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Chapter 14

Trip awoke with a start when the truck came to a halt. His head had sunken down on his chest, and the muscles in his neck stung as he straightened up. Frowning, he brought up a hand to massage them, but it only worsened the stinging. Around him, the other men were slowly getting to their feet, hands pressing into aching backs and rubbing over tired faces.

"Come on, guys, it's late. Hurry up a little, will you?"

Moreno stood next to the lowered tailgate, watching impatiently as one by one, the men climbed down and stood on the soggy ground. Trip winced as he lowered himself off the truck. He was almost certain that he had pulled a muscle somewhere in the small of his back; it burned and pricked every time he moved. They had worked in the loading area today, carrying large wooden boxes into the waiting cargo trucks that were leaving for River Valley outlets all over the country. It was dark outside when Moreno and Lendon had finally led their tired party back to the truck.

"What's up?"

An arm was slung around Trip's shoulders and he jumped. It was Lendon, grinning and digging his fingers into Trip's upper arm. Trip could smell the cloud of unwashed clothing and cheap aftershave that accompanied the man wherever he went.

"You tired, Trippy boy? Poor whittle baby, what a shame."

Trip shook off the arm and caught up with Malcolm. He was too bushed to be dealing with Lendon's idiocy right now.

"Poor whittle Trippy, he so tired he won't even act like the pain in the ass that he is," Lendon sneered after him. Trip didn't turn around. He hated to be touched by the man, and knew that Lendon would see it on his face if he turned to look at him now.

"That bloody arsehole," Malcolm muttered as they followed the rest of the group into the changing room. There was hate in his voice, pure and unadulterated, and Trip knew that Lendon would have read the same thing on his face, had he turned around to confront him. Ever since the incident in the shower room, it was open warfare between them and the nurse, and Lendon seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

Of course he does, Trip thought as he opened his locker and pulled out the clothes he had deposited there in the morning. He shrugged out of his work overall, and winced when the sore muscle in his back sent another stab of pain up along his spine.

"You all right?" Malcolm, his own overall down around his waist, gave him a questioning look.

"Yeah," Trip said. He sat down on the narrow bench in front of lockers and began to pull off his boots, which were caked with dirt and mud. The rain had finally let up a little, but the ground was still soaked from weeks of incessant downpour, muck puddles everywhere. When they had walked back to the truck, there had been a funny squelching sound every time someone got stuck in the mud and had to yank at their boot to get it loose. Kind of noise a sludge monster would make, Trip thought and chuckled a little. He knew exactly what a sludge monster would look like – an odd, indefinable gray, huge fins, and rows of tiny yellow eyes. He had seen it in a movie once, the kind of movie you only watched when you were too drunk to follow anything with an actual plot. He could not remember the actors or even the title, but he did recall the sludge monster.

Of all the things to remember from your mysterious past... Trip chuckled again, and suddenly noticed that Malcolm was watching with an expression he usually reserved for Toby when their roommate got started on mind-controlling rays.

"Just remembered somethin'," he said quickly. Malcolm seemed too tired to ask, and Trip was relieved that he didn't have to explain. Somehow, he had a feeling that Malcolm wasn't – and had never been – the sort of person who would enjoy a film featuring a homicidal bog creature.

He finished changing into his patient's uniform and pulled on his white sneakers with velcro instead of shoelaces. There were times when he wondered what had become of their blue jumpsuits with the "Enterprise" badge on the sleeves.

Probably ended up in the trash, Trip thought as he followed the others up the stairs and down the corridor that led to Ward 4. Chayton had told him that a patient's personal possessions were destroyed when he was admitted to River Valley. "No sense in keeping them," he had said. "It's not as if anyone's ever left this place."

Moreno slipped his keycard in the slot next to the entrance door and waved them inside.

"Are we still going to have dinner?" Frank asked hopefully.

Moreno nodded. "Yes, I called the kitchen to keep something for you. The container's in the common room."

Sitting in a warming container for three hours did nothing to improve the taste of the food, but no one seemed to mind much as they gathered tiredly around the table. The sandwich Trip had had for lunch was only a faint memory by now, and he dug into his vegetable stew without caring too much whether anything in there actually resembled vegetables; he knew that none of the produce they harvested found its way into River Valley's kitchen.

