Title:Connections
Author:Laurel
Universe:ATF
Character Focus:All
Language:A little cussing
Summary:It's October (almost, it's for our Spooky Theme, fly away any thoughts of reality (well, some can remain), suspend your disbelief and remember, our boys are connected.
Remember, I own nothing, my cat and my dog have officially taken over ownership of me.
Connections
Chapter 1:
The sun was just beginning to rise over Purgatorio as Vin ran through the streets. Purgatorio, known for its late nights and later mornings was quiet as the dawn sky slowly lightened to day. Judging by the color of the clouds and the subtle pinkish gray hues there was a storm coming. Fall brought an abundance of change in the weather; cool autumn nights gave way to dry hot days, hint of frost tinged the nearby mountains while the valleys filled with fog from the overnight dew.
No matter the temperature, dew point or barometric pressure Vin loved to run in the early morning hours. The streets were quiet, too early for the kids to yet be out, especially since it was Saturday and they didn't have to catch school buses. Most of the people that enjoyed, or at least specialized prowling the streets at night were already back in their homes or places of business or wherever and for just this short period of time, Vin had the streets seemingly all to himself.
This was an unusual weekend for Vin, normally he would head out to Chris' ranch to do some work at the ranch, ride Peso and enjoy the tranquility of the quiet Colorado mountain air. This weekend, however, he planned to stay in Purgatorio. His jeep was long overdue for an oil change, new plugs and the tires needed to be rotated and his motorcycle similarly was in need of a tune up. Vin intended to complete both those tasks this weekend and had already picked up the necessary items to complete them.
Chris had reminded him as they parted company on Friday, if he needed any help, to give him a holler or, if he got done early and felt like hanging out at the ranch, to come on up, no need to call ahead.
Vin had thanked him and told him one never knew what would happen and that, if he didn't see him over the weekend, then he would see him bright and early on Monday.
As Vin ran on through the empty streets he reveled in the feeling of being free and strong. He liked the feeling of his heart beating, his feet smacking the pavement in a tireless rhythm, his lungs expanding with each breath he took. As often happened, the route he had intended to take had lengthened as he got warmed up and despite the gusty wind that was beginning to pick up and bring with it the promise of rain, he continued on his run.
He crossed the street and started up the hill that went past the old cemetery and the church that was boarded up from a fire last year. When he reached the top of the hill he turned right and continued down a couple of side streets, few of the buildings in this section of Purgatorio were occupied. Some of the buildings were condemned, some stood empty and some had inhabitants but they were further up. Most of these buildings wouldn't shelter anyone unless the weather drove them to it and since the temperatures hadn't dipped below 40 degrees yet, no one was seeking shelter in these buildings, come mid-winter; it would be a different story.
A sound reached Vin's ears. He slowed his pace and then stopped, cocking his head to catch the sound. There. He turned his head again to catch – There. What was that? His mind rapidly ran through a recognition program of sorts that all human brains seem to possess trying to match up the sound he heard with its source. Come on, he thought, just once more and –
Gotcha. It was the cry of a child.
Vin stood stock still as he realized what was making the sound, now he needed to pinpoint the source. Stepping up to the front of the rambling old house Vin cautiously tested the steps that lead to the porch, finding them secure he carefully peered into the windows, most of which have been cracked or completely shattered. For several long minutes he peered into the dim rooms from the porch but saw and heard nothing.
Feeling a gust of wind rustle through his hair he begins to think that perhaps he just imagined it and turns to leave, no sooner does he turn away and step one foot off the porch when the plaintive cry reaches his ear.
"Mama."
Whirling around Vin strides confidently to the door and tries the doorknob, it turns easily in his grasp, and he stands back as the door opens inward creaking and moaning on hinges long unused to movement. Stepping inside the house he waits a moment for his eyes to adjust then he steps into the front room and carefully scans the interior. There isn't much to take in, some blankets, threadbare and well worn from rats or moths lie in a pile in a corner, a couple of milk crates are scattered carelessly, waiting for the colder nights when they will become chairs for those seeking shelter. A pile of newspapers, a few pizza boxes and dozens of bottles lay strewn on the floor, likely evidence of the downtrodden that would have passed this way last winter.
Continuing his search of the interior Vin found himself in what was left of the kitchen, someone had lifted out the kitchen sink, there was a space where a stove and a refrigerator had once resided but neither were there, the counters were heavily coated with droppings of mice and worse, cupboard doors were open or missing, the pantry door was gone and the door leading to the basement hung crookedly on its hinges.
