"I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up -
On my knees and out of luck
I look up.
…
-and there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears." –After the Storm, Mumford and Sons
Chapter 9 – Darkness Without, Darkness Within
3 years later
Time passed, but Yoshi did not forget about the little turtle children he'd run into in the tunnels. But he had not sought after them for fear of scaring them. His own self-doubt and loathing keeping him from pursuing what his heart urged him to do. Despite that, his mind often centered itself on their well-being and survival; wondering what they were doing, how they were managing to subsist in the dank underground world.
Sometimes he'd stop what he was doing, as an intense fear for their safety would come over him; freezing himself in his tracks; whiskers twitching in the silence of his home. A desperate sense of urgency to find them would tense the muscles in his legs. A mad feeling of panic would sweep through him. As if he were picking up on their own desperate fright and pain; howling in the vast spiritual plane existing just beyond his senses. But he'd pull away from it; break from the trance; shake the feeling away; convincing himself that it was merely his own loneliness and desperate need for company that gave life to such vivid imaginings. Nothing more.
He had hoped to run into them again and had prepared what he'd say to hopefully convince the little ones that he meant them no harm. He'd gone as far as making two side rooms in his den ready for the young guests, even pulling two twin mattresses that he'd scavenged from the alleys above in the event that they'd want to spend a night or even stay . . . but he got ahead of himself. For just as they appeared that one afternoon, they seemed to vanish in the labyrinth of tunnels below the city. Weeks turned to months and months somehow morphed into years. Hope of ever seeing them again waned. Depression and his own struggles with survival took over.
Spring brought damp, chilled weather and torrential rain down upon New York City. While scavenging for supplies, Yoshi had been caught in a downpour. The next night, a rattling cough had settled in his chest. Persistent and painful, the cold that he'd developed in his chest kept him confined to his lair for over three months. Spring changed to summer as Yoshi battled against the stubborn virus that continued to set him back every time he thought he was finally recovering.
For days he drifted in and out of a feverish state. Too weak to even move from his bed to fetch food from his store in the kitchen or to reach the sink to drink. The thin mattress was soaked through with his perspiration. He lay, panting his shallow breaths, dimly thinking it was the end of him. Welcoming it.
Yoshi opened his burning, watering eyes as he felt the edge of his cot shift with the weight of someone sitting beside him. Too exhausted and ill to feel anything other than mild, dull curiosity, he turned his face towards the room. His head spun with the movement. He blinked slowly but was unable to clear his blurred vision. A woman sat on the edge of his bed. One hand pressed against his chest. Licking his lips he tried to speak but his voice was only a rasp of breath.
She leaned close to him and pressed her cheek to his. The scent of water lilies and spring grass filled him. Her long black locks fell over one shoulder and brushed his face. With a shaking hand, Yoshi reached up and felt the silken strands of her hair between his fingers. A moan slipped from him as tears rolled down his face, streaking the fur. How could this be? I am surely dying.
Her voice was as gentle and soft as he remembered it with painful clarity. "Yoshi, you must get up."
He shook his head and leaned his face into the soft curve of her cheek. The effort of these small movements cost him. "Too . . . weak," he breathed. Besides that he was ready. Ready to be taken away, reunited with his love, ready to make amends and try again to be better in the next life. He'd endured this punishment all these years, tempted to, but never taking his life, accepting the years of isolation and loneliness as part and parcel to his fate.
"You must get up. You must drink."
Yoshi shook his head. He was ready to leave this world. Ready to have his wife take him to the next existence where he knew he would do better. A painful burst of coughing seized him. His chest exploded in sharp stabbing streaks of agony. His body shook as he fell to one side and his eyes rolled up into his head but Tang Shen held him; gently, firmly, in her arms; cradling him against her breasts. Yoshi's coughing fit subsided. A moan rose up from him and broke into a small whimper. His bloodshot eyes cracked open. He stared up into her lovely dark eyes.
"Take me . . . with you," he whispered. Shen shook her head; eyes full of gentleness.
"The children need you."
Yoshi frowned and blinked; not understanding what she meant. He managed to raise his head a little.
"The . . . children?"
"They suffer. They need someone to protect them. To save them. To guide them."
Yoshi stared into her eyes; so real; so very real. The image of the little turtles popped into his mind. He leaned against one hand pressed down into the mattress. He blinked; staring through Tang Shen into his room as she began to fade.
