Chapter 115

Many say to my soul: There is no salvation for him in his God

Lucky coughed and shook his head as he looked speculatively at the soda pop can. He turned it around to see if it had an expiration date on the side. Nikolas needs to buy groceries regularly. I bet this drink is five years old. He shrugged, lightly swirled the remaining drink and took another deep swig, almost finishing the can. Man! That's skunky. Forget it.

Lucky gingerly laid the can back down on the chair and reached for his golf club. Golf is kind of fun. I bet I have a good time with Edward. Well, maybe. I'd like to learn how to play better. Nikolas is cool for giving me these clubs. He might enjoy a Saturday game. Lucky coughed again and grimaced. My throat hurts. Hope I'm not getting a nasty summer cold.

Lucky moved over to the putting green again and lined up his shot. He glanced out over the water and admired the way the waves moved in a gentle, flowing rhythm. It felt good to be outside doing something physical. After five minutes of putting the ball, Lucky paused and turned toward the house. What was that? he thought as he heard something thud and crash within.

Lucky cupped his hand to his mouth. "Nikolas? Hey Nikolas." With his putting iron still in hand, Lucky began walking the path toward Wyndemere. He shivered and started feeling concerned as he darted his eyes around the area. Why do I feel so creepy? It's like someone's watching me. Lucky jumped and turned toward what seemed to be a rustling sound from a bush against the house. His breaths came quickly, and he frowned. It's just a squirrel.

"Nowhere to hide, Lucky."

Lucky's blood froze at the sound of that voice. He dropped his golf club and placed his hands on his head. Not again! I can't get away from his voice. The hair on his arms rose as the goose bumps began forming over his smooth skin. His body knew what his mind hadn't allowed him to process. Lucky suddenly whirled around to meet the face that made the sound.

Cesar Faison smiled wickedly in greeting and slowly walked toward Lucky, his mouth making only a jagged gash across his timeworn face. His dark eyes glinted malevolently as he spoke his next words. "So we meet again."

~*~*~*~

Frisco threw his car into park and leaped out of the driver's side without bothering to lock it or even to park straight. "Rogers!" he called out with a cupped hand to the man in the small harbor area who was struggling with a rope while trying to stand in a swaying speedboat.

Rogers looked up at the sound of Frisco's voice. "The other men are halfway to Spoon Island. See the boat?" He pointed toward a rapidly moving object in the distance. All that was visible was the white foamy spray created by the extreme speed with which the men were racing toward Wyndemere.

Frisco hopped onto the boat and grabbed the rope from the other man's hands as he frantically twirled it away from the moorings. "Start it up," he ordered tersely. "Where did you find these boats?"

"Stole 'em," Rogers answered quickly. "Your orders, sir.

Frisco's red face tensed, and he shot the man a disgusted look. "Get this boat OUT of here," he ordered. "We're wasting time."

Frisco sat down in the craft and removed his pistol from the waistband of his blue jeans, keeping it ready in his hand for their arrival on Spoon Island. He checked to make sure it was full of bullets. Frisco had no doubt that Faison had made his move. "Dock this on an opposite end of the island, away from the other men. I don't want Faison to slip away with Lucky Spencer while he creates a diversion."

Frisco used his thumb to jab his sunglasses further up his nose, and he grimaced with the hot western sun shining in his face, the remnant of a long, summer day. I haven't failed a mission yet, and the Spencer kid isn't going to be the first. We're going to nab Faison. It's going to happen.

~*~*~*~

Lucky's mouth dropped open in shock, but he immediately shut it. "It's really you," he said mechanically. For some odd reason, the fear that had exploded through him when Faison had called him several days ago was now absent. A protective numbness descended upon him but didn't keep his mind from racing. This is it. I've got to take him out. How am I going to do it? I don't have any weapons. Lucky broke Faison's gaze and looked around him wildly.

Faison laughed loudly and held his arms out from his sides as his grin slashed across his cheeks. He shook his head, splaying his long brown and gray hair in several directions. "In the flesh!" he answered merrily. His face soon hardened when he looked closely at the young man standing in front of him. Lucky wasn't quivering and cowering, plus he seemed to be studying his nemesis.

Anger soon replaced amusement in Faison's veins. How dare he! Faison drew back his fist and soundly punched Lucky in the face, sending the kid sprawling onto the ground with a loud grunt of pain and a bloody lip. That's more like it. Faison rubbed his sore knuckles and chuckled. "I like you better when you're flat on the ground and helpless, Master Spencer." He leaned over Lucky's body, spitting out his words of hate. "You were my favorite, you know. No one else could match your exquisite angst and anxiety, that never-ending desire for daddy to come to your rescue. No one cries like you, Lucky Spencer. It's a shame we won't be going back to the compound. I could have fun with you for years and years to come."

Faison swiftly kicked Lucky in the side, and the kid hurriedly scooted away from the sadistic madman as best he could while he tried to catch his bearings.

Think, I can't think. Why is my brain so messed up? My head feels like it's going to explode. Lucky's long, slender fingers floated across the green grass, searching for the putting iron that he'd dropped. He crawled further away from Faison and pulled up tufts of grass in his fierce desperation to save himself. Finally, his fingers met smooth metal and curled protectively around the stem of the golf club. Lucky drew himself up on his hands and knees but was assaulted with a tide of overwhelming nausea and a sharp, twisting pain in his abdomen. He cried out and held his free hand over his stomach as he hung his head down. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't seem to think or react. He heard Faison laughing nearby when Eli's took its revenge and he vomited. His eyes filled with tears at the pain, and he wondered at the blood he saw splattered on the ground. With supreme effort, Lucky stumbled to his feet and stood swaying as he scowled at Faison. "What did you do to me?!!" he screamed at the madman.

