Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any character therein. Any character that appears in this story is fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.
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Melinda stood in the darkness of her kitchen, leaning on the counter.
She knew they would be coming soon- that much she was positive about.
That old bastard next door was sure to tell someone-and now, she was bound to lose her son.
Melinda had been anticipating that day from the first time she had decided to retrieve her son. When making her plans, she had taken into account the probable possibility that she could not hide her son from the world forever.
She had just hoped it would not come so early in their relationship. They had barely had any time together, and when they took him, it would be hard on both of them to be apart.
She had tried to help Donny be a good little boy and be quiet from the first time she let him out of his bedroom. Before he had been allowed to leave, she had put the black belt around him, pulling it tight, so the feel of it would continuously remind him of the consequences of disobeying her when outside the house.
She put it on him every single time after that.
And it had worked. Donny never did anything that would displease her- staying behind the house to play, never going near their neighbor, keeping the noise he made to a minimum, and only using the back door- mostly because the belt reminded him what would happen if he didn't.
Melinda knew the cause of her current dilemma was simple- she had become weak, not punishing her son every time she should have, so he had forgotten the sting of leather when he was free from the constraints of his bedroom, neutralizing the effectiveness of the feeling of the belt around his waist. This had led to the defiant behavior she had witnessed today.
But she couldn't help her weakness; since having taken on the role of child little over a month before, Donny had developed several techniques that he used to manipulate his mother. He knew just what tone and volume of whine would get him extra bottles, or longer time outside. When he wanted Melinda to hold him or massage his head or neck, he could give her the most endearing facial expression- his mother's heart melted when she looked into his doe-like eyes and saw the moistness building up at the corners. Most persuasive of all was when he disobeyed her and wanted to try to avoid punishment; he no longer hid Buddy, but instead he used his whole body to convey that he felt sorry, rejected, and scared as he held his head down, his shoulders slumping, his legs pulled up to his chest while he purposely made loud slurping noises on his thumb and let his eyes overfill with large, wet tears that would cover his face.
Even though she knew exactly what he was doing, Melinda could hardly resist- sometimes, she simply pretended that she had forgotten that he had been bad, forgoing the punishment altogether.
Chiding herself, she knew her former weakness was the reason for her approaching separation from her son.
Their separation could not be helped, now. It was too late.
There were other things that could be helped, however- and she would have to take care of the main one tonight. This time, she would have to remain strong. Because, if she wanted to be able to see her son again, she had to be sure he did not talk; he could not tell them what she had done for him.
She did not know why, but those who would take him would not view her actions as those of a loving mother trying to reconnect with her son.
They might even think her actions were criminal.
To overcome these problems, she would have to help Donny learn to be quiet- to not talk to strangers- to avoid revealing their family secrets.
A mistake he had made that day, when he talked to Bob next door.
Leaving the kitchen, she moved through the dark house, ignoring the form of her son staring out the front window. She opened the door to her basement, flipping on the light, and steadily walking down the stairs. Once at the bottom, she walked to the far end of the room, approaching several small containers. Looking through the clear Plexiglas on top of each, she shook them one by one, checking for motion.
When she detected the first stirrings of life, she smiled.
Melinda was sure she could be strong again-
strong enough to teach her baby the virtues of silence.
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Don stared out the front window.
He was scared- more than he had been in a long time.
Why was I so bad today? he thought to himself.
The first and most important rule Mommy had taught him about going outside was:
Don't talk to strangers.
Yet, he had broken that rule the first opportunity he had.
Other than Mommy, the old man next door was the first person he had seen in over two months. When he had offered him some gum, he got a funny feeling, like they were old friends.
But, in their first discussion about strangers, Mommy had warned him that bad men did those things- offered candy to little boys so they could lure them away. Then, she had whispered frighteningly, they did horrible things to those little boys- so terrible she couldn't describe them without crying herself.
Don had been afraid to leave the house for two days after that talk, the lure of the sun and his glove and ball the only thing that had given him the courage to go outside again.
Otherwise, he would have been content to stay in his bedroom forever, safe from the bad men and their evil plans.
Don saw a car slowly pass the house, its driver hidden in the dark. He imagined a shadowy spirit controlled the car, and that it was reaching out to him. Stepping back from the window and letting the curtain fall, he turned away and headed to his bedroom.
He had been sure when he and Mommy had first come inside that she would punish him. So certain was he of that impending occurrence, he had already been taking off his belt when he entered the house. But Mommy had stopped him, telling him to take off his shoes and watch television. Troubled, he did what he was told. His mother's demeanor indicated that she was mad- the stiff way she walked, how she avoided looking at him- especially how she referred to him as Donny every time she spoke, never calling him 'baby' as she was wont to do.
