Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Nine - Unraveling

They were drawing closer. Realistically, Jeff Tracy knew that. But it was taking so long. The sightings of Alan were more numerous than they had been now that they knew where to look. Since Alan's run-in with Parker, the authorities were able to concentrate on one smaller area. The small army of detectives Jeff had hired were now often just a few days behind Alan, and had pieced together some of his past movements. Jeff knew that it was only a matter of time.

Alan had been sightseeing. Part of Jeff had to smile at that innocent pastime. On another level, his heart was breaking. Up until now, he always assumed his other sons had taken Alan on those jaunts to see the city while he'd been working. It wasn't until the family was going over the reports of Alan's movements, and where he'd been going, that they realized that Alan had never seen the major sights of New York. How could he have denied Alan that? New York was such a part of them, it was their second home.

He thought again of what Pastor John had told him just a few days ago. New York would probably be forever tainted for Alan now. The thought of his son on the streets at night, alone and frightened, tore at Jeff.

Jeff closed his eyes in pain. It had been so long. He just wanted his son back. No matter what shape he was in, or what scars this adventure would leave – mental or physical. He just wanted Alan back.

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan woke up in black darkness. Swimming up out of the nightmare. As the horrifying world of his dream began to dissipate, the reality of his actual world settled in. A small dark corner of a forgotten basement room. Gloomy, cold, and lonely. Not much more inviting than his dream world of the New York street life. Only this was real, and there was no waking from it.

Nobody was there. No Scott coming in to see if he was okay, his ESP always operating where Alan and nightmares were concerned. No kitchen, where it was always inviting with the bright moonlight of the night to chase away demons, and usually at least one brother up and willing to help, even if it was only with gentle teasing. No father coming in to check on him nightly before turning in, making sure he was safe.

He was completely alone. Alone with the nightmares that came regularly now. Alone with the life he had chosen. Alone with the bridges to home burned so thoroughly with his cleverness that there was no turning back, regardless of what Pastor John said.

Alan tucked his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, and ducked his head, and wept as though there were no tomorrow.

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan didn't venture out much after his night on the streets. Over the course of the three days following that period he hunkered down and tried to sort things out. Nothing made sense anymore. His head was pounding by the third day – stress, he figured. That and the fact that he wasn't getting much sleep. Or food for that matter. Too many nightmares.

He just didn't know what to do anymore. What he'd seen on the streets had been horrifying. He just couldn't get it out of his head. It seemed so alien to him. And home sounded so good. He desperately wanted to see his Dad again. But then, he'd remember that he was a mistake, and not really wanted. Tolerated, but not wanted. And all the things he'd done . . . He just didn't know what to do anymore, what to think. He'd just about make a decision, one way or another, then he'd remember something else, and he'd be swayed the other way.

Finally, in desperation, he decided to go see Pastor John. Maybe he could help him decided what to do. Decision made (well, that one at least), Alan emerged and headed for the street, detouring to the library gift shop to replace his sunglasses when the light proved to bright for his pounding head.

Sooner than he could have imagined, he was standing in front of Pastor John's mission. The dim, cool interior beckoned him from the bright sunny street. After a long hesitation where he almost changed his mind, he entered.

"Well, hello!" The pastor's soft voice greeted him. "Back again, I see. What can I do for you?"

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but the afternoon disappeared in a swirl of bright sparks as his vision swam. He felt himself begin to fall, then knew nothing more.

TB TB TB TB TB

His head hurt, his back hurt, and his joints ached. Everything hurt. He just wanted it to stop. The light hurt his eyes. And the noise too. Voices everywhere. Movement, making him nauseous. A cold hand touched his lower back and that was all it took to turn his stomach. Then he was throwing up, explosively, all over everything in front of him. His brothers were going to kill him. He just knew it. They weren't going to like having to clean that up. Then more voices, but nothing making sense.

"Blood work stat . . . "

"Temp 104 . . ."

" . . . I need . . . lumbar puncture . . . spine . . ."

"Listen Alan . . . it's John . . ."

Somebody kept talking to him, telling him they were John, but it wasn't John – it wasn't his brother. He wanted his Dad; kept trying to ask for him, but his voice wouldn't work. He was hot, and that made him think he was probably sick. But the man who said he was John kept talking, frustrating Alan, because he wasn't John. This was another bad dream, he was sure, but he wasn't waking up. And Scott wasn't around – Scott who always woke him up from nightmares. His world was upside down and he didn't know why.

But then he was there. "Shhh, Allie. You're okay, shhh, it's okay." Alan reached out blindly. His hand was caught in the firm grasp he was looking for. The one that, besides his father, had always meant safety to Alan. He felt a cover draped over him. 'Too hot' was his random thought, but as he tried weakly to get it off again, a familiar hand began stroking his shoulder and back soothingly. "Easy Allie. Leave it alone. Quiet now. Just go to sleep." Alan sighed slightly as the well-known voice eased his frustration. "That's it, that's it . . ." And Alan drifted off.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott Tracy skidded into his brother's hospital room at a run, actually picking up his pace as the familiar sounds of his younger brother's sobs grew more distinct. Years of listening for younger brothers had honed his ability to recognize any one of his sibling's voices from the quietest sound, and right now, Alan sounded awful. He entered just in time to see a nurse finishing up an injection with the biggest needle Scott had ever seen. 'That had to have hurt . . .' His thoughts were answered by an agonized moan from the heap on the bed.

