Author's Note: As always, read and review! Please...I'm a sucker for reviews.

Chapter 8: Happy Birthday

5 years ago

"He's not dead," Chucky answered as Simon held him back a little. Mike felt like he was going to be sick again. He really hoped Micky wasn't dead, but he looked pretty lifeless and limp. Claire knelt in front of the chair and checked Micky's pulse.

"He's not," Claire said. "For now. But you better hope that doesn't change."

"Just let him die," Chucky said. "He deserves it."

"We need to find those girls," Claire argued.

"You need to find them," Chucky sneered. "I don't really care. I've wasted year looking for them and this little shitstain when we could have just found new ones! I can't keep taking off work for this little shit. No one is going to believe a damn word they say anyway."

"I still don't want him to die," Claire answered. "He needs to be punished for what he did. He drugged us, Chucky!"

"Fine," Chucky said storming from the room. "Then treat him!"

"Michael!" Simon barked making Mike jump. "Help her carry him to the empty room. Do whatever she says."

"Yes, sir," Mike answered before his father left to follow Chucky. It was the one order from his father he was willing to take. He wanted this boy to get better, too, and if he could do something to help him, that made him happy. He just wished there was a way he could take him with him when he left in a month. Mike helped carry Micky up the stairs of the basement and into the spare bedroom. Mike gently laid him down on the bed and waited for Claire to tell him what to do. She immediately set to work at treating Micky.

"Get towels," she said. Mike ran from the room and rushed to the hall closet to grab an arm full. When he returned, she was snapping Micky's elbow back into place. The sound it made made Mike feel sick again, but he had to push that out of his mind.

"Towels, Ma'am," Mike said handing them to her.

"Clean him up," she said. "Start with his head."

"Yes, Ma'am," Mike answered and set to work cleaning the blood off Micky as she stepped out of the room. His body was covered in a layer of dirt as well and Mike cleaned that off to help prevent infections. Once his head was clean, Claire came back in with a bag that she set on the ground. She set to work inspecting his head as Mike started cleaning the wounds on Micky's chest. She clipped some of the hair away from his wound to get a better look at it and then began sewing the gash closed with a needle and thread she'd pulled from the bag. Micky was still bleeding from the cut on his shoulder pretty bad no matter how Mike tried to clean it.

"Put pressure on his shoulder to stop the bleeding," Claire said. Mike did what he was told and pushed the towel into the deep wound. He felt the warm blood soak through the towel and soak his hands. While he was putting pressure on the wound, she worked on other injuries after hooking an IV up to him with medication. She carefully took his pants off to inspect his legs. The right leg looked twisted and mangled and was about as dark purple as his arm. His leg was definitely broken. Claire quickly and expertly splinted up his leg after looking at it for a few minutes. She then moved to take care of his chest, stitching the wound now that Mike had slowed the bleeding and wrapping it in a tight bandage.

"Is he going to be ok?" Mike asked standing away from the bed.

"Too soon to tell," she answered. "These wounds should heal. I'll have to reset his leg tomorrow once the swelling goes down, but the head injury could have him go either way. But his chances are good."

"How do you know what to do?" Mike asked.

"I'm a doctor," she answered turning to face him. "You did a very good job, Michael."

"I just did what you told me," Mike said taking a step back feeling uncomfortable with the way she was suddenly looking at him.

"Yes, but you stayed very calm," she said walking closer to him. She was looking him up and down as though he were a piece of meat and it sent shivers down his spine. "Not very many people would be able to do what you did."

"I doubt that," Mike answered backing away further.

"Your lip is hurt," she said getting closer. "It's cut pretty deep."

"It'll heal," Mike answered.

"Funny; last time I saw you, you were a little boy," she had now backed him up all the way against the wall and Mike felt very uncomfortable as she placed her hands on either side of him against the wall, trapping him there. She leaned against him and whispered in his ear. "Now you're a man."

"I'm still only 17," Mike said trying to cover the crack in his voice from fear.

"Age doesn't mean anything," she whispered. He felt her breath on his neck and wanted so badly to run out of there. He froze, however, when he felt her hands on him. First on his chest, then sliding down. He tried to squirm away when she slipped her hand down the front of his pants slightly to tease his hip. She sucked on his ear a little as Mike tried to convince his body to run instead of remain frozen in fear. "I can make a man out of you, Michael."