So, he couldn't figure out why she hadn't spanked him- he hadn't cried and sucked his thumb, the only reason she had ever kept back his punishment; this failure to proceed in their established routine unsettled and frightened him.
Sitting on his bed, he waited for Mommy to help him undress. As she showed up at the usual 7:45, Don was slightly reassured when they started their nightly routine. Melinda helped him take off his pants, socks, and t-shirt; she then helped him put on a clean undershirt, brushed his teeth, and tucked him into bed. The whole while, though, she never looked him in the eyes- she seemed to be avoiding looking at any part of his face.
And when she kissed him, she said 'goodnight, Donny'- not using her customary affection 'baby'.
A knot twisted into place inside Don's stomach. After she shut off the lights and left his room, he lay awake for over an hour, trying to figure out how he had avoided punishment. When the answer didn't come, he fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the emotional stressors of the day.
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It was a little after midnight when Melinda went to Don's bedroom door. She opened it a few inches, listening to the sound of him breathing; he was fast asleep.
Opening the door enough to squeeze by, she slipped in and, using the glow of the nightlight to see, she went over to Don's bathroom; carefully, quietly, she unscrewed the light bulb from the ceiling. Back in his bedroom, she did the same to the light fixture there, taking both bulbs into the kitchen.
Silently re-entering his bedroom, she carried an opened jar in one hand, a few soft rags in the other. On agile feet, she slinked next to Don's bed, not making a sound. Slowly, she pulled his blankets off of him; she had been careful earlier to loosely tuck them around him, in order to make this task easier. Putting her hand into the contents of the jar, Melinda scooped up a handful of peanut butter. Gently, she smeared the gooey food on Don's calves and the lower part of his thighs. Don moved a little in response, but was too deep into sleep to be aware of what she was doing. After a few minutes, Melinda wiped the peanut butter off of him, tenderly rubbing its scent into his exposed skin as she did so.
Cleaning her fingers, she took the jar and rags back into the kitchen, returning to Don's room a few minutes later.
She laid his blankets across him again, making sure they were loosely placed, grabbing Buddy from next to Don in the process. The last thing she did before she left was to pull his nightlight from the socket in the wall.
Melinda carried the nightlight and Buddy into the kitchen. She stood for ten minutes, hunched over the kitchen sink, willing herself to be strong, thinking of how painful it was going to be for her and Donny when they took him away; how much it would hurt if they never got to see each other again. Once she had settled her resolve, Melinda took a deep breath and stepped down into her basement, returning shortly with a large container held in her hands.
Walking as softly as she could, she noiselessly entered his room again, and deliberately shoved the container under his bed. Bending down, she unlocked the clasp that kept the front of the container closed, allowing the thin piece of plastic to fall open on the floor. Cautiously, Melinda used her unshod foot to give the container a muffled push; then she sped out of the room, inaudibly shutting and locking the door behind her.
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Don felt a tickle on his leg- an itching feeling that would not go away, irritating enough to pull him from the depths of sleep. Dreamily waking up, he felt the sensation of a light touch against several spots on his legs; moving his lower limbs back and forth on his sheet, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling.
Ow!- he said, as one of the light touches turned into a sharp prick.
He kicked out with his feet once, and then bolted up in bed when he felt the pain of tiny needles piercing the soft layer of skin between some of his toes and behind both of his knees. His head beginning a short ache, Don scrambled out of bed, heading instinctively to his bedroom door, his bare feet stepping on little cords that lay across the floor.
He tried to turn on the light- but got no response. Trying to exit, he found that his door was locked for the first time in over two weeks. Turning to face his room, leaning his back against the door, his eyes tried but could not adjust to see- it was pitch black, with no light filtering in from under his door. Two more pinpricks sent Don along the wall, his body practically falling through the opening of the bathroom door- but, the light would not come on in there, either.
Closing the door, Don sat down on the lid of the toilet.
He was scared.
Sucking his thumb, he reached to stroke Buddy, but realized he had forgotten him in his flight.
Shaky, Don went back to stand in front of the bathroom door. He couldn't leave him out there- not with... whatever it was that had bit him.
He opened the bathroom door, flying in the direction of his bed, falling on it when he miscalculated the distance between it and the bathroom, running his hands all over the bed trying to find the rabbit.
Fur! His hand swept over fur- back a few inches, there he is!
Don reached to grab the patch of fur, assuming it was Buddy-
but realized too late that Buddy was much bigger-
and Buddy couldn't move-
and Buddy didn't have a long, thin tail-
and, most of all, Buddy would never sink sharp, little teeth into the soft flap of skin between his thumb and index finger.
