I do not own Ratched.
I do not own Huck. But I miss him and it's summer for me so I brought him back.
Huck Finnigan: Dreams and Nightmares; The Best Life Lived
Home
"Peter?"
How far was it to that boys' home?
"How did you get here?"
He gently pulls the boy from his hiding place behind a stack of crates.
He's thinner than Huck remembers. Hair unkempt and scraggly. Clothes filthy.
Eye blackened, lip cut.
The boy has been through it.
"Peter?"
Bewilderment, astonishment, panic, all overcome Huck and he's asking the the dumb questions.
"Peter, can you speak to me?"
The questions he knows the answers to.
The questions he doesn't know the answers to and knows he will never get from the boy.
The boy who stares at him, with flat, mute eyes.
Stares out.
And does not . . .
"Peter?"
. . . respond.
"Okay, come on."
His response is not rational.
Not rational or logical or reasonable.
Huck Finnigan . . .
"Stay low, okay?"
. . . takes the boy home.
His home.
His home with Grace.
Huck Finnigan . . .
"Grace? Grace, we have company."
. . . takes the child home to his shocked and bewildered Grace.
"Oh. Hello, Peter. It's nice to see you again."
They feed him.
". . . leftover meatloaf and potatoes. I have rolls and green beans. And chocolate cake."
They have him shower.
". . . hot enough, I think."
Wash his clothes.
". . . a little big on you, but they'll do for today."
And then they have him sit on the porch swing outside.
While they keep an eye on him.
"What happened, Huck?"
From the kitchen table.
"I don't know. I went into the barn to look after the horse and he was there. I didn't know what to do, so I . . ."
So he brought the boy to the only place on earth Huck Finnigan feels safe.
Home.
He puts his hands on the cooling coffee cup his stomach is too twisted to manage.
And sees his wife, his beautiful, pregnant wife, mirroring his own movements.
Face drawn and pinched.
And he worries that he's hurt her, causing her harm, causing the baby harm by bringing this stress upon her with this.
"I'm sorry, Grace. I . . . I shouldn't have done this. I-"
She shakes her head.
"It's okay, Huck. I understand why."
And then she falls silent.
And they sit.
Huck watches Peter outside. Peter who sits so still.
"Have you called the home, have you heard from them?"
Huck shakes his head.
"No, not either."
"Have you seen anything in the papers?"
"No. But they may be keeping it out to avoid bad press. Losing children is-"
"-a bad thing, yes."
They sit and watch the boy and Huck tries to think.
It isn't easy, his thoughts run amuck.
St Lucia. The apartment above Mrs. Graham's detached garage.
Grace's parents.
His mother.
He can't stay here.
He can't stay here with Grace.
He can't stay here with Grace pregnant.
"He can't . . . he can't . . ."
And Grace waves him off, puts a hand on his.
"Stop. No more. No more tonight."
He clenches his jaw, unclenches it.
Grace continues.
"Tonight, we stay here. We rest. We let him rest. In the morning, we'll figure it out."
She squeezes his hand.
"Okay?"
Huck glances at the boy out the window.
So still, so silent.
"Okay."
And they bring him back in.
Make a quiet evening of it.
They read. They listen to the radio.
Huck and Grace.
Peter, clean and fed, mostly just sits.
Silent, still.
Aware of how much, they are not sure.
But Huck, through his darling Grace and the infamous Mrs. Kee, has come to understand that sometimes care is peace and levity, not actual activity.
And so they quietly, peacefully abide.
Grace makes up the spare room, provides extra tolietries.
Peter brushes his teeth, relieves his bladder.
Accepts a final cup of water.
And goes . . .
"Good night, Peter. Sleep well."
. . . to bed.
"If you need anything from us, we'll be in our room. Come find us."
He doesn't respond, he looks at them, but does not respond.
And then . . .
"Do you think he'll be okay tonight?"
"I don't know. I hope so."
He can't sleep that night.
He knows Peter has never shown any proclivity toward violence.
The boy exists in the world, but he does not much interact with it.
They are safe, Grace and the unborn baby.
He is safe, Huck is.
They are safe from him.
He, Peter, is safe with himself.
And yet Huck cannot sleep.
He stays awake and stares at the ceiling.
He listens, alerts to every sound, every creak, every settling board.
He listens to Grace snore, a usually comforting sound.
But now he worries it will cover the stealthy tell of a deadly approach.
And so finally, moving carefully and as quietly as possible, he gets himself up and his pillow.
An extra blanket from the hall closet.
And beds himself down in front of the door behind which the silent boy lays.
Grace.
Grace and the baby.
And he . . .
That's all that matters right now.
. . . stares at the ceiling.
He's awakened by a hand on his shoulder.
Grace's hand.
Grace in her dressing gown, hair wrapped in a silk scarf.
Slippers on her feet.
He did sleep after all, only a few hours and he will need strong coffee to get him through whatever this day will become.
But he gets up as quietly as possible, replacing the blanket, the pillow.
He would not hurt Peter by letting him discover he slept in front of his door so the silent, still, passive boy would not stab him and his pregnant wife to death in their sleep.
So he moves quick and quiet.
And by the time Peter makes his way down stairs, Huck is drinking his morning coffee and Grace's toast is almost done.
"Good morning, Peter."
"We hope you slept well."
They have resumed their positions.
Grace and Huck together at the table.
Peter outside in the fresh morning air.
Misty has joined him.
Sitting quite close to his leg, the boy seeming aware of her, yet not quite to touching.
And it's Huck who speaks first.
"He can't stay here, Grace. I believe he is safe. I know he is. But he can't stay here."
Her smile is sad.
"I know, Huck. I knew it when you brought him here yesterday. Just like I knew you were going to sleep in front of his door last night."
Huck doesn't respond.
Grace continues.
"You're a good man, Huck. You know I believe that and you do too because you work so hard to be so. This understanding doesn't change that."
He nods.
"I know."
He feels terrible, remorseful, worried.
But his feelings don't change the facts.
Grace and the baby have to be absolutely safe, always.
And he can think of no other reasonable options than the one before him.
"I have to send him back, Grace."
As he says the words, his heart cracks wide open, becomes a gaping hole in his chest.
He wishes there were something else, anything else that would work for them, for Peter.
But there isn't, not that he can desperately find.
And Grace doesn't speak.
Only covers his hand with her own.
And holds it tight.
Thanks for reading!