"Leave my son alone, Claire," Simon said coming in just before her hand went too low. She immediately pulled her hand out of his pants and looked innocently at Simon.

"You're no fun," Claire said.

"He's not worth it," Simon said. "Too naive. He wouldn't know what to do with you."

"I like virgins," Claire said pouting a little.

"I know you do, but you have other things to deal with," Simon said. "Your husband wants to talk to you."

"Fine," Claire answered. "Michael has been such a good little helper with Micky. I'd like to have him stay on as my assistant until Micky gets better."

"That's fine," Simon said. "Isn't it Michael?"

"Yes, Sir," Mike answered shakily. He wanted to continue helping Micky, but he was scared that Claire might touch him again. And that thought sent shivers down his spine. But looking at the still lifeless looking boy on the bed was all the resolve Mike needed. If this boy had been strong enough to escape and set two women free, one of whom had been pregnant, Mike could put aside his own fears to help him.

So Mike spent the next several days doing everything he could to take care of Micky. He barely left the boy's side except to sleep. He cleaned and changed the bandages as frequently as Claire told him to and whenever Micky's IV bag was empty, he changed it to make sure Micky stayed medicated and hydrated. Claire had reset Micky's leg once the swelling had gone down and put it in a fresh cast. Any time Claire started to make a move on him, Mike always found some excuse to leave the room. But he never let it interfere with caring for Micky.

Three days into Micky's ordeal, Mike was changing the bandage on his head when he saw Micky's finger twitch. Mike stopped for a moment thinking that maybe he'd been imagining things, but he saw it again. He quickly looked at Micky's face for any other signs he was regaining consciousness. He noted that Micky's eyes were flitting around under the lids like he was trying to look for something, but couldn't see through the closed lids.

"Micky?" Mike prompted putting the dirty bandages in the garbage bin next to him. Micky moaned in response. "Just take it easy, ok? You've been hurt pretty bad. Don't wake up too fast, ok?"

"Who are you?" Micky asked as he tried to open his eyes. The light was very bright for him and he hissed in pain and shrank back. Mike quickly flicked the light off in the room to make it more tolerable for him.

"My name is Mike," he answered coming back over to the chair he'd set up next to the bed. "I don't know if you remember me. I think we met once or twice a long time ago."

"You're Simon's son?" Micky asked looking at Mike through the little bit of light streaming through the curtains.

"Yes," Mike answered.

"What happened?" Micky asked.

"What do you remember?" Mike asked moving to grab a new bandage for Micky's head.

"I remember my parents saying we had to go your dad's house," Micky answered.

"Yeah, they took you into the basement and tortured you," Mike answered.

"And you're playing nursemaid?" Micky asked. "Why would you do that?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Mike asked startled by the question.

"You're Simon's son, aren't you?" Micky asked and suddenly Mike realized why Micky didn't trust him.

"I promise you, I'm nothing like him," Mike answered moving to place the new bandage on his head as gently as he could. "I turn 18 in a month and I plan on running as far away from here as I can and I hope to never look back. I just wish I could bring you with me."

"I'd only weigh you down," Micky said.

"Is that why you sacrificed yourself?" Mike asked. "You said you let your parents find you."

"Yes," Micky answered. "I knew they'd never stop looking and i thought if I could divert their attention long enough..."

"Your friends would be safe?" Mike asked. Micky only stared at him as though unsure he could trust him. Mike was pretty sure that Micky was wondering if Mike was playing the role of double agent. "Look, I know you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either. You don't have to even talk to me if you don't want to. I just figured that it might make you feel better."

"Were you in the basement?" Micky asked.

"Yeah," Mike answered. "My father decided it would be a good idea for me to watch. He wanted to remind me of what would happen if I ever crossed him."

"Did you need reminding?" Micky asked.

"Not really," Mike answered. "I've thought about doing what you did, but I guess I never really had the guts."

"What happened to your lip?" Micky asked. Mike absently touched the cut on his lip that had been healing, but was still a little sore.

"I foolishly tried to help you," Mike said. "Dad didn't like that. Shoved me to the ground."

