When I started uploading "Blind Ambition" I thought I had completed this story. Then I started communicating with Dusty and realised that there was so much more that I could add. The result is the addition of the next eight chapters. I'd like to thank her for her inspiration, assistance and for adding a little realism.
I've also decided that "Blind Ambition" starts a few weeks after my story "Everything Happens For A Reason". This may help to explain a few things I've written in the coming chapters.
So, once again, thanks Dusty. You've helped me, and now you're going to help Scott Tracy...
Purupuss
Thirty Three - BF
It was a subdued group of people on Tracy Island the following day. There were no joyful reunions. Each family member went their own way to be with their own thoughts.
Gordon collapsed on his bed and looked about the room. His eyes fell on his Olympic gold medal, proudly displayed in its case on the wall. He remembered Scott's expression when he'd first seen it, a mixture of pride and awe. But his comment had been typically down to earth. "That's a nice bit of jewellery you've been given Gordo'. But I'm not sure you've got the right outfit to go with it."
Sitting above the display case was a yellow, plastic, toy fish. 'Fishie' had been Gordon's favourite toy when his mother had been alive. He'd lost it during the avalanche when she'd been killed. If it hadn't been for Scott finding the correct place to start digging, both he and Alan may have suffered the same fate. If Scott hadn't been able to see the right place...
Alan and Tin-Tin were sitting together on the beach. "I can't believe it." Alan kept repeating. "Not to Scott. I can't believe it."
For some reason he kept remembering his first competitive Go Kart race. As he'd rounded the final bend he was only just behind the leading kart. He'd glanced into the crowd and there'd been Scott cheering him on - watching every moment of the race. He'd lost, but only just. "Never mind kid." Scott had said. "You'll do better next time. I can see how good you're going to be." And Alan had been as proud over hearing that comment from his oldest brother as if he'd actually won the race...
Tin-Tin's memories were decidedly different. When she'd been a child she'd had something of a crush on the oldest Tracy brother. He'd been tall, dark and handsome, and to her tender years had seemed so grown up, especially with the way he'd cared for his younger brothers. She'd longed to have him take notice of her, and when those blue eyes would smile at her, she'd melt every time. She didn't know if he'd realised as he'd never said anything to her and she'd been too shy to tell him. She remembered those blue eyes. She hadn't seen them since before he'd set out for Regnad... would they still smile...?
Kyrano was in the kitchen. Sooner or later the family would need to eat and he had to be ready. He picked up a spoon and tried to decide what to make. It seemed to him that every dish he could think of had been a favourite of Scott's. The young man had often come into the kitchen and watched him in awe. "I don't know how you do it Kyrano. I'm never bored with your cooking and to watch you... it's like watching an artist at work. Only don't tell Virgil I said so," he'd said once with a grin.
Kyrano sighed. Mister Scott would never watch him again...
Brains had retreated into his lab. He'd read and re-read every piece of literature on Scott's injuries that he could find in the hope that something might lead him to a cure. He'd drawn a blank. He booted up his computer, and once again started to trawl through the mountain of information at his disposal. Surely this time he could come up with something? He was supposed to be one of the most intelligent men on Earth. He had to find something to help his friend...
John was sitting on the balcony, his feet resting on the railing. He wasn't taking in his surroundings. He was remembering yesterday's events. He was still in shock. They'd known that being members of International Rescue would be dangerous. They'd all been injured at some time or another, sometimes seriously, but it there'd never been anything that had resulted in a permanent disability. And now this!
Scott had been their leader, he'd always watched over them, even when they were children. John remembered often dragging Scott to his telescope to show him something new that he'd discovered. "That's great Johnny." Scott had always said enthusiastically, even though he hadn't shared his brother's interest in astronomy. He'd always made it sound as if John's interests were more important than his own. To a young, quiet boy like John, his brother's endorsement had always meant so much.
Then John started going back over the events of a week ago. He'd received the call from Regnad Corp. that the scientists were out, he'd ascertained how they'd escaped and then he'd tried to radio Scott. After five attempts he'd given up and contacted Virgil who was in the process of bandaging Scott's eyes. He hadn't reached Scott because he was already injured, but was he injured when he'd first learned the scientists were safe? Should he have radioed Scott straight away? John tried to work out the time factor and came to the conclusion that he couldn't have reached Scott in time to save him.
But then that nagging doubt crept back again...
