On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 22
The back fence of the juvenile detention center was imposing: twelve feet tall, chain-linked, looping barbed wire across the top, spiky shrubbery on both sides. The metal's thickness screamed impenetrability. According to Summer though, if you walked along the fence towards the facility's front entrance a break in the chain link was visible, a gash camouflaged by brush.
Escape.
This route of escape had been created by Summer herself - personally with a lot of sweat and the patience of Job - with a pair of shears she'd snaked from the custodian's storage facility. As she told Jed, when she turned sixteen, she got sent to Juvie Hell for truancy. Upon her arrival, she immediately started work on two things: appearing like the good girl she wasn't and cutting away at the fencing. Ironically, it was her good girl routine which got her sentence reduced from one year to six months.
"I'll be waiting for you, cutie," she had said softly to Jedediah, close to his ear, before making him memorize her telephone number – he also memorized the aroma of her recently shampooed hair.
He grinned when he spotted the broken rhythm of the intertwining metal, but kept walking, turning around to head back to the more populated section of the grounds. His stomach clenched with anxiousness to get out and he considered slipping through … like NOW… but lunch meant boys meandering all over the large park-like area behind the main facility. The girls' lunch would follow and the place would be overrun once more.
Damn it all.
Jed scraped ice as he walked, the sound loud and distracting. He sighed and looked up at the grey sky. Clouds loomed in the distance and he wondered whether it was going to rain or snow again. He walked slowly among the worn-out picnic tables, watching the kids, hearing them talk about things that would get them in trouble. Jed walked right past. Headed towards the back fence. He refused to make friends with anyone other than the counselors. Even that was limited. He only spoke to Charles Eldridge. And usually ... okay, almost always, the conversation with Eldridge was at a loud pitch and took place in the middle of a temper tantrum or in the midst of Jedediah being what Eldridge called "tense."
He noticed some of the kids staring at him and scowled right back at them, their nosiness immediately diverted. His self-imposed isolation didn't last, though, as he was soon flanked Benito Balmaceda, also known as BB, and his pal, Francisco Meta, otherwise known as 'Cisco.
BB snickered, "Well ... well ... my favorite amigo is walkin' the walk, eh?"
"Fuck you and get off my ass," Jedediah snapped as he was shoved against the fence, right through that damn spiked shrubbery.
"Still don't respect me, brother? Maybe I need to show you that I mean business." At that, BB pulled out a six-inch blade and held it expertly to Jed's neck, Jed not moving as he felt the metal pinch at his skin. BB smiled a toothy grin, gold adorning two of his front teeth, his acne-riddled skin revealing his youth within aged aggression.
"Get off me, motherfucker," Jed cursed.
"Ha! Tha's funny 'cause you in no position to be threatening me..."
'Cisco was keeping watch for the guards and some of the kids had wandered away. Jedediah was beginning to sweat and finally spat, "What do you want from me?"
"Your life. If I do this right, I'll get paid a lotta fuckin' money. And the best part is that I'll get away clean 'cause none a' these assholes is gonna snitch 'less they want to be offed, too."
Jed heard the words, but didn't want to give them life. Not yet. He growled, "Go ahead and do it then. Whatcha' waiting for, bitch?"
"Maybe watchin' you squirm, watchin' you ... sweat ... maybe I like that shit. Maybe I get OFF on that shit. I don't know if I want the fun to end so quick."
The knife was too close to Jed, one move and he'd impale himself. He looked directly at BB and knew this animal was capable of killing him, no question – no doubt – and the worst part was that the guy was being honest: he'd like it. But one thing BB didn't like was to be bested which gave Jed an idea.
"Who'd pay you?" Jedediah asked coolly, his eyes moving to BB's hand, then back up to his face. "Who thinks I'm worth ... money?"
"You think I'm gonna tell you that? I'm not gonna tell you shit!" BB dragged the knife across Jed's skin and Jed knew that the blade had scratched him when he did that. He could feel the warm blood rolling down his neck.
"Look," Jedediah said, getting more nervous, "I got something better than money. I mean what good is money if you're gonna be in Statesville, right? And I know that's where you're headed real fast ... and in that place ... the guards ..." Jed held his breath a moment as BB pressed the flat part of the blade against his skin. He could feel his own pulse thumping against the cold metal. Cleared his throat. "The guards, they got real guns ... none of this rubber bullet shit ... none of that water-in-hoses shit to stop us from running. The Statesville people, they have fucking guns."
"Like that's gonna stop me?! You think I'm scared of a bunch of blues ... I'll have my Puerto Rican brothers to protect me. I'm gonna be sailing thanks to them. And the green I'll pick up when I'm done with you, shitface, is a lot more than you're ever gonna get."
"Yeah? Well ... how you think you gonna get them to protect you … how you think you're gonna get in good with them?"
The quickest look of confusion flashed across BB's face before his face twisted in anger, disgust, at Jed's nerve to continue to talk in his face. "Shut up!" he barked as he dragged the knife across Jed's throat again, holding him tightly against the fence. The pointy leaves and branches of the bushes poked through Jed's pants.
"But you didn't answer me! What do ya' think they're gonna do to you before they protect you?"
"You think I'm scared of a beating?! Ha! I ain't no pussy. You a pussy? You scared of being jumped? You'd die inside."
"Naah ... that stuff don't scare me – dying don't scare me – not THAT stuff. But you do know what they do to their ... new ..." Jedediah swallowed again, "…new brothers... sure they jump 'em but that ain't all they do."
"What the fuck do you know?!"
