THE BEST MEDICINE
Chapter Five: Blowing Down Cuddles
***
DICLAIMER:
Thank Bob Kane and Warner Brothers. Not me. ^_^
A/N:
Sorry if there's errors. (AH, there's always errors.) So, do you like this story? Did it take a turn for the worst the last two chapters? Please let me know!
BTW, did you get that last chapter title? I know, I know, it was a rather misleading - practically LYING - chapter title. Sorry. Good symbolism though, if I say so myself… and not really lying… I mean, stuff is still on the line for the guy, right?
ANYWAY, if you want more - review please and thank you! ^_^
***
He loved Cuddles. Cuddles! An adorable West Highland Terrier, small and white. He had eyes and a nose - little and black. His eyes peaked through the hair, sparkling black. How cute! He was the perfect dog! Even as an adult he'd never found another as perfect. Just perfect. He was very small - a lap dog, shaggy white. Neatly shagged. His face was so adorable, so… His hair cut was slightly different from most of the breed, his head shape too. He was more round than boxy.
Holding the little dog with the little bark, the tot was carefree. They were out on the deep green lawn, just standing. The day was just right - temperature warmer than cold, the sun not too strong, not too bright. His father would be home from work soon. For his age, he had an excellent sense of time, though he thought it would all last forever. At four he had no grasp of aging.
Standing with bouncy little Cuddles, he was oblivious to the fact that in a few weeks time he would love the dog more than anything else in the world. In a few weeks time… Cuddles would be all he had in the world.
***
"Thank God THAT nightmare's behind me." Arthur's cell phone rested between his cheek and shoulder as he adjusted his suit before the mirror. She talked for a while and he inserted the appropriate sounds in the appropriate places to imply he was listening, when truly, he was trying to pick a tie. Psh, stupid. Black, of course. He always went with black over some other expressionless, impersonal shade of gray. Black suit, black tie. Always.
"Ya, I'm just so glad-"
Someone knocked.
"Would you hold on, someone's at the door…"
Walking out to the front hall of his apartment, Reeves glanced through the peep hole. No one was visible, yet someone knocked again. Someone was there, alright.
Confused, "Sandy, I'd better let you go… Alright, Bye."
His hand went for the knob… and then an image flashed startlingly before his eyes. A small child, hesitating to open a cottage door. Something terrible lurked on the other side of his door. Something absolutely terrible…
Don't be stupid.
Still…
"Who is it?"
No answer… then more knocking…
"Who is it?" he repeated, irritated, louder.
More of the same… the knocking… it was maddening, yet frightening…
"Who-"
The knocking shook the door, violent. Scary.
Backing away, he was frightened. Something terrible-
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!!
It was getting really, really bad. He couldn't answer. He couldn't- He surprised himself by backing suddenly into the wall. Against the wall, he watched the door convulse… the knocking-
Silence. Absolute silence.
He waited…
Nothing. It was gone.
Still, he was frozen. Against the wall… he watched the door…
Then the voice came… an indescribable voice… dangerous…
"Little pig, little pig… let me come in…"
***
Reeves woke with such a start, nearly falling from his bed. The room spun wildly, his heart racing… Make it stop, make it stop… Closing his eyes tightly, he felt very ill… very warm… His heart pounding in his chest painfully… The dreams were getting really bad now. Really bad. He never remembered much… just… the feelings mostly… Terror. Always terror.
Eyes closed tight, his head swam. His head hurt. Overwhelmed.
As his senses settled, he remembered where he was. The hospital smell had been the first clue… The misery, the dread settled in as well… He hated Arkham…
***
The sun was setting… It was sunset…
All Pamela's wheat was nearly gray now. It had turned sleep by sleep… more gray… It was certainly something to worry about. The sky was darkening with a hue of pink, the field darkening with a dying hue of gold. What was left of the golden wheat.
Harvest time. The sun was setting… the crop almost entirely gray now…
***
Dragging his suitcase… he remembered…
Clothes and Cuddles. That was all he'd been able to take.
The Westie moved quickly, but made little progress. It was the short legs… they worked very hard, yet covered little distance. He scurried along behind… no leash. Things were going to be very different now. Very different. They didn't pay any attention to him. His parents had always had rules. Many, many rules. These people had none. No leash. The dog had no leash! Things were certainly going to be different now.
Misery and dread washed over him yet again… things were going to be-
***
Doctor Remington was SO annoyed.
"Come now, John, come inside… make yourself at home…" his patient called cheerfully, though something menacing lay hidden beneath. He seemed silly, seemed clownish… but, LORD was he dangerous…
Remington ignored the comment, sitting down, flipping through his papers. Napier knew glass had to stay between them. He was just too damn dangerous.
After a long pause, Jack spoke, "So, Johnny… what's it today?"
