screaming that we were all against her, that she was going to get us all...
I wonder if I will ever get all this out of me. When I look in the mirror, I still see the tired face I woke up to every morning when I had to watch Taylor. Sometimes I would stay up all night, watching her sleep, afraid that if I closed my eyes for just a second everything would be over. I honestly thought that if I tried just a little harder, worked a little harder, then we'd be a family again. I honestly thought she'd get better, but you have to want to be cured for that to happen. Taylor liked being crazy. She begged me not to make her take her meds, and at first I let her. Later though I wised up and started forcing her to swallow them no matter how hard she screamed and fought. I still have the mark from where she sliced open my arm one night. It was her sixteenth birthday, and I'd gotten her a cake and a present. Not much, but it was all I could afford, and to do just that much I had to eat nothing but peanut butter for a month. And instead she spent the night tied up in the psych ward of the hospital. Happy Birthday, Taylor.
I can't really blame Will for leaving. He was scared, or maybe he was just smarter than I was and knew better than to try to take care of Taylor. He sent money once he got settled, but it was always me and Taylor. Even when we were kids, back when the Tucker family was proud and wealthy, it was always Charlie and Taylor, Taylor and Charlie. Back then we didn't know what was wrong with her, just that she was a little strange, but even then I watched out for her. I guess that's why I stuck with her through it all--I just couldn't bear to leave her alone. Even at the end Will had to argue and yell and finally beg me to give up and put her away. "You can't keep doing this, Charlie," he told me, and I knew he was right, hell I'd always known he was right. But it was still hard to admit it, hard to watch the pain in her eyes when we took her there. She was never the same afterwards, her moods came more often and she seemed so listless and unhappy. I visited her at least once a week, but she was always so sad to see me go.
"Charlie..." she'd cry over and over again, those desperate cries that would wake me in the middle of the night, "Charlie...Charlie..." Even now when I sleep I half expect to hear her crying for me.
I've been thinking about her a lot lately. Will promised to check on her, but knowing him he hasn't seen her since I left. And knowing she's there alone...it's enough to wipe away every trace of sleep. God, I just can't escape her, she's got this hold on me, she just keeps dragging me back with her pitiful cries.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
I close my eyes and try desperately to think of something else, anything else.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
I want to scream and throw something. I want to grab a knife and watch my blood dye the sheets red and drip onto the floor. I want to do anything that will get her voice out of my head.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
Is this what it is to be crazy? To hear these voices all the time, to feel that gnawing pain and feel like your going to explode? Just the thought that I might be like her sends a chill up my spine.
'Charlie...Charlie...'
No, I won't surrender to the voices. I can keep this all inside. I've been doing it since I was a kid, ever since I saw my father lying on the floor of his study with his head blown to pieces. There are some things that stay in the family. Even Will knows that. He and I keep our secrets: Mom's leaving, Dad's death, Taylor's insanity. There are some things you don't let the world see no matter how painful it is to keep them inside. So I cover it all up, I flash a grin and let the world see my cheery facade so that they won't even suspect that there are demons in those waters, lying just beneath the surface, waiting to hunt for my soul at night.