Chapter 18:
Her internal clock set to the second, Cassie rolled to her side and glanced at the under-worked alarm clock, which proudly stated 6:29 in bright numbers. Seconds before it declared the start of a new day, she reached over and switched off the alarm. Her mind already turning, she stretched for a mere second, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she wondered what the day had in store. Her body set on autopilot, she numbly went through her morning routine of showing and changing, her thoughts clearly focused on what transpired the day before.
Thinking back to the precise words exchanged between her and Dr. Baum, who she now called Robert, something didn't settle quite right in her gut. Robert now knew she was behind the disappearance of Clark...and that was it. Beside from the old picture she found of the boy, he had no other information. The single thought of that seemed to ease her a bit since the poor boy was still safe. If Robert decided to share his findings with his colleagues and she was the one in danger, not Clark.
Biting her bottom lip as she brushed her hair, she still felt uneasy about the whole ordeal. It all seemed too simple. The escape, the covering of her tracks, even Dr. Baum willingly helped her by replacing the security tape. It was like God was on her side, but what did God want in return? If there was any inkling of fate in the universe something was bound to go drastically wrong.
Straightening out the bottom of her light blue turtleneck, she strode into her family room, silently eyeing the sleeping doctor on the couch in front of her. Beneath the sudden mood swings, Robert seemed like a good man, who only wanted the best for everyone, including himself. But one question kept dancing throughout Cassie's mind: why the support? After telling him the sparse amount of information, he seemed completely satisfied. Granted, Cassie appreciated the lack of curiosity or interference, but it seemed highly odd that a scientist, especially of his caliber, wouldn't have more questions.
Her over-worked mind worn-out, she grabbed a glass of orange juice and sat at the small table. Annoyed with the constant twists and assumptions in the news, she quit reading the paper a long time ago, yet now she longed for a crossword puzzle. She wearily looked around the room, before grabbing her journal resting on the counter under a stack of magazines and books. A little over a year ago she recommended a patient to start writing their thoughts in a journal to help sort them out, but the only way they agreed to do it was if she did it with them. Open to the new idea, Dr. Harris quickly agreed, and the hobby stuck with her. Even though there were a couple weeks where nothing was written at all, she occasionally still enjoyed writing her personal thoughts, only for her eyes to read.
Halfway through the second page Cassie heard a moan from the couch. "Good morning sleepy head," she greeted, as she placed the book in a drawer.
Used to sleeping alone, Dr. Baum jumped up to his feet with a panicked look on his face. "Wha-...huh!"
"Calm down..." she sighed as she rolled her hazel eyes.
Seeing Dr. Harris walk towards him with a smirk on her face, Robert immediately remembered what transpired the day before. Shakily placing a hand over his chest, he said, "I think you gave me a heart attack."
Cassie slightly chuckled as she sat in the red chair across from him. "I'm not the one who crashed on the couch...uninvited."
Dr. Baum's face instantly turned a bright shade of red. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered, not believing he had been so foolish. Sitting back down on the couch, he continued, "I guess everything that happened yesterday kinda wore me out."
"Don't worry about it," she replied, taking a sip of her orange juice afterwards.
Rubbing his pale blue eyes, Robert groggily asked, "So, what time is it anyway?"
"7:23," Cassie simply answered as she checked the gold watch her mother gave her for her eighteenth birthday.
"What!" Dr. Baum exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. "No...i-it's not. It can't be. Don't you have an alarm clock!" he incredulously demanded.
Sighing at her colleague's drama, Cassie plainly said, "Of course I do, but it wasn't my job to read your mind. How am I supposed to know when you have to wake up?"
"Look, I don't have time for this," he boldly stated as he threw his coat on and rushed towards the door.
Quickly becoming nervous, Dr. Harris rose to her feet, exclaiming, "Where are you going!"
"Back to the laboratory!" Dr. Baum shouted as if the answer was obvious.
Her concern instantly increasing, Cassie bolted for the door. "What! Why?" She knew it. She should have listened to her instinct. How could she have been so blind?
Oblivious to Cassie's anxiety, Robert threw open the door. "They're expecting me!" He suddenly felt a strong hand grabbing the back of his coat and throwing him backwards. Hastily turning toward his partner in crime, he yelled, "They won't notice of you're gone, but me! I've been there longer. They're not stupid! They can link the mess back to me."
Catching her breath from her adrenaline rush, Cassie took a moment to think over his words. Accusingly placing her hands on her hips, she answered, "Fine then. I'm coming with you." With that said she turned around and grabbed her coat from the closet.
Blinking back disbelief, Robert stated, "Don't you trust me?"
Momentarily ignoring his question, Cassie walked towards the doorway. Holding the door open for the man, she whispered as he passed, "Not yet."
To Be Continued...
oOo
Chapter 19:
Pushing the front door open with her free hand, Martha guided the ever-silent boy down the hallway and into the family room. The mother then directed Clark toward the couch and rearranged the pillows around him, moving swiftly and wordlessly, as if she was treating a sick child. All her thoughts on her son, she rushed upstairs, grabbed the now clean sheet, and darted back into the family room. She kneeled in front of the boy, studying his face for a moment, before wrapping the large sheet around him. Her eyes never leaving his face, she slowly stood up and brushed a few strands of hair out of his face. Out of nowhere, a voice from the kitchen startled the distressed mother. "Martha." Turning towards the owner of the voice, she lipped 'what', only to have the man motion her to come towards him. Biting her bottom lip, Martha looked down at her motionless son before jogging towards her husband.
"What?" she whispered, her eyes wide with concern.
