Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will. Enjoy
Thank you to all the kind and constructive reviewers. I plan to write a chapter or two a week and post on weekends as my schedule allows. It will take a while to get to the end. Be warned: This chapter is rated PG-13 for language and situations.
Too Young
Chapter Two"To Sleep, Perchance to Dream"
--William Shakespeare
As soon as the hatch closed on the Captain and Dr. Westphalen, Lucas' eyes slipped closed and his body relaxed. His last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of the conversation, painfully honest on his part, that had just taken place. He hoped that he wouldn't regret his words later.
He began to dream. Lucas moved restlessly in his chair, his shoulders tensing. He was seven again.
"Lucas, damn you. Where are you?" His father was drunk and his mother, gone to a conference, would not have helped him had she been there. She always retired to the library at the rear of the manor when her husband had had too much to drink.
"Lucas! Come out NOW! Don't you hide from me!" He could hear his father crashing into furniture as he stumbled around downstairs. Lucas prayed that his dad would pass out before he found him; it had happened before. Lucas cowered behind the bathroom door, listening, terrified.
"Lucas!! It's no use for you to hide. I know what you did, you worthless bastard! You made another mess at school. Your teacher called me and pulled me away from an important meeting to tell me about your hydrogen experiment.." His father's voice got louder as he approached the staircase.
Lucas began to shake as he heard his father's heavy tread on the stairs. When his daddy was sober, he usually ignored Lucas, always busy with his latest project, concerned about deadlines and endless grant proposals. But when he drank, his focus seemed to shift solely to his frustrations about his son. Lucas wiped his hands on his pants. He didn't mean to displease his father; he craved his father's acceptance, but seemed almost always to disappoint him.
Lucas knew hiding would do no good. It just delayed the inevitable and further enraged his father, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He thought about what had set his father off this time. Earlier today, his teacher told him that he would be contacting his father. Lucas tried to discourage the call, but Mr. Ross was so proud of the boy's experiment, even though the results were more explosive than expected. The damage to the science lab was minor, and covered by the high school's insurance policy, and, fortunately, no one had been hurt. But Lucas knew how his father would receive the call. His father would only focus on the damage report, and not the commendation of Lucas' creativity and ingenuity. Mr. Ross was also calling to get Lawrence's permission to enter Lucas' hydrogen experiment in the New York Science Fair competition next month. If his father agreed, Lucas' experiment would be the sole entry, representing the entire district. Lucas didn't care. He wished Mr. Ross had picked someone else; then this call would never have taken place.
"There you are!" Lucas snapped back to the present in time to keep the bathroom door from bouncing off his nose.
"Come're.." His father's hand closed about is right wrist and dragged him out from behind the door. "You made another mess, didn't you?" He slurred the words somewhat. His brown eyes narrowed as he glared into Lucas' blue ones. He shook him slightly. His face was flushed; his clothes mussed. His breath reeked of whiskey, and Lucas turned his head aside as his eyes began to water from the fumes and the pain in his wrist. He squirmed as his father squeezed tighter…and pulled him out into the upstairs hall and down the stairs.
"…dad..I'm sorry..I didn't mean for the reaction to be that powerful…"
"Shut. Up." His father turned and slapped him, and Lucas felt the blood gush from his nose. He moaned as his father's grip tightened further. He could feel the bones in his wrist shift under his father's iron grip.
"You're so interested in experiments—I have set one up for you. It even involves hydrogen…" His father laughed drunkenly. "Come on, Lucas, you need to learn your lesson."Lucas was crying openly now. He knew 'learning a lesson' would involve pain… probably a lot of pain. He wished, prayed, every day that his father would not touch the bottle that day. His cruelty and foul language seemed to come straight from the alcohol. When he was sober, he never hurt Lucas or swore. Most days, Lucas' prayers were answered. And some rare and beautiful days, his father even discussed his latest theories with him, asked him about his school day, and even seemed proud of his son. Lucas tried to put his mind on such a day, to remember a gentle hug from his daddy, to see kindness and maybe love in the brown eyes, to catch hold of such a memory and fly away and escape this monster that took over when his father lost control and drank.
He looked up to find that they were standing in front of the old carriage shed behind the garage.
"Stand still, you little shit.." His father mumbled, and then swung open the wooden door. It was a dark and dirty building, abandoned and unused for anything save gardening supplies. Lucas had never been in here, never been allowed in here. His mom said it was too dangerous, and he hadn't wanted to explore the unlit depths of the old rooms anyway. He wasn't that curious. As he was dragged inside, cobwebs caught in his hair, and he heard scurrying in front of them, as if they had disturbed a nest of mice or rats.
"Back here, son." His father said mockingly, "Here is my experiment, a little surprise for you."
Lucas' father released his wrist and shoved him forward.
"Dad..what are you.." Lucas' voice rose to a scream as his right foot slipped down into nothingness. His arms pin wheeled, and he fought for balance.