Across the table, Jimmy had fallen asleep next to his half-eaten meal, his head pillowed on a piece of toast. Several of the other men seemed dangerously close to succumbing as well, especially those who had dutifully swallowed their evening dose of drugs. All around that table, Trip saw heads nodding and more than once, spoons clattering onto plates when someone failed to grasp them firmly enough.

"What a bunch of suckers."

Lendon, who had been lounging on a chair next to the window, abandoned his place and came walking over to the table. At the nurses' table, Moreno grabbed one of the old magazines and began leafing through it.

"You, eat your goddamn dinner." Lendon came to stand behind Jim and grabbed him by the hair, roughly pulling his head up. "You can sleep later."

Jim's eyes snapped open and he yelped with pain. "Wha-"

"Eat!" Lendon picked up a spoon and dunked it into the stew on Jim's plate, then brought the dripping piece of cutlery up to Jim's mouth. He still hadn't let go of the man's hair. Jim, still disoriented, failed to open his mouth in time and Lendon knocked the spoon against his lips.

"Ow!" Jim's eyes filled with tears, his chin and mouth dripping with spilled stew. He tried to wipe off the mess, but by then Lendon had already prepared another spoonful.

"Open up for the choo-choo train!" he said and stuffed the spoon into Jim's mouth. Jim sobbed and swallowed and then began to cough.

"Ohh," Lendon sneered, "gotta be more careful, baby boy. Here, have a drink!"

He picked up Jim's glass of water and spilled the contents into the man's face. Jim made no move to defend himself and only cried harder, trying to hide his dripping face behind his hands.

Lendon laughed. "Oops."

Trip regarded the grinning nurse and wondered with an almost clinical detachment if it was possible to hate a person that much. He would have cheerfully stood by and watched Lendon choke on a spoonful of that stew, without wasting a single thought on coming to his aid.

He looked over at Moreno, who was still intent on his magazine. Owens would have intervened by now, but Moreno was a firm believer in the policy of the least possible interference, and it seemed to serve him quite well. Trip had noticed that these days, Owens hardly ever worked the day shifts anymore.

Lendon slapped Jim on the back of the head. "Eat up, baby boy! You don't wanna go to seclusion, do ya?"

"Can't you give it a rest?"

Silence fell over the room, and everyone, including Moreno, turned their heads to look at the person who had spoken. Toby's face was flushed and he was clutching something under his shirt, but he met Lendon's eyes defiantly as he continued.

"Can't you see that he's just tired? Why don't you leave him alone?"

Jim had raised his head, staring at Toby with trembling lips. Lendon, for once, seemed too dumbfounded to say anything.

"I..." With everybody's eyes on him, Toby seemed to lose some of his new-found courage, and his voice faltered. "I mean, it's not as if he's done anything."

Lendon blinked twice, as if he couldn't believe that it was actually shy, meek-minded Toby who was sitting there at the end of the table. Then, very slowly, a grin began to spread on his pale features. Trip had never seen an uglier expression on a person's face.

"Reynolds!" Lendon said, in a voice that suggested utter delight. "Look at you! I didn't even know you could talk! Now, if that ain't a miracle of modern medicine!"

Slowly, resuming his usual saunter, Lendon began to walk over to Toby. Frank and Louis, who were sitting next to him, moved over a little, their eyes averted. Moreno had returned to reading his magazine.

"Trippy boy's rubbin' off on you, ain't he?" Lendon had reached Toby's chair and rested his hands on the backrest, as if he had just come over to have a little chat. "Playing the rebel and all. I hate to break it to you, pal, but it doesn't really suit you. You might wanna keep trying, though, and maybe one day... what's that under your shirt?"

Toby, who had grown pale as Lendon approached, almost ducked at the nurse's words, and quickly pulled his hands out from under his shirt.

"Nothing, sir," he said in a small, frightened voice.

Lendon laughed. "You know, if you were gonna jerk off, you need to move your hands a little further down, Toby my boy."

