First of all, I would like to thank you to have read my fic
Special thanks to RoxyJ and all of you who put me on their favorite or follow my fic…
WARNING : M
CHAPTER 2: THE ATTIC
He opened his eyes and shivered. He was so cold and hungry!
Left here in his kingdom made of beams and wood boards, he lifted his blue eyes up to the skylight and saw the blue sky without any cloud. He smiled a little when he thought about him flying like a bird, the same birds that were flying in front of the skylight, leaving shadows on his skin so pale that it was almost transparent.
He never left this room. This empty attic was his only home for more than 30 years. There was an old and dirty bed in a corner. He could feel the springs hurting his back and his soul. It was so unpleasant that he slept on the old wood floor. In one of the walls there were a tiny sink, some awful chemical toilet, and a too small table was fixed on the ground. Ugly and used pajamas were hanging on the wall. There were one chair and one shelf with old books on it. A small plastic mirror was hanging near the sink… "That way you can't hurt yourself angel."
He looked at the shelf and remembered his hell started that day, when he was a child and he was listening to her reading the Bible. He asked her to teach him how to read the Word of God. She accepted because he was "old enough", she said, though he didn't know old enough for what.
When she raised her hand the first time and their eyes met, he knew. She would teach him how to read and write using slaps and ruler hits. And then she used a stick. She was beating till she couldn't breathe, and when she was out of breathe she was caressing his hair saying all of this was for his own good, that one day he would thank her because she did this with love. He ended up believing it as she was his only landmark.
And then he became a teenager and he discovered his own body. He didn't understand how it could react though.
He was so thin and weak because she fed him just enough to keep him alive. Not too much because he couldn't be strong enough to fight or flee.
Why would he flee anyway? He was programmed to stay and be obedient. Why would he flee when he didn't know anything about the outside world? She always talked about it like it was hell, but actually hell was inside that attic. But he didn't know this.
"See, angel, I'm here to protect you. You need to stay here, in a safe place so I can watch over you."
Sometimes he wanted to be deaf to not hear that awful voice anymore, but at the same time she was the only presence he had.
And sometime there was a man opening the trapdoor. He wasn't speaking. He never even looked at him like he was invisible. He was fixing the toilet or the tap, or he was cleaning after the mess. After the angel turned into rage, when the human being inside wanted to get out of this body and fly like the birds.
She found him a morning enjoying himself. He was very surprised to discover the pleasure of his own caress. He was loving himself on his own since nobody wanted to love him. It was something smooth and surprising at the same time bringing him the pleasure that was so forbidden. This pleasure was so pleasant for someone who knew only violence.
She hit him so hard that time, again and again. It became almost normal to him, how could he possibly know it wasn't? It was all his life, the only way he knew.
Her voice pierced through the silence. She caught his wrist and twisted it so hard she almost broke it. He screamed in pain, and she beat him again so he would stop. She smiled when she saw his manhood right here, and she took it in her hand. She tightened so strong he collapsed.
Years went by and craziness found a place in his mind. He was locked in a new attic, the one he built in his own head and for which he wouldn't give the key to anybody. He spoke less and less and one day he just stopped speaking forever. He was mute. The more she beat the quieter he became.
He was eating, drinking, washing, getting to the toilet and that's it. Conditioned. Once a week she was bringing an electric razor for him to shave. Once a month she was cutting his hair not caring about how he would look. He wasn't reacting to anything anymore. He was locked in prison. She was talking to him like she would talk to a doll, but she stopped beating him that often.
He wasn't sleeping that much either. He was staring at the walls or the sky with an empty look. Sometimes she was emerging in his room in the middle of the night to beat him without a reason, maybe to evacuate all the anger eating her soul. Then he was searching her eyes to scream at them with his own look.
But why was she doing this?
She repeated he was evil and God was guiding her hand to bring him back on the path of redemption.
Sometimes he was waking up suddenly to see her lying against him, her hand on his chest, smiling. And then her hand would fall south. He was too weak, too tired and too crazy to react, but he knew she was violating his life. He let her do what she wanted and during that time he was flying to the shy in his head, till his orgasm came suddenly.
