Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: I loved the character of Taber. He left an impression on me. So he basically was the driving force behind this; my first piece of fanfiction for 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'. Please enjoy.
Waiting for Mack
Anger. Tension. Betrayal. Loneliness. Frustration. Anger. Tension. Betrayal…
The endless cycle wound its' way on its' own morbid parade through Taber's head, his expression never changing though his psyche was in turmoil. No, he couldn't let them see his weakness, couldn't let them see how he wanted to collapse, or bust out screaming, or just plain fall on his knees and cry. Had to stay tough. Had to keep his chin up and his jaw clenched.
Damn it all if it wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done.
Why couldn't he just break down like the others? Why couldn't he cry himself to sleep at night like Cheswick? Why couldn't he scream and punch the walls like Martini? Why did Taber always have to be the tough guy? Even Harding gave touching speeches with his voice cracking and his lower lip trembling. But not Taber. No, he was the one that was expected to be heartless and cold, aloof and beyond sorrow.
It had happened once. Only once. Only once had he shown them that he was actually a human being, that he had a heart, that he was just as vulnerable as the rest of them.
It had been a grand day. And in the mightiest of victories, Randle P. McMurphy had actually taken that bitch Ratched and tried to throttle the life out of her. It had been powerful and moving. It had been a triumph of epic proportions. And even as they had dragged Randle's lifeless body away down the halls, even as they had tenderly carried the wicked witch away for medical attention, even as the ward had become suddenly empty of aides save for Miss Pilbow, Taber had been curious.
What was in the office?
Something big was in there. Something huge and shattering. It had driven Ratched to near panic, it had driven Randle to madness and violence. But what? The damn crowd had him pushed against the wall; he hadn't seen in there. So now with the ward all empty and the patients' standing around like dead things, he wandered to the door and twisted the knob open.
His mouth hung open in soundless terror. His eye twitched.
"Oh God, no… no… oh God, no… no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…"
His voice rose into a siren, a screeching wail as he threw himself down on the floor next to the lifeless body of Billy, dear little innocent Billy... Blood was everywhere… broken glass…
"NO! NO! NO!"
He was screaming now, scooping Billy into his arms and shaking him desperately. This was a mistake. This wasn't supposed to happen. Oh, Billy boy, don't just lie there… if you just lie there, then it means you're dead… open your eyes and look at me, Billy…
But Billy was already going cold.
So he buried his face against the bloodied neck, rubbed his face in the curly hair, still howling his denial and now sobbing in hiccupping gulps of tears.
"Taber…"
Cheswick's voice, strangled by weeping, reached his ears.
"Ya gotta leave him, Taber… ya just gotta. He's gone, Taber, come with me now. He's gone…"
A feeble hand tugged at his shoulder, and he flinched away, still cradling Billy in his arms and still crying like a baby. Cheswick was crying again too; he could hear the tears in his voice.
"Please Taber… you're only making it worse… Please. Please. Please come with me, Taber. Please. Come with me. We need you now. I need you, Taber. Come with me."
And so Taber had allowed himself to be led from the room, the blood fresh on those damn hospital clothes and the anguish still fresh in his mind. But he had scrubbed at his eyes and squared his shoulders, walking out among the patients' and listening to their tears.
It was Martini who had thrown his arms around his waist and sobbed into his shirt.
"What we gonna do now, Taber?"
What are we going to do now?
That had been God knows how long ago. Now Taber slumped at the card table, his eyes burning a hole into the ceiling and his ears hearing nothing. He pretended he was in their world; he flicked a cigarette out for betting and accepted cards silently. Had to make them think he was okay. Couldn't let them see that he was dying inside.
And where was Mack?
His gaze wandered around the ceiling, remembering, reaching out, sucking in the tears that threatened constantly to slip out of his eyes. Mack, where are you? Did you leave without Taber? Will you remember me?
"McMurphy is out!"
He drifted obediently back to the world, his weary gaze settling on the bubbling Sefelt who had settled into a seat.
"McMurphy has escaped! They were taking him through the tunnel and he knocked out two guards and escaped!"
"McMurphy's upstairs." Harding said authoritatively.
"McMurphy has escaped!" Sefelt argued stubbornly.
"I'm telling you," Harding took on the tone of speaking to a small child. "McMurphy's upstairs and as meek as a lamb."
"Really?" Cheswick whimpered. And then, stronger, "I mean, how do you know?"
A hesitant moment.
"Jack Dumfey told me."
Time to strike out. Time to stamp out the opposition.
"Jack Dumfey's full of shit."
"Right!" Sefelt agreed eagerly.
And they all turned their hopeful eyes to Taber and nodded enthusiastically. Yes, they just needed his word and they would believe it. They would believe anything he said. Anything at all. He forced a smirk on his face and looked pointedly at Harding. His look spoke louder than any words he might have said.