John glanced up from his notes. Joker had a new traumatic childhood every session. A new story that contradicted all others. Doctors were still trying to piece things together. Did he do this to avoid talking about it? Getting serious? … Or was he just being silly? Or crazy?
"Jack…" he began carefully.
"You know… they don't let woman work with me anymore."
"I know, Jack."
"It always ends one of two ways…"
"I know, Jack."
"I win them over… or… they can't take anymore. Too disturbed."
"Yes, Jack."
"You know, John…" Joker sounded annoyed suddenly. "With that closed off attitude, I doubt we'll make any progress. I just hate it when people aren't receptive. Especially my shrinks! It's rude, obnoxious, annoying-"
"Sorry, Jack."
Growling, dangerous, "I hate that name… I hate your tone…"
SLAM!
Joker slammed the glass, unexpectedly. John was very startled.
"Scared ya!" he laughed. He laughed and laughed… he could always scare them. Always. They were so damn scared.
Joker had had the best childhood of them all.
***
"I think I've cracked it…" Duval smiled proudly, shuffling through his Biblical notes. It had taken a while, but he had the answer.
Sam glanced up, barely listening, "Ya?"
"Isley. The dream. She's dreaming a parable straight out of the New Testament. Weeds among the wheat! There's a weed that looks exactly like wheat. Dracus or something. I don't remember. I think it's Greek… Anyway, it looks exactly like wheat UNTIL… harvest time comes around. That time of year it turns gray. (Poor farmers never know how much grain they have or how much wheat until harvest.) Anyway, I won't bore you with the details."
"But…" Sam trailed off. "How's this information relevant to the Old Testament?"
"New Testament."
"Whatever."
"Jesus constantly told parables through the Gospels… you know, stories to illustrate a point. They were quite brilliant, honestly, despite one's religious beliefs…" He trailed off, thinking, before distantly resuming with, "…yes, whatever one believes, there's no denying Jesus of Nazareth was brilliant and had the right idea about things…"
Sam gave him a prompting look.
"What? Slick, it pays to have a working knowledge of the scriptures. Christian or not, it's valuable. It's worth something. I can't find a single thing in what Jesus said to be false. Frankly, if everyone acted like Jesus… the world would be a perfect place. I mean, admit it - true or not, Christianity is a good idea… I mean, 'Be a good person' - you can't go wrong! The religion has just been corrupted by man in some cases… alright, many cases, I suppose. ANYWAY, if everyone just acted like Jesus and nothing more or less, specially nothing MORE-"
"-now there would be a denomination, yes, yes… I've heard this before, Dub. You should start your own branch - the Church of 'What Would Jesus Do?'…"
"Fine… laugh… poke fun…"
"If you insist…"
"ANYWAY, parable…"
"Oh ya."
"A farmer-" and they launched into another half an hour of theological discussion, before Kenzy decided their 'extended' lunch was over.
***
Cuddles. All he had to remind him off the good life. The life before. He loved Cuddles more than anything in the world. Cuddles was all he had now. The only one who loved him. These people didn't love him. They hated him. They ignored him. He didn't exist. Cuddles didn't exist. The dog hadn't been bathed since they'd come. He needed a hair cut. He needed many things. Food especially. They never fed him, washed him, brushed him, walked him… Nothing!
The boy tried, but nothing was provided. They forgot to feed HIM most days. No exaggeration. He'd sit at the old table and wait… and wait… and no one would come home. They didn't want him. They didn't see him. Hear him. He was starving for attention, starving for love, starving for FOOD… for the bare necessities… They were blind and deaf to his existence it seemed! He'd given up speaking now. No need. No one to talk to. At all. They had to be blind and deaf to him. Had to be.
He was only four and he was disturbed to muteness. Dirty himself, the child held Cuddles. Cuddles wasn't allowed in the house. Only rule. Yet, there was no chain. No rope. No leash. This was very bad. Their only rule was one of extreme misery. He needed Cuddles. That's why he stayed outside rain, shine or snow. Blizzard, storm… whatever… He needed Cuddles.
He was frightened of them. Frightened of this new life. They hated him. They ignored him. The man drank too much. His daddy had never drank in his life. Never. Said it was bad. No alcohol in the house - it was a rule. Dogs were kept on leashes - it was a rule. No hitting - it was a rule. Parents were not to hit their children. Not to smash them through things until they bleed so bad they went to the hospital. And stayed. For days and days. Parents weren't to throw their children down stairs or out moving vehicles… or… or… through windows… windows hurt lots… coz it was a far fall… a long drop…
There were rules against lying too. Lying to people was wrong. Yet, he lied. The man always lied. That is when he spoke of it at all. He only spoke of it when he had to. When someone asked. If it wasn't for these occasions, he'd never be spoken of at all. In fact, the lies were the only confirmation the man knew his name.