"'Cause I know the truth, man. Your brothers ... they gonna turn you out first..." He noticed BB's eyes glaze over a bit. "Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about. They make new people prove themselves, especially young ones." Jed stared at BB dead on and spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't fool yourself ... they're gonna fuck you. In the ass."
BB exploded in anger, smashing Jed against the fence, that knife playing mean and dangerous on Jed's throat, "You think you're so smart, punk-ass?! The hell do YOU know about the Puerto Rican brotherhood?!"
Jed snarled, "I know a lot more than you. Fact is, you said it before. My daddy spent time inside, just like you said. He told me everything there is to know about Statesville ... and he's married to a Puerto Rican woman ... he knows. He knows it all."
"Motherfucker ... your white daddy don't know shit ..."
"You think I'm shittin'? You think your brothers who been on the inside are gonna tell you THAT truth? You think they're gonna tell YOU that they were fucked in the ass by one of their own as initiation?" Boosted by BB's caving in to his story, Jedediah grinned, dulling the fear burning through to his bowels.
BB paused, listening, paying attention. In one of their battles, Eldridge had told Jedediah that BB was set to be shipped off to Statesville the next week and Eldridge couldn't be happier. The little punk was going to be sent away for a long time. The Counselor told Jed this as a means of comparison, as encouragement for Jedediah to stick his stay out, to keep a stiff upper lip about the whole incarceration thing.
"I sure hate to see that happen," Jed said softly, "with all that money sitting in that bank account ... and you not able to get at it."
"Shut-up," BB growled, definitely hesitating, the point touching the skin of his Adam's apple.
"Plenty of time to think about all that green while you're laid up, bleeding and sore and ... stitched." Jed raised his eyebrows, in surprise, saying, "Oh man! But what if you kill me, get caught…and the guy doesn't pay you? Damn…you'll get the death penalty, turned out like the little bitch you are, and no money for your trouble. Hey…you even GOT a bank account to put all that money into?"
"FUCK YOU!" BB pushed against Jedediah again, the knife oh-so-close. The guards had finally noticed the scuffle and the boys heard the unmistakable whistles of approaching guards. Kids were scattering.
"Sadly," Jed growled, "it'll be you who'll have been fucked. I'll be dead ... and I won't care." He smiled compassionately, crinkling his eyebrows and saying a silent, "Ouch."
'Cisco coughed uncomfortably, muttering something about how he sure as hell didn't want to get done that way. "He right, man. Who's to say the guy's even gonna cough up the dough? What's he gonna do? Deliver a big old bag to the front desk?" Under the gun now, he blurted, "Shit! Better let him go, the blues got their sticks out!"
"So what are you offering?! What could be better than money?!" BB demanded.
"COME ON, MAN!" Cisco yelled.
"A way outta here ... a perfect ... undiscovered way out," Jedediah said at last.
BB let go of Jedediah and tossed the blade into the bushes and threw his hands in the air before the shiv could be discovered by the guards who were shouting demands to break it up and get on the floor. Jedediah let out a breath of relief and hit the cold dirt, BB and his pal joining him. Lying down a few feet away, BB eyed Jed one last time, quickly looking away, concern on his face.
Jedediah had made a significant dent in BB's plan to execute Jed. He wondered if this had anything to do with stupid Phillip Manning and his supposed hit out on Jed but the chances were pretty fucking slim, right? Still, he couldn't say for sure. As the guards jerked Jed to his feet and made him walk towards the isolation unit yet again, Jed thought of Summer and getting out ... and giving her another wet kiss. He sure as hell would like to get at her sweater ... get it off. Actually ... he'd just plain old like to see her. But the question was, how was he going to get out ahead of BB and stay alive doing it?
I'll be waiting for you, cutie.
Damn, Summer.
When Jed got tossed into the rubber room once more, when the door slammed shut, the Grim Reaper smiled at him across the room, that black scythe raised. Todd Manning so easily intruded on Jed's peace. Jed recalled the look on his father's face as he'd handed Jed the telephone in the motel room that one night, telling him to call someone, to let someone know that he was safe. His hazel-colored eyes, eyes the same color as Jed's, had that sad look of skeletal paternity, of making an effort. But Jed wanted more. Deep inside, deep in his heart, Jedediah really did wish his "daddy" had told him all there was to know about Statesville.
He touched his throat where the knife had cut him.
Damn.
Where are you now, spirit? Where is your woodsy faith, your soulful harmony, your all-encompassing love and light? Where are you as I walk back into true darkness, as I walk into sterile whiteness to be tortured again?
I don't hear you.
I only hear my footsteps, the stripping of beds, the rolling of breakfast carts, the locking of locks on doors ... and I hear my own screams. Can you see them from your heavenly, blessed, isolated perch? Can you see them with their leather restraints and their white coats and their empty promises of salvation in the form of talking ... talking ... talking. Relive the pain, they say. Relive the horror so you can integrate it into your thoughts, into your life ... see it over and over and over and the memories will eventually lose their power. What garbage ... what lies!
Where are you now, oh great Spirit of FUCKING HELL?! I DON'T SEE YOU!
You left me with memories of Peter, with the reality of his existence. You left me to feel his crucifixion of my soul, of everything good in me. You left me to feel HIM again in the far reaches of Hell. And ... as always ... as history has proven, I am once again HIS property, HIS slave. "Salvation," dear futile spirit, is nothing but relief from the truth. And now that I have gotten THAT relief, THAT kind of salvation, you and THEY want to take it away; they and you want to take away the only thing that lets me LIVE with Peter. You ... and they ... have pushed my Johnny-girl away from me, my Brandy, my sister. They and you have placed her beneath rotting, fallen trees, beneath mud ... beneath rocks to live once again with HER Satan, with HER Peter ... within her own Hell. You and they have silenced her, bound her, gagged her.