Virgil sat at the piano. Under normal circumstances he would have been thrilled to be home, but now he felt as if he'd left a large part of himself behind.
He stared at the closed keyboard. At times of high emotion he'd always expressed himself through his music or his art. Now, with his left arm still in a cast he was unable to release his feelings through the piano. He could still paint, but had lost any inclination to. It had been blown away in that explosion a week ago...
Grandma Tracy had retreated to her own room and had got down the photo albums that had commemorated her grandsons' childhood. She started at the beginning. A tiny scrap wrapped up in a blanket that had seemed too big for him. His dark hair was in stark contrast to the white of the cloth and his blue eyes gleamed from beneath sleepy lids.
She turned some pages. Here was the five year old looking excitedly through the brightly burning candles on his birthday cake. A huge grin appeared to split his face almost in two as he gazed at the camera.
A few pages on and she found a photo of a teenaged Scott standing proudly beside his father and an aeroplane. Pinned to Scott's lapel were his newly gained pilots wings. It had been his proudest day and the culmination of his life's ambitions. Now he had his wings his life was mapped out before him. Like his father before him he was going to be a pilot. He was going to fly...
With a sigh she put aside the photo album and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she did so. She had a job to do. This family needed her support and now she felt strong enough to offer it. She knew that there were two in particular who would need her assistance and she left the confines of her room to find them. She'd deal with John shortly, but first she started off by heading for the piano.
"Virgil?" she sat on the piano stool beside him. "Are you alright Honey?"
He was still staring at the keyboard lid. "Yes." He said quietly.
"Are you sure?"
The anguish in his eyes as he directed his gaze towards her gave her the true answer. "I-I knew, Grandma."
"Knew what, Darling?"
"I knew Scott wouldn't be able to see again."
This statement surprised her. "How? Even the Doctor's didn't know until yesterday."
"I-I saw his eyes... after the explosion... It was horrible Grandma. I'll never forget... His eyes will haunt me forever." He looked away and she saw that his right hand was clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles were white.
She drew him into an embrace. "Don't think about it."
"I can't help it. I keep wondering, was there something else I could have done?"
"You saved his life, Virgil. Remember that. There's no way he could have escaped without your help. You should be pleased with yourself. It's thanks to you that he'll be coming home."
"But will he thank me?"
She looked into her middle grandson's devastated face and was about to rebut the question. Then she remembered the photo of the young man standing proudly beside an aeroplane, wearing his newly acquired wings... and wondered...
***
He heard the door close behind him. The familiar voice spoke. "Come over to these chairs and sit down. I'll go and find the receptionist." He nodded numbly.
What a day. What a miserable day.
Today should have been a glorious day filled with sunshine and flowers and ocean views. Instead... nothing.
Today he should have been heading home. Home to friends, and family, and familiar surroundings.
Home with Virgil.
And now Virgil was at home and he was in a strange new place. A place to learn how to live, how to cope, how to survive.
He couldn't comprehend it. His world was in darkness... permanently. This couldn't be real. Surely it was a dream?
"Scott?"
He looked up.
"Scott, this is Dusty."
Scott felt her take his hand. "Hello Scott. I'm here to help you. I'm your therapist."
He managed a weak 'Hi."
He could hear sympathy underlying the cheerful tone in her voice. "First thing we'll do is get you set up in your room. I'll show you where everything is. If you'd like to come with me..."
Scott stood and took her arm. They started walking. Scott heard his father pick up their bags and follow. He felt as if his mind was cut off from his body, as if he were watching a TV show with no picture.
Dusty was explaining to him about the layout of the building, but he wasn't really taking it in. "This is where your father can stay... And here's your room." She said. "It's simple and uncluttered. There's a chest of drawers here." she led him over to them and allowed him to feel it, to get some idea of its dimensions. "And here is your bed."
Scott sat down on it. It was soft, and comfortable, but it wasn't his bed. He wanted nothing more than to be able to retreat into his own bed and hide away under the covers. He wanted to hide from this nightmare.
"Scott." Jeff asked uncertainly. "Do you want me to put your things in the drawers?"
He received a numb nod by way of reply.
***
That first meal was a challenge. What he'd managed with relative ease in the hospital suddenly became an obstacle of Everest sized proportions.
Jeff looked on with concern as his normally confident son hesitantly attempted to feed himself. Scott had barely said two words all day and Jeff was worried that his silence signified some kind of psychological deterioration.