Toby went crimson. "I wasn't going to..." He obviously couldn't bring himself to say it, and broke off.

Lendon laughed even harder and slapped Toby on the shoulder. "You're a hoot, Reynolds, you ought to be on Saturday Night Comedy! Too stupid to know where to- what's that?"

Toby made a grab for the object poking out from under his shirt, but Lendon was quicker.

"What the-" He held it up for everybody to see, and Trip experienced a sinking feeling as he recognized the small, black rectangle with the shining metal antenna. Lendon was holding the world's first and only neutralizer of dangerous, mind-controlling rays.

"What the fuck is that?" Lendon seemed genuinely confused as he turned the ray neutralizer over in his hands.

Toby had gone beyond pale. All color leached from his face as he watched Lendon handling the object that had become his dearest worldly possession. Out of the corner of his eyes, Trip could see Malcolm shaking his head at Toby, warning him to say anything. He echoed the gesture – just keep it shut, buddy – but Toby only had eyes for his neutralizer.

Moreno had gotten up, his magazine abandoned. "Let me see that," he said to Lendon, and took the small device from him to give it a closer inspection. "Wait – that's the TV remote! I thought that it went missing." He glanced at Toby. "What the hell did you do to that thing, Toby?"

"Actually," Trip said, and all eyes turned to him, "that would've been me. I... I've been tryin' to repair it. I thought I might try the TV next."

"Yes," Malcolm joined in quickly. "We thought that it might be nice if we could watch the occasional film or game in the evening."

Moreno looked down at the neutralizer in his hands, then back at Trip. "You do know that this thing is nowhere close to repaired?"

Trip cleared his throat. "I... I'm still workin' on it."

Moreno shook his head, but seemed willing to leave it at that. Lendon had listened to the exchange in silence, a thin smile on his lips that Trip didn't like at all. Before Moreno could give the device back to Toby, he snatched it out of the other nurse's hands and began to walk around the table, his fingers stroking the black plastic casing as he talked.

"So you were trying to repair it, right, Trippy boy? And Reynolds was just... keepin' it safe for ya, wasn't he?" He came to a halt behind Trip's chair, uncomfortably close as he continued. Trip could hear it in his voice that he was enjoying every second of this. On the other side of the table, Toby's breathing hitched, as if he were getting close to tears. "Well, I'm sorry to ruin your little project, boys, but as Sam said, this thing won't work. Maybe it'd be a good idea to start from scratch, what do you say, Trippy boy? Take this thing apart and start right from the beginning?"

He dropped the neutralizer to the floor, but before he could stomp down on it, two chairs toppled over and two people shot up from their seats. Moreno grabbed Toby, who let out a demented howl and tried to wriggle out of the nurse's grip as he struggled to reach his device. Trip, who had jumped up at the same time as Toby, could not remember ever being so angry before. He pushed Lendon, who, unprepared for the attack, lost his balance and stumbled. Trip went after him, aching to hear the crack of bones as he delivered a punch into the hated face. "You-"

"Trip, don't!" Chayton and Malcolm grabbed him from behind. "Stop it!"

Lendon had regained his balance and the arrogant grin had returned to his face, although it did look a little strained. In the background, Toby was sobbing quietly.

"My my, Trippy," Lendon drawled. "What temper. I didn't know you were so fond of your little projects..."

"Paul," Moreno said. He was still holding Toby, who now clung to him for comfort rather than attempting to free himself. "That's enough. They're tired, and you're getting them all upset."

Lendon shrugged. "All right. Still, though..." He went over to the neutralizer, which had been knocked across the floor. "I don't think it's a good idea to keep this kinda trash around. They could hurt themselves playing with it."

"No!" Toby screamed.

Lendon grinned, and brought his foot down hard on the small device. "What a shame."

