(The Loud House! and/or other related titles are rightfully owned by Viacom and Nickelodeon)
(The following is a work of fanfiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information, and material of any kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)
You guys better have a box of tissues, because I don't think you all will be prepared for this one. Or at least I think so. You were warned.
Chapter Three:
The Ones Who Passed Him By
Pain. That was the only thing Conner was feeling right now. Nothing but the worst kind of physical pain that burned throughout his entire body; his black eye, his broken and crushed hand, sprained ankle and still aching genitalia, and not to mention the bruises and cuts that covered the rest of him. It was all just pure agony for the poor kid. He truly did hurt all over and it was just excruciatingly unbearable.
He wanted so badly for the pain to stop, so that he would not have to lay here crying from the intensity of it. But it didn't. But certainly, he knew that laying there sprawled on the ground was not going to make it go away anytime soon. And walking was definitely out of the question, with his sprained ankle and all.
He had to get out of here and find help. He just had to. Because if he didn't... well... No! He would soon rather not think of that other possibility. A sudden cold gust of wind brushed against his bare skin, causing him to shiver a little bit and develop goosebumps all over his body.
He took in a slow deep breath, which made him let out a terrible cough, causing his already aching chest to feel even worse. It almost felt like a giant elephant was just barely crushing down upon his lungs while being stabbed right in the chest at the same time. With very little else of whatever strength that he still had left in him, he achingly moved his body until he was now flat on his stomach.
He then positioned his good hand on the ground and he struggled to push himself up as he sucked in his busted lower lip and he groaned from the overall discomfort.
As slowly and carefully as he could be, he crawled on his one good hand and both of his knees, making his way towards the other end of the alleyway, back where this whole mess had begun, until he had finally returned to the exit where the large green dumpster still remained where it was earlier, perched up against the brick wall to his left. Moving slowly past the dumpster; he delicately leaned his back up against the wall next to it and made a low tired breath, resting there for a moment.
All that crawling had taken everything out of him, and he was sure that he did not have an ounce of energy left at all right now. And now along came the most difficult part, the part that Conner feared the most... All he could do now was wait. Wait until somebody came along and hopefully take notice of him, God willing.
It wouldn't be that much of a problem if there wasn't hardly anybody around walking down this part of town at all. And that was one of those parts that terrified Conner the most. Just think about it for a moment; to die all alone in some trash-strewn alley, with nobody else around to help lend a hand. Or... with nobody else around to even care. These scary thoughts lingered in Conner's mind, causing fresh tears to start leaking down his face from his eyes.
A choked sob escaped from his tightening throat and his lower lip quivered. There was nothing else in this world that mattered to him more than ever right now than to be safely back at home, in the sanctuary of his own bedroom, and to be in the loving arms of his mom and sisters. He had to live for them. He just had to try, for their sake. His mind was immediately pulled back into reality when he heard the increasing sounds of footsteps coming down his way.
A sense of hope spread through his heart. This was it, now was his chance. But he had to time it just right as the footsteps grew nearer and nearer, he achingly tilted further to his left until he fell down to his side and only his head and his shoulders stuck out of the alleyway to the sidewalk. The footsteps instantly stopped, and a light yet clear gasp was heard.
"God have mercy," a man's voice uttered.
Conner turned his head up and he saw towering above him was a tallish man, who appeared to be at least close to his middle age, with salt and pepper colored hair that was combed into a neat 1940's inspired haircut and he had a nicely trimmed beard and moustache. He was dressed in a darkish gray tweed suit and a blue n' white striped necktie.
Carried in the man's left hand was what appeared to be a simple black leather-bound book, which of course if one were to look closely enough, they would notice a stylized cross etched in the leather on the front of the book. This gave Conner the conclusion that the man standing over him was most likely a preacher from one of the church's here in Royal Woods.
The Preacher held his Bible closely to his side in his right hand as he stared down at the injured Conner with a horrified expression, his other hand covering his mouth at what he was seeing.
"Dear goodness," he murmured with shock.
"H-Help m-me..." Conner wheezed desperately. "P-Please..." The Preacher suddenly felt a great sadness within his heart. He got down to one knee and he gently caressed the boy's blond hair as a father would to his own son.
"Oh, you poor child," he whispered sympathetically. "What happened to you?"
The Preacher turned his head around to face the street seeing that there was barely a living soul to be found. Only a very small number of lined cars that were parked up against the sidewalks. The Preacher turned his gaze back down to Conner in thought, who only looked back up at him, his pleading, tear-stained, and bloodshot eyes that were clearly screaming for help.