Vin stepped closer to the basement and felt an icy draft sweep through him. Shivering he peered down into the depth and realized that there was some sliver of light down below, probably from half windows sitting at ground level. Turning away from the basement he sought to continue his search of the first floor when the breathy whisper of a child's sob reached his ears again. Damn. The child would have to be down in the basement, he thought.
Vin didn't like closed spaces, everyone who truly knew him knew that about him. Still, Vin being Vin just couldn't allow a little claustrophobia keep him from helping a soul in need, especially a child. Straightening his shoulders he stepped back to the top of the stairs, grabbed the railing that was amazingly sturdy, and stepped on the first step, gingerly.
Solid.
Breathing out fully, relieved that the step had held him he placed another foot on a step and then another slowly working his way down the staircase all the time gently and encouragingly calling out to the child that everything would be okay. He was here to help.
Halfway down the steps a violent shove between Vin's shoulder blades sent him tumbling down the remainder of the steps where he crashed into the wooden railing at the small landing near the bottom, the landing was a stop and turn point for a 90 degree turn and then the final descent down three more steps to the basement floor. Vin, however, careened right through the small landing, crashed through the wooden railing and sprawled silently on the concrete floor, head connecting soundly with the floor while his body lay twisted and crumpled on top of the pieces of wood.
7C 7C 7C 7C 7C 7C 7C
Pain.
Sharp pain ripped through Chris' shoulder mid-swing. Nearly dropping the ax he stopped and set the ax on the ground and breathed deeply while rubbing his shoulder trying to ease the pain.
I'm getting old. Pain gone Chris went back to splitting wood. The sun was just up, he had a steaming thermal mug of coffee off to the side, horses were out frisking around in the soft morning air, the barn chores were complete and Chris was working up a pretty big breakfast appetite as he worked on the pile of wood he intended to split and store away for the winter.
He wasn't sure what had gotten him up so early this morning whether it was the crisp autumn air or the promise of showers and gusting winds the weather forecasters were predicting for the afternoon, either way, he was well on his way to completing his list of outdoor chores for the day and would be able to safely work on the indoor ones once the inclement weather hit.
He worked steadily on the pile of wood, splitting logs and tossing them just inside the shed for ease of stacking later. This wood was well dried and aged from some felled timber from storms the prior year, he and Vin had hauled it in from the woods of Chris' property and used chainsaws to cut it into manageable sizes to speed the aging and drying time and left it in the pile waiting for an ax.
With Vin in Purgatorio working on his jeep and motorcycle, Chris decided this was as good a time as any to split and store as much of it as possible. Truth be told, it was a great cardiovascular workout and he knew he wouldn't need to run at least this day. Another hour passed and Chris finished up the pile and then began the process of stacking the wood. After another hour or so he completed that and was completely soaked with sweat not to mention famished.
Heading into the house he stripped down, stepped into the steaming shower and enjoyed scrubbing his lean and well muscled frame clean. Remembering the pain in his shoulder from earlier he stayed under the steaming spray, switched the shower head to pulsing massage, he'd never let Buck know about this little luxury, and stood still letting the pounding spray massage the sinewy muscles that rippled across his back and shoulders and down his arms.
Feeling not only clean but refreshed and relieved of any aches and pains Chris turned off the water, toweled his hair and body dry, wrapped the towel around his lean waist and hips and prowled into his bedroom where he pulled on a clean navy blue t-shirt, hah, Vin, my entire wardrobe is not black, he thought, pulled on his underwear and a clean pair of black jeans, thick black cotton socks covered his feet and a black and navy blue checked long-sleeve Henley completed his outfit.
Twenty minutes later he was cleaning up from a ham and egg omelet, bacon, toasted English muffin and orange juice, wiping the last part of the counter clean and leaving the dishes to air dry in the rack he pulled on his work boots and headed out to the barn to stack some hay. Halfway across the yard he noticed that Pony was shaking his head and nickering worriedly. Changing direction in mid-stride Chris headed to the large paddock where the two horses had been contentedly grazing since before 6:00 a.m. that morning.
As he got closer he noticed the broken fence board, beyond was Peso, standing to the side nickering repeatedly. Pony kept circling around him nuzzling his shoulder and then bending his neck to sniff at Peso's rear leg. Chris slowly opened the gate talking quietly to the two geldings who watched him approach. What Chris thought was unusual was that Peso stood still and allowed him to come all the way up to him, usually the spirited animal would kick up his heels and gallop away only to circle back around once Chris had taken Pony into the barn.