It was raining again. Lying on his bed with arms crossed behind his head, Trip stared into the wet darkness outside and wondered whether the rain ever really ceased around here. He supposed there had to be places where it rained all year long (England came to mind, although Malcolm would probably beg to differ) and maybe this was one of them. Sometimes, he found himself wondering why River Valley hadn't been swallowed by a sea of mud long ago. Sounded like a good idea, actually. The greenhouses would be first, becoming immersed in a giant puddle until there was nothing left but a few bubbles and the occasional lettuce seedling drifting on the surface. Then the goddamn building complex itself; the roof would cave in, the breakproof windows would shatter, and the walls would crumble until the mud had devoured it all down to the very last brick. He supposed there would be strange sound accompanying the entire process, rather like the growl of the sludge monster he had found so amusing earlier. Now, the thought failed to draw even a smile.

He wasn't sure why he had lost it so completely, back in the common room. Lendon had harassed Toby before, and if Trip was being honest with himself, he had known all along that the neutralizer would be found sooner or later, and that Lendon would not pass up the chance to see the look on Toby's face when his possession was destroyed. Maybe he shouldn't have built the thing at all. Or maybe he should have throttled Lendon in time before he could destroy it. The latter idea certainly held the greater appeal.

He turned over so that he wouldn't have to see the rain anymore, and looked over at Toby's empty bed instead. After Lendon had broken the neutralizer, Toby had thrown a fit of epic proportions, which had culminated in him writhing on the floor and burying his teeth in his left hand. Moreno had whipped out his walkie-talkie, and a few minutes later Dr. Rowland had arrived in a jog, followed by a team of three med techs. A syringe had been emptied into Toby's twitching upper arm and the small man had gone still, his bitten hand dropping from his mouth and leaving a red smear on the floor as the techs picked him up to lift him onto a gurney.

After the team had left for the Medical Ward, Moreno had looked at Lendon and for the first time since Trip had known him raised his voice. "Goddammit, Paul, why do you have to pull that kind of shit all the time?"

Lendon had shrugged, a cold undertone in his voice as he answered. "You better not be talkin' to me in that tone o' voice, Sam."

The other nurse had turned away, and it was all that had been said on the matter. Jimmy had asked tremulously if Toby was dead, and Moreno had assured him that no, Toby would only be spending a few days in the Medical Ward until he was feeling better. They had finished their dinner in silence and to Trip's surprise, Lendon had not said a single word to him after Rowland and his team had left. Maybe even he had decided that it had been enough excitement for one evening. Whatever the reason, Trip was not going to complain.

What worried him a lot more was that Malcolm had not really spoken to him after they had left the common room. Even now, the Englishman was refusing to look at him, sitting on his bed and staring at the rain with an inscrutable expression. Malcolm did have moments when he wasn't in the mood for conversation, but Trip sensed that this wasn't one of them. When Malcolm didn't turn to look at him even after Trip quietly cleared his throat, he opted for a direct approach.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm continued to look at the rainy night outside. "Yes?" he said quietly.

"Somethin' wrong?" He continued before Malcolm could respond, sensing that his question had only heightened the tension between them. "Look, I realize I shouldn't have blown up at Lendon like that. I know he'll want to get back at me... at both of us. I'm sorry."

At that, Malcolm finally turned his head. His face was hard. "Which will do a lot of good, I'm sure."

Trip frowned. "Listen, I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did. But..." He shook his head. "I don't know, it just feels wrong to stand by and do nothin'."

"I know," Malcolm said in a slightly softer tone. "It's not as if I didn't want him to get his teeth punched down his throat. I suppose everybody did. But you've got to be more careful, Trip. He could've just as easily ordered you to be taken to seclusion."

There it was again, the strange tone Trip had noticed before when Malcolm mentioned this particular part of River Valley protocol. The tone, and the fact that the other man never quite looked him in the eyes.

"Malcolm..." He hesitated, then plunged ahead with the question he had wanted to ask since the incident in the shower room. "Malcolm, is there somethin' you're not tellin' me? About the time you spent in seclusion, I mean?"

Malcolm stared at him for a long moment. "No," he said then. "There isn't. Lendon slapped me and put his cigarette out on my stomach, that was all. But..." He looked down at his hands. "I don't think he'll leave it at that the next time around. And especially not when it's you."

Trip was silent. He would have liked to tell Malcolm that Lendon could go fuck himself, that he wasn't afraid, but he would have been telling a lie. Truth was, he loathed to be touched by the man, so much that he had found himself scrubbing away at spots where Lendon's ever busy hands had left an ugly crawling feeling on his skin, even if the contact had occurred hours ago. Trip had never met anyone, man or woman, who revolted him the way Lendon did.