He was alone for a few days. He knew it because the sun came up and down six times. He likes counting. He had nothing to eat so he drank a lot to not feel the hunger. He was so skinny you could only see his giant blue eyes on his pale face, staring at the emptiness.
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Dean entered the mansion. There was a huge lobby with 2 stairs to go to the first floor.
"May I help you?"
He turned and saw a woman smiling at him. He stepped forward feeling uncomfortable.
"I have an appointment with Misses Campbell."
"And you are …?"
"Dean Winchester."
She looked at her agenda. "Yes indeed. Sit here" she said pointing a sofa, "I'll go get her, she's still visiting her patients."
Visiting her patients. Those words stayed in Dean's head for a moment, and then he nodded at her before sitting.
Visiting patients every morning was essential to Mary Campbell. Her patients… even if most of them weren't noticing her presence she was always taking time to talk to them. They had to know they're not alone. Ideally she would want more time to do it and more people to take care of the hardest cases. Nurses already had to heal them, wash them, feed them, they had no time to care too much. It was all a matter of time. They were all living with a very specific and well organized schedule. The smallest change could have disastrous consequences.
Her face changed when she approached his room. He was standing at the window as usual, looking at the sky, lost. Sometimes he was hitting his forehead against it in rhythm like an invisible clock ticking.
"Hello Castiel." She said.
He didn't react, he never did. She was absolutely certain there was still a flame of life in this broken body but she had no time and no way to help him getting out of his prison. He became a lost soul among others here after the press stopped making money on him. "The Attic Boy" as they said.
He was no boy though; the doctors estimated he was around 30 or 35. The police researched lost children in their database after they found a picture of Elisabeth McLean holding a scared boy in her living room. His look was speaking for itself. That boy was soon identified as the attic boy thanks to science. DNA showed he was no relative with Elizabeth and him. He had no family. Who was he?
Four months after he was found there was nothing they could find about him. Missouri, one of the nurses, called him Castiel because he entered St Gerry Hall a Thursday, and Castiel is known to be the angel of Thursdays. She thought this angel name would fit perfectly with his angelic blue eyes. Mary agreed and the attic boy became Castiel, the John Doe of St Gerry Hall.
Her phone rang and she stepped aside letting Garth, another care taker, close the door.
"Yes Lisa?" Mary closed her eyes and ran a hand through her long blond hair. "My God I completely forgot about him! Make him wait in my office I'm coming right now." She hung up.
"Garth, would you please finish the visit for me? I have to go meet our new probationer."
"Sure Mary."
She left and he went to the next room. Castiel turned to face the door, his look still empty.
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The postman was surprised to have still no answers after ringing the doorbell. He called several times but Mrs. McLean wasn't answering either. Since the death of her nephew, Ralph, she was living locked in her house so he was not too worried the first days, but today was the fourth day with no sign of life.
He turned all around the house, looking at all the windows to try to see her in the mess that was her house now. He finally saw her in the kitchen, dead on the ground. He tried to open the door without success. He broke a window he almost threw up when he breathed the awful stinky air inside the house. She was obviously dead for a few days already.
The coroner said it was an accident. There was blood in the corner of the kitchen table, and there was some oil spread on the ground and on her shoes so she probably slipped, fell and her head broke. They took the body out but nobody looked around in the house. She was known to live alone with her nephew Ralph since her husband and his son died 37 years ago from a car accident.
The day right after, the bored kids from the neighborhood decided to enter her house and see what they could steal. They did it at night of course, they needed sensations.
The four friends knew her close neighbors weren't home so they turned on the light in the whole house. They laughed and screamed when they saw the horror of that weird and dirty house. There was a stuffed dog, her dog, standing right next to the stairs.
"Johnny, come on, upstairs!" Two of them went upstairs while the other two were visiting the ground floor.
Noises? shouts?… he didn't understand what it was. It was actually laughter. He never heard such noise. He looked up to the skylight, the sky was dark.
"Johnny! Look there!" The boy said pointing the trapdoor.
"Wow you see how many locks there are? Open it Marty!"
"How? It's too high!"
"There is a scale right next to it dumbass!" Johnny took it, climbed it and painfully unlocked all of the trapdoor's locks. Marty followed him. A cut electrical wire fell so they jumped and laughed again.