What good fortune for all of you!
But it won't last. I will get back to my salvation, to my saving grace.
YOU. WILL. SEE.
Téa sat on an emergency room hospital bed as Dr. Shane Lansing examined her beneath a harsh white light, pushing her hair gently aside, looking at the wound on her head, making knowing hmm's and mm's as he considered the size of the hit, the bruising involved, the potential damage. The room was a large one, multiple beds all over except there were no other people in it. Everyone was being diverted to another one across the hall. Lucky it was a slow day.
Tim stood next to her, resting a hand on the white sheet of the bed, eyes periodically on a subdued Todd who was sitting on a black wheeled stool across from both of them. He wore black jeans, a black tee-shirt under a woolen sweater, and his black, heavy, dangerous boots. The jacket he'd grown dependent on, the one Brandy had given him when they first met, covered up the dark ensemble.
In order to occupy himself, Todd bounced his gaze from the ivory-colored commercial linoleum to the steel tip of one of his boots and back again. He noticed a red-turned-black stain on the tip. Blood red ... on blackened leather-covered ... steel. He wondered what kind of sound he'd hear if he ran like hell down the hall and out the front doors.
Salvation.
He eyed Téa. She was the only reason he had gotten out of the truck: a promise that he could go inside with her to the emergency unit, that he would not be separated from her until it was absolutely necessary. That she'd be seen before him. In return, he would consider checking himself in, he'd consider it. Nothing more, nothing less.
And so he got out of the truck, walked alongside Tim and Téa like a ruined dog, thinking about his ruined fellow stray, Brandy. They'd left her behind in that lousy apartment, sitting out on the fire escape because she couldn't take watching Todd leave. She wouldn't talk to anybody. Tightened her swollen and bruised mouth and closed off her heart, her emotions. They, Johnny-girl and Johnny-boy, couldn't look at each other. Doctor Graham, Superman that he was, hadn't wanted to leave her ... even pleaded with her to come. Yeah, it was a real mess created by Todd himself. See, Téa couldn't stay because Todd wouldn't go anywhere without Téa ... Tim couldn't stay because Téa was scared to death that she alone could never get Todd to the hospital. And if they called the cops ... well ... that wasn't going to work either. They could have called Viki but Todd had said ... it was either now or never. Viki would take too long in getting there.
Such…fragile positioning.
Brandy was finally able to convince Tim that she was fine, 'cause nothin' hurt her ... 'cause she didn't need nothin' so they all split. Once inside the Doc's truck, Tim made a phone call. Todd had listened to the words emotionlessly as he lay on the back seat, as he pressed one of his black boots against the side window.
Hey, it's me… I have an injured patient coming into General, emergency, bringing her myself. She has her husband who needs some looking at, too.
Um…. I don't want just any on-call. Gotta be you.
Uh-huh… concussion maybe. No symptoms… just precautionary.
Yeah... great, perfect.
Oh he has some skin injuries… uh-huh… yeah… just to make sure no abscessing is happening. Yeah…. exactly.
Yeah, thank you, see you in ten.
Had he not been high, Todd might have kicked right through the windows Instead, he concentrated on the dark interior, drifted in his quickly-fading peacefulness as he rode along to institutional hell, twisting and turning away from the blacks of his own condemnation ... toward the whites of the new one.
Téa would turn every so often to look at him with worried eyes and Todd would just look away. But the last time she checked on him, he grabbed his crotch and squeezed. Held himself, eyes on her. He didn't know why he did that. It wasn't aggression or meanness… just an instinct. He knew she took it as a fuck-you but he had no energy to explain what he didn't even understand himself. She frowned, furrowing her brows, looking hurt, then turned back around to face the front ... and he heard her sniffle. She had no idea how harmless he held her… she was so innocent, so beyond everything. He wished he could tell her…
This isn't about you… it isn't personal, Delgado. You only want the best. I get that. God, I get that.
But nothing came out of his mouth. He let go of his cock. Returned to his watching of the passing sky outside the window, to thoughts of blasting away the Allies, the kick of the machine-gun as it fired away, to the imagined feel of charging through smoky air in that plane of his, to the Red Baron who was powerful, who was ... risen.
Once inside the hospital, Tim directed the two to sit on some seats in the waiting room while he made sure that the specific doctor was there, this Dr. Lansing. Todd humored himself thinking that Lansing ... was ... well .. wanting to "lance" out Todd's pain, Téa's pain, like a medieval knight, like ... in Lancelot ... ha ha ha ... Tim's assistant Knight in Shining Armor, come to the rescue.
I said it before, Doc, Téa, there ain't no saving me the way you want.
It was so warm, so heated, sitting among the other sick or injured people. Some stared at Todd and Téa while others were too wrapped up in their own misery to care. Todd slid down low on the hard plastic chair and closed his eyes, soon resting his head against Téa's arm. Before long, he had reached over and took hold of her hand and she let him. He looked up at her when she did that, looked up with pinprick pupils, with sick eyes, and Téa's eyes watered.
"Do you love me, Téa? Do you love me no matter what?"
"Yes," she said. "Other than when you're an asshole."
Todd had chuckled sleepily, "I love you, too, you know. You think I lie to you, play with you, but I don't, not about that. I do love you, angel ... my angel sweeping down from heaven to try to rescue me."
"To try? Only to try?"
"Only to try, angel," he whispered.
Neither of them heard or saw Tim finally get the doctor to the counter.
Hey, babe… where is he?
The one with the longish hair and the woman in the jeans and hooded coat. He's leaning on her.