'You say anything like that again and I'll tear you apart.'
Harding retreated into his shell for a moment, looked on the verge of choking out a retort, and then thought better of it. He returned to the game, doing his best to mimic McMurphy's inimitable banter, even daring to use the nicknames…
"And there's a four for Tabes…"
Tabes…
He'd never had a nickname before. He had even hardly had a first name that he was aware of. Always Taber, just Taber, no more and no less. Then Mack came… Mack who came and dubbed him Tabes, or Tabelation… something new and different and intimate. Something that said 'I'm your friend, and I'm going to talk to you as a friend'. And only Mack had done that.
"What'll it be Tabes, ya hit or ya sit?"
"Stop calling me that."
It came out as more of a snarl than he'd intended.
"Calling you what?"
Sure, Harding, play the innocent.
"You know damn well what, you fuckin' son of a bitch. Don't you dare call me that again or I'll wring your fuckin' scrawny little neck."
That got him. Harding stared at him with goggled eyes, one hand subconsciously massaging his prissy white throat. The other patients were not amused.
"Taber…" Cheswick's voice was strained. "Calm down. Please don't fight. Please."
Sure. Don't fight. Not when everyone's watching, Taber. Don't let us down, Taber. Please, Taber. We're all looking at you, Taber. Don't mess up, Taber.
"Ah, shit…" he muttered.
He slapped the table irritably, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm as he wished desperately for a cigarette. But he didn't have one. So he just drummed and tapped and drummed, twitching his head slightly and muttering,
"Hit me."
It was then that his eyes glanced up and spotted someone in the corner. Someone thin and fragile, with a mop of curly hair at the front of his head and a silver necklace flashing at his throat.
"HOLY FUCKIN' SHIT!"
Taber screamed and jumped to his feet, catching his knees on the table and flipping it violently over. Cards flew everywhere and whizzed around the room. Martini squeaked and fell off the back of his chair. Cheswick shrieked and threw up his hands. Harding got the table right in his lap, and he tipped right over backwards on his ass.
And still Taber staggered for his balance, clawing at his eyes as though they were deceiving him. He zeroed his gaze in on that corner.
There was no one there.
"What the fuck's the matter with you?" Harding yowled from the floor.
Taber stood silent and trembling, eyes locked onto nothing.
Cheswick was helping the confused Martini up off the floor, and the two of them lifted the table off of Harding's chest. The angry man jumped to his feet.
"You know, Taber," he ground out, jabbing his opponent in the chest with an accusing finger. "Just because you have no better way of expressing your emotions than acting in a violent and aggressive nature doesn't mean you're allowed to take it out on the rest of us. Maybe you should go sit down until you're sufficiently calm to rejoin our game."
Taber hadn't noticed a thing. Even as they huddled into a new game behind him, even as Harding mumbled darkly about his dangerous psychotic tendencies, Taber could only stare.
He had seen something. He knew.
~
It was late at night when the demons came. The demons were memories, and they bore evil tidings of a past he longed to forget. He had been fighting these demons for years now, every time the sun went down and locked him into bed all alone in the darkness. But never before had the demons brought such lethal weapons with them.
They brought memories of a stuttering voice. Memories of wide blue eyes. Memories of slender, pale fingers absently fingering a hand of cards. Memories of happy times that could never be recovered. Memories of the one person he had ever loved.
And these burned at his soul and tortured his mind, doing more damage than any electro-shock therapy or strait jackets had inflicted on him in the past.
Still he couldn't cry.
So he tossed and turned in his lonely bed, clawing at the blankets and moaning through clenched teeth to keep from screaming in the agonies of sorrow. Had to be strong. Couldn't let them see him break.
A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. He promptly flipped on his side and stared into the darkness of the ward. The beds were laid out before him, the other patients hidden under their white blankets like so many snowdrifts.
A lonely figure wandered among them.
"Sweet Jesus…" Taber choked out.
The person looked up at him and smiled from across the room.
"Hello, Taber."
And then he crossed over in his direction. By now Taber was shaking violently from head to foot, his teeth clicking together and his hands trembling uselessly at his sides. He managed a feeble whisper.
"Billy…?"
It was he. He was dressed in soft blues, a pale color that seemed to glow faintly with a luminescence of its' own in the darkness. As he advanced towards Taber, he smiled again.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked gently.
"You're not stuttering." Taber answered dumbly.
Billy smiled for the third time and shook his head. He had now reached the bedside and leaned against the pillar at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed and the grin now permanently on his face.
"Aren't you dead?" Taber probed cautiously.
"Yes."
Here Billy tipped up his head, and Taber noticed a thin red line along his throat. A thin red line that he recognized from what seemed so long ago. He had so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say… Couldn't let them see him cry.