He slowly looked through the opened trapdoor. He winced, there was a horrible smell in that attic!
"It stinks in here! And I can't see anything!"
"Hold on I'll be back"
Johnny heard his friend getting back downstairs in a rush. He opened the trapdoor further and yelled when he saw a pair of eyes shining next to his face. He fell and broke his leg, crying and screaming at the same time.
Cops discovered him this day too. It was like facing the horror. He was so skinny he barely looked human except for his eyes which would traumatize Johnny for the rest of his life. He was transported to St James hospital in critical condition. He stayed in a coma for a few days. Doctors all asked the same question: how was he still alive?
Of course the police wanted to know who he was. Mc Lean left nothing about him, no explanation. He was just an unidentified prisoner in her attic, eaten by humidity and dirt.
He woke up in panic, several nurses had to maintain him in his bed which made him panic even more. They had to tranquilize him and when he woke up, he stared at the ceiling with an empty look. Since this day he stayed petrified behind the impassable wall of his memory.
He was eating but he wasn't even looking at his plate so he was spilling all of the food on him. They had to feed him too. He wasn't reacting. Everybody had the impression his body was here but his soul wasn't. He was going to the bathroom alone at least. He never wanted to be touched and if the doctor tried he could become violent toward them and he could even hurt himself. More than one person in his room was just impossible.
One day one of the nurses worried to see he wasn't going out of the bathroom. She came in and saw he was curled under the sink. She tried to get him up but he yelled and pushed her so hard her eyebrow ended up hitting the doorknob. They had to tranquilize and tie him this time.
He was looking at this strange world with fear and the more he was seeing people around him the more he was hiding in his attic.
Not knowing what else to do with him, the doctors called Campbell. She came to visit him in his room and when she entered he was standing up fixing the sky through the window. His thinness scared her. She stood next to him but he didn't react.
"Hello, my name is Mary Campbell."
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"Hello I'm Mary Campbell, sorry I'm late I forgot what time we had to meet"
Dean stood up and nodded to greet her.
"It's okay."
She sat down and so did Dean.
"Dean Winchester right?" She finally looked at him and was immediately surprised by the depth of his look. He felt uncomfortable but didn't say anything about it because she looked gentle and warm.
"Why are you here?"
"A six months' placement." He said a bit on the defensive.
"This is not what I'm asking. Mr. Deveraux sent you so I presume…" She suspended her sentence and Dean wanted to speak but she added quickly "The truth, please."
He looked down.
"Underground fights."
"I beg your pardon?"
He sank in his chair. "I was fighting to live. Like… boxing but… in its illegal version."
"I know what underground fights are thank you." She pushed a hair lock away. "how old are you?"
"Almost 30."
"You look already older." She opened her desk drawer to take a key. "I suppose nobody told you about St Gerry hall or how we're planning to use your capacities?"
"No madam." He was very surprised to sound so polite, but she inspired respect.
"Come with me, I'll give you a tour and I'll explain what I'm waiting from you. I prefer to warn you it won't be a very glorious job."
"Don't worry, no job can scare me."
"Good." She stood up. "Follow me."
They walked a few seconds without a word, they crossed only a care taker who smiled at him.
"I'd rather be clear right now: we call all the patients by their names here, no stupid names such as crazy, loony, mad, maniac, nut or anything. They are human beings, it's not because nobody care about them anymore that we have to do the same."
Dean looked at her neck from behind as she was walking before him. Everything was different in her: the sound of her voice, the words she used… a whole new world for him!
"This is the key to the supply closet. You'll find all the equipment you need."
"Equipment?"
"Yes." She turned to face him, "you'll be in charge of the rooms cleaning but only in the West quarter. The patients there are not dangerous."
"What about the East quarter?" he dared asking.
She smiled. "Only the West quarter you heard me?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"Good."
She turned right and opened the refectory's door using a code. 1967.
"Memorize this code, you'll need it every day." She entered followed by Dean. "Here we serve lunch and dinner to the easiest patients. Breakfasts are served in each room."
She walked further and opened another door with another code.
"Remember this one too: 0211. It's access to the staff refectory. We can eat at any hour of the day, Mark is our cook, he does miracles you'll see." She nicely looked at him.