Don yelped in pain, thrashing his hand back and forth to dislodge the creature from his hand. Trying to head back into the bathroom, he was thwarted by a sudden surge of creatures scurrying up his legs, sinking teeth and claws into his skin as they traveled. He batted them away with his hands, becoming disoriented as he spun around, the ache in his head increasing, not knowing from which direction they were coming; falling to his hands and knees, he crawled to his bedroom door, desperate to get away from the assault.
Scrambling up the bedroom door, he began pounding on it, yelling for Mommy to let him out, banging his body heavily against the unyielding wood as more creatures crunched into him, tearing his flesh in little pinpoints of pain all over his legs; Don began to cry, begging and pleading for his mother to open his door, save him from the monsters inside.
He didn't start to scream, though, until the first creature tried to crawl up under the edge of his boxers. Holding one hand protectively over his groin and another over his eyes, Don fell heavily to the floor in front of the door, curling into a fetal position as he felt claws scraping through his hair, teeth gnawing on his earlobes, his face pressed against the thin slot at its bottom, his high-pitched howling screeching through the unresponsive house as he slipped into a nightmare of pricks and tearing and teeth and fur and claws and hard tails and gashes and panic and fear and shock and horror and pain...
So much pain.
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Melinda sat in the darkness of her living room, rocking the ice cubes in her drink back and forth.
It was hard sitting there, listening to her child scream.
So many times over the past hour, she had wanted to get up and drag him from that room.
But she had to be strong- he needed her to teach him, and it would not do for her to be weak; otherwise, he would not learn- when they came for him, he would spill their secrets and she would lose him forever.
So, she sat with indifference to the sound of his screams, waiting patiently for them to die down; waiting till the perfect moment when she knew he would have learned what happens to bad little boys when they talked to strangers and told Mommy's secrets.
She sat another fifteen minutes, allowing Don's final wails to become muffled sobs behind the door.
Standing up, Melinda went to the kitchen and grabbed another container. Spooning it full of peanut butter, she went to Don's door and placed it to the side. Trying to swing his door inward, she was met with the resistance of his body huddled across the entrance. Kneeling down, she whispered through the small crack she had managed to make, putting a desperate note into her voice-
"It's Mommy, baby. Move over- I can't get to you."
It took ten minutes of coaxing to get Don to roll away from the door; he had been so deep into a state of shock that he had become non-responsive to most of his environment.
Once Melinda could squeeze her body and the container through the opening, she stepped inside, over Don's petrified form. He still had his eyes and groin covered, refusing to move his hands, tiny sobs escaping his throat. As most of the creatures continued to huddle around Don's lower legs, Melinda had only a few in her path- she kicked them aside as she stepped forward, placing the open container full of peanut butter in the center of the room. The smell was too strong for the hungry lab rats to resist- they clamored over each other to get to the tempting food.
Grasping Don from behind, she laced her arms under both of his, pulling him up from behind, grunting hard from the effort. Hearing her expression of hardship, Don finally responded, standing up and pressing his body against Melinda's, his hands still in place. Melinda led Don blindly from the room, pulling the door shut behind them, guiding him to a stool in the kitchen, where he perched precariously, still defending his eyes and groin, his body trembling and hot, his breath ragged as he found it difficult to breathe.
Melinda picked up the two light bulbs and the nightlight she had left there, snagging a large flashlight as well. Entering Don's bedroom once again, she used the flashlight's beam to find the light fixture in the center of the ceiling. Replacing it, she turned on the light to Don's bedroom, repeating the procedure in his bathroom, and returning his nightlight to its usual socket.
Looking around, Melinda noted that the room didn't show too many signs of turmoil. Don's blankets were half off his bed, but other than the container in the center of the room, a few rat droppings, and the blood in front of the exit door, nothing else seemed out of place.
Melinda went to the container; it seemed like all the rats were inside, nipping at the peanut butter and each other. She slammed the opening on them, closing the clasp, locking them inside. Looking through the clear lid at the top, she tried to count the number of furry bodies inside.
Hmmmm- she thought- missing a couple.
Using the flashlight as a club, she searched the room until she found the two wayward animals-
Bam! Bam!
Using the weight of the flashlight, she easily disposed of both creatures, picked up their limp bodies, and dropped them into the container to be eaten by their brethren. Walking through the house to her garage, she placed the container in the trunk of her car, next to the disassembled pieces of the ECT machine. Slamming the lid of the trunk shut, she went back in the house, to the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, gathering up antiseptic lotion, a damp wash clothe, and some bandages.
Melinda hadn't planned on keeping the rats. After finding they were useless in testing the ECT machine, she had left them in their containers in the basement, only remembering them a few days into Don's treatment. When she had looked at the creatures, she got a nagging feeling that she might need them some time in the future.