Even to that very moment… he still struggled with the concept of adults hurting children… It had come as such a shock. It was still a shock after all he'd been through. He honestly had never even considered the existence of such things… such happenings… At four, it had never crossed his mind, never entered the picture… it hadn't existed. He'd never feared adults before… but a fear was certainly forming now…
The man. He drank too much. Everyone in town knew. He was filthy. The house was filthy. Run down. His old home had been glorious. His parents had been one of the prominent, wealthy families in the community. He'd started his education early. The house had been suburban, very handsome. Brick. His father had worn a suit and tie, his hair very neat. His mother had been wonderful. She was pretty and kind. Very active in the community. Both his parents had been kind, wonderful, respected people. Warm, loving, generous. He'd been their world too. They'd fawned over his constantly, paying him more attention than he knew what to do with…
He cried now whenever he remembered struggling away from his fawning mother to play. To be independent. Honestly, it had annoyed him sometimes. The fawning. Now a great sadness fell over his little heart whenever he thought of his mother trying to smother him with love. He would never experience such things again. Ever. At all. At four years old - at FOUR - he looked around the wretched, dead shack and knew it.
These people… they forgot him all the time… they didn't know he was ALIVE. They never looked at him. Never touched him in anyway other than unnecessary violence. Well, at four, he didn't find it necessary. Frankly, if it wasn't for the woman he'd have died a very long time ago… he'd have died the first day. The woman kept him alive, at least that's how his little mind understood it, and his adult mind knew he hadn't been far from the truth. Though… she went to the hospital lots too… She ignored him though. She was blind and deaf to him too. He and Cuddles. She was a lot like the man, only… different…
They lived in an old shack outside 'a town. It was suppose to be a farm. Somehow. Right now, he saw chipped paint, rust… it was literally a shack, almost a shanty! The old barn out back was even worse… there were so… many… RATS! Filthy, dirty… the place was so run down…
None of these external conditions would have really bothered him (for he was still young and being socially shaped)… had they been kind… or at least KINDER… It would have been very different from his wealthy suburban ways, yes, but he was very young and impressionable. He would have adapted quickly. He wouldn't have developed the sickening pain in his adult stomach each and every time he saw poverty… chipped paint… drunken, miserable, bleeding POVERTY…
***
Things weren't working out with Smyth, he supposed. He was now sitting in the office of Doctor Reginald Dubbert Duval, a British Caucasian with amazing hair and a stunning smile. Watching him grin across the desk, charming and dapper, it was extremely annoying… almost repulsive…
He had to get out. He had to get back to work. Damage control, please, damage control! What did people think? What did people KNOW? These days his thoughts were possessed by spin doctors… who to call when he got out… who was good enough to save him?
Arthur scarcely listened, until it came up that Caledon Smyth wasn't out of his life. No, no… this session was extracurricular. Duval was the dream doctor. He saw the other doctors' patients once and while, whenever they needed dream therapy, or whatever it was officially called. The staff worked as a team for the most part. Most specialized in something.
After a week with Cal, he'd been referred here. His dreams were too much. Overpowering. Smyth felt the key was locked within them. No ground could be won (or covered, frankly) as long as the dreams tore his soul. How melodramatic. How- PLEASE. Dreams meant absolutely nothing. They were just a combination of everything you'd ever experienced in your life. He'd read a book all about a person's dream mind. Your subconscious recalled every word, every thought, every feeling - every damn BEE STING, every cool breeze… Dreams were just a combination of that kind of stuff. Besides, he never remembered them anyway. (Though a person definitely had three or four every night.)
Now Duval was yammering about how he felt dreams were God's method of communication. Reeves heard bits and pieces as he looked out the window, the bar shadows lining his pale, sickly face. He was still too thin. Duval went on and on: "…people always wonder why God spoke to people in Biblical times and not now… well, sorry, ladies and gentlemen, God does speak. He speaks in the world around us. Nature, the crashing computer, a power failure, a storm - the weather… things controlled by chance, by fate… and above all, he speaks to us through DREAMS…"
Quit and teach Sunday School, Father Dub…
Man, the guy was theological today.
But… religion was one of those subject… everyone felt differently about it… very differently…
Arthur Reeves felt nothing at all.