"So I'll eat here."
"Of course meals are included in your contract."
"Oh." He smiles, content.
"Let's talk about your contract". She said while she stopped walking. "30 hours a week, weekend included."
"Yeah I know… and paid a minimum."
"Believe me I would love to pay all of you more than you're paid, and I would love to offer a full time job but I can't afford it."
"It's better than nothing."
"A few of the employees live in the private rooms." She turned to face him, "If I'd offer you a private room would you work more for free?" asked her a bit shy.
"What do you mean exactly?" Dean asked surprised.
"35 or 37 hours a week for example."
Dean frowned. Gaby wouldn't like it but his own room for free, free food… Six months was not the end of the world. He would find some time to do a few fights a month and after all he wasn't the only one fighting for Gaby. It was a great opportunity to save some money.
"Alright."
She smiled.
"Of course it would be wise to keep this little arrangement between us."
"Of course."
She laughed. "Come on I'll show you your room." She turned and looked at him. "Thank you. You see… we own the mansion, some rich donor left it to us, but all its activity works thanks to donations. I pay the staff with the little help of the state. I buy low cost medicines thanks to St James hospital. We work together. I would like to do more for the patients but…" She sighed, "At least I can count on a few volunteer and loyal nurses. They come and give some time to help the staff here."
Dean looked her face lightening when she talked about her mansion and its residents. He had no faith in humanity anymore but she sure was special.
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The room was spacious and bright. Dean threw his bad on the bed. There was an empty closet, a television a coffee machine, a hotplate, a fridge, a separated bathroom with a toilet and a sink, and the showers were at the end of the hallway. It was way better than his usual motel rooms he rent.
"Is it ok for you?" Mary asked.
"It's perfect."
"I'll let you settle down. I'll introduce you to Phil later. He's the one who's in charge of the East quarter, he will explain to you what you'll have to do every day."
"They are the dangerous ones right?"
She smiled. He was curious and she liked it because curious people are usually ready to open to others.
"Let's just say they are harder cases but I won't deny you should avoid some of them if you care about your balls young man."
He stared at her shocked. Funny language for such a woman!
"See you at noon for lunch?"
"Okay". He smiled still thinking about her previous words.
She was on her way out when she heard him call. "Yes?" she asked turning back.
"Please call me Dean."
"Alright, Dean. You can call me Mary then."
"hum… no ma'am." He smiled and disappeared in his room again.
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Missouri entered with the plate and put him on the table.
"It's time to eat Castiel." She said in the softest voice she had.
He obeyed without looking at the nurse. She sat next to him looking at him. He took the toast and put it in his mouth still without looking at it. He did the same with the glass of water and of course he spilled some on his clothes.
"Come on…" She laughed and took the napkin from the plate.
"I'm going to wipe your chin sweetheart. Stay still ok? It's just me."
She wiped carefully sensing him sinking in his chair. He really couldn't take it, no contact, but he finally tolerated a few after loads of efforts and hours of patience. He could at least be shaved without causing any mess.
"Look at me Castiel." She insisted and he turned his face to look at her, sinking his blue eyes in hers. He was really looking at her, his look wasn't empty. She smiled at him and he tilted his head frowning as usual.
She was the only one who could to this with him, the only one he was looking in the eye without an empty look. She was the only one who could share such an intimate moment with him. It was like in the eyes of the nurse he could find a trace of humanity he could grip to not fall too far.
She wanted to touch his face so much, to show him her hand wasn't here to slap, to show him tenderness after all the violence he lived. But how to cure 30 years of physical and psychological abuse? It was almost impossible. She would simply appreciate his look and it was actually quite a victory already.
"You still don't want to go out?"
He stood up quickly and went to the window.
"As you wish." She took the plate, "See you for dinner Castiel."
As an answer she heard his forehead hitting the window. She sighed and went out.
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Dean went out in the main yard facing the park. He looked at his car, checked it was well locked and went to the private rooms' area.
He felt a strange sensation in his neck, he turned around but saw nothing.
At the third floor, a face against a window was observing him. He didn't see him.
Castiel started to hit his forehead against the glass again.
End chapter II.
I hope to see you next Saturday…