"Why'd you do it, Billy boy?"
Billy's face crumpled into a mask of tragedy, and he looked away in shame.
"I don't know."
Taber didn't try to keep the tremor from his voice.
"Didn't you think of me? How much I need you?"
"I'm sorry, Taber."
"I miss you, Billy."
His voice cracked on tears on the last syllable. Damn it.
A deep sigh responded to him.
"I miss you too, Taber."
Only the wind whispered outside, and the silence in the ward was awesome. Taber had not stopped trembling, and still he felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes.
"Are you happy now, Billy? Are you better?"
"Yes, Taber. I'm not sick anymore."
"Can you… can you come closer…?"
Billy obediently drew near the bed, even sitting down on the end of it as Taber got up on his knees and stretched out a hand. He touched the familiar curly hair… All his life, Taber had always assumed ghosts and angels and all other supernatural beings would be icy cold. Cold from death. But Billy was warm, warm like a summer wind, and that hair felt softer than Taber had ever known it.
He let his hand slide down to rub Billy's shoulder, soft reminiscence clouding his thinking as he sat in wistful silence.
"Why are you here, Billy?"
Billy sprang to his feet with a light-hearted laugh, chuckling at his own forgetfulness and rubbing the back of his hand.
"I'm waiting for Mack."
"Mack?"
Hope thrilled in Taber's heart.
"He's coming back, isn't he? He's coming back for me? Coming to bust us out?"
Billy smiled sadly and tapped a finger to his lips.
"I'm waiting for Mack."
"So he IS coming!"
"Taber…"
"How is he? Did he really escape?"
"Mack is coming with me tonight."
The hope fell away as though crushed with a battering ram as the meaning of those words sunk in.
"Oh…"
Taber looked away, trying to fight back the tears as his world was stripped apart. Billy was dead, and now Mack was apparently going to die as well this very night. But he couldn't cry. Couldn't let them see his weakness.
"Go ahead and cry, Taber. No one's watching."
And so big tough Taber let the tears slide down his face and patter to the bed in drumbeats of agony. He made no sound, and he didn't move. He only bowed his head and let the tears slip free, the tears that had been fighting to escape for so long.
"Mack's coming with me. He'll be happier with me."
"I know, Billy. I know."
A warm, fantastically warm hand touched his face and tenderly wiped the tears away. Taber glanced up at Billy's impish smiling face.
"Say hello for me, will ya?"
"Sure, Taber, sure."
Billy lifted his head and glanced about suddenly, listening to something that only he could hear. He pulled away and stood at a little distance.
"You need to go to sleep, Taber. It's almost time. You'll need to be asleep."
"Okay…"
Reluctantly, Taber slid back under his blanket and laid his weary head back against the pillow. His eyes were drooping shut, his consciousness was ebbing away, when one final thought occurred to him. He bolted into a sitting position.
"Billy!" he cried.
Billy materialized from around the pillar.
"Taber."
"Promise me something, will ya Billy?"
"Anything, Taber."
"Promise that… when it's my time… you'll come for me?"
Billy's face softened.
"Sure, Taber. I will."
And so Taber laid his head back on the pillow, listening to the soft and painfully familiar footsteps padding about the dorm. Sleep claimed him and he knew no more.
But in the furthest reaches of his subconscious, he heard two familiar voices.
"Hey there, Billy boy!"
"Hi Mack. I was waiting for you."
"That's mighty thoughtful of you, Billy, coming out to get me."
"I missed you… Mack..."
"Hey Billy, don't cry! C'mere, kid…"
The sound of two bodies embracing tightly.
"You ready, Mack?"
"Actually, I can't come with ya, kid."
"But Mack-"
"I'm going to Canada."
"Canada…?"
"Canada… I gotta keep someone company for a while."
"Oh… oh yeah. Okay, Mack. But then you'll come…?"
"Yeah, I'll come kid. Don't sweat. In fact, come with me! Two's company, three's a crowd, blah blah blah, but the three of us will have a hell of a time!"
"Three?"
"Here he comes, Billy… Let's go."
"All right, Mack. Let's go."
The sound of a window smashing jarred Taber from all of his dreams. Even as he snapped into wakefulness, his eyes immediately went to the window. There was the Chief climbing out of it… run, Chief, run…
Two figures stood laughing at the window.
Billy tapped Mack on the shoulder and turned him around. The two smiled and waved at Taber. Then Billy whispered something in his companions' ear… Mack grinned and nodded. He called over to Taber,
"I'll see you around, Tabes!"
And then the two sprang out the window and dashed off into the dawn of morning, the early sunlight lending the scene a hazy and ethereal quality. Not hazy… heavenly.
Taber threw back his head and screamed for joy, his ecstasy filling him and refreshing his weary soul.
He would see his friends again when the end came.
~ The End