***
They were in town. People always stared at him in town - he was so filthy, so bruised. He didn't like their looks. He didn't like coming to town. He didn't want to start school in September. Cuddles' little legs hurried ahead into the paved street. He was SO adorable. He waited, his little ears erect, but flopped over softly at the top… so cute… He waited in the street…
He should be on a leash. It had always been a rule before. Back with his real parents. A leash in town. Unfortunately, as time dragged on… the memory of his parents and that miracle lifestyle dimmed, almost faded. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to - NO - years would come someday. Years with THEM. With the people, with the rats, with the farm, with the stares, with the town… with miserable school. He was only four, yet he was embarrassed of his state. He'd known a better life. He knew clean, ritzy clothes. A real bed. He'd known LOVE. He'd known money and status. Now he was unloved, disgraced, shamed. He actually knew these feelings at four. He didn't want to go to school. He had flea bites from the rats. He was dirty. He was worried about his teeth, about his health… They provided no soap, no toothpaste, no brushes of any kind… no tissues… no toilet paper… no WATER… He could figure out the bathtub, but the rusty, filthy taps were so hard to turn… and the water was a sickening colour… it smelt bad too…
A truck was coming along now, too fast. Much too fast!
"Cuddles!" he called, warning. Cuddles tended to move when cars came.
The dog WOULD have moved. He WOULD have heard then seen the truck. Yes, he would have been fine on his own. Unfortunately, Arthur's call distracted him. He looked at Arthur, listened to Arthur, instead of hearing and seeing the truck.
Arthur distracted him at that crucial instant-
The truck smashed Cuddles. Very sudden. Very hard and fast.
He yelped LOUD… hurled through the air…
Hitting the pavement thirty feet ahead, he was still alive.
He was still alive, very shocked…
"CUDDLES!" Arthur raced forward, absolutely panicked.
The truck couldn't stop. The dog tried to move, but… The front wheels missed… the back-
It ran over Cuddles. The truck ran over Cuddles.
Falling to his knees, the black haired boy was crying, terrified.
The driver kept on. A hit and run.
Arthur cried. Just CRIED! He… he had to do something…
Cuddles was still alive. Still. His little body was crushed through. The wheels had crushed his bottom half… his back legs… His tiny back legs, his lower half was dead, limp, useless…
He would be alright. He just had to get off the road… before…
Arthur tried to lift the dog. Blood came unexpectedly. He'd never seen Cuddles bleed… and now… it was flowing fast and furious… Blood!
The Westie was very light. The boy always carried him. He had to save Cuddles. Cuddles was his life. The only thing that kept him sane. Cuddles gave him the will to live. All he had when he was afraid at night or afraid of the man… He loved Cuddles more than life itself!
Cuddles, whimpering before, screeched in AGONY now when lifted…
Lifting was bad. Lifting was bad. He left Cuddles there… he… he needed help… FAST! He screamed for the man… the woman… They didn't come. He knew they wouldn't come. They never came. He screamed for anyone. Anyone at all. Not a soul appeared. Just the wind. His cried echoed through the streets…
Realizing he had to leave Cuddles to find help… he… NO, he couldn't leave Cuddles… Cuddles was whimpering, afraid… he had to… stay with him… He was scared if he left Cuddles…
Crying more than ever, for the situation was growing more and more desperate, the boy knew he had to carry the dog to the vet's office. The vet who lived down his lane had an office just down the street. Only two farms existed between the man and town. The Cowboy and the Vet. The vet gave him dog food, cleaned and trimmed little Cuddles for free… to help him… He knew them… the people… the man and the woman… knew what they were like and wanted to help…
Crying, he forced himself to be brave for Cuddles. He carried the dog, who shrieked at first, but then returned to whimpering when it adjusted…
He'd take the quickest way… cut through the ally… go in the back…
Cuddles was dead before he reached the door.
***
The pain was so sharp, so strong, so HORRIBLY indescribable…
Cuddles…
The knocking. The frightening knocking! It just wouldn't quit! It just wouldn't! It kept on and on! Knocking, KNOCKING… KNOCKING!!!
Against the wall, he couldn't take a second more… the PAIN… between the inevitable doom outside his door… and the loss of Cuddles… he couldn't handle-
He slid down the wall slowly, crying.
Only now… the knocking was accompanied by words. In past dreams it had only been able to repeat a simple phrase again and again… NOW… it was able to speak as freely as he. It wasn't shouting, it was simply speaking. Speaking through the door, wanting him to open it. Open it now… menacing… horrible… just…
He screeched, tears flowing. The PAIN! The STRESS! He shrieked again and again. Just shrieked bloody murder, crying through it - crying hard… the pain… Shriek after shirking…
He'd finally broken down. Grasping his knees, he buried his face in them, shrieking, crying… his fit would soon run it's course and he would cry softly, rocking… crying…
As he rocked, the wolf finally snapped - giving a good slam…
"Fine, bitch! I'll HUFF and I'll PUFF…"
He cried uncontrollably again… The pain… the PAIN…
***
He awoke, tears lining his hollow cheeks. His face was red and soaked. A very strange cry strangled out of his sore, feverish throat. He was scared. Very scared. He started to cry again. It still hurt. It hurt BAD.
It had blown the house down.
Cuddles was dead and the house was gone. He was still going to die.