Sighing for a second, Jonathan answered, "You can't keep on doing this..." His son was finally back with them, and no matter how hard it was for his wife to understand, the boy needed to be included in everyday life. Jonathan couldn't see him completely healing any other way.
Wrinkling her nose, Martha questioned, "Doing what?" Her son had finally returned, and after living almost a year in a hellhole, all she wanted to do was make him feel safe again.
"You're babying him," Jonathan explained, slightly raising his voice.
Not believing the words that were coming out of her husband's mouth, Martha defended, "I just want to make him comfortable. He's been away for so long, Jonathan. Who knows what they did to him in there!" The mother paused for a moment, trying to contain herself as she blinked back a fresh batch of tears. "He's only sixteen and he's had to face things that no person should ever have to face."
"Seventeen" was the man's only response.
"What?" Martha breathed, the word catching her off guard.
Unable to face his wife, Jonathan slightly hung his head as he stated, "He's seventeen now, Martha. His birthday was a month ago."
Completely forgetting the missed birthday, the mothers face crumpled a bit more, not believing so much of her son's life was stolen from her.
Seeing the distress he had caused his wife, Jonathan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He bent down lightly, trying to look into the woman's tear-filled eyes. Finally achieving eye-contact, he gently whispered, "He's better than you think he is."
Thrown off by her husband's words, Martha breathed, "What?"
"The first time we tried to teach him how to milk a cow, remember how hard it was?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her face. Martha slightly smiled, remembering how frustrated and impatient the young boy would get. Seeing his wife slowly nodding, Jonathan continued, "Today, I didn't have to say a word to him." Martha subtly gasped, immediately getting her attention. "I just said we had to milk the cows and before I knew it he was doing it." His blue-gray eyes filled with hope, Jonathan breathed, "He remembers..."
Trying his best to ignore the words of the people in the other room, Clark's subtly scanned the room he was placed in. There was a small, dirty fireplace in the corner next to a couple antique bookshelves. Slowly moving his eyes, he looked at the coffee table directly in front of him. It was simple but beautiful with subtle engravings on the legs. Suddenly, a fracture in one of the legs caught his eye. The crack seemed to go all the way around the leg, as if it was broken off at one time. Something nagging his memory, he bit his bottom lip and concentrated on that one leg.
Clark was younger, sitting Indian style by the fire place. A couple toys surrounding him, it was simple to entertain himself while his mother was making dinner. First, he made a tower out of several wooden blocks. He stood up and walked around it, proudly studying his masterpiece. A mischievous smile growing on his face, he decided to act like Godzilla and pushed them all over. Giggling for a second he quickly became bored and decided to try to juggle the blocks, like he saw one clown do at the circus. Wrapping his small hands around two of the blocks, he picked them up and threw them in the air simultaneously, only to have them crashing down on his head. He quickly decided that wasn't very fun and turned away from the rebellious blocks.
His eyes catching sight of the bright red yoyo, he swiftly snatched it and jumped up, deciding this would be the day that the ever stubborn yoyo would yield and come back to his hand. So excited, he forgot to put the string around his finger and threw the yoyo down, only to have it quickly roll away from him. Now angry with the toy, he quickly ran after it and stepped on one of the discarded blocks. His balance thrown off, he fell on his side and slid towards the table, his unnaturally strong back snapping one of the legs in two.
Jonathan walked inside after a long day of farm work to the ever familiar noise of something crashing. Glancing toward his wife, who was seconds away from dashing toward her son, he held up his hand and said, "Don't worry I got it this time."
Stuffing his work gloves in his pocket, he strode toward the family room, preparing himself for a newly destroyed room. He abruptly stopped next to the red couch, taking in the sight before him. He couldn't help but to hang his head and rub his eyes at the sight of his five-year-old son lying on his side next to a now slanted table, the hunting magazines sliding off and plopping on the boy's head. Swallowing his laughter, Jonathan walked a couple more feet and kneeled in front of the boy, who was shaking his head, trying to figure out what happened. "Hey there, son, you okay?" he gently asked as he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
Startled by the sight of his father, Clark looked up at him with big, green eyes. His bottom lip quivering, he said, "I'm sowwy, Daddy."
Jonathan instantly scooped his son up in his arms, and placed him on his lap. "Don't worry. It's nothing we can't fix."
Wrapping his short arms around the father's neck, the boy said, "B-but I hurt the table...the one Grandpa made."
"Well, then..." Jonathan started as he gently pulled his son away from his face. "We'll, just have to take it to the workshop and fix it tomorrow. Make it good as new," he smiled as he jokingly prodded his son's tiny nose.
A smile quickly exploded on the boy's face at the thought of using his dad's tools. "Okay, Daddy!" he shouted excitedly as he wiped away his tears.
Back in the kitchen, Jonathan and Martha were startled out of their conversation by distant mumbling from the family room. Instantly realizing the source, they dashed to the other room. Simultaneously, they kneeled in front of their teenage son, whose gaze was locked on the coffee table behind them.
Placing her hand on her son's knee, Martha asked barely above a whisper, "What's wrong, honey?"
Still as stone, Clark replied in a meek child-like voice, "I'm sorry, Daddy."
Jonathan's eyes immediately widened at the juvenile term. "For what, son?"
For a long moment silence filled the room. Breaking contact with the small, wooden table, Clark looked directly into Jonathan's eyes. "I hurt the table...the one Grandpa made."
Speechless, the parents turned toward each other. For several seconds they were frozen amidst a silent conversation. Martha glanced back toward the antique coffee table, whispering, "He's remembering..."
To Be Continued...
AN: I know it's been a while, but thanks for being so patient everyone. I just got back from LA for my birthday, soI've been quite busy.