Chris gently took Pony's halter and eased him away from Peso and then took a good look at Peso's right hindquarter. Well, Chris thought, that answers the question as to who had kicked through the fence board, Peso had a four inch long but thankfully only about an 1/8th of an inch thick sliver of wood stuck in his stifle.
Taking Pony by the halter he led him to the gate and, no surprise, Peso followed slowly. At the gate he grabbed the lead ropes and attached one first to Pony and then reached back to Peso who stood quietly as if waiting to be cared for. Opening the gate he led the two horses into the barn, putting Peso on cross ties and Pony in his stall, Chris went to the tack room and grabbed the first aid supplies and got ready to extract the piece of wood from the gelding's leg.
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Awareness flooded back suddenly and rudely to Vin. One moment he was floating painlessly, blissfully unaware of anything, the next moment he was assaulted with pain that mercilessly pounded his head. Each beat of his heart was like an assault upon his body; his left shoulder felt like someone had stuck an ice pick in it and then his leg chimed in.
He had enough to deal with with the crushing pain in his head and the black spots that swam in his vision and the pain in his shoulder that throbbed with every breath he took, but, when he tried to untangle his limbs one of which was still resting – if that's what it could be called – on the landing above him the other was bent at the knee at least on the same level as the rest of him, that's when a fresh agony ripped through his body.
Squeezing his eyes shut and breathing slowly through the agony he managed to regroup enough to move his right arm enough until he was able to feel down his leg.
There.
The moment his hand lightly brushed the chunk of wood impaled in his leg a shudder ran through his body and Vin knew he was going to be sick. Jerking upright and twisting to the left Vin threw up, there wasn't much to come up as Vin liked to run before breakfast but there was a little water and then he was wracked with some dry heaves for several minutes until they stopped.
He fell back, this time all of him landing in a crumpled heap on the cold, damp concrete floor. He lay back with a groan barely able to process all the signals his body was sending him, the fiery lance in his leg competed with the thundering drumbeat in his head which in turn competed with the stabbing motion in his left shoulder. Damn, he thought, broken collarbone.
//Worthless little runt, nothing but a mamma's boy! Took a little fall and you can't do nothing but lie there and moan. You'll never amount to anything.//
Vin blinked his eyes rapidly trying to clear the dark spots that danced in and out of his vision. That voice. He knew that voice. Hadn't heard it in many a year, didn't want to ever hear it again. Looking straight up the stairwell he saw the silhouette of a man, a man ;he knew from long ago, a man he had been told was dead, gone forever.
Vin's last thought as the darkness closed in around his vision and slipped back into the blissful void was that his father had pushed him down the stairs.
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Josiah stood and looked through the window at the boy sitting by himself watching the other children sitting in a circle listening to the story being read. Father Spence tapped him on the shoulder to attract his attention.
"Did you hear what I said, Josiah?"
"I'm sorry, Father, what?"
"I said that's Tommy, he was brought here with his mother after she told the hospital staff that his father pushed him down the stairs. Poor boy was kept in the hospital for over a week with a concussion. Fortunately, at only seven years of age, somehow he didn't sustain any broken bones, but that poor boy has certainly got a broken heart, and a lot of broken trust."
Josiah studied the boy without pity, without anger, no; anger would be for the father who did that, pity, well pity was something Josiah had learned didn't do much good. Instead, as he studied the boy he was struck by the resemblance; the similarity. Lord, give me strength, Josiah thought, as this boy looks like Vin at about that age.
Josiah had once seen a picture in Vin's apartment of him and his mother, the boy in the photo was barely five but the huge blue eyes in that photograph were the same ones he saw through the glass in the room in front of him.
Despite all his years in law enforcement and volunteering at shelters he still felt his heart tear a bit whenever an innocent came across his path that had been wounded. Leaving Father Spence Josiah slowly opened the door into the room where all the other children were gathered in a circle listening to a story and, with a gentleness that belied his size he slowly approached the young boy and then folded himself until he sat on the floor, close enough that the boy could hear him, yet far enough away that he could not touch the boy.
Softly he began to speak and without looking straight at the boy, rather choosing to let his peripheral vision guide him, he noticed the boy change from watching him with fear, to watching him with wariness to finally watching him with curiosity. The morning story time flew by and Josiah never moved, never noted the hardness of the floor or the ache in his back from sitting in such an uncomfortable position, rather he only noticed that as the time went on the little boy slowly moved closer and closer to him until finally he sat with his shoulder lightly touching Josiah's.
It was moments like these that Josiah understood why he came to the shelter and reached out to the battered and abused; trust, if he could give them back some trust that had been cruelly ripped away, then he would have the strength to come back another day.
TBC…