Chapter One
~~ The key to my survival was never in much doubt the question was how I could keep sane trying to find my way out *
Lucky roughly slammed the large box down and stood with his hands on his hips, panting and sweating. He flexed his right biceps several times as he massaged it with his left hand and scowled in pain. He was really sick of all this physical work. Since he was "rescued" from Faison, he noticed that he was a lot weaker than he used to be. All of those hours that he had spent cooped up in that metal room with only a cot and a chessboard as his companions had caused his muscles to atrophy. Lucky placed his hand on his abdomen and felt his protruding ribs. He must be at least 35 pounds lighter now than he was last year.
Lucky wiped his brow with a dirty sleeve and rested on the box that he just unloaded from the truck. He sat there and thought about his life as it was now. He was grateful for his small apartment over Jake's, although it wasn't much more than a hole in the wall with only a narrow, rickety metal twin bed and a few articles of clothing. His dad had trashed most of his possessions when he thought he was dead. All of his posters, CD's, books, love letters, and special mementos were buried in a Port Charles landfill somewhere right now. Pretty much anything that had identified him as Lucky or Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Jr. was now gone and in the trash.
Lucky smiled wistfully as he thought about how much he used to love working on computers. Computers fit him to a T. He loved using his brains to learn how to code and program, anything to strategize and analyze. His $6.00 an hour job unloading liquor and cleaning up at Jake's only paid for his room and board, not much else. There wasn't much money left to save and certainly not enough for a computer or even a junky car for that matter. Of course, there were a few side benefits to his job. Lucky smirked as he reached for his silver-plated flask in his back pocket, unscrewed the top and drank deeply.
In his spare time, Lucky had started hanging out at the public library, trying to gain some time on one of the two public computers. When he could get on, there was a thirty-minute time limit, and Lucky had been asked to leave more than once when he stayed on over an hour. The last time, he had been asked not to return. Old biddy librarian, Lucky thought as he clenched his jaw and took another swig from the flask.
His dad used to be so proud at how quickly he could learn. "My son the computer genius," Luke used to tease when he placed his hands on Lucky's shoulders and peered at his work on the computer screen.
Lucky flinched a bit while he rhythmically kicked the box with his heel and sat there thinking about Luke. Luke was kind of a distant memory, a dream of the good old days and not so good old days, but now Lucky was awake and living in the real world, whatever that was. A stab of loneliness pierced Lucky's heart, and he felt hollow and alone. The feeling welled up inside of him and filled his entire chest.
It had been several months since Lucky had talked to Luke. Luke had been found guilty of Stefan's murder and sentenced to 25 years in the state pen at Pentonville. Lucky had taken the bus and visited the prison three times, but each time his dad declined to talk to him. Luke's perverse sense of pride wouldn't allow his son to see him confined in his prison blues and misery, and he had coldly turned him away. Luke figured that his cowboy would be better off not associating with his inmate father, and that Lucky should just move on and forget about him. Lucky had tried writing to him, but his letters always returned unopened.
His mom and Lulu had moved permanently to North Carolina when Luke was on trial. Laura filed for a divorce that was quickly granted. Laura quickly disposed of the older house on 24 Royal Street, and she left town without asking Lucky to accompany her. Laura and Lucky had a hard time relating after his kidnapping. It was like Lucky had died, and she just wrote him off. She couldn't deal with his presence since she had already accepted his death, even if it wasn't a real death. Lucky couldn't take her fake expressions and phoniness anyway. But, he missed Lu, oh God, he missed Lu. He missed her sweetness and laughter. They used to have so much fun before his "death." He would give anything to tuck her in bed one more time and read her another silly bedtime story and have her harass him over and over for another until he laughed and gave in. Lucky sadly imagined the feel of her soft, dark hair and the twinkle of her bright blue eyes. Lucky wrote her letters every once in a while, hoping that she would get them or that someone would read them to her. Lucky's brow furrowed. He never received anything in return - Lulu couldn't write yet.
~~ They say time is a healer and now my wounds are not the same
Lucky angrily wiped away a stray tear that he absolutely did not mean to shed. He was all through with crying. All it did was make him stuffy and sick to his stomach and leave him with red eyes to boot. Yeah, he was a real looker these days. Lucky laughed and shook his head as he ran his fingers through his long, dirty blondish brown hair and glanced down at his old tee-shirt, dirty jeans and ripped sneakers. That's me, real frat boy material. Lucky's heart hardened a bit more at that thought. He grabbed at his flask again and drained it completely.