"Surprise!" His father's gloating voice sounded behind Lucas as he was shoved forward. He lost his battle with gravity then and plunged downward, his scream cut off abruptly as his body slammed down on the bottom of the old rain cistern. His breath left him in a rush, and, for a little while, the world inside his head turned as black as the well around him.
"Lucas…wake up…Lucas. Lucas!! I know the fall didn't kill you. I can hear you breathing. WAKE UP!! You'll miss the start of my experiment"
Lucas groaned as he opened his eyes. Ten feet or so above him, he could see the dim outline of his father's body on the edge of the well "..d..dad, help me out, please! I'll do whatever you want to make up for the damage to the lab.."
"SHUT UP!!"
Lucas cringed at his father's roar. He could no longer see his dad, but he could hear him shifting something around up there. He gasped as he was suddenly drenched with very cold water.
"You like my surprise? It's not pure hydrogen, I put some oxygen in there, too…to help you breathe." He laughed a short while. "I know that you can swim, Lucas, but can you float? Can you float as long as it will take to fill this well? LUCAS!! How do you like my experiment so far? I guess, if you can't float, we'll see how long it takes you to sink. Or, maybe, you'll learn to breathe water…that stupid teacher thinks you can do anything…" His laughter trailed off as he moved away.
Lucas' teeth chattered as he tried to speak. "..d..d..dad, d..d..don't l..leave me here! Please! Help me out! It's f..f..freezing" The water from the hose continued to pour down from above. Lucas moved away from the stream splashing down, but could not escape the rising water around his sneakers. How long would it take before the water was over his head?
"DAD!!" He screamed, panicked now. He heard the carriage door thud closed. His father had left him here—how could he just leave him here? Lucas' arms wrapped around himself as he shivered. The water was over his sneakers now, soaking his socks as well. In the near darkness, he turned to the wall at his back and felt the surface. Maybe he could climb out; maybe, since he was the only variable in his father's experiment, perhaps he could change the expected results. He dug his fingers into the cracks of the rocky surface and let his weight hang, briefly, by his tenuous grip. It might work. It was a chance, anyway. He swiped at the blood still dripping from his nose and turned back to slip off his shoes and socks. He would need his toes, as well, to make a successful climb.
Shivering more violently now, he briskly rubbed his hands together for warmth and looked up, gauging how far he needed to climb. The rim of the well was about six feet above his outstretched fingertips, and if he judged the climb correctly, he could reach over the edge while still a foot or two below the top and pull himself out.
The water had risen to his knees. 'No time like the present,' he thought, and approached the wall again.
*****************************
The third time he fell, the water was so deep it broke his fall. Small comfort, since the first fall had smashed his aching wrist against the wall; the second fall had wrenched his right knee. Now he could hardly stand. He had stopped shivering a while ago. He realized, dimly, that he was probably hypothermic, maybe freezing. His thoughts slowed down. It was hard now to care about making yet another attempt to climb out. He wanted to sit down, to sink under the water and rest, just rest. He realized that to do so meant he'd die, but that fact seemed unimportant now. He was so cold. He couldn't see his fingers or toes anymore, so he knew that night had fallen, but he didn't need to see his hands and feet to know that they were scraped and cut, some nails now torn to the quick or ripped completely off. The cold water was a blessing, he guessed, because he couldn't feel the pain in his hands and feet, but the oozing blood from them loosened his grip as he tried to climb.
The water had reached his chin now. He was so tired. Would anyone care when he died? Would his mother care? He doubted it since she didn't seem to care now unless he did something to inconvenience her. Lucas knew his father would feel remorse, even carry guilt, if he remembered what he had done to hasten his son's death. But, many times, his father seemingly had no memory of his actions while on a drinking binge. When he did remember, he apologized, sometimes cried, about the horrible things he had said or done while drunk. Always, he promised it would never happen again. Lucas felt helpless when he saw his father's tears. He always cried too, and readily forgave the broken bones, bruises, and ugly words. He always hoped, each time, that his father was sincere, and he would never drink again. He believed his daddy, every time…until the next time.
Lucas' tears slid, unnoticed, down his cheeks. He decided he wanted to live; he accepted that this was his last attempt. He didn't even know if he had the strength left, but he had to try. He wouldn't give up. He wanted to see the stars, see the ocean again. He was floating now. He reached as high as he could and fingered each crack. If he pushed as hard as he could, he could barely feel the pressure against his fingertips. He shoved his hands into two likely spots and took a deep breath.
He pulled up, feet scrabbling for a grip. At his knees, a rock came loose and provided a secure foothold in the hole it left as it sank under water. Lucas pressed his forehead against the wall and rested. He had never been this exhausted. He shoved his fingers into a higher crevice and pushed up, stretching his left foot across to a protruding rock a foot above his current perch. The rock held. Thank God.
His fingers walked the wall above him again. They were useless now to help him feel his way, but he still had some sensation in his palms. His fingers were only good to measure how deep the grooves were. His palms could still give him an indication of the height and width of each crack. After what seemed like an endless, fruitless search, he found not one, but two likely feeling cracks, deep and wide enough for all his fingers. He recklessly shoved as many fingers as would fit in each one, and, whimpering now, pulled himself upward with agonizing slowness. His feet miraculously found a former handhold just as his trembling arms were about to give out. Groaning, he balanced there, panting rapidly.