Ahh…. wow. Your seductor.
Yeah, he's way worse than I thought, than I told you. He's full-blown addicted and will not hesitate to run if he feels we're railroading him or forcing him. Shane… I'm a nervous fucking wreck here. It's ridiculous.
We talked about this… you're not responsible. We'll do our best to get him admitted into the lock-down ward but… if it goes south, it goes south. It's on HIM, okay? You can't save the world, love. We're only human, you know.
Familiar words, Tim had thought, eyes on the doctor. The two men had moved in together and GOD, Tim loved him. He knew he could trust this man to do his best but he also knew… shit indeed could go south and it WOULD be all on Todd. Wouldn't it?
Shane then said, "What's stopping you right now from getting a couple of assistants, putting him in a hold, sedating him and shipping him upstairs? Dealing with the legalities later?"
Hey, Superman, can't stop destiny, can't stop fate.
Tim sighed, looked perplexed for a moment, "I made a deal with the devil. If I turn back, if I go against what I promised, it might set him back. It might destroy whatever hope is left for him. He needs to do this himself. Otherwise, it'll be a waste of time."
"And then there's reality."
Tim paused, looking his lover in the eyes, "If we can't get him to do this…right now…yeah, I'll be hog-tying him and shipping him upstairs. I'll have no choice."
Watching Todd now in the examining room stare blankly downwards, perhaps still reeling at Brandy's declaration — at her basically throwing him out — Tim found himself trying to get used to the deterioration. It wasn't easy facing your insecurities personified, your deepest fears as a professional right there in all their living glory ... the one that got away ... the big mistake. With Jonathon, though there was pain and guilt, it was easily justified. Tim wasn't treating Jonathon at the time of his death. His lover, his best friend, had been far away at the time, sick and alone. This time, there were no excuses. Todd had been directly under Tim's care and ... he'd blown it. It's just how he felt and he couldn't help it.
"Do you know what he hit you with, Mrs. Manning?" Shane asked, straightening up, observing Téa as she adjusted her hair and clothes, as she sat up more comfortably on the bed. He shut off the bright light which significantly muted the whiteness of the room. Her gaze kept shifting to Todd who didn't appear to be listening to the conversation.
"No ... it was something hard, though, something blunt," she said, then laughed lightly, sadly, adding, "Like ... duh..." The doctor smiled at her, understanding. Todd continued his careful study of his boot.
"Do you have any lingering symptoms? Headache, nausea, double-vision, sleepiness..."
Téa thought she had all those things ... but none could be attributed to the injury in that dark alley. No ... her symptoms came from someplace else ... some other injury, mainly the one she was inflicting upon herself, mainly the one sitting across from her. "Nothing really," she assured the doctor, "Just a headache."
The doctor nodded, "As a precautionary step, we're going to do CAT scan. Won't take long ... 'bout thirty minutes to get you in and out. In the meantime, we can look at Mr. Manning."
Surprising everyone, Todd suddenly spoke up, "No ... I wanna wait ... 'til I know she's okay. Wanna wait."
Téa saw no fear on his features, no nervousness, not even reluctance. And she thought she knew why. Because Todd had no intention of staying. She and Tim, on the other hand, were nervous as hell. Being here with Todd was like accompanying plastic explosives in transit. They didn't know when he would blow. Tim glanced quickly at Téa.
It's going to blow up in our faces.
The doctor was a slender young man with dark brown hair he wore sort of messy and a rugged, handsome face with shadowed grey eyes that sparkled with kindness, not unlike Tim. He turned to Todd and smiled easily, Todd looking up at him. "She's going to be fine," Shane said, trying to assure the resolved patient. "Why waste time? You're not afraid of me, are ya'? Or is it something else?"
"Not afraid," Todd said in an oddly soft voice, contradicting his very denial, contradicting his general demeanor. "I'm worried about my wife. Is that such a big fucking shock?"
The doctor glanced at Tim who shrugged slightly, giving the doctor carte-blanche as to whether to continue the pressure or ease up. Tim and Shane had been teaming up recently in treating psychiatric patients who had physical ailments. Todd's condition was so clearly more serious than Téa's and Tim knew the doctor would handle him the best possible way… all limited by Todd himself.
"I tell you what," Shane said, "it's going to take a couple of minutes to set up the x-ray room ... so why don't you sit next to Mrs. Manning on the bed ... or stay where you are and I'll just take some basic vitals of you right now? Ok?"
Todd lifted his shoulder, unsure, chewing on his lip. Téa chimed in with deliberate lightness, "Yeah, good idea. I won't go anywhere until you're done."
"I don't like being here," Todd mumbled, hitting his heel against the floor rhythmically, looking around, seeing what there was to see outside the examining room. Looking for a way out.
"I know you don't – hospitals suck in general," Dr. Lansing quipped. "Huh, Graham?"
"Especially emergency rooms," Tim added, slowly stepping towards the door of the examining room, planning to tackle Todd if he bolted, restrain him, and send him to the lockdown ward. He figured he had no choice if it got to that – at least Todd would be taken down by someone he knew cared about him.
Dr. Lansing pulled another stool out from under a counter, sat and slid to a position in front of Todd. Raised his eyebrows, silently asking Todd for permission to examine him. Todd gave a slight nod. The doctor adjusted his stethoscope and placed it on Todd's chest, over his shirt. He moved it around, listening to different sounds. He moved the stethoscope to his back, asking Todd to breathe. Todd watched him suspiciously, watched the hallway beyond Tim.
The doctor said, "Heart sounds good, no unusual blips there; your lungs, though ... any complaints? Any discomfort?"