Scott speared a piece of carrot and raised it to his mouth. Jeff looked away as the carrot fell off, bounced off Scott's shirt and then rolled away onto the floor.
Scott dropped the fork back onto the table. "I want to go back to my room."
"But Scott you've hardly eaten..." Jeff started to say.
"I want to go to my room!" Scott said forcibly and stood up. In doing so he caught his plate and knocked it and it's contents onto the floor. He heard the crash. "Please." He pleaded.
"Of course." Jeff said quietly as laid down his own fork, ignoring the sympathetic glances they were receiving from others in the canteen. "Give me your arm."
Back in the bedroom Scott pulled down the sheets. "I'm going to bed."
"I'll get your pyjamas." Jeff offered.
"I can't be bothered." Scott slipped off his shoes.
"You can't go to bed in your clothes." Jeff protested.
"Why not?" Scott snapped.
"You've got cheese sauce down your front. It'll get onto the sheets."
Scott felt his shirt. His fingers came away covered in sauce. He wiped them on his shirttail before removing the garment. Jeff took it and handed him his top.
Scott felt for the edge. He found the buttons and tried to work out which way was up. He found a sleeve and slipped his arm into the hole. Something felt wrong and he realised that he had it on upside down. He pulled his arm out and started again. This time he managed to successfully get one arm in, but couldn't find the other sleeve.
Jeff pulled the sleeve out so that it was lying correctly. Scott managed to get his arm through the hole. He did up the buttons.
Jeff decided against telling him that the top was inside out and that the buttons and buttonholes weren't lined up correctly.
Scott pulled off his trousers and accepted his pyjama pants. In attempting to put them on he managed to get the legs knotted up, one leg inside out and the whole mess upside down. In frustration he threw them onto the floor and, only partially dressed, got into bed, curling up on his side.
Jeff picked the pyjama pants up. "Can I do anything else for you son?"
"No."
"I'll go and call home. Do you want to say anything?"
"No."
"Do you want me to give them a message?"
"No."
"Okay. I'll let you get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Automatically Jeff reached out brush a dark curl that had crept under the bandages that still protected much of Scott's face.
At Jeff's touch Scott rolled further away from his father, burying his face in his pillow.
With regret Jeff pulled his hand back. "Good night son."
Scott didn't reply.
***
I've also decided that "Blind Ambition" starts a few weeks after my story "Everything Happens For A Reason". This may help to explain a few things I've written in the coming chapters.
So, once again, thanks Dusty. You've helped me, and now you're going to help Scott Tracy...
Purupuss
Thirty Three - BF
It was a subdued group of people on Tracy Island the following day. There were no joyful reunions. Each family member went their own way to be with their own thoughts.
Gordon collapsed on his bed and looked about the room. His eyes fell on his Olympic gold medal, proudly displayed in its case on the wall. He remembered Scott's expression when he'd first seen it, a mixture of pride and awe. But his comment had been typically down to earth. "That's a nice bit of jewellery you've been given Gordo'. But I'm not sure you've got the right outfit to go with it."
Sitting above the display case was a yellow, plastic, toy fish. 'Fishie' had been Gordon's favourite toy when his mother had been alive. He'd lost it during the avalanche when she'd been killed. If it hadn't been for Scott finding the correct place to start digging, both he and Alan may have suffered the same fate. If Scott hadn't been able to see the right place...
Alan and Tin-Tin were sitting together on the beach. "I can't believe it." Alan kept repeating. "Not to Scott. I can't believe it."
For some reason he kept remembering his first competitive Go Kart race. As he'd rounded the final bend he was only just behind the leading kart. He'd glanced into the crowd and there'd been Scott cheering him on - watching every moment of the race. He'd lost, but only just. "Never mind kid." Scott had said. "You'll do better next time. I can see how good you're going to be." And Alan had been as proud over hearing that comment from his oldest brother as if he'd actually won the race...
Tin-Tin's memories were decidedly different. When she'd been a child she'd had something of a crush on the oldest Tracy brother. He'd been tall, dark and handsome, and to her tender years had seemed so grown up, especially with the way he'd cared for his younger brothers. She'd longed to have him take notice of her, and when those blue eyes would smile at her, she'd melt every time. She didn't know if he'd realised as he'd never said anything to her and she'd been too shy to tell him. She remembered those blue eyes. She hadn't seen them since before he'd set out for Regnad... would they still smile...?
