Chapter 13: The Theater of the Mind
In the days of radio, the theater of the mind was where the action took place during a show. The voices and sound effects created an image in the listeners' minds more vivid than a visual show could ever achieve. For Tim, the theater of the mind was the place he was trapped, among a swirl of conflicting memories, each set fighting for supremacy in a battle that had no happy ending, unless he could find a way to reconcile them.
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"Come with me, son." The doctor was trying to be kind to the young teenager sitting in the waiting room, his younger sister sleeping on his lap.
"I'm not your son." Behind the insolence was a strong undercurrent of fear.
"Fine, what is your name?" He asked gently even though he could see the name tag still pinned to his shirt from some convention.
"Thom."
"Come with me, Thom. There's something you need to do."
"What about Lizzie?" he asked, looking fearfully down at his sister.
"She shouldn't come."
Thom nodded, suddenly much older than his fifteen years. He understood.
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Tim shivered fighting the memory that didn't square with his own.
Abby, sitting by him, took his hand and said, "Tim, please wake up. Please don't die."
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"Timmy?" He heard a hesitant voice from the doorway of his room. He couldn't turn very well because of the neck brace.
"Hey, Sarah. Where're Mom and Dad?" he asked, trying to sound normal.
"They're talking to the doctor."
"Are they mad at me for wrecking the car?"
"I don't think so. Not yet."
Tim smiled weakly. "Come over closer. I can't see you."
"Are you gonna be okay, Timmy?" Sarah finally came in view. She was scared of coming too close right now. She'd never seen anyone in a hospital before.
"Of course. It will just take awhile."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure." He couldn't feel much pain right now, but there were a bunch of dull aches all over his body that he was sure he'd feel in time.
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"What's happening to him, Ducky?" Abby asked.
"I wish I knew, Abigail. If Sarah is correct, then this is far beyond my purview."
"It's like the world has suddenly gone crazy."
"I am certain Timothy feels that way as well."
Abby tightened her grip on his hand as another shudder ran through Tim's body.
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It was for verification purposes only, the doctor had said, but that didn't matter. Thom knew he was about to identify his parents' bodies. He'd been invited to a special astronomy convention because he had won a contest held in his school district. One moment he was looking at displays about his favorite subject, the next he was on his way to look at his dead parents.
"Right in here, Thom." The doctor hesitated at the doorway. "Are you sure there's no one else you can call?"
"I'm sure," Thom said, his voice cracking.
"All right then." The doctor led him to two tables; they had bodies covered in long white sheets. A hand, charred and bloody slipped off the table and hung out from under the sheet.
Thom whimpered and then walked to it. He picked up the hand, noticing the remnants of red sparkly polish on the nails. Lizzie had painted their mom's nails the day he left. He tried to hold back the tears, to be strong, but some escaped as the sheet was pulled back and he saw what remained of his mother. He still held her hand.
"Thom?"
"It's her," he whispered.
"One more, Thom, I'm sorry." The doctor pulled the sheet back over his mother's face.
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"Is there anything we can do for him?" Ziva asked. She stood barely in the doorway.
Abby shrugged but didn't look away from Tim's face. "I don't know. Ducky said that he should have woke up by now. He's still out of it."
Ziva's shell cracked just a little. "Is there– Do you need anything?"
Abby looked up. She and Ziva still had a complicated relationship. They had never been completely comfortable in each other's company. She smiled. "When we find out who did this, you can kill him slowly over several days."
Ziva smiled, an expression which warred with her glistening eyes. "I can do that."
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"Oh, Timothy. What were you thinking?"
"Mom, I'm sorry." Against his will, tears pricked his eyes. Anything was worse than having his parents see him suffering for his stupidity. "I only looked down for a minute."
"It's okay, dear. I'm just so glad that you weren't killed. Does it hurt much?"
Tim smiled. "Not too bad. Doctor Wilson said that I won't be feeling anything." He looked at his dad who was still standing by the doorway. He hadn't spoken yet. "Dad? I'm sorry about the car."
Finally, his father moved toward him. Once he reached the bed, he pulled Tim into a hug, being careful not to disturb his leg or his neck. "Tim, I don't care about the car! I care about you."
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"What's going to happen to us now?" Thom asked.
"Since you have no living relatives, you and Lizzie will have to go into foster care."
"No! I can take care of us both!" Thom said, flushing as his voice cracked again.
"How, Thom? You are still in high school. Lizzie is only four years old."
"I dropped out so I could get a job." He ignored her dismay. "I'll earn enough money."
The social worker was kind, but firm. "Thom, you're a bright boy, but you can't support the both of you."
Thom finally nodded. "Where will we end up?"
The social worker looked distinctly uncomfortable. Thom realized that she had bad news.
"What is it?"
"You won't be together, Thom."
"What?"
"We found a place for your sister, but they are not willing to take you in as well. Teenagers are much harder to place. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Thom stood, crying unashamedly now. "My parents just died! All Lizzie and I have is each other and now you're taking that away from us, too!"
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"Timmy? Did you hear me?"
"Yes, Sarah. I heard you."
"Can you come home?"
"Yes." Tim shook his head. It was so strange that everything had been going so well. He still felt the disconnect between his life before the phone rang and his life now. "Has the funeral been scheduled yet?"
"Aunt June is arranging things."
"Yes, I'm sure she is." That came out worse than he'd meant it to. June wasn't even related to them really, but she always was there for them, babysitting and the like. She was getting old too. It wouldn't be too much longer before she joined his parents.
"Please come home, Timmy. I don't want to do this by myself."
"I'll come as soon as I can get a flight."
"Can you afford it?"
"No, but I'll manage. We'll manage, Sarah."
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"It's not me, Thom. It's so hard to find places to put siblings, and boys are just harder put in good families. If we take this chance from Lizzie, there may not be another. The family loved her from the moment they saw her. They'll probably adopt her."
"Why not me? Why am I left behind?"
"They said they can't afford to take in a teenaged boy."
"But I'm a good kid! I don't get into trouble! I don't even eat very much!" Thom's voice cracked again.
"I'm sorry, Thom," the social worker said sadly.
Still crying, Thom shouted, "You're not sorry. If you really cared, you'd find a way. You'd do something. You said you'd do everything you could to find us a good place. Both of us! You lied! You lied!" Thom turned and ran out of the office.
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Tim started shaking more violently. He was feverish and sweating.
"Ducky!"
"I don't know what to do for him, dear. I'm sorry."
Abby held Tim tightly in her arms. "This isn't fair!"
Suddenly, Tim sighed and went limp in her grip.
"Oh, no! What's wrong?"
Ducky leaned over Tim and took his pulse. "He's still alive, Abby. I think he might be actually sleeping now."
"Does that mean he's getting better?" she asked hopefully.
"I just don't know," Ducky admitted and stared at Tim's ashen pallor and wondered how much damage had already been done.