Todd shook his head, shrugging. Sure he had complaints... mainly when he was out of dope. Nurses walked past the doorway ... the occasional patient on a gurney. A scrub-wearing doctor. They all walked with barely a sound ... must be those white shoes ... white, rubber-soled shoes.
"Will you take your jacket off? I want to get a better read, underneath your sweater ... that okay?"
Shrugging again, Todd didn't move for a moment, looking at Tim, and Téa who sort of smiled at him – less a smile and more plain kindness. He thought they looked desperate, foreign; he thought Téa was beautiful, draped in all that sadness…
Salvation comes in a needle, doc, don't you get that? In MY kind of needle, filled with MY kind of relief.
He took his jacket off then, complying, keeping it tight in his hand. The doctor slid around and gently lifted Todd's sweater and the t-shirt underneath, placing the stethoscope against Todd's back, shaking his head after a few moments, pulling back and repeating, "No coughing, no tightness in your chest? Shortness of breath? No discomfort?"
"No ... nothing .. nothing ... I said that." Todd thought he saw a uniform walk by. He thought ... maybe it was a paramedic, maybe ...
If I see a cop... I will fucking run.
Dr. Lansing backed away, backed off. "Ok," he said, "... maybe it's nothing, but I'm going to recommend a chest x-ray. I'm hearing something in your lungs, most likely the beginnings of something more serious."
Todd sighed irritably.
The doctor pulled down the blood pressure cuff and looked at Todd, asking for permission just with a serious facial expression, Todd not responding. Assuming the silence meant he was alright with the further intrusion, Shane then gently took the patient's hand into his, except Todd pulled it back into himself, flashing an angry grimace. Dr. Lansing said gently, "I'm going to take your blood pressure. I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know ... I'm not an idiot."
"But you're not letting me do this."
"No."
"Listen, I know about your IV drug-use. Don't worry that you're showing me something that's going to shock me or ... make me judge you or look at you differently than any other patient who walks in here."
Todd looked away, shrugging, but he reached his arm out.
The doctor took Todd's hand once again. He pushed the sleeve up and revealed the bruising all along his forearm, and highly obvious puncture wounds. Téa and Tim looked at each other anxiously. Dr. Lansing recorded the blood pressure reading and then removed the cuff, but before Todd could put his jacket back on, as Todd adjusted his sweater, the doctor asked, "Can I examine your arms? I want to check for infections at your injection sites."
"Fuck you..."
Téa made an audible sound, not meaning to, but becoming increasingly nervous at Todd's reluctance because it was so apparent that even if he did stick around to be admitted, that even if he agreed to put up with the further physical examination, he wasn't ready to give up his "Princess," his ... "powdered salvation."
Blowing up ... blowing up in our faces.
She looked over at Tim, again bearing that expression of devastation, of hopelessness. He gave her a reassuring look as he leaned against the doorway, making it difficult for anyone to leave the room in a hurry.
Dr. Lansing looked at Todd and said, "I want to be sure you're healthy ... that there aren't any injuries or infections that need to be treated. You can lose limbs if you allow abscesses to fester, if you don't treat them."
"Whatever," Todd grumbled, not stopping the doctor's gentle taking of first one arm, then the other. He looked out the door again as the doctor examined him, nothing there cause for concern. The doctor held Todd's hand, palm up, noticing it was scraped badly, like road rash. "What happened here?"
Todd stared at the redness for long seconds then pulled his hand away from the doctor. His other hand looked just the same. He heard noises in his head, a snapping that made him jump, like electric shock. He squeezed his hands into fists, the pain keeping him here. He remembered scraping the wall, the ground, scraping off the scent of that man by the park bathroom. His breathing sped up. He could feel flesh and his own cock knocking against his jeans… so easy, so second-nature...
He could feel himself disappearing. He could feel it.
"Todd? What happened to your hands?"
"It's nothing," he huffed.
"Any other injection sites?"
Todd shrugged, rolled his eyes, and glared at the doctor, "You want me to strip for you?"
"I have a gown you can wear. It would make things a lot easier."
Todd growled angrily, "Yeah, I bet it would be so much easier to fuck someone who's already undressed." He then got to his feet and looked down at the still-seated doctor who was maintaining his relaxed demeanor, saying again in that same growling voice, "You touch me any more and I will kill you."
Dr. Lansing got to his feet, too, and gazed at Todd, gazed at the sudden terror in his eyes disguised as anger, and said, "I understand how you feel right now and I'm sorry if I said something to make you uncomfortable. Mr. Manning, you're not doing very well. You're malnourished, dehydrated; I suspect you have the beginnings of a bronchial condition ... among some other possible problems. I took an oath when I became a doctor and it basically calls for me to do the best I can for patients, above everything. My suggestion is that you and I sit down ... and you get admitted to our substance abuse unit. It's a nice place, a really nice place where you can get healthy."
Todd squeezed his hands again and the pain helped once more but not near enough. He shoved on his jacket and rubbed his mouth with the sleeve. He heard the words of the doctor and it sounded like Doctor Graham and that firm stance he took sometimes, like a teacher or a parent or a coach, even. But the world didn't want to cooperate. Todd's HEAD didn't want to cooperate. He breathed as the doctor said more words and the place blurred and he felt hot breaths in his ear… skin being rubbed raw that felt good… even though it was ripping his soul right out his body.
Oh shit, oh shit, look at you… you and I can do so much more. Hey, hey, if you keep my secrets, I'll keep yours. I can tell you're ready for more. I can feel that.