Kyrano was in the kitchen. Sooner or later the family would need to eat and he had to be ready. He picked up a spoon and tried to decide what to make. It seemed to him that every dish he could think of had been a favourite of Scott's. The young man had often come into the kitchen and watched him in awe. "I don't know how you do it Kyrano. I'm never bored with your cooking and to watch you... it's like watching an artist at work. Only don't tell Virgil I said so," he'd said once with a grin.
Kyrano sighed. Mister Scott would never watch him again...
Brains had retreated into his lab. He'd read and re-read every piece of literature on Scott's injuries that he could find in the hope that something might lead him to a cure. He'd drawn a blank. He booted up his computer, and once again started to trawl through the mountain of information at his disposal. Surely this time he could come up with something? He was supposed to be one of the most intelligent men on Earth. He had to find something to help his friend...
John was sitting on the balcony, his feet resting on the railing. He wasn't taking in his surroundings. He was remembering yesterday's events. He was still in shock. They'd known that being members of International Rescue would be dangerous. They'd all been injured at some time or another, sometimes seriously, but it there'd never been anything that had resulted in a permanent disability. And now this!
Scott had been their leader, he'd always watched over them, even when they were children. John remembered often dragging Scott to his telescope to show him something new that he'd discovered. "That's great Johnny." Scott had always said enthusiastically, even though he hadn't shared his brother's interest in astronomy. He'd always made it sound as if John's interests were more important than his own. To a young, quiet boy like John, his brother's endorsement had always meant so much.
Then John started going back over the events of a week ago. He'd received the call from Regnad Corp. that the scientists were out, he'd ascertained how they'd escaped and then he'd tried to radio Scott. After five attempts he'd given up and contacted Virgil who was in the process of bandaging Scott's eyes. He hadn't reached Scott because he was already injured, but was he injured when he'd first learned the scientists were safe? Should he have radioed Scott straight away? John tried to work out the time factor and came to the conclusion that he couldn't have reached Scott in time to save him.
But then that nagging doubt crept back again...
Virgil sat at the piano. Under normal circumstances he would have been thrilled to be home, but now he felt as if he'd left a large part of himself behind.
He stared at the closed keyboard. At times of high emotion he'd always expressed himself through his music or his art. Now, with his left arm still in a cast he was unable to release his feelings through the piano. He could still paint, but had lost any inclination to. It had been blown away in that explosion a week ago...
Grandma Tracy had retreated to her own room and had got down the photo albums that had commemorated her grandsons' childhood. She started at the beginning. A tiny scrap wrapped up in a blanket that had seemed too big for him. His dark hair was in stark contrast to the white of the cloth and his blue eyes gleamed from beneath sleepy lids.
She turned some pages. Here was the five year old looking excitedly through the brightly burning candles on his birthday cake. A huge grin appeared to split his face almost in two as he gazed at the camera.
A few pages on and she found a photo of a teenaged Scott standing proudly beside his father and an aeroplane. Pinned to Scott's lapel were his newly gained pilots wings. It had been his proudest day and the culmination of his life's ambitions. Now he had his wings his life was mapped out before him. Like his father before him he was going to be a pilot. He was going to fly...
With a sigh she put aside the photo album and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she did so. She had a job to do. This family needed her support and now she felt strong enough to offer it. She knew that there were two in particular who would need her assistance and she left the confines of her room to find them. She'd deal with John shortly, but first she started off by heading for the piano.
"Virgil?" she sat on the piano stool beside him. "Are you alright Honey?"
He was still staring at the keyboard lid. "Yes." He said quietly.
"Are you sure?"
The anguish in his eyes as he directed his gaze towards her gave her the true answer. "I-I knew, Grandma."
"Knew what, Darling?"
"I knew Scott wouldn't be able to see again."
This statement surprised her. "How? Even the Doctor's didn't know until yesterday."
"I-I saw his eyes... after the explosion... It was horrible Grandma. I'll never forget... His eyes will haunt me forever." He looked away and she saw that his right hand was clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles were white.
She drew him into an embrace. "Don't think about it."
"I can't help it. I keep wondering, was there something else I could have done?"
"You saved his life, Virgil. Remember that. There's no way he could have escaped without your help. You should be pleased with yourself. It's thanks to you that he'll be coming home."
"But will he thank me?"
