Disclaimer: The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and all related characters are the property of other beings. I am making no profit from this.
Note: This is not a 'nice' story. It is not targeted for the young audience. I'll use the PG-13 system loosely. In other words, these are not your parents' characters. This is a test run. I may edit this part after reviews. I haven't figured out html yet.
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It was a dark night, full of dark blood carrying with it the river of rage that had brought him to this point…and the horror of it suddenly shone with the vivid clarity of strawberry blonde hair whipping across her pale face in the glare of fast approaching and unremitting headlights, and…
The nightmare never ended…at least, had never ended before. It played like a bad serialization, bouncing about his mind in circles, inescapable. It wasn't that he had slept restfully that made him wake up; eventually he had just become too tired to sleep and dream any longer.
Nor was it the first time he had woken, just the first time without the dream invading reality and distorting everything. Once before he had come to in a panic, putting his hands around the throat of an attacker and only after a long minute realizing it was only some poor scared candy striper before going under again. Ever since, there had been restraints, and those he pulled against now.
Stay awake, the young detective ordered himself. Let them know you're awake. Tell them…
He couldn't speak; his throat felt so dry…there was a feeding tube, in his stomach. He had always dreaded feeding tubes. Call button. Wasn't there one on every hospital bed? Was he still in a hospital? It was too dark to tell.
Trying to clear his mind, he raised weak but whole hands, scrubbing at his face with almost desperate demand. Nose, lips, eyes. Check. Call button. Wriggling free of the loosened restraints, he threw a hand out to feel at the bed railing, panic and lack of use making his aim reckless. The nearby table rolled away slightly, the food tray clattering completely off of it. Hospital, yes, it had to be.
Everything was so loud, so empty. The echo lingered.
Damn, he swore inwardly, apologizing to his mother in the same breath. But who was he fooling? He'd heard worse than a few miserable blasphemes. He had done worse than blasphemy. It had gotten him where he was, wherever it was.
Calm down.
The memory of his brother's voice was one of the few things that seemed more solid than the nightmare. He had to find him.
Where was everyone?!
Gripping the sides of the bed, he struggled for bearing, teeth grinding as a wave of pain washed through his stomach.
If you move the wrong way, you might kill yourself.
That would be too bad, but not bad enough to make him stop. He had to tell someone. Where was everyone?
Feet on the floor, touching cold tile…brother knew he hated wearing socks. Muttering a blessing, he gripped the cool metal of the bed foot, straightening and deliberately focusing his gaze on the door, on anything but himself. He was in pajamas. No hospital then. Care facility, old folk's home?
He had never felt older.
"Neglectful people…" The door was heavier than he expected, or maybe he was just weaker. It took a full minute of wrangling to open it, and then the light blinded him. Utter darkness in the room…not as sterile or shabby as he had thought…was immediately replaced by the bright light of a corridor. Carpeted, wide, and convenient…no forehead bumps if you keeled over, he supposed.
Holly and garland dangled in loops from corners and doors, he noticed, gripping the railing that led way down the hall, moving forward slow and with more impatience than he had ever thought possible. Singing seemed to be a ways off. So that was it…it was Christmas. The half lucid and workers were caroling. He was just suffocating in isolation.
He saw the first familiar face a good minute later, edging around a corner to take in the celebration. There was a large family area, big tree, lots of rockers and…and he felt brief shame. A few of the wheelchairs held kids younger than he, kids barely out of diapers. What had convinced their families to dump them somewhere like that? Had they just been too much to handle?
They never expected me to recover. They thought I would die a loon.
Seeing her almost brought him to his knees, the connection to his past was so painful, so welcome.
Focus. This is a job. You get help. You tell them what you know. You finish the case, before it finishes you.
She stood before a fireplace, hair clipped up in a chic bun, smiling slightly at one of the kids she was standing near. Older, that was how he saw her, and felt a brief, horrible fear. How long had he been…out? She was so slim, so serious, so focused. Why was she even there? If he remembered right, he was in Bayport, at the home. They had done a few cases from here, he and his brother, or just brought flowers.
He shoved the fear away and pushed forward, trying to shy around corners and walls, not wanting to scare anyone. He felt like a freak, creeping through nursing home halls in pajamas, with a tube trailing from his stomach.
Two feet away…he could smell her perfume. Lilac. She was older, at least a little, or she had been terribly worried lately…little lines were beginning to dig into the corners of her mouth.
He touched her, couldn't help it, reached out and touched a strand of the fine blonde hair that had escaped the elegant twist. She leapt away, and then turned, blue eyes widening as far as he'd ever seen them. Speechless…she was never speechless.
"Bess." The names came as if from a catalogue, dusty and distant, it hurt to speak it. There was so much he wanted to ask. Why was she in Bayport? Why was she here? Why was she older? How much time had he lost?
Had he killed Nancy?
"Bess, help me." He sagged into her arms, as a soft cry escaped her mouth.