"They need a father," her voice slipped away as the image vanished.
The scent of water lilies and spring grass remained. He blinked rapidly and more tears slipped free. It seemed fate was not quite done with him as yet. With a shuddering heave, Yoshi struggled to move his legs to the side of his bed, then placing his feet onto the cold floor, he fought to rise. His legs quaked as he stumbled through his room into the kitchen to the sink. With trembling hands he twisted the water on. The pipes rattled and the water flowed from the faucet in a glittering stream. Then turning his head to the side, he lapped the streaming water desperately; letting the cool liquid flow through his mouth over his lips and down his parched throat. When satiated he slid down to the floor; wrapping his arms around his knees.
The children. I have to find them.
Two brothers raced through the junk yard. The youngest, thinner now than before and faster than ever raced ahead; laughing. He clambered up a pile of tires and leap-frogged over a rusted washing machine. Just behind him, his brother, Raph, followed; one eye swollen shut from the blow he'd endured earlier that morning when he wasn't fast enough with bringing his dad his breakfast. His face was a mask of concentration. He wanted to beat his little brother to the finish line. He couldn't let him win, not again. But the raised spot where Donnie and Leo were loading their bags with the piles of dented cans of food they'd found loomed ahead.
"Woo hoo-hoo-hoo!" Mikey hollered as he used the back of Donnie's shell as a bouncing board.
"Hey! Ugh!" Don cried as he was shoved forward, a can of green beans gripped in one hand. A fit of coughing made him double up. As he did, Mikey pressed one foot against his carapace; jumping off it and spinning around just as an out-of-breath Raph caught up. Mikey straightened up. "Beat ya, Raphie. Ahgain!" he taunted.
Raph moved in a circle, swearing under his breath. At ten years old, he had a vocabulary that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush. Unfortunately, Mikey was learning everything he knew from the rough young turtle. He gave Mikey the finger and Mikey stuck his tongue out at him. He braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
"Ass-licker."
"Monkey-ball-chomper."
Raph tried not to laugh. His uninjured eye twinkled. He kept a serious face as he replied, "Fuck-tard-o."
Mikey burst out laughing. His impish looks only furthered by the freckles and dimples in his cheeks that remained rounded despite being thin from lack of food. "Is that like a fuck-na-do?"
Raph tried to hold it in, but the chuckle burst from between his lips. He turned away from his brother and squatted near his bag filled with cans and a blanket that was in good shape along with some rope and utensils he'd found. He glanced around and quickly slid the treasure he'd found out of the kangaroo pocket in the front of his red sweatshirt. It was a six inch folded knife with a cork screw, a screwdriver and a few broken metal parts. But, much to his delight and excitement, the important part was intact. The sharp blade hidden within the black handle snapped up when he pulled on it with finger and thumb. The silver blade gleamed sharp and solid in his palm. Lightning flashed and the blade caught the light with a wicked flash. He ducked and looking around to make sure none of his brothers noticed the flash, folded it back and stuck it into his pocket. Just having it close made him feel safer. Protected.
Satisfied that he finally made his grumpy brother laugh, Mikey climbed up to stand on the hood of a half-buried pick-up truck. He gazed around the desolate heaps of garbage surrounding them. Not a bad human in sight. Just over the ridge, he could make out the roof of the guard's house. Mikey knew the guard dogs were usually chained up just behind the house, but were set loose upon nightfall. He looked up. The gray skies were growing darker. A flash of lightning cut horizontally through the clouds.
"Eep," he said.
He never liked thunderstorms. They made the universe sound pissed. He stuck his hands into the pockets of the ripped jeans he wore, the knees obliterated almost to the point of the jeans being shorts. His electric blue sweatshirt that matched his eyes bunched around his middle as he shrugged and whistled up at the gathering, billowing clouds.
Leo counted the cans in his bag, ignoring the antics of his younger siblings. Fourteen. Eight cans of beans, four cans of carrots and two cans of precious spam. They almost never found meat. That should make their dad very happy, he thought. A shadow passed over his face and he swallowed, feeling the familiar nauseous fear in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of Scrag. Delicately, he shifted how he crouched to a more comfortable position.