She looked into her middle grandson's devastated face and was about to rebut the question. Then she remembered the photo of the young man standing proudly beside an aeroplane, wearing his newly acquired wings... and wondered...
***
He heard the door close behind him. The familiar voice spoke. "Come over to these chairs and sit down. I'll go and find the receptionist." He nodded numbly.
What a day. What a miserable day.
Today should have been a glorious day filled with sunshine and flowers and ocean views. Instead... nothing.
Today he should have been heading home. Home to friends, and family, and familiar surroundings.
Home with Virgil.
And now Virgil was at home and he was in a strange new place. A place to learn how to live, how to cope, how to survive.
He couldn't comprehend it. His world was in darkness... permanently. This couldn't be real. Surely it was a dream?
"Scott?"
He looked up.
"Scott, this is Dusty."
Scott felt her take his hand. "Hello Scott. I'm here to help you. I'm your therapist."
He managed a weak 'Hi."
He could hear sympathy underlying the cheerful tone in her voice. "First thing we'll do is get you set up in your room. I'll show you where everything is. If you'd like to come with me..."
Scott stood and took her arm. They started walking. Scott heard his father pick up their bags and follow. He felt as if his mind was cut off from his body, as if he were watching a TV show with no picture.
Dusty was explaining to him about the layout of the building, but he wasn't really taking it in. "This is where your father can stay... And here's your room." She said. "It's simple and uncluttered. There's a chest of drawers here." she led him over to them and allowed him to feel it, to get some idea of its dimensions. "And here is your bed."
Scott sat down on it. It was soft, and comfortable, but it wasn't his bed. He wanted nothing more than to be able to retreat into his own bed and hide away under the covers. He wanted to hide from this nightmare.
"Scott." Jeff asked uncertainly. "Do you want me to put your things in the drawers?"
He received a numb nod by way of reply.
***
That first meal was a challenge. What he'd managed with relative ease in the hospital suddenly became an obstacle of Everest sized proportions.
Jeff looked on with concern as his normally confident son hesitantly attempted to feed himself. Scott had barely said two words all day and Jeff was worried that his silence signified some kind of psychological deterioration.
Scott speared a piece of carrot and raised it to his mouth. Jeff looked away as the carrot fell off, bounced off Scott's shirt and then rolled away onto the floor.
Scott dropped the fork back onto the table. "I want to go back to my room."
"But Scott you've hardly eaten..." Jeff started to say.
"I want to go to my room!" Scott said forcibly and stood up. In doing so he caught his plate and knocked it and it's contents onto the floor. He heard the crash. "Please." He pleaded.
"Of course." Jeff said quietly as laid down his own fork, ignoring the sympathetic glances they were receiving from others in the canteen. "Give me your arm."
Back in the bedroom Scott pulled down the sheets. "I'm going to bed."
"I'll get your pyjamas." Jeff offered.
"I can't be bothered." Scott slipped off his shoes.
"You can't go to bed in your clothes." Jeff protested.
"Why not?" Scott snapped.
"You've got cheese sauce down your front. It'll get onto the sheets."
Scott felt his shirt. His fingers came away covered in sauce. He wiped them on his shirttail before removing the garment. Jeff took it and handed him his top.
Scott felt for the edge. He found the buttons and tried to work out which way was up. He found a sleeve and slipped his arm into the hole. Something felt wrong and he realised that he had it on upside down. He pulled his arm out and started again. This time he managed to successfully get one arm in, but couldn't find the other sleeve.
Jeff pulled the sleeve out so that it was lying correctly. Scott managed to get his arm through the hole. He did up the buttons.
Jeff decided against telling him that the top was inside out and that the buttons and buttonholes weren't lined up correctly.
Scott pulled off his trousers and accepted his pyjama pants. In attempting to put them on he managed to get the legs knotted up, one leg inside out and the whole mess upside down. In frustration he threw them onto the floor and, only partially dressed, got into bed, curling up on his side.
Jeff picked the pyjama pants up. "Can I do anything else for you son?"
"No."
"I'll go and call home. Do you want to say anything?"
"No."
"Do you want me to give them a message?"
"No."
"Okay. I'll let you get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Automatically Jeff reached out brush a dark curl that had crept under the bandages that still protected much of Scott's face.
At Jeff's touch Scott rolled further away from his father, burying his face in his pillow.
With regret Jeff pulled his hand back. "Good night son."
Scott didn't reply.
***