Elizabeth had met a "frat boy" at PCU - a real dorky rich guy with a nice sports car and plenty of spending money. Lucky remembered that night at Kelly's two months after his return when Elizabeth patiently explained to him that she needed to move on and experience more life than she had with Lucky. She was ambitious and wanted to spend time with someone who had similar values and goals. "Brad" had walked up to Elizabeth then, taking her into his arms as he hugged her and began walking to the door. Elizabeth had looked back at Lucky with a brief look of pity in her eyes as Lucky stood rooted in the ground, not able to move or breathe, sure that as soon as he did, he would reach out and strangle that pretty-boy, preppy SOB. Didn't Elizabeth remember that once he had had his own dreams? That he'd wanted to attend university with her in New York City and study computer science?
When Lucky first returned to Port Charles, he'd tried to reenter high school to complete his degree. He had been in the middle of his junior year when Faison grabbed him, but that didn't matter. He was officially a dropout. Since he was now technically an adult at 18, the school system would not allow him to re-enroll. He would have to test for a GED. No university with a top-notch computer science program would accept his GED and sketchy school history. Besides, it had been nearly two years since he'd seriously touched a computer, and his skills were already rusty, maybe too rusty to recover.
Lucky coughed, jumped up from the box and reached for another to unload. He roughly ripped open the top of this box with his boxcutter, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and carefully refilled his flask. He reserved another five bottles in a dark corner of the alley to retrieve later. He would need them this week.
~*~*~*~
~~ Things were never easy for me peace of mind was hard to find and I needed a place where I could hide somewhere I could call mine
Later in his room, Lucky reached under his thin, lumpy mattress and pulled out his hidden cash. He sighed as he flipped through the sparse bills. After Faison had let him go, Lucky's dad had given him $500 that was in his checking account before he'd been kidnapped, but now he was down to a $25 emergency reserve. He needed cash NOW.
Lucky reached over to his nightstand for his first bottle of the night. He wore no expression as he tore off the black wrapper from the bottle and unscrewed the metal lid. Lucky bent his head back and let the warm velvet flow down his throat freely. He wondered what Prince Nikky was doing right now. Nikolas tended toward the warm female variety of vices. Lucky chuckled as he recalled accidentally breaking in on Nik one time when he was - ahem - occupied in his Jag. That was priceless. Lucky snorted as he recalled a surprised, half-naked girl and Nik with his pants undone. Nik was such a slut.
Lucky walked over to the one small window in his apartment with its "excellent" view of the dirty brick alley walls. He rested his hand on the paint-peeled trim. Nik was on the road with the Eddie Maine tour and wouldn't be back for six months. Lucky never talked to Nikolas - his lack of a phone took care of that. Not that he would ever ask his older brother for anything - Lucky was too proud, and pride was about all he had left.
Lucky wasn't stupid. He figured out that the alcohol wasn't really filling that ever-present hole deep within him. It just kind of blurred the sharp lines a bit and hid the pain so that it was a little deeper and out of reach. Lucky picked up his half-empty whiskey bottle and stared at it. He knew that he should cut back or he'd turn into an alcoholic or an AJ Quartermaine or something. Lucky fished under his mattress again and produced a small, plastic baggie this time. As he pulled out the syringe and turned it in the light, he looked at it and smiled, recalling his first exposure to this substance while Faison had kept him a prisoner. The guards had given this type of drug to him as a favor, and sometimes as payment for other favors, and boy, did it make doing time a lot easier.
That's all Lucky wanted now. He wanted the time to just slip by silently and quickly, blending days into nights and weeks into months. Problem was, he'd already spent all of his food money this week seeking that release. Lucky shrugged to himself. It's not like anyone would notice.
Now that Luke was permanently removed from Port Charles, Roy had taken over the blues club, and he still ran illegal poker games every Wednesday and Thursday night out of the hidden back room. Lucky grinned to himself, taking a final swig from his liquor bottle, anticipating the thrill of the old gang and winning himself some much-needed cash.
* lyrics in chapters 1-5 from Genesis, "No Son of Mine"