***
Chapter Five: Blowing Down Cuddles
***
DICLAIMER:
Thank Bob Kane and Warner Brothers. Not me. ^_^
A/N:
Sorry if there's errors. (AH, there's always errors.) So, do you like this story? Did it take a turn for the worst the last two chapters? Please let me know!
BTW, did you get that last chapter title? I know, I know, it was a rather misleading - practically LYING - chapter title. Sorry. Good symbolism though, if I say so myself… and not really lying… I mean, stuff is still on the line for the guy, right?
ANYWAY, if you want more - review please and thank you! ^_^
***
He loved Cuddles. Cuddles! An adorable West Highland Terrier, small and white. He had eyes and a nose - little and black. His eyes peaked through the hair, sparkling black. How cute! He was the perfect dog! Even as an adult he'd never found another as perfect. Just perfect. He was very small - a lap dog, shaggy white. Neatly shagged. His face was so adorable, so… His hair cut was slightly different from most of the breed, his head shape too. He was more round than boxy.
Holding the little dog with the little bark, the tot was carefree. They were out on the deep green lawn, just standing. The day was just right - temperature warmer than cold, the sun not too strong, not too bright. His father would be home from work soon. For his age, he had an excellent sense of time, though he thought it would all last forever. At four he had no grasp of aging.
Standing with bouncy little Cuddles, he was oblivious to the fact that in a few weeks time he would love the dog more than anything else in the world. In a few weeks time… Cuddles would be all he had in the world.
***
"Thank God THAT nightmare's behind me." Arthur's cell phone rested between his cheek and shoulder as he adjusted his suit before the mirror. She talked for a while and he inserted the appropriate sounds in the appropriate places to imply he was listening, when truly, he was trying to pick a tie. Psh, stupid. Black, of course. He always went with black over some other expressionless, impersonal shade of gray. Black suit, black tie. Always.
"Ya, I'm just so glad-"
Someone knocked.
"Would you hold on, someone's at the door…"
Walking out to the front hall of his apartment, Reeves glanced through the peep hole. No one was visible, yet someone knocked again. Someone was there, alright.
Confused, "Sandy, I'd better let you go… Alright, Bye."
His hand went for the knob… and then an image flashed startlingly before his eyes. A small child, hesitating to open a cottage door. Something terrible lurked on the other side of his door. Something absolutely terrible…
Don't be stupid.
Still…
"Who is it?"
No answer… then more knocking…
"Who is it?" he repeated, irritated, louder.
More of the same… the knocking… it was maddening, yet frightening…
"Who-"
The knocking shook the door, violent. Scary.
Backing away, he was frightened. Something terrible-
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!!
It was getting really, really bad. He couldn't answer. He couldn't- He surprised himself by backing suddenly into the wall. Against the wall, he watched the door convulse… the knocking-
Silence. Absolute silence.
He waited…
Nothing. It was gone.
Still, he was frozen. Against the wall… he watched the door…
Then the voice came… an indescribable voice… dangerous…
"Little pig, little pig… let me come in…"
***
Reeves woke with such a start, nearly falling from his bed. The room spun wildly, his heart racing… Make it stop, make it stop… Closing his eyes tightly, he felt very ill… very warm… His heart pounding in his chest painfully… The dreams were getting really bad now. Really bad. He never remembered much… just… the feelings mostly… Terror. Always terror.
Eyes closed tight, his head swam. His head hurt. Overwhelmed.
As his senses settled, he remembered where he was. The hospital smell had been the first clue… The misery, the dread settled in as well… He hated Arkham…
***
The sun was setting… It was sunset…
All Pamela's wheat was nearly gray now. It had turned sleep by sleep… more gray… It was certainly something to worry about. The sky was darkening with a hue of pink, the field darkening with a dying hue of gold. What was left of the golden wheat.
Harvest time. The sun was setting… the crop almost entirely gray now…
***
Dragging his suitcase… he remembered…
Clothes and Cuddles. That was all he'd been able to take.
The Westie moved quickly, but made little progress. It was the short legs… they worked very hard, yet covered little distance. He scurried along behind… no leash. Things were going to be very different now. Very different. They didn't pay any attention to him. His parents had always had rules. Many, many rules. These people had none. No leash. The dog had no leash! Things were certainly going to be different now.
Misery and dread washed over him yet again… things were going to be-
***
Doctor Remington was SO annoyed.
"Come now, John, come inside… make yourself at home…" his patient called cheerfully, though something menacing lay hidden beneath. He seemed silly, seemed clownish… but, LORD was he dangerous…
Remington ignored the comment, sitting down, flipping through his papers. Napier knew glass had to stay between them. He was just too damn dangerous.
After a long pause, Jack spoke, "So, Johnny… what's it today?"