He looked up at Don who was silently examining his own contents, lips moving as he silently talked to himself. Only stopping to cough. The fact that Donnie was sick again was nothing new. His poor brother seemed to be sick three weeks out of every month. The dark purple bruising around the front of his throat stood out in the dim light. Leo's own throat ached at the sight. The toilet had broken a week ago and Donnie had tried to fix it, only he didn't have the right tools and couldn't. When he'd tried to explain what he needed, Scrag took it for complaining and punished Donnie for complaining and for being stupid. Raph was out scavenging alone and Leo was thankful for that.
Scrag had only released Donnie after he had passed out then turned on Mikey who'd been screaming at the top of his lungs for him to stop. The distractions Mikey used only seemed to work half the time now that he was older. Scrag no longer found playing cruel games with Mikey as entertaining as it used to be. Most of the time, Mikey only hollered and screamed when their dad's attacks became too violent.
When Scrag turned his glittering eye on Mikey, and Leo felt the intensity in the room shift to that slick, sickening feeling that he knew too well, Leo had stepped between them, knowing what he'd get for this interference. That was the first time Scrag had used the pipe on him. He had screamed so much, Scrag had sent Mikey and Donnie out through the tunnels to the garbage dump until he was finished with him.
"I think we have enough. It's getting dark. They're gonna let the dogs out soon. We should go."
Don stared at him with blank brown eyes. Finally, he nodded then straightened the gray hoodie he was wearing, pulling the hood up over his head as the rain began to fall in fat spattering drops.
"Feels like it's been raining forever," Raph complained as he pulled the red hood up over his own head.
The bruises on the side of his face near the swollen eye looked painful in the glowing gray twilight. Leo sighed. Not for the first time, he wished there was somewhere else they could go. Somewhere to hide from Scrag. Somewhere far away and safe. A shiver went through him as a clap of thunder rolled through the sky like an angry god reading his thoughts. If he ever found them, though . . . Leo's face shot to Mikey then roved over to Raph and Donnie. Scrag's threats whispered into his ears during the times he spent in his room came back to him. If he ever told them, if they ever found out, if they ever tried to leave, Scrag had promised that he'd do the same and worse to his brothers while he watched. Then he'd kill them for betraying him.
Rip their throats out while I'm fucking them. Do you understand me, son? Do you?!
Leo felt dizzy. He raised a shaking hand to his suddenly pounding head and grimaced. Lightning flashed again. The rain came down harder. Mikey spun in a circle, on the hood of the truck, arms held out; head back; tongue sticking out from his open mouth.
"You're gonna catch a disease doing that," Raph said.
"Mm, tastes good to me," Mikey said, grinning.
"That's cuz you'd eat anything, doofus."
Donnie shook his head, silently disagreeing with Raph's assertion that Mikey would get sick from drinking the rain. It was much cleaner than the liquid that came brown and sometimes thick from the spigot in their home.
Leo moved to stand when he noticed the books tucked in between the cans in his brother's bag. Donnie zippered the bag quickly as Leo opened his mouth to ask. Out of the four of them, only Don could read. Leo had wanted to learn, but they only got as far as learning some of the alphabet before their dad ended any further endeavors to learn. He wanted to ask what the books were, but before he could Don stood up and started back towards the tunnel entrance; head down; lost in his thoughts as he always seemed to be. A dog started to bark, joined by the sound of another, this one much closer.
Raph twisted around, looking around the mounds of debris. "Shit."
"Time to go, bros!" Mikey shouted. He jumped lightly down and grabbed the strap of his bag and threw it onto his back. He took off after his much taller brother down the side of the hill of garbage.
The rain fell harder. Leo hoisted his bag over one shoulder and half-climbed, half-slid down the side of the mound of garbage they'd been standing on. With a grunt he landed, but his legs were sore and weakened from the night before. They folded underneath him and his bottom hit the ground, the impact sending a flash of pain through the center of him. With a gasp, he crumpled. A small whimper escaped from his throat as he curled into a near fetal position on his hands and knees.
Last night had been particularly rough. Since Scrag's legs had been bothering him too much to leave their home, he'd been especially bored. Leo provided necessary distraction and entertainment. Scrag had come for him in the middle of the night; shaking him awake and leading Leo past his sleeping brothers into his room.
. . .