And then there came darkness again.
Note: This is not a 'nice' story. It is not targeted for the young audience. I'll use the PG-13 system loosely. In other words, these are not your parents' characters. This is a test run. I may edit this part after reviews. I haven't figured out html yet.
---
It was a dark night, full of dark blood carrying with it the river of rage that had brought him to this point…and the horror of it suddenly shone with the vivid clarity of strawberry blonde hair whipping across her pale face in the glare of fast approaching and unremitting headlights, and…
The nightmare never ended…at least, had never ended before. It played like a bad serialization, bouncing about his mind in circles, inescapable. It wasn't that he had slept restfully that made him wake up; eventually he had just become too tired to sleep and dream any longer.
Nor was it the first time he had woken, just the first time without the dream invading reality and distorting everything. Once before he had come to in a panic, putting his hands around the throat of an attacker and only after a long minute realizing it was only some poor scared candy striper before going under again. Ever since, there had been restraints, and those he pulled against now.
Stay awake, the young detective ordered himself. Let them know you're awake. Tell them…
He couldn't speak; his throat felt so dry…there was a feeding tube, in his stomach. He had always dreaded feeding tubes. Call button. Wasn't there one on every hospital bed? Was he still in a hospital? It was too dark to tell.
Trying to clear his mind, he raised weak but whole hands, scrubbing at his face with almost desperate demand. Nose, lips, eyes. Check. Call button. Wriggling free of the loosened restraints, he threw a hand out to feel at the bed railing, panic and lack of use making his aim reckless. The nearby table rolled away slightly, the food tray clattering completely off of it. Hospital, yes, it had to be.
Everything was so loud, so empty. The echo lingered.
Damn, he swore inwardly, apologizing to his mother in the same breath. But who was he fooling? He'd heard worse than a few miserable blasphemes. He had done worse than blasphemy. It had gotten him where he was, wherever it was.
Calm down.
The memory of his brother's voice was one of the few things that seemed more solid than the nightmare. He had to find him.
Where was everyone?!
Gripping the sides of the bed, he struggled for bearing, teeth grinding as a wave of pain washed through his stomach.
If you move the wrong way, you might kill yourself.
That would be too bad, but not bad enough to make him stop. He had to tell someone. Where was everyone?
Feet on the floor, touching cold tile…brother knew he hated wearing socks. Muttering a blessing, he gripped the cool metal of the bed foot, straightening and deliberately focusing his gaze on the door, on anything but himself. He was in pajamas. No hospital then. Care facility, old folk's home?
He had never felt older.
"Neglectful people…" The door was heavier than he expected, or maybe he was just weaker. It took a full minute of wrangling to open it, and then the light blinded him. Utter darkness in the room…not as sterile or shabby as he had thought…was immediately replaced by the bright light of a corridor. Carpeted, wide, and convenient…no forehead bumps if you keeled over, he supposed.
Holly and garland dangled in loops from corners and doors, he noticed, gripping the railing that led way down the hall, moving forward slow and with more impatience than he had ever thought possible. Singing seemed to be a ways off. So that was it…it was Christmas. The half lucid and workers were caroling. He was just suffocating in isolation.
He saw the first familiar face a good minute later, edging around a corner to take in the celebration. There was a large family area, big tree, lots of rockers and…and he felt brief shame. A few of the wheelchairs held kids younger than he, kids barely out of diapers. What had convinced their families to dump them somewhere like that? Had they just been too much to handle?
They never expected me to recover. They thought I would die a loon.
Seeing her almost brought him to his knees, the connection to his past was so painful, so welcome.
Focus. This is a job. You get help. You tell them what you know. You finish the case, before it finishes you.
She stood before a fireplace, hair clipped up in a chic bun, smiling slightly at one of the kids she was standing near. Older, that was how he saw her, and felt a brief, horrible fear. How long had he been…out? She was so slim, so serious, so focused. Why was she even there? If he remembered right, he was in Bayport, at the home. They had done a few cases from here, he and his brother, or just brought flowers.
He shoved the fear away and pushed forward, trying to shy around corners and walls, not wanting to scare anyone. He felt like a freak, creeping through nursing home halls in pajamas, with a tube trailing from his stomach.
Two feet away…he could smell her perfume. Lilac. She was older, at least a little, or she had been terribly worried lately…little lines were beginning to dig into the corners of her mouth.
He touched her, couldn't help it, reached out and touched a strand of the fine blonde hair that had escaped the elegant twist. She leapt away, and then turned, blue eyes widening as far as he'd ever seen them. Speechless…she was never speechless.
"Bess." The names came as if from a catalogue, dusty and distant, it hurt to speak it. There was so much he wanted to ask. Why was she in Bayport? Why was she here? Why was she older? How much time had he lost?
Had he killed Nancy?
"Bess, help me." He sagged into her arms, as a soft cry escaped her mouth.
And then there came darkness again.