All the man could do was frown as his own throat tightened with emotion and his wrinkled face began to turn red. A single tear had fallen from his face, and it landed on the right-side temple of Conner's head. The religious man closed his eyes tightly, his bottom lip wavering. He ran his long fingers through his salt and pepper colored hair, and he let out a heavy sigh, as he had finally all but hesitantly made up his mind.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "If I only had the appropriate means to help, I... I would..." The Preacher looked away in silence for a moment, until he gaze up into the blue sky above, clutching his Bible closely to his chest.
"Oh Lord, please forgive me for what I'm about to do," he prayed with a whimper, tears trailing down his face. "But I beg of You, heed my prayer. Guard Your angles around this poor boy and have him live just a little longer, and please send someone braver and more worthy than I to help him in his hour of need."
And with that, the Preacher shakily stood back up onto his feet and he carefully walked on over to the other side of the sidewalk. Conner's heart sank heavily at what he was seeing. He struggled to move his arm out from under his side and he reached out to the increasingly distancing Preacher, only sliding his arm across the ground with no energy left at all to hold it up. Blood and spittle oozed from one corner of his lips.
"C-Come back...," he struggled to call out. "D-Don't leave me... P-Please... Come b-back..."
"I'm sorry," the Preacher inaudibly whispered before covering his own mouth, and he shook his head completely ashamed of himself. "I'm so, so sorry."
More tears fell from his aged face. With his free hand, he took out a handkerchief from underneath his suit jacket and wiped his face clean with it. After he was finished, he stuffed the handkerchief neatly back into his suit jacket and he silently yet sorrowfully went on his way down the sidewalk until he could no longer be seen. Conner rested his head on the ground, his bloodshot-riddled eyes staring out into the sidewalk.
He could not believe it. His one and possibly only chance of being rescued from this nightmare of a situation had been ripped away from his hands. His sense of relief had been replaced with the feeling of despair. He could not believe that he had been abandoned just like that. And not just by anyone, but by a Man of the Lord. As if that wasn't bad enough already. A low whimpering moan escaped from Conner's throat. How could this happen? Just how in the world could this all happen to him?
Please, God... he mentally pleaded. If you can hear me, please, get me out of here. Send somebody, anybody at all. Just don't leave me here to die... alone... Can't take this pain anymore... Just make it stop... Please, make it stop... So... tired... Conner tried to close his eyes, exhaustion starting to take him over. But everything just would not let him be.
As much as he wanted so badly to sleep all of this away, the near constant pain that still pervaded all over him had prohibited the young boy from being able to do so. Even after agonizingly repositioning himself back up against the wall of the alley and trying to rest easy, he still found himself kept awake from everything that just would not let up, emphasis on the word everything.
In fact, it started to feel like they were becoming a whole lot worse than before. He looked down at his ankle and started to notice a little bit of swelling taking place underneath his sock, a swelling that started to feel a lot like a burning hot knife was stabbing straight into his foot. His crushed hand was feeling like it had been set on fire by an entire box full of matches from the inside.
Conner could vaguely make out the heel print of the shoe on the back of that hand. And he just could not handle it any longer.
All of it was enough to make him cry again, the throbbing pain of his hand, his ankle, his private area, the whole shebang, letting out quiet yet heavy sobs that ached at his already humiliated and destroyed being. Suddenly, reality had reined him back in when another set of footsteps was heard, drawing closer and closer. They were so close to Conner's location that they could be just around the corner at any given second, and a man's voice along with them.
"I'm telling you, Lewis, some people just have no sense of fashionable tastes whatsoever!" said the voice in a rather foppish-sounding tone. "Who in the world dresses like that in this day and age? I mean, come on! It's not the eighties anymore, it's the twenty-first century for crying out loud! Get with the program, dude! And another thing, why doe– What in the world...?"
Curious, Conner turned his head out towards the open and he gazed up at the towering figure who owned that voice. What he saw was a grown, rich-looking businessman, a yuppie if you will, handsome and good-looking, appearing to be at least thirty years old. His thick black hair was slicked back with some hair gel that gave it a nice glow from the sun, and he was dressed in a finely tailored three-piece black suit.
Hanging from his neck was a red Italian silk necktie and a black leather briefcase hung from his right hand. In his other hand was what appeared to be the latest model of a silver iPhone. The Yuppie stared down at Conner, completely aghast at what he was seeing before him. There was a bit of a short pause until a barely hearable voice was heard from the other line of his phone, pulling back the Yuppie's attention.