John glanced up from his notes. Joker had a new traumatic childhood every session. A new story that contradicted all others. Doctors were still trying to piece things together. Did he do this to avoid talking about it? Getting serious? … Or was he just being silly? Or crazy?
"Jack…" he began carefully.
"You know… they don't let woman work with me anymore."
"I know, Jack."
"It always ends one of two ways…"
"I know, Jack."
"I win them over… or… they can't take anymore. Too disturbed."
"Yes, Jack."
"You know, John…" Joker sounded annoyed suddenly. "With that closed off attitude, I doubt we'll make any progress. I just hate it when people aren't receptive. Especially my shrinks! It's rude, obnoxious, annoying-"
"Sorry, Jack."
Growling, dangerous, "I hate that name… I hate your tone…"
SLAM!
Joker slammed the glass, unexpectedly. John was very startled.
"Scared ya!" he laughed. He laughed and laughed… he could always scare them. Always. They were so damn scared.
Joker had had the best childhood of them all.
***
"I think I've cracked it…" Duval smiled proudly, shuffling through his Biblical notes. It had taken a while, but he had the answer.
Sam glanced up, barely listening, "Ya?"
"Isley. The dream. She's dreaming a parable straight out of the New Testament. Weeds among the wheat! There's a weed that looks exactly like wheat. Dracus or something. I don't remember. I think it's Greek… Anyway, it looks exactly like wheat UNTIL… harvest time comes around. That time of year it turns gray. (Poor farmers never know how much grain they have or how much wheat until harvest.) Anyway, I won't bore you with the details."
"But…" Sam trailed off. "How's this information relevant to the Old Testament?"
"New Testament."
"Whatever."
"Jesus constantly told parables through the Gospels… you know, stories to illustrate a point. They were quite brilliant, honestly, despite one's religious beliefs…" He trailed off, thinking, before distantly resuming with, "…yes, whatever one believes, there's no denying Jesus of Nazareth was brilliant and had the right idea about things…"
Sam gave him a prompting look.
"What? Slick, it pays to have a working knowledge of the scriptures. Christian or not, it's valuable. It's worth something. I can't find a single thing in what Jesus said to be false. Frankly, if everyone acted like Jesus… the world would be a perfect place. I mean, admit it - true or not, Christianity is a good idea… I mean, 'Be a good person' - you can't go wrong! The religion has just been corrupted by man in some cases… alright, many cases, I suppose. ANYWAY, if everyone just acted like Jesus and nothing more or less, specially nothing MORE-"
"-now there would be a denomination, yes, yes… I've heard this before, Dub. You should start your own branch - the Church of 'What Would Jesus Do?'…"
"Fine… laugh… poke fun…"
"If you insist…"
"ANYWAY, parable…"
"Oh ya."
"A farmer-" and they launched into another half an hour of theological discussion, before Kenzy decided their 'extended' lunch was over.
***
Cuddles. All he had to remind him off the good life. The life before. He loved Cuddles more than anything in the world. Cuddles was all he had now. The only one who loved him. These people didn't love him. They hated him. They ignored him. He didn't exist. Cuddles didn't exist. The dog hadn't been bathed since they'd come. He needed a hair cut. He needed many things. Food especially. They never fed him, washed him, brushed him, walked him… Nothing!
The boy tried, but nothing was provided. They forgot to feed HIM most days. No exaggeration. He'd sit at the old table and wait… and wait… and no one would come home. They didn't want him. They didn't see him. Hear him. He was starving for attention, starving for love, starving for FOOD… for the bare necessities… They were blind and deaf to his existence it seemed! He'd given up speaking now. No need. No one to talk to. At all. They had to be blind and deaf to him. Had to be.
He was only four and he was disturbed to muteness. Dirty himself, the child held Cuddles. Cuddles wasn't allowed in the house. Only rule. Yet, there was no chain. No rope. No leash. This was very bad. Their only rule was one of extreme misery. He needed Cuddles. That's why he stayed outside rain, shine or snow. Blizzard, storm… whatever… He needed Cuddles.
He was frightened of them. Frightened of this new life. They hated him. They ignored him. The man drank too much. His daddy had never drank in his life. Never. Said it was bad. No alcohol in the house - it was a rule. Dogs were kept on leashes - it was a rule. No hitting - it was a rule. Parents were not to hit their children. Not to smash them through things until they bleed so bad they went to the hospital. And stayed. For days and days. Parents weren't to throw their children down stairs or out moving vehicles… or… or… through windows… windows hurt lots… coz it was a far fall… a long drop…
There were rules against lying too. Lying to people was wrong. Yet, he lied. The man always lied. That is when he spoke of it at all. He only spoke of it when he had to. When someone asked. If it wasn't for these occasions, he'd never be spoken of at all. In fact, the lies were the only confirmation the man knew his name.