He was trapped in this room. Someone was at the door and there were no other exits. He could see straps on the bed, could see wires and tubes and the white of a hospital that seemed more like a prison or… or… a bedroom. Todd was trapped, cornered, being tied up and brutalized here in this white hot place of misery. He was being raped, fucked with compassion, with pity, with love and desire to help ... and ... and ... they ... they were above him, watching him groan and writhe in anguish … he slammed the bloody hands to his mouth and sucked hard at them, tasting salt and tar. He groaned and whined at the pain that man had inflicted on him, mouth on his neck, fist choking his cock...
"Todd! Hey ... come back ... kiddo," a disembodied voice said ... where did it come from?
Come on ... come on ...
Todd put tightened fists to his closed eyes, letting out a hard breath of aggravation, a horrible rushing sound smashing into in his ears. And he felt this ... he felt all of this despite the heroin running through him, despite his chemical peacefulness ... ohhhh ... nobody understood, nobody could HEAR what he heard, or feel what he felt.
He had to get out ... he had to get out of the way of Peter, had to get away from him... get away from those hands, from the violence, from the unbearable pain ... he closed his eyes and listened for something. He didn't know what, didn't know what he was hearing. The spirit maybe? Satan? Who was it that was here, now? WHO?! Where to turn? Where to run? Ohhhh ... which was the right door to go through? The one leading to the sterile walls and floors of Llanview Psyche? Or the one firing him back to the colors and brilliance of heroin Hell? Salvation in the form of relief ... relief.
He was trapped, imprisoned, cornered, caught ...
…he could barely breathe anymore.
Todd ... remind yourself of where you are ... the hospital ... the hospital ... shhhh ... it's alright ... you're safe ...
When he pulled his hands down, everyone had disappeared from the room and he was trudging through blackness again, listening for that child who cried in his bed after the beatings or the other attacks on him, who would bite down on the wool coats in the closet to keep himself from screaming in terror, who would cower in a cabinet of the kitchen, running away from Peter, from Peter's hatred. That last memory of being in a cupboard flew up into his face, flew into wild, flapping heart-crushing reality. It hit him as if someone had hit him with a baseball bat ... the way Georgie had been done in ...
He could see the light of the kitchen peeking through a crack in the doors of the floor cupboard. He could see Peter's pant legs right through that crack. Todd would hold his breath there in the darkness for as long as possible. He would listen to the cursing rants of the monster and breathe when Peter yelled the loudest. He wished he didn't have to breathe ... he wished it wouldn't be so necessary to take those breaths ... because breathing would give him away ...
He could see his mother, too, pleading with Peter, begging him to leave Todd alone, and he could see her getting hit hard, right in the mouth, right in the fucking mouth, but he was only a child and what could a child do?! The whiteness of the floor drew his attention at that, noticing there were crème colored spots on a lighter, whiter floor ... all white, all ... white. Funny ... how the Manning kitchen floor looked like the speckled floor of the hospital ... funny ... sterile sacrifice, death atop spotted cleanliness ... blood ... blood ... she was bleeding from the mouth like Brandy did ... like when Todd hit her ... bleeding the same way...
Ohhhhh... let me kiss that blood away ... let me not breathe anymore ... god ... god ...
I wanna fly, Tim, I wanna look down at the shot-up ground and then I want to feel the sunlight in my face and the wind, too. I wanna hear the sound of the propellers ... and fly. Get me out of the cupboard, get me away from Peter. Save that boy ... don't let him get hurt anymore. Don't let HER get hurt anymore ... don't ... don't ... DON'T FUCK ME ANYMORE WITH YOUR LIES!
When Todd shot open his eyes again, when he gasped for a breath of air, he was on the floor, huddled against the wall of the examining room, huddled in a corner, with a tearful, panicked Téa talking to him as she knelt next to him, her arms pulled tightly across her chest, "It's okay, Todd ... oh my God ... nobody's hurting you, amor, nobody's touching you! It isn't real what you're seeing ... it's okay...you're safe, you're safe…"
"Don't wanna stay, don't wanna stay ... don't let me stay ... he's gonna kill me ... he will tear me apart," Todd mumbled, pressing his head against the wall. "No ... no ... no ... he's here ... that boy's here ..."
He hadn't let anyone else near him. He had zoned out, had gotten to the floor, crawled right into the wall and had been crying to not let Peter touch him. Tim had immediately tried to pull Todd out of the surprising flashback by getting near him and talking to him, reminding him of his orientation exercises, but Todd had screamed, animal-like, and it was only when Téa had started talking to him, her voice womanly, motherly ... that he'd calmed and seemed to pull out of his terrible memory.
Lansing said in no uncertain times, that the man needed to be sedated, "This is the time, buddy, 'cause you're losing him." Tim turned and readied the syringe he'd set aside. When he looked up though, he saw two just-arrived orderlies, ready to do what they had to do to keep Todd from running, ordered there by the head administrator.
And OH SHIT, they looked more like security than orderly with darker scrub-tops and jeans and black soft-shoes.
Tim went up to them and hissed, "You gotta go! Get the fuck outta here!"
All at once, however, Todd pushed Téa away, making a short wild sound as he did it, realizing he'd totally blacked out and it scared the living shit out of him. He pushed away from the corner, hunched and protective like an animal, still crouched low... noticing two strangers at the door of the examining room. He couldn't see detail but he knew cops when he saw them. THIS was why he didn't want to be here. And with that, even though the men seemed to fade, a craving for his salvation spread through him like fire; he needed a hit badly – he needed Brandy – needed her special comfort. He rubbed his eyes hard and called out her name sadly, moaned it ... Téa thinking he wanted Brandy, the woman, not realizing Todd was mixing up his need to protect the child within himself with Brandy's being a physical manifestation of heroin – she was his deliverer.