"Uh, Lewis, I'm gonna have to call you back," he said, not taking his eyes off of Conner. "Something's just come up. Yeah, I'll still see you at the meeting today. Yeah, sure thing. Bye." The Yuppie hung up and stuffed his phone down into the left pocket of his slacks. He squatted down carefully, not wanting to get the knees of his pants ruined. He looked at the helpless boy with an essence of concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently. "Are you okay? What in the world happened to you?" Conner let out a small cough in response. The Yuppie winced a little bit from the action. He gazed around the block to see nobody else around. Just where in the world was everybody? Didn't they know that there was a twelve-year-old boy dying out here in an alley all by himself?
"Help m-me..." Conner gasped imploringly with a sob. "P-Please... help me... I-I was... r-ro-rob..." The Yuppie stared at him wide eyed with furrowed brows, having trouble believing what he had just heard from this kid.
"You were robbed?" the rich businessman asked. A sense of fear suddenly became visible on his face. "Then that means they might still be around." He gazed out at the surrounding neighborhood again with worry. The Yuppie quickly stood straight back up. He looked back down at Conner, and he took a quick glance at his gold-plated Rolex. His eyes widened. He then covered his face with his hand and he sighed frustratingly.
Why? Of all things, just why did he have to be put in this kind of dilemma? The Yuppie sighed again and then he slumped his shoulders in defeat. He took one final glance at Conner with a look of pity in his green eyes.
"I'm sorry, kid," he muttered sympathetically. "I-I can't. I just... I-I just can't." And so, with his briefcase still in his other hand, the Yuppie walked speedily down the sidewalk, not even once taking a single quick glance back at the dismal little boy. All Conner could do was helplessly watch as the Yuppie was now so far away that he could only be made out as a small black dot. His young heart fell even deeper into despondency.
Truly, he could not at all believe it. This was twice, the second time he had been denied help. Done by two people who could not take the time out of their own hands for just one moment to give him the aid he so desperately needed right now. And one of them, of all the people across the world, was a preacher, a man of the Lord, for goodness' sake. A man who was suppose to act and live as an example of God's love and grace.
Was there no one around who really cared about him at all? Was there nobody at all to deliver him from out of this living nightmare?
Why did fate take such sadistic delight in torturing him like this? A thought suddenly came to him, one that all too well made him realize the answer to every single one of those questions. And it made him cry even harder than before, sobs choking out of his throat. He was here... because of himself. Everything, the walking, the mugging, it was all his fault. The whole thing that had happened yesterday and today, all of it was his fault.
If I had only just kept my mouth shut, he mentally said, if I had only been the son my family wanted me to be, I wouldn't have gotten myself in this mess to begin with.
What he thought of next made his throat tighten even fiercer. It was now hopeless. No matter what happened, no matter how much he prayed, no matter how badly he made a great effort to try and cry for help, one thing was for certain, and it scared him beyond belief as he knew the inevitable. This was it. This was where he would die. A young twelve-year-old boy whose life was mercilessly cut short by fate's cruel game of life and death, alone, unloved, and quite apparently not worth anybody else's time.
His mind then drifted off to the image of his mom and dad and two of his sisters. He could already see them now. He could already see their smiling faces, happily carrying on and getting along just fine, having a delicious dinner, and with him nowhere in sight, completely out of the picture. Completely out of their lives. All he wanted right now was to just wrap his arms around them all.
All he wanted at this very moment was to just cry his bloodshot eyes out into his mother's warm and tender embrace and tell her how genuinely sorry he was. For the prank, the argument in the car, for not being the good son and brother that they all truly deserved to have in their family. Too bad that was never going to happen apparently. Conner hung his head low, desolation and sorrow filled up his entire being.
"I g-give up..."
It's for the best, he mentally told himself. They're better off without me anyway. I have been nothing but a painful little thorn for years now. They took care of me and raised me as best they could, and all I did was land myself in trouble and give them grief. They don't deserve me. I don't deserve to be their son, or their brother... I... I don't even deserve to live... Please, God. Please, watch over my family... when I'm dead.
"C-Carol..." he whimperingly muttered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "Cassie... M-Mom... I-I'm sorry..." And so, Conner Pingrey slowly closed his eyes, seeing nothing but darkness as he sat almost perfectly still up against the wall. Another cool breeze blew in the wind, brushing against his exposed skin as well as his blond hair, and he had begun to finally fall into a sleep that started to finally take over his being, despite the overabundance of pain.
A sleep that he feared would truly be his very last one...
Man. I have not written something this emotional in a long while now. But still, I hope that you all liked this chapter, so don't forget to send me your reviews and tell me what you all think.
And to the one who sent me their review from the last chapter, do not get me wrong, I appreciate what you've written.
But I would also appreciate it if everybody did not use any strong language in their reviews next time. I'm just sayin'.
So until then, have a pleasant weekend as well as a good day.
