Note: This takes place shortly after Lucky's "death."
Whispered words of days gone byAll those silent faces
They used to be alive and free
Now they but cold, gray stones With names upon them instead of faces. *Luke Spencer looked down at his son's grave. His Cowboy was dead. Trying to rid himself of the pain Luke took another swig of whiskey from the almost empty bottle.
A fire. Luke cursed under his breath remembering the sight of Lucky's body … charred, flaking skin, faceless. Luke knew the image would haunt him for the rest of his life. His son already haunted him. Strangely enough he enjoyed seeing his son in front of him, hearing his voice. Whether he was hallucinating or not Luke lived for the times when he would see his son.
Was it his lifestyle? Had he been so blind to the danger in which he put his family? Had he over estimated his ability to protect what he held most dear? Even the liquor could not fade these questions from his head. Luke desperately wanted to blame Sonny and Jason. But he knew the truth and it broke his heart. No matter what his son's death was his own fault. He had taught Lucky to trust them.
Of course there was the nagging doubt. Was it truly an accident? Doubt made it worse. Luke needed someone to blame, someone to hate and hold responsible – someone other then himself. Hell, if Laura had told him about Vlad Jr. sooner maybe none of this would have happened. Or maybe if she had chosen to come home sooner they could have avoided the mess after Lucky found Elizabeth in the park. Or maybe, Luke thought, he could have fought for his family rather than let them slip away.
Luke knew Laura's heart was broken too but he feared to face her ... to see the blame and pain in her eyes. Lucky had been a light in their life. He had made them stronger. He brought more joy and love into their lives than Luke had ever dreamed possible. His son had been magical.
Lucky was everything that Luke one day wanted to be. Strong, loyal, faithful, a good friend, understanding, kind, loving, protective of his family and friends, always willing to help and so much more. The saying 'the son being the father of the man' truly applied to his relationship with Lucky. Lucky had taught him; shaped him more then he had ever shaped his son.
Their bond had been so strong. Luke relished the look in his son's eyes – like he was a God.
"Why," Luke cried out, sinking to the damp ground. He dropped the whiskey bottle and flung his arms around the tombstone – all he had left of his Cowboy. "Lucky had so much to give … to do. He had so much love inside him and some one to love. He was the best of me. I should be the one gone. Lucky should be the one here, living." Sobbing, Luke clung to the cold, gray stone.
Sobs turned to whimpers and eventually the cemetery became quiet. "He should be more then this," Luke yelled angrily. "More then some mound of earth with a monument. He should have been more than a beloved son and brother! He should have been a husband and a father! He was so much! So much more than this gray monstrosity," Luke bellowed and pushed away from the tombstone.
Luke saw his bottle and grabbed it. "To the biggest mistake you made," he toasted himself and gulped down the last bit. Standing, he took one last look at Lucky's grave before he went in search for a new bottle.
* excerpt from Whispered Words, Marian E. Neilson 1996