You sit with me, Johnny-girl while I stop breathing ... you sit with me, while I am saved.
Téa moved away and Tim got closer to Todd, but not getting overly close. He then said gently, "Hey kiddo, you're alright. You did real well. Come with me ... let's get you checked in, okay? Like you said you would. Come on."
Fucking me with compassion, Doctor Graham ... fucking me ... except that I won't let you because I am not YOUR whore ... I am NOT ...
Todd looked about with wide eyes, taking some breaths, not sure how to get out, fighting a conflicted desire to stay. He thought of Tim's working with him. He remembered all those times that Tim did just what he promised, that he would stick around through dark moments, that he would listen to what Todd had to say and would remember what he'd said. Tears wet his eyes and he wanted Viki ... he wanted to pull Téa to him ... and wanted Brandy ... wanted to hide with her again … wanted, wanted, wanted. It all hurt. Brandy ... why did she do what she did? How could she betray him the way she did? He didn't know what to do ... he heard himself whimpering.
"Aww, Todd ... God ... come on ... come with me. You're gonna be alright," Tim pleaded. He needed to get closer, needed to grab him so he could administer the sedative.
Come on, baby ... come on ... let's do this together ... let's dose up together... ohhhhh ... let's escape this hell together ...
"Todd," Dr. Lansing interrupted, moving closer, offering his help. His voice was compassionate, syrupy, his smile was soothing, powerful, "You need help, buddy. It can only get better from here ... we promise you. You said you wanted to fly, I heard you. I want to tell you, you can." Without saying anything, Tim stealthily handed Shane the syringe, figuring he was the bigger man, the one to grab Todd, the one to hold him still while the other doctor would inject him.
Todd's expression of sickly, stoned pain and gut-wrenching indecision, made Téa cry, made those tears flow, roll off her cheek and onto the floor ... made her wish she could sink into that salty pool beneath her, sink in and never come out.
Bo Buchanan took a deep breath of impatience, not paying attention to the commotion in one of the other emergency examination rooms down the hall, as he waited for a doctor to come. He had no idea that there was a standing order that, if possible, all cops and any patients they were accompanying were to go to the second floor examining rooms. They were supposed to stay away from the emergency section … if possible. It was a special request by Dr. Timothy Graham which for some reason never got to Bo.
So here he was, impatient to get this pathetic nabbed perp into a jail cell. Bo was here personally because this guy was a real piece of work, a real asshole; James Gunther had a rap sheet a mile long and had recently escaped from an Ohio detention facility only to choose to terrorize Llanview and its surrounding communities. There were times, admittedly, when Bo hated constitutional rights and following through with them. Today ... right now ... was one of those times.
The perp was lying on a gurney with a concussion, several broken ribs, a blown-out knee and possible internal bleeding. He'd been found barely conscious only hours before in a back alley off Sixteenth Street and when the cops arrived along with the paramedics, they recognized the downed man as Gunther right off. Despite his vile criminal record, in the face of the cocky celebration of the officers that they had finally gotten Gunther, the jerk had the nerve to grumble about his rights to medical attention.
"Shut up," Bo finally said, tired of the man's whining. "In my personal opinion, you should suffer in a jail cell without a doc but the Supreme Court said that I can't do that."
"Yeah, I figured that out! I get jumped and all you motherfuckers want to do is arrest me!"
Bo rolled his eyes, "Fine ... who jumped you?"
The man dramatically sniffed, rolling his head to the side, feigning his status as a victim, "A white guy."
"That's helpful," the assisting cop said sarcastically.
"That isn't all, pig. The guy was tall, mean lookin' ... long brownish hair ... a scar ... I saw a scar on his face."
"In the dark?" The cop said nastily. "You saw a scar? Get the hell outta here ..."
"NO! I saw a fuckin' scar because the asshole made sure I got a good look at him before he whacked my lights out ..."
"Fine – describe the scar," Bo said, shaking his head and looking down the hall.
"Ummm... right side. A swoosh ... like ... on his cheek or somethin'."
A scar, like the one Luna Moody gave Todd Manning? Bo wondered. "What was he wearing?"
"Oh... I don't know ... a ... a greenish jacket, like the ones the Vets wear ... I don't know... he had these fuckin' boots on ... kicked the fuck outta me ..."
Bo closed his eyes, muttered a curse. Sure, could be a million guys that fit that description…but damn that sure sounded like Manning. Had he started getting violent again? Had he started turning his destruction outwards? The cop came up to Bo, "What's up, Commish? Sound like someone you know?"
Ignoring the cop, Bo asked Gunther, "Why'd he attack you?"
Gunther rolled his head away, "Out of the fuckin' blue, man. I was walking down the alley, mindin' my own business ... and pow! This asshole comes out of nowhere and starts beating the crap outta me! I wanna press charges!"
The cop slapped the perp on the head, "Shuddup ... you don't have any rights other than to see the doc. 'Charges' ... get outta here ..." The cop knew that the commissioner probably had someone in mind, he himself wondering if it was Todd Manning who'd done the beating because ... well ... he had pulled Manning off some jerk a while back, on Sixteenth Street, and had let him go. Looked just like the description the perp gave. And Manning was definitely capable of this kind of physical damage. Of course, the cop couldn't say anything because he had let him go ... because he was too relaxed to do any paperwork after getting done by that little whore, what was her name? Oh yeah ... Brandy. Anyway, if the department found out, he could be suspended, fired, prosecuted even, for dealing with a hooker ... for not following through on his duties to arrest Manning at the time.