"You tried to help me?" Micky asked. "I really don't remember anything."

"Yeah," Mike sighed. "Your head took a pretty bad blow. I'm surprised you're even still alive."

"What exactly did you do?" Micky asked. "I mean, it would have been at least 3 against 1."

"Yeah," Mike answered. "It was 4 against 1, actually. But I wasn't really thinking about that. I didn't even do much, really. I sorta just lunged for you and asked them to leave you alone."

"Bet that went over well," Micky answered.

"I should have done more," Mike said heavily as he finished wrapping Micky's head. "I'm sorry."

"More?" Micky asked. "Like what? You just said it was 4 against 1. If you'd done more, they'd have killed you."

"I don't know," Mike answered. "But you escaped. You got out and saved two girls and a baby."

"That was more luck and timing," Micky answered. "And it didn't work that well. They still got me."

"But the baby is safe," Mike said. "And so are the girls. I heard your parents talking. Your dad doesn't want to waste any more time looking for them. They're safe." Micky seemed relieved upon hearing this, but Mike could tell he was also a little skeptical. He still wasn't sure he could trust Mike, and Mike couldn't say he blamed him. A lot of people who grew up around people like their parents usually ended up either becoming like them or succumbing to other vices like drugs or alcohol. Those who didn't follow the path of their parents usually ended up dead; either from overdose or suicide. A few were even murdered.

Micky got steadily better over the next few weeks. His head injury was healing rather quickly and he had started getting bits and pieces of memory of the beating back. Mike had honestly hoped that he wouldn't remember, but saw it as a sign of healing. Micky asked Mike if some of the memories that came back were true and Mike tried to elaborate a little, but never pushed Micky to talk about the things that had happened before. Claire had come in to check on him from time to time, but she grew steadily busier. Mike didn't know what she was doing, but didn't want to get involved. She rarely ever made a pass at him anymore for which he was very grateful.

"You threw up," Micky said by way of greeting a week before Mike's birthday when Mike walked in.

"Yeah," Mike said closing the door behind him. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," Micky answered. "Got more movement in my shoulder. Why did you throw up?"

"Because what they were doing to you made me sick," Mike answered moving to check on Micky's medications. "It was right before your dad went ballistic and nearly beat you to death. Your mom had to pull him off you."

"I pissed him off," Micky said.

"Yeah, you spit in his face," Mike answered. "Still not sure why you did that."

"I wanted them to leave you alone," Micky said. "I saw the pity in your eyes. The hurt. I wanted them to just end it. I felt bad they were making you watch it."

"Well, it worked," Mike said. "They definitely stopped. But they could have killed you."

"Yeah, I really don't care about that," Micky said. "I don't really have much to live for anyway."

"Well, about that," Mike said. "I wanted to propose something to you. I'm leaving next week on my birthday and I want to take you with me."

"I really don't see them letting me go with you, Mike," Micky laughed.

"No, but they don't have to know," Mike said.

"Mike, I'm not going to let you smuggle me out," Micky said. "I've done that. Living in hiding constantly looking over your shoulder is no way to live. I'm not going to let you do that for me."

"They don't have to know you escaped," Mike said. Micky gave him a very confused look as Mike quickly delved into his plan. "I do a lot of reading in my spare time and I got to thinking. In Romeo and Juliet, she fakes her death. She drinks something that makes her appear dead. Well, there is actually an herbal mixture that can do that. Like nightshade."

"There's an herb that makes you look dead?" Micky asked.

"Yes, and I happen to know exactly how to get it and mix it," Mike answered.

"I'm not even going to ask you how you know that," Micky said.

"I get bored," Mike shrugged. "I used to play guitar, but my dad broke that a while ago."

"You play music?" Mike asked.

"Somewhat," Mike answered. "Dad didn't like it, so not anymore. But that's not the point. I think we can pull this off, but you have to trust me."

"I don't think we can fool my mother," Micky said. "She's a surgeon. She'll know I'm not dead."

"That's just it," Mike said. "I heard she's leaving in a few days for a while. She'll be gone next week when I plan on leaving. It'll be someone else who finds you."

"Where is she going?" Micky asked.

"I don't know," Mike answered. "Something about securing something for her job. That doesn't really matter. But you have to trust me. It's very important you trust me."