Thank goodness she had listened to that feeling; she supposed it was a mother's sixth sense.
Though she had fed the creatures, she was careful to keep their sustenance at a minimum. Like her son, she had known the animals would be more easily controlled if she kept them hungry. When Don had disobeyed her and talked to Bob that afternoon, she immediately remembered the lab rats, knowing she could utilize the creatures in terrorizing Don as part of her plan to teach him to be silent.
She had decided that the plan would be a safe one- Don was still generally healthy, and she felt that the rat bites and loss of blood from them would not be too damaging. Also, as the rats were bred for lab use, they were clean animals, carrying no disease- that was guaranteed by the supply company from which she had bought them. As for infection from the wounds- based on all the old scars she had seen on his body, she had been sure Don had had a tetanus shot sometime within the last ten years. The only variable that she could not completely control was how hungry each rat had become; she had not wanted them to actually eat Don-just bite and nip at him. From what she had seen of his body, that was mainly what they had done.
Returning to the kitchen, she approached her terrified son.
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Don could not move.
Every time he tried-
he would feel the fur and the claws and the teeth all over again.
So, he sat still, praying they would stay away and Mommy would come back.
He had been so glad when he had first heard her voice, scared she would never come.
But she had- and the fur and the claws and the teeth had all gone away.
Yet, she left him all alone- so he couldn't move- not till she returned.
Because he was still scared-
terrified-
horrified-
petrified-
of all that fur and claws and, especially-
those awful piercing teeth.
Don heard Mommy approach.
He lowered his arm tentatively, trying to talk, his words blurred as he continued to sob painfully hard, his chest heaving up and down, tears washing down his face-
"S-s-s-scared, M-m-m-ommmy."
"I know, baby." Melinda replied in a neutral tone of voice.
Turning on the sink, she washed Don's legs, making him stand so she could check all around him, perusing his upper and lower body for any signs of rat bites. They all seemed to be on his lower limbs, though a few popped up on his head, earlobe, and neck.
His legs were covered in ragged holes, some as small as a pin head, others as large as a dime, a dotted pattern drilled into his flesh.
All of them burned, making Don feel like he was on fire.
Melinda helped him sit back on the stool; she began to put antiseptic ointment on his wounds. Don's breathing seized each time the liquid touched an open wound; Melinda had deliberately used peroxide, increasing the overall pain to his already sizzling body.
Don began to cry convulsively, his face soaked with tears-
"M-mmmommy- T-t-t-t-eeeth."
"I know, baby."
Melinda treated the wounds on Don's aching head, which made it begin to pound-
"H-h-h-urts, M-mmmommy."
"I know, baby." Melinda said in a sad, sad tone, applying a bandage to Don's left ear, and shaking her head. "But I warned you-I told you that strangers do horrible things to little boys- to little boys who take their candy and talk to them."
The words she said sank into Don's heart and settled in. He was dismayed at the pain he had caused himself, the terrors of the night continuing to crawl along his spine, their claws grating into his bone and refusing to let him go.
"W-w-won't, M-mmommy." Don told Melinda, vowing he would never do it again-
"N-n-never."
"Promise, Donny," Melinda asked as she helped Don to his feet.
"P-p-promise, Mommy."
Satisfied, Melinda gave Don two pain pills, and then helped him to the couch. She still needed to clean up his room. After he sat down, she gave him Buddy- he squeezed him against his chest and sucked his thumb, curling up into a ball, rogue tears dotting his cheek now and then.
Going to the hallway closet, Melinda gathered the materials she would need to clean and disinfect Don's room. She finished within an hour, changing his bedding as the final step.
She went into the living room to get a still tearful and shaky Don. Pulling him to his feet, she put her arm around him and guided him to his bedroom. When he realized where they were headed, he tried to pull back, shaking his head back and forth 'no'.
"It's okay, baby," Melinda soothed, rubbing his arms and back, "Mommy got rid of all the little monsters."
Once she persuaded Don to enter the room- more than half-dragging him in- he refused to lie down on his bed until she went through all potential hiding places and showed him they were empty of any living creature; this included checking his bathroom, whose facilities he utilized before sliding into a much-searched bed with Buddy.
Melinda did not even attempt to shut off the light- she had known that Don would be too traumatized for that. However, she had not counted on having to sleep with him, which she did for the next five days, singing him lullabies and running her fingers through his hair to calm him down; because nightmares came regularly, every other night. By the third night, Melinda was turning off Don's bedroom light, finally slipping out from beside her sleeping son the fifth night. Still, she had to keep his door open, as the nightmares still came, and she wanted to quickly reach him the moment he first began to scream.