Scrag paused his movements and raised his hand off the back of Leo's head. Leo lifted his head a few inches as he struggled to catch his breath. Tear tracks gleamed on the sides of his cheeks. Scrag had been pressing his face down into the mattress, suffocating him as he took him.
In a way, Leo had been thankful. His greatest fear was that one of his brothers would awaken and find him, like this, under their dad. Fear of that terrible humiliation drove him to try different ways of keeping quiet; even wadding up the blankets and biting down on them to muffle his cries of pain.
Scrag's fingers tightened around the back of Leo's neck pushing his face back down; pinning him. "How about a game, son?"
Chest tight, Leo couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. But it didn't matter. No answer was the right answer, he'd learned.
"If you can keep completely silent . . . I'll let you go," Scrag murmured into his ear. He lapped his tongue alongside Leo's cheek as he thrust roughly into the eleven-year-old. Leo squirmed; grinding his teeth together, but the pained whimpering noise rose from his throat on its own again and again. Fresh tears of frustration and pain coursed down his cheeks.
"Too bad. You lose. Since I won . . . we're going to do something else."
Scrag pulled away from him; slid off of him. Leo gripped the balled up sheets in his fist and rose up onto his hands and knees. Hoping to slip away, he moved to stand with trembling, watery legs when Scrag's voice froze him in place.
"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you, yet."
Leo looked over his shoulder and paled as he saw the pipe in his dad's hand. He began to shake.
"mmmphno-o," he whimpered and chest rising and falling rapidly, began to sob. Scrag moved closer and smiled.
. . .
A tremor shook Leo's body with the memory of the pipe coming down onto him; hitting the backs of his thighs until his legs folded and Leo collapsed and then . . . Leo whimpered, fighting back a sob and pressed his fists into his eyes. Going to the surface had been nearly too painful for him to manage. But he'd rather face the rippling spasms of pain that tore through him than be left alone at home with their dad again.
Raph was next to him in a second. He reached out to touch his brother, but pulled away at the last second, remembering how his older brother never liked anyone to touch him or be too close. He bit his lip, frustrated and irritated at Leo being so hard to deal with.
"You okay?"
Leo stared at the ground in front of him, panting lightly through gritted teeth; trying to get himself under control. He tried to push away the pain, the humiliation, the fear. The rain drummed down on them, soaking their shirts until Leo's stuck to the back of his shell like a heavy rag. He closed his eyes and imagined the rain washing some of the filth off his body. Raph watched him with a worried frown. Finally, Leo swallowed and nodded. He braced himself with his palms pressed into the muddy ground. He raised up a little and flinched as his bottom hit his heels.
"Y-Yeah. Just . . . h-hit the ground funny." Leo forced a chuckle out from his clenched jaw, trying to convince his brother he was fine and felt stupid for falling like that. Raph stared at him, unconvinced and only worried more.
"What's hurtin' you, Leo?" he asked. The question made panic race through Leo's veins like wild horses stampeding. He looked up, blinking into the cool rain; up into the one good eye of his brother; staring down at him, through him; gleaming gold in the dusky light like hope and fear and desperate sadness. His own stormy eyes holding so much pain and so many secrets grew round and glassy with terror. Raph's frown deepened into a lopsided scowl beneath his hood.
"N-Nothin's h-hurtin'. . . me," he said breathlessly in a wavering voice.
"It's Dad, isn't it."
Leo froze; mouth hanging open. He started to shake. "Wh-Wha . . .?"
The barking dogs suddenly sounded just over the mound next to them. Raph's face snapped around. Donnie and Mikey were already through the opening in the chain-linked fence. Raph huffed, turning back to Leo; wanting to press him for the truth; wanting to at least help him up. But not wanting another fight, he turned away. He reached down to offer his hand, but changed his mind again. Instead, he grabbed the bag that had fallen from his brother and hoisted it over his other shoulder.
"Uh, Raph, you don't have to-"
"I got it, Leo, c'mon."
He turned and hoofed it to the fence. Leo moved stiffly behind him, limping as quickly as his pain-filled body allowed. Behind him the dogs snarled and brayed and howled into the rainy night.
A/N: Don't kill me for the time passage. Poor sweethearts still in his clutches. But we're getting closer to salvation or damnation depending where you stand. Please review! I'm goin' crazy over here!