He knew that he was on the verge of passing out. Red and Black spots bloomed like obscene roses, appearing and disappearing before his eyes. He leaned his body into the wall and bit his lip, hard, drawing blood. The copper taste filled his mouth, sickening him, but waking him somewhat. He gasped, shuddering helplessly, as his body, not submerged anymore, warmed slightly in the night air.
After a few minutes, he felt strong enough to continue. Glancing up, he was shocked to see that he'd made it further on this attempt than any of the last three. He reached upward with his good hand and wrapped his fingers around the well's rock rim. He kept the fingers of his right hand jammed where they were. If the rock rim gave way, perhaps this hand would hold him while he grabbed for a new hold above. He gritted his teeth, tears again streaming from his eyes, as he pulled himself up for what he hoped was the last time. He hurt everywhere now. His chest scraped painfully against the rock as he inched upward. At last, he hooked his left elbow over the edge. His breath hitched as he brought his injured arm up and rested that elbow on the well's edge also. His weight now settled on his crooked arms and his chin. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision. The water below him had covered his legs to his thighs. He hung there, breathing deeply. His chest hurt on the inside too, and he coughed, choking a bit. His toes now found the deep finger holds, and he rolled out, looking up at the stars shining through the gaps in the roof above him.
He had made it.
Everything, everywhere hurt, and he was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, muscles twitching painfully. Mercifully, he passed out before full feeling returned to his mangled fingers and toes.
When he awakened, his father was carrying him up the driveway. Faintly, he could hear him muttering to himself, "fool boy, what was he doing in there? If I hadn't heard the water running…he could have died." His father looked down at him, and seeing he was awake, drew Lucas closer still. "Lucas, what were you doing playing down there? What on earth did you do to your hands and feet? I couldn't find your shoes anywhere…" Lucas, his thoughts still unfocused, judged the time to be somewhere after midnight, possibly early morning. He'd been trapped in the carriage house for over ten hours, and his father had no memory of how he ended up there.
Upstairs, in the same bathroom where it all started, his father undressed him, examining his wrist, knee, hands and feet gently after he wrapped him in blankets. "I'll need to call the doctor to look at these. I think your wrist might be broken." Lucas couldn't speak, he was shivering so badly. As the bath filled, his father held him gingerly, softly drying his hair with a towel. Lucas leaned against his father's chest and cried. He needed his father's love, but it seemed he only showed it when Lucas was hurt.
"It's OK now, son. We'll talk about not wandering off later. You need to get in the bath and let it warm you up. The water may sting a little on all these cuts. As soon as you get in, I'll call Dr. Harris. He'll come to the house for the right price." His father picked him up and set him in the half filled tub. Lucas gasped, arching away from the water, as his cold, cold skin was covered with the warm bathwater. It felt like knives stabbing him everywhere…like his whole body had gone to sleep and was now waking, viciously screaming in protest as it did. He felt like he was on fire…and then, after one long minute, the feeling faded and he began to warm up. His father held his hand as he relaxed into the water, then left to call the doctor.
******************
He was warm now, warmer than he wanted to be. He was stuck, caught in the bathtub, unable to get out, and now he felt like he was burning; his skin was baking. Someone was shaking him. He heard a voice, but needed to escape the heat more than he wanted to understand what was being said. He pulled away from the insistent shaking, crying now. "No! No.. it's hot…burning me.. let me out, let me go!"
The shaking continued though; it even increased as more voices were raised in alarm. He twisted away and shuddered as a hand closed over his stitched arm. His eyes flew open wide at the pain.
"No! No, let go!" He winced as he looked around at the alarmed and worried faces of the senior staff.
"Jonathan! That arm is injured." Kristen said urgently.
He felt the hand release his arm instantly. He looked up to see Commander Ford grimace and mutter, "Sorry, Lucas, I didn't know. I thought you were going to hurt yourself flailing around." Lucas smiled weakly at him, nodding his acceptance of the apology.
Dr. Westphalen placed her hand on his forehead. "Your fever has risen considerably since I checked you last." She paused, then said, "I take it that was not a good dream?" Her voice rose in inquiry, and he knew that she was fishing for an explanation.
He started to stand, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder before he had risen halfway from his seat. He had been trying to back away from all of them; he felt utterly lost after this particular nightmare and did not want to share its details with anyone. He needed to be alone for a while and make his way back from the past to the present.
"Nathan, I know it is important that we are all present at this meeting, but you have Lucas' written update, and I do not believe I can wait any longer to start his antibiotics. I would like to take him to Med Bay now, with your permission."
Lucas looked over his shoulder at the Captain and watched him nod slowly, but his worried eyes never left Lucas' face. "I will relay the pertinent information to both of you later, Kristen." Nathan looked at her briefly, his eyes communicating his concern and picking up on her own. Then he looked down at Lucas.
"I'll talk to you later."
To be continued…
To be continued