Even to that very moment… he still struggled with the concept of adults hurting children… It had come as such a shock. It was still a shock after all he'd been through. He honestly had never even considered the existence of such things… such happenings… At four, it had never crossed his mind, never entered the picture… it hadn't existed. He'd never feared adults before… but a fear was certainly forming now…
The man. He drank too much. Everyone in town knew. He was filthy. The house was filthy. Run down. His old home had been glorious. His parents had been one of the prominent, wealthy families in the community. He'd started his education early. The house had been suburban, very handsome. Brick. His father had worn a suit and tie, his hair very neat. His mother had been wonderful. She was pretty and kind. Very active in the community. Both his parents had been kind, wonderful, respected people. Warm, loving, generous. He'd been their world too. They'd fawned over his constantly, paying him more attention than he knew what to do with…
He cried now whenever he remembered struggling away from his fawning mother to play. To be independent. Honestly, it had annoyed him sometimes. The fawning. Now a great sadness fell over his little heart whenever he thought of his mother trying to smother him with love. He would never experience such things again. Ever. At all. At four years old - at FOUR - he looked around the wretched, dead shack and knew it.
These people… they forgot him all the time… they didn't know he was ALIVE. They never looked at him. Never touched him in anyway other than unnecessary violence. Well, at four, he didn't find it necessary. Frankly, if it wasn't for the woman he'd have died a very long time ago… he'd have died the first day. The woman kept him alive, at least that's how his little mind understood it, and his adult mind knew he hadn't been far from the truth. Though… she went to the hospital lots too… She ignored him though. She was blind and deaf to him too. He and Cuddles. She was a lot like the man, only… different…
They lived in an old shack outside 'a town. It was suppose to be a farm. Somehow. Right now, he saw chipped paint, rust… it was literally a shack, almost a shanty! The old barn out back was even worse… there were so… many… RATS! Filthy, dirty… the place was so run down…
None of these external conditions would have really bothered him (for he was still young and being socially shaped)… had they been kind… or at least KINDER… It would have been very different from his wealthy suburban ways, yes, but he was very young and impressionable. He would have adapted quickly. He wouldn't have developed the sickening pain in his adult stomach each and every time he saw poverty… chipped paint… drunken, miserable, bleeding POVERTY…
***
Things weren't working out with Smyth, he supposed. He was now sitting in the office of Doctor Reginald Dubbert Duval, a British Caucasian with amazing hair and a stunning smile. Watching him grin across the desk, charming and dapper, it was extremely annoying… almost repulsive…
He had to get out. He had to get back to work. Damage control, please, damage control! What did people think? What did people KNOW? These days his thoughts were possessed by spin doctors… who to call when he got out… who was good enough to save him?
Arthur scarcely listened, until it came up that Caledon Smyth wasn't out of his life. No, no… this session was extracurricular. Duval was the dream doctor. He saw the other doctors' patients once and while, whenever they needed dream therapy, or whatever it was officially called. The staff worked as a team for the most part. Most specialized in something.
After a week with Cal, he'd been referred here. His dreams were too much. Overpowering. Smyth felt the key was locked within them. No ground could be won (or covered, frankly) as long as the dreams tore his soul. How melodramatic. How- PLEASE. Dreams meant absolutely nothing. They were just a combination of everything you'd ever experienced in your life. He'd read a book all about a person's dream mind. Your subconscious recalled every word, every thought, every feeling - every damn BEE STING, every cool breeze… Dreams were just a combination of that kind of stuff. Besides, he never remembered them anyway. (Though a person definitely had three or four every night.)
Now Duval was yammering about how he felt dreams were God's method of communication. Reeves heard bits and pieces as he looked out the window, the bar shadows lining his pale, sickly face. He was still too thin. Duval went on and on: "…people always wonder why God spoke to people in Biblical times and not now… well, sorry, ladies and gentlemen, God does speak. He speaks in the world around us. Nature, the crashing computer, a power failure, a storm - the weather… things controlled by chance, by fate… and above all, he speaks to us through DREAMS…"
Quit and teach Sunday School, Father Dub…
Man, the guy was theological today.
But… religion was one of those subject… everyone felt differently about it… very differently…
Arthur Reeves felt nothing at all.
