Sorry it took me so long to update, I was just trying to get into the groves of things . . .
Enjoy . . .
"I remember this day," Nick said as he watched his six-year-old self throw the baseball to his eleven-year-old brother. It was hard not to laugh at himself, he use to throw very much like a girl.
The ball only stayed in the air for a few mediocre seconds, but in the air if flew like a feather then hit the ground like a rock and rolled two feet.
Nick scrunched his eyebrows together as his older brother fell to the ground in a fit of laughter. Nick loved and admired his brother, but when it came down to it . . . Mat was a horrible teacher, and he wasn't helping his pitching skills much by laughing at him.
"Come on squirt, throw the ball as hard as you can, okay?" Mat said as he finally got control of his giggling fit.
Nick tried again, only to end up with the same results as last time.
Mat fought hard not to break down again, his brother couldn't throw a baseball to save his life. "Look Nicky, you have to throw like this," Mat got into position, winding his arm and throwing the ball with incredible force.
Nick sighed clearly frustrated. "I hate this game, I can't frow the stinkin ball!"
Mat was set and determined to teach his baby brother how to play baseball. He remembered his mothers' words exactly, "Mathew James Stokes, you haven't played with your little brother in months! He's lonely and he misses his older brother, I think maybe you should take some time out of your busy life and teach him something."
Oh yes, his mother had once again succeeded in making him feel guilty. Of course he should be use to it by now, she was very good at it. She often used it on their father and the effort was successful, their father was indeed wrapped around her fingers. It was only natural that she would be doing it again in the future, only using her power of guilt towards him, the older brother.
So whether he liked it or not, he was going to spend the next hour or so teaching Nick the fair trades of America's past time.
"Mat, I don't tink I can frow dat far!" Nick frowned, his speech always made his older brother giggle, and this time was not an exception.
It was hot, and he hated baseball. Why couldn't Mat teach him to do something that HE might actually enjoy doing, and that definitely did not include baseball.
Maybe they could go on an adventure; the yard was big enough. He loved solving things, such as where Mat had placed his sneakers, or trying to find where his father had placed the newly lost remote to the TV.
It didn't take long for his mother to give him a nickname for all his trouble, 'My little detective' she would call him over and over again. Nick had never had a problem with being called by that phrase. In fact, he loved it. The name would make him feel important and strong, something every six-year-old would strive for.
The smaller boy rolled his eyes, Mat had always made fun of his speech, and it didn't take much to figure out what he was giggling at.
Nick held the ball tightly, getting ready to throw with all his might. He took a couple steps back and watched as his brothers' face steadily turned from pleasure to horror.
"Nicky! Watch out!" Mat had screamed, running towards his brother.
Nick's face contorted in confusion. Why was his brother yelling at him?
Nick walked back more. "What's wrong Mat?" Nick called to his brother across the yard.
All the sudden he slammed into something behind him, before he could stop himself he felt his body flip over the side of the well.
In all the panic Nick couldn't find the strength to scream as his body plunged into the dark hole. His body made a splash when it contacted the water.
When Nick surfaced he gasped in air, filling his starving lungs with the precious oxygen. The cold water bit into his skin like a knife.
Thinking quickly, he latched onto the side of the well where vines had grown. He held himself upright and listened to his brother calling down to him frantically.
"Mat!" The little boy screamed. He was going to drown; he didn't know how to swim.
He remembered when his mother had insisted that he take swimming lessons, but being the persuasive boy that he was; little Nicky had ensured his mother that he was still just a tad too young to try anything so . . . extravagant. Now he wished more than anything that he had listened to his mother.
It was dark and he hated the dark. So much so, that he slept with a nightlight and the door open. His child logic had seemed so . . . understandable; the boy was a child and he hated the dark just like all of his other friends.
But at that moment it wasn't the darkness that was horrifying the six-year-old, it was the small space.
When he was four, Mat thought it would be funny if he locked Nick in the closet. Little did Mat know, Nicky was claustrophobic.
When Mat finally decided to let the young child out, he found the little boy unconscious and heavily breathing.
Nick had been rushed to the hospital. And after finding out that he was going to be fine, Mat had promised himself that he would never let Nick go through something like that again.
"I'm here Nicky," a voice boomed above him. "I'm coming down, watch out!" Fear struck the older brother; maybe if he had run faster, Nicky wouldn't be in that stupid pit.
"No Mat, if you come down then no one will know to come get us," Nick reasoned.
"Don't worry, grandma is going to find Dad," Mat said as he jumped into the water.
That was it, Nick had been using the side of the well to keep himself upright and when the force of his brother smacking into the water, and the huge ripples that followed went coursing throughout the small space, the boy had been forced to let go.
"Grandma, why did you take me here?" The confused CSI asked. Nick shivered when he saw himself flip over the brick barrier and tumble into the well. That day had frightened him, he still hated closed spaces.
His grandmother smiled knowingly over at him. "Do you remember what happened after you let go of those vines?" Her smile steadily got smaller as she watched her grandsons' flustered expression change into one of remembrance.
"Yeah," Nick stalled, he hated to remember this part. "Mat pulled me up and held me against the wall, he said that he couldn't let me drown. You and dad got to us quickly, we were only in there for a few minutes," Nick said slowly.
"Oh Nicky, in reality it was only a few minutes, but to your father and me and no doubt your brother, those few minutes seemed like days." Nick's grandma informed him. She remembered all to clearly what it felt like to hear Nicky crying hysterically, and listening to Mat mumble assurances to try and calm him down.
"I remember after we pulled you out, Mat wouldn't let anyone touch you, he kept insisting that he was going to take care of his little brother." Nola Stokes tried and failed miserably to hide a grin at the shocked expression on Nick's face.
"I don't remember that," Nick spoke incredulously. But Nick did remember that after that incident, Mat had been very protective.
Suddenly, Nick started swaying erratically on his feet. A shadow of nausea flittered itself into Nick's senses. He had to fight to keep himself upright.
"What's wrong Nicky?" Nola asked with concern decorating her aged voice.
"I don't know, I feel sick," Nick croaked as he fell to his knees.
Nola realized that his spirit was going to leave his body if someone didn't step in to save him. "If you want to stay here Nicky, then you'll have to fight for it . . . okay?" Nick's grandmother asked in her soft voice.
Nick nodded, then closed his eyes.
Where was he? Nick looked around and realized with a sudden horror that he was staring at himself in a hospital bed. And next to his bedside sat his friend and mentor, Gilbert Grissom. Nick observed that Grissom was shouting in his face.
"What does he think that's gonna do? I'm dying," Nick said in an unbelieving voice. Nick clenched his eyes tightly, he was sleepy and it would be so easy to give into the darkness that beckoned him.
He snapped his eyes open, I have to fight!
TBC . . .