A black man was sitting next to Alan, trying to calm him, but his little brother was having none of it. It didn't take more than a quick look to see that Alan's fever was very high, and that he was in no way present in the room, rather off somewhere in a world of his own. Scott had had years of experience dealing with his strong minded little brother, and knew just how to handle him. The man with him, who must be Pastor John, Scott surmised, was way out of his depth with Alan. It would have been almost amusing had Alan not been so ill.

His youngest brother, whom he hadn't seen nor heard from over two months because of his stupid mistake lay sobbing in the bed, locked in some nightmare. He looked terrible; flushed with fever and pain, eyes clenched shut against even the pale light of the very dim room. His heart constricted. He didn't know if Alan even wanted him around. He certainly couldn't be blamed if he didn't after the conversation he'd heard. But they would deal with it later. Right now, they just had to get him well.

Scott spared a quick smile for the man who stood up to give him room, then spoke quietly to Alan, grabbing a chair behind him without looking and sitting down. He was so focused, he didn't even see the man leave the room.

"Shhh, Allie," he murmured, reverting back to the pet name they hadn't used in years. "You're okay, shhh, it's okay." Scott sighed in relief as Alan's hand reached out blindly to him. He caught Alan's flailing hand in his, and with the other hand, pulled the tangled sheet up from the foot of the bed where it had gravitated from the combined efforts of both Alan and the nurse. He finished straightening the light cover, then reached up and began to stroke his little brother's shoulder and back soothingly as Alan began to move restlessly, frowning, trying to get the sheet back off. "Easy Allie. Leave it alone. Quiet now. Just go to sleep That's it, that's it . . ." Scott again smiled slightly as his little brother slowly quieted, then gradually faded off to sleep, eased by his voice. But the grip Alan had on his hand didn't lessen one bit.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott was still sitting like that when Jeff Tracy arrived. Having been delayed at the desk for some paperwork questions, Scott had gone on ahead. He could hear the voices of his father and Pastor John for a moment, then his father entered the room. "How is he?" Jeff asked breathlessly, his eyes lingering on Alan's flushed face.

Scott laughed, mostly in relief at having Alan there in front of him. "I don't know Dad, I haven't talked to anyone. I came straight here. You tell me!"

Jeff relaxed and gave a short laugh. "Good point," he said as he pulled up a chair near the head of the bed, when it became apparent that Scott wasn't going to give his up. Leaning over, he stroked Alan's feverish forehead gently.

The call had come in to the island via Tracy Enterprises in New York. Ann Marie had been breathless. "Jeff, Pastor John from the mission called – Alan's in the hospital. You have to get here NOW!" That had been all it had taken to spin them into action. John and Virgil, after arguing fruitlessly about coming with them, had finally gone to get Gordon, so that there were at least three of them on the island in case of a rescue call. TB 5 would be on automatic for awhile. There was nothing else to be done. Scott and Jeff had headed out to New York as soon as possible.

Information on Alan was gained via cell phone as Jeff contacted the hospital. Jeff had confirmed from pictures that it was Alan. Alan was very, very sick. Meningitis was the diagnosis, confirmed just a few hours earlier. Jeff had done the authorization for treatment via computer while Scott broke speed records getting to New York.

Now they were here. But Alan wasn't with them mentally. Jeff and Scott took turns sitting with him 24 hours a day. When one was sitting holding his hand and keeping him quiet (Alan clung to them like he was never letting go), the other was trying to sleep, or was keeping up with contacts on Tracy Island. John, Virgil and Gordon, as well as the other Island inhabitants and lady P, close as family, wanted updates hourly, it seemed.

By day three, Alan appeared to have stabilized and was slowly improving. His fever was dropping and he was finally sleeping quietly. Jeff stood up and stretched and walked to the window, stifling a yawn.

"Dad . . .?" A drowsy voice spoke up from the chair in the corner of the room.

Jeff turned to his oldest son with a smile. "Everything's okay, Scott. He's better this morning."

Scott got up and joined his father at the window, after a quick look at Alan. "That's good news." He stretched his back out, listening to the slight pops. "You okay?" he asked his father briefly, after a slight pause to study his parent.

Jeff folded his arms, and nodded a slight affirmative. "As well as I can be after listening to Alan for three days."

Scott winced. He knew what his father meant. Everything Alan had been thinking and experiencing had crossed his lips while he was delirious. The two of them had gotten quite an earful, and it had been hard to take. "Dad, I'm really sorry . . ."

Jeff broke off his son's apology. He'd heard that same line many times from three of his sons over the last two months. He'd forgiven them long ago. "I know, Scott. I really do know," he said with a gentle smile towards his uncomfortable eldest son. "Alan can be enough to tempt the patience of saints." Jeff grinned suddenly. "But the rest of you are just as bad." Scott laughed, several incidents proving this statement coming instantly to mind, the last few months notwithstanding.

Jeff continued, "Now we just have to convince Alan." He glanced back over his shoulder at his sleeping son. "I think it's time to get the ball rolling on going home. I'll feel a lot better when we have Alan back on the island, and a whole ocean keeping him in one place while we sort this out."

Scott laughed at the wry comment, but in no way disagreed.