***
They were in town. People always stared at him in town - he was so filthy, so bruised. He didn't like their looks. He didn't like coming to town. He didn't want to start school in September. Cuddles' little legs hurried ahead into the paved street. He was SO adorable. He waited, his little ears erect, but flopped over softly at the top… so cute… He waited in the street…
He should be on a leash. It had always been a rule before. Back with his real parents. A leash in town. Unfortunately, as time dragged on… the memory of his parents and that miracle lifestyle dimmed, almost faded. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to - NO - years would come someday. Years with THEM. With the people, with the rats, with the farm, with the stares, with the town… with miserable school. He was only four, yet he was embarrassed of his state. He'd known a better life. He knew clean, ritzy clothes. A real bed. He'd known LOVE. He'd known money and status. Now he was unloved, disgraced, shamed. He actually knew these feelings at four. He didn't want to go to school. He had flea bites from the rats. He was dirty. He was worried about his teeth, about his health… They provided no soap, no toothpaste, no brushes of any kind… no tissues… no toilet paper… no WATER… He could figure out the bathtub, but the rusty, filthy taps were so hard to turn… and the water was a sickening colour… it smelt bad too…
A truck was coming along now, too fast. Much too fast!
"Cuddles!" he called, warning. Cuddles tended to move when cars came.
The dog WOULD have moved. He WOULD have heard then seen the truck. Yes, he would have been fine on his own. Unfortunately, Arthur's call distracted him. He looked at Arthur, listened to Arthur, instead of hearing and seeing the truck.
Arthur distracted him at that crucial instant-
The truck smashed Cuddles. Very sudden. Very hard and fast.
He yelped LOUD… hurled through the air…
Hitting the pavement thirty feet ahead, he was still alive.
He was still alive, very shocked…
"CUDDLES!" Arthur raced forward, absolutely panicked.
The truck couldn't stop. The dog tried to move, but… The front wheels missed… the back-
It ran over Cuddles. The truck ran over Cuddles.
Falling to his knees, the black haired boy was crying, terrified.
The driver kept on. A hit and run.
Arthur cried. Just CRIED! He… he had to do something…
Cuddles was still alive. Still. His little body was crushed through. The wheels had crushed his bottom half… his back legs… His tiny back legs, his lower half was dead, limp, useless…
He would be alright. He just had to get off the road… before…
Arthur tried to lift the dog. Blood came unexpectedly. He'd never seen Cuddles bleed… and now… it was flowing fast and furious… Blood!
The Westie was very light. The boy always carried him. He had to save Cuddles. Cuddles was his life. The only thing that kept him sane. Cuddles gave him the will to live. All he had when he was afraid at night or afraid of the man… He loved Cuddles more than life itself!
Cuddles, whimpering before, screeched in AGONY now when lifted…
Lifting was bad. Lifting was bad. He left Cuddles there… he… he needed help… FAST! He screamed for the man… the woman… They didn't come. He knew they wouldn't come. They never came. He screamed for anyone. Anyone at all. Not a soul appeared. Just the wind. His cried echoed through the streets…
Realizing he had to leave Cuddles to find help… he… NO, he couldn't leave Cuddles… Cuddles was whimpering, afraid… he had to… stay with him… He was scared if he left Cuddles…
Crying more than ever, for the situation was growing more and more desperate, the boy knew he had to carry the dog to the vet's office. The vet who lived down his lane had an office just down the street. Only two farms existed between the man and town. The Cowboy and the Vet. The vet gave him dog food, cleaned and trimmed little Cuddles for free… to help him… He knew them… the people… the man and the woman… knew what they were like and wanted to help…
Crying, he forced himself to be brave for Cuddles. He carried the dog, who shrieked at first, but then returned to whimpering when it adjusted…
He'd take the quickest way… cut through the ally… go in the back…
Cuddles was dead before he reached the door.
***
The pain was so sharp, so strong, so HORRIBLY indescribable…
Cuddles…
The knocking. The frightening knocking! It just wouldn't quit! It just wouldn't! It kept on and on! Knocking, KNOCKING… KNOCKING!!!
Against the wall, he couldn't take a second more… the PAIN… between the inevitable doom outside his door… and the loss of Cuddles… he couldn't handle-
He slid down the wall slowly, crying.
Only now… the knocking was accompanied by words. In past dreams it had only been able to repeat a simple phrase again and again… NOW… it was able to speak as freely as he. It wasn't shouting, it was simply speaking. Speaking through the door, wanting him to open it. Open it now… menacing… horrible… just…
He screeched, tears flowing. The PAIN! The STRESS! He shrieked again and again. Just shrieked bloody murder, crying through it - crying hard… the pain… Shriek after shirking…
He'd finally broken down. Grasping his knees, he buried his face in them, shrieking, crying… his fit would soon run it's course and he would cry softly, rocking… crying…
As he rocked, the wolf finally snapped - giving a good slam…
"Fine, bitch! I'll HUFF and I'll PUFF…"
He cried uncontrollably again… The pain… the PAIN…
***
He awoke, tears lining his hollow cheeks. His face was red and soaked. A very strange cry strangled out of his sore, feverish throat. He was scared. Very scared. He started to cry again. It still hurt. It hurt BAD.
It had blown the house down.
Cuddles was dead and the house was gone. He was still going to die.
***