Bo turned around and began to walk briskly down the hall, wanting to get a print-out of Todd's mug shot, among a few others, to see if Gunther could identify him in a photo-lineup. He walked right past Todd's examining room, right past the backs of Tim, Dr. Lansing and Téa, right past the two orderlies standing right outside the door, and right across Todd's clear view of the hallway ... that police air about Bo Buchanan ... unmistakable.
All at once, at the sight of Bo Buchanan, Todd felt this glorious calm wash over him and he looked at Téa, looked at Tim and at the nice doctor Lansing ... the Knight in Shining Armor ... looked at the lights on the ceiling, at the whiteness all about him.
White ... white … where is the black?
"Todd ... talk to me," Tim said gently.
"I'm ... fine," Todd said dreamily. "So let's get checked in then ... what papers do I have to sign ... where's a pen ... give me a pen... a pen ... yeah ... " Todd hugged his jacket tight around his body, shivering in the cold of the hospital room.
Baby ... baby … the blacks and the whites….
Tim furrowed his brows, chewed on his lip, suspicious. "Let me pull you up, kiddo," he said, extending his hand out. Todd looked at it and smiled, grabbing it tightly. As he stood up, he looked Tim right in the eyes, grinned and mouthed, "Salvation."
Tim swallowed hard and was frozen a second or two. Todd let go of his hand.
Grab him now….
Once on his feet again, Todd recognized one of the two orderlies who had stepped forward, he knew him as Michael ... the guy who used to help him so much back in the lockdown ward. He stared at the orderly, saying softly, "Hmmm..."
Téa shivered as she stood next to the bed and Dr. Lansing put his arm around her, whispering, "He'll be alright, it's okay."
She shook her head, "No ... no it's not."
Tim then said casually, "Thanks, Michael, but we got everything under control here."
Michael said, "Doc, I got orders from a higher up ..."
"What?" Tim and Dr. Lansing said at the same time.
Michael then said to Todd, "It's good to see you, man, real good. We're gonna walk with you upstairs, alright?"
Téa knew this was wrong ... this was very wrong ... blowing up ... it was blowing ... up ...
Tim put his hand firmly on Michael about to say something because someone had ignored Tim's specific orders on premature assistance, but Todd didn't give Tim a chance to say anything. Instead, he said, "No, Doctor Graham, I'm cool ... very cool."
"Todd," Tim tried to interrupt, moving towards him, saying to Michael, "I got him, back off, please… Todd..."
Ignoring Tim, Todd eyed the orderly and said, "I remember you. You sure knew how to hold me down ... you sure knew how to tie me up ... huh? You're really good at that ... you're really ... fucking ... good." At that he coughed dramatically, leaning over, and as he came up, he grabbed Michael around the throat and kneed him incredibly hard in the groin two times, virtually paralyzing him. The other orderly jumped at him, but Todd was too quick and with his closed fist, hit the orderly tightly across the eye, sending the guy flying.
Téa screamed Todd's name, yelled for him to stop, trying to get at him, but Dr. Lansing held her back, restraining her. He had the syringe and god damn it, couldn't get to Todd now… not with the wild woman in his arms...
Todd was bolting ... running ...
But before he could get out the door, Tim grabbed him around his upper body, not complying with any kind of proper hold, just needing to get Todd down. All the desperate doctor could say was, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," as he held on to his out-of-control patient and brought him down to the floor, slamming him against the ground, the move accompanied by Todd's agonizing wordless snarls and groans and screams, noise that ... didn't even sound human.
At that, Dr. Lansing held a wailing Téa in his arms and made her crouch down out of the way, covering her with his own body, fighting her to stay put because Todd had no sense of anything and if she got in his way …
He tossed the syringe to Tim but it landed just inches out his way and the two orderlies were groaning in pain.
And Todd continued to scream bloody murder at Tim's effort to keep him down, kicking wildly, thrashing in Tim's arms. His animalistic screams ... loud and terror-stricken, caught the attention of Bo Buchanan who was at the front part of the emergency room, as well as the attention of other assistants, all of them starting to run toward the back of the examination area. At this point, Todd's strength challenged Tim's own, and it was getting harder to keep Todd in place so Tim just held on with everything he had, waiting ... waiting for someone to come help.
But then unexpectedly, out of the fuckin' blue, Todd head-butted Tim right in the forehead, incredibly hard, effectively forcing his doctor to let him go. Tim grabbed the syringe and slammed once again into Todd who had gotten to his feet. He managed to get the needle into his thigh and started to press...
... but it was too late, and too little. His dearest patient was built like a bull and didn't even feel the medication. Tim collapsed to the floor from his own wounding and watched Todd reach for the syringe and yank it out of his leg.
Blind with sheer panic, he then rammed right through two other orderlies who'd just gotten to the examining room in a rush to help out, ran right past a surprised Commissioner, pushing him to the side. A nurse yelled when she got knocked over by the scrambling patient as well ... knocked over by a child who was being raped and cornered ... and ... fucked over with compassion; a child being denied ... the only salvation he had ever known.
And Téa knew the whole thing was over, the sound of Todd's boots seeming to echo forever throughout the building even after he was long gone, having hurtled his way out the doors of the hospital. Out ... out ... and those boots ... the sound of those boots hitting the white linoleum, hitting the speckled sterile floor were so loud to her ... louder than her own screams ... her own cries, the ones which wouldn't stop, which wouldn't end ... which didn't end until she herself had to be sedated ... until she herself felt the bliss of chemical restraint and ... mock peacefulness.
Todd was gone.
It had blown up in their faces ... just like Téa had foreseen.
Can't stop a steam engine in its tracks; can't stop the Red Baron from his destiny.
To be continued…...