"Why?" Micky answered.

"Well for one, you're still very incapacitated," Mike said not wanting to get to the worst part of his plan first. "For another, you'll be in a car with me for a long time. I was thinking of going to Malibu."

"California?" Micky asked.

"Yes," Mike said quickly. "I know that is very close to LA where you grew up, but that also means they won't be looking for you there, right?"

"I guess," Micky said.

"The other thing is..." Mike said unable of how to word the next part. "Well, it's kinda complicated. But the herb lasts for a while. And my dad is going to want to umm...get rid of your body pretty fast. He'll bury it in the the backyard with some of the others."

"I'm going to be buried?" Micky asked.

"Yeah," Mike said. "I really don't know how to say this, but...I planned out the timeframe and you'll probably wake up in the coffin. That's why it's so important to trust me. I'm going to hide an oxygen tank inside the coffin and you'll have to use that to breathe. I can't dig you up until after it looks like I've left and until nightfall so they won't see me. I'm sorry, but that's the only way this is going to work. They have to think you're dead and dad has to bury you because otherwise your body will just disappear and they'll know something is up."

"But you'll dig me up?" Micky asked tentatively.

"I promise," Mike said. "I don't know how long it'll be after you wake up, but I will get you out and we will get out of here. But I need to know you trust me. If you don't, you're just going to freak out down there. But if you trust me, you'll be able to stay calm. You freak out and you'll use up all the oxygen. I have to know you're ok with this plan. That you trust me."

"Do it," Micky said.

"You trust me?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Micky answered. "You've been here with me this whole time when you didn't have to be. You were so disgusted with what they did to me that you threw up for crying out loud. Besides, there's something in your eyes I trust. I can't explain it. But I trust you."

"We'll need to make it seem like you're getting worse though," Mike said. "For appearances. So how are you at acting?"

"I think I can manage," Micky answered. So for the next week, Mike began informing his father that Micky was getting worse, even suggesting he'd been having seizures. His father had checked on Micky several times who pretended to be incoherent and out of it. In his free time, Mike worked hard to gather what he needed to make the herbal concoction that would knock Micky out, slow his breathing and his heart-rate. He also worked to get a small oxygen tank and snuck out to the shed where his father kept spare boxes of wood they used as coffins when one of his prisoners died. Mike knew where most of them were since he was usually forced to help him bury the bodies. He found one at the forefront and worked throughout the night to make a false bottom in the box to hide the oxygen tank.

The night before his birthday, Mike slipped into Micky's room and gave him the herbal concoction and told him to drink it that morning. Micky nodded and hid it under his pillow as Mike left. He'd managed to talk his father into giving him the van they'd found Micky using and he packed it with all his stuff. Then Mike just waited. In the morning, he told his father that he'd check in on Micky before leaving and promised once again not to say anything to the police. When he checked on Micky, he saw Micky was passed out. He looked dead. Mike pocketed the empty bottle and ran to get his father.

His father and Chucky raced into the room and checked Micky over. They felt for a pulse and tried to check his breathing. They worked for 15 minutes before confirming he was dead. His father told Mike to prepare a coffin before leaving and Mike made sure to grab the one with the hidden oxygen tank. Simon told Mike to leave once he set the coffin outside near where Simon and Chucky had placed Micky's body. Mike made a point to look as though he were leaving, but he had to figure out where they were going to bury Micky, so he circled back around and hid behind a tree just as they started lowering the coffin into the ground. Mike mentally memorized the spot before turning to leave again.

He came back later that night with a shovel and carefully pulled the van up as close as he could to the spot where Micky was buried. He quickly set to work making sure he was quiet and wouldn't be heard or seen. Once he reached the top of the wooden box, he jumped down in the hole and yanked off the lid. Micky lay there with the oxygen mask over his face and smiled at him to tell Mike he was ok. Mike returned the smile and helped him out of the coffin. His leg was still in the cast and badly broken and his shoulder hadn't regained motion, so pulling him out of the hole was difficult. They finally managed to get Micky into the back of the van where Mike helped him into the bed in the back before going back to rebury the coffin. Then they set off for Malibu, everyone now thinking Micky was dead.