"Trip?"

He raised his head and found that Malcolm was looking at him.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, all right?" Malcolm's tone was quiet, the hard expression of before gone to make room for genuine concern. "That man is crazy. There's no telling what he would and wouldn't do."

"I know," Trip said softly. He turned away and stared at the rain again. Dr. Lockhart had said that they would be safe in here, and at the time, he had agreed... at the time, any place that offered food and a bed to sleep in had seemed preferable to living on the streets. Now, he was no longer so sure.

"I'm turning in," Malcolm said, and Trip nodded without turning his head. Raindrops continued to trickle down the window, and not for the first time, he wondered if running away was really as impossible as it was made out to be.

A glaring light shone into his eyes, and he squinted...

... no! Leave me alone!

There was blood on the floor, a trail of bright red spots on the white tiles as he was dragged away from the half open door and back down the corridor...

...hold him still...

...no! No, leave me alone, no!

Bright light shone into his eyes as he woke up. It seemed to come directly from above, blinding him so that all he could see was a white glare. Instinctively, he tried to move away, fear flooding him when he realized that there were hands on his arms and legs, gripping him harder as he tried to struggle. Somewhere over his head, someone laughed.

"... hold still... don't wanna hurt yourself..."

Lendon. Trip fought harder against the hands that were holding him, and suddenly there was a commotion somewhere in the background, the sound of two people grappling with each other.

"Let him go!"

Trip recognized Malcolm's voice, sounding angry and frightened, and now he could see that Malcolm was fighting with one of them, trying to pull him away from Trip and the bright light. Trip tried to wrench his arms free – if he managed to struggle out of their grip, he and Malcolm might have a chance – but to no avail. His eyes were rapidly getting used to the glare of the flashlight, and he saw Lendon pull something out of his pocket and throw it to Malcolm's assailant.

"Here, use this!"

The man caught it and turned back to Malcolm. Trip saw the flash of a needle, and cried out along with Malcolm as it was buried in the Englishman's thigh. Malcolm's eyes widened as the plunger was pushed home, and took a shaky step back, his hands fumbling for the syringe that was protruding from his leg. He didn't have the strength left to pull it out, though, and a second later his eyes rolled back in his head, the empty syringe clattering on the floor as he collapsed.

"Malcolm, no!" Trip fought as hard as he could against their hands, and Lendon laughed as if he had never witnessed anything more amusing.

"Oh, Malcolm, no!" he mimicked Trip's cry and threw his hands up in a parody of horror. "Not to worry, Trippy, Lord Malcolm's only takin' a little nap. And..." He stepped closer, one of his hands disappearing into his pocket. "I think he ain't the only one." He pulled out another syringe and held it up so that Trip could see the needle and the transparent fluid inside the barrel. Lendon smiled, taking his time. "You didn't seriously think that I was gonna let you get away with that little stunt you pulled at dinner, did you, Trippy boy?"

"Fuck off!" Trip couldn't take his eyes off the needle that was now only a few centimeters away from his face.

"Scared, huh?" Lendon smiled almost benevolently. "I see your point, Trippy, those things can hurt if you don't use them carefully." He stroked the needle down Trip's cheek and jawbone, then traced it further down his neck until the metal tip was poised over the delicate skin between Trip's collarbone and shoulder. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

He grinned and began to push the needle down, very slowly. It hurt, more than Trip had imagined it would, but what was even worse was the warm, tingling feeling that began to spread under his skin. His head was suddenly very light. Lendon smiled, or at least Trip thought he did; it was as if his surroundings were engulfed in a misty substance that made it hard for him to see anything at all.

"... that's right, you go nighty-night, Trippy boy." Lendon's voice was faint and strangely distorted. "I'll see you in a little while, then..."

He might have said something else, but Trip had no way of telling; the misty substance had clouded his vision and absorbed all sound as he was swirled away into oblivion.

TBC...

Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger... don't throw any rotten tomatoes please, but leave a review :)!