Faison looked on with glee as he raised his hands in a mock innocent gesture. "Can't a man have his fun?" he questioned. "Had I given you more poison, you would have dropped immediately. But this way I prolong the joy of watching you die before my eyes." He pointed a finger at Lucky and sneered. "You...are expendable. You...sent the WSB in my direction." Faison's eyes narrowed. "You...are DEAD!"

Lucky's mouth hung open with a narrow trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his split lip. His eyes grew wide. "You poisoned me! I told them you'd do it. You poisoned me!!!"

Faison touched his nose with his index finger. "Bingo. Two points for Lucky. Only they won't matter where you're going." Faison pointed down at the grass. "Into the ground with the worms and the rest of the dead, decaying matter. That is your fate, Lucky. Next lifetime, check to make sure your soda pop doesn't contain any cyanide."

Lucky barely stood, leaning heavily on the golf club for support. "But... why didn't you kill me before?"

Faison sighed loudly. "I was working for Stefan Cassadine. I was under orders not to kill you." Faison inspected his fingernails. "But I would have gladly tortured you all on my own, for free. So delightful you were." His tone changed with a mercenary, dead ring to it as his eyes flickered appraisingly over Lucky.  "Now you are worth nothing to me, and I will seek payment from your brother Nikolas instead. Perhaps he will be a worthy adversary, unlike you. And, oh, what a nice ransom he will bring."

Anger and fear mixed with biting adrenaline in Lucky's veins at the sound of his brother's name, and he made a guttural yell as he used whatever energy he had to charge at Faison with his golf club held high as a weapon. Lucky's face contorted with rage and survival, and his teeth bared as his powerful, flexed biceps brought the iron down onto the back of the man who tormented him.

Faison yelped with pain, and he fell to his knees with the force of Lucky's blow. Lucky prepared to deliver the final blow to Faison's head, ready to crush it, when he stopped at the sound of the man's voice and the gesture he made. "Nikolas," Faison gritted out breathily.

Lucky's worst nightmare came true when he saw who was leading a struggling Nikolas from the house. It was Mike, the man who was responsible for the majority of his sexual abuse while in the compound. Mike had one massive arm wrapped tightly around Nikolas' throat while his other hand painfully twisted Nikolas' arm behind his back.

~*~*~*~

Luke couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so restless. He paced back and forth in the dormitory room, much to his companions' annoyance as they were trying to watch a movie on television. He repeatedly shoved his hands in his pockets and then removed them.

Cowboy had promised him he'd send an email describing Tony and Bobbie's wedding. He wasn't especially worried that Lucky hadn't emailed yet. He figured the kid was busy socializing and forgot. It was the earlier conversation with Bobbie and Tony that gnawed at his nerves.

Bobbie had called him several days ago when she'd learned that Faison had threatened his son. Luke could barely believe his ears. Here he was locked up in prison, and Lucky was left alone at the mercy of a madman once again. And then Tony had described Lucky's small breakdown. Luke knew that Cowboy was on edge - his emails hinted at his problems dealing with the outside world. But that was to be expected. However, Luke had been feeling out of sorts for at least an hour with a ringing anxiety rising in his gut, and he was afraid that the famous Spencer psychic connection was warning him of danger. Who was looking out for Cowboy with Tony and Bobbie on their honeymoon? Surely Prince Nikolas wasn't suited to the task.

~*~*~*~

Lucky's voice shook with strong emotion. "Nikolas, no!" He turned desperately to Faison, who by now had lifted himself from the ground and dusted himself off while wearing a murderous expression on his pain-filled face. "I'll go with you. I won't give you any trouble. Let my brother go. Take ME!!"

"We don't WANT you!" Faison growled menacingly. "You're history. Nikolas has the money and the Ice Princess. That's what we want." Faison motioned his head toward Mike who was walking a squirming Nikolas toward the wrought iron bench. "Did he tell you the location of the Ice Princess?"

Mike shook his head and tightened his grip on Nikolas arm. Nikolas sagged slightly at the fierce pressure. "He claims he has no idea where it is. I tried to beat it out of him, but the kid knows some kind of weird martial arts maneuvers. I ended up chasing him all over the place." He yanked hard on Nikolas arm, and the young man grimaced harshly before composing himself again.

"You've already broken my arm. You don't need to do it twice," Nikolas said. He was desperately trying to keep his composure so he could think his way out of this dilemma. Stefan's tai chi lessons were definitely coming in handy for mind and pain control, while his own interest in kung fu had had some interesting advantages.

Mike harshly sat Nikolas down on the bench and tightened his arm around his throat. "Move and I'll snap your neck," he threatened.

Nikolas felt his heart sink when Lucky suddenly fell down on the grass and remained still. "What's wrong with my brother?" Nikolas watched every move Faison made, trying to get a read on the man.

"How touching, this brotherly love," Faison sneered. "He's dying. That’s what Lucky is doing." Faison walked over to Lucky and kicked him hard in the back. "How does it feel to die?"

Lucky's face screwed up with pain, and he felt like the world kept spinning around him in a psychedelic daze. "Not dead yet," he gritted out.

"What did you do to him?" Nikolas shouted with horror.

"Spiked his soda pop with cyanide," Faison answered breezily. "You may wish for the same when Mike is done with you."

Nikolas watched as Lucky's cunning eyes met his. Was his brother trying to give him a signal? Nikolas tensed as Lucky suddenly darted up from the ground, waving the golf club directly at Mike's head. Mike made a protesting noise and momentarily loosened his grip around Nikolas throat as he raised his own hands to defend himself. As soon as Mike grabbed the putter from Lucky and pushed him to the ground, Nikolas took advantage and whirled around with his hand in a lethal kung fu position. Nikolas' palm rammed up Mike's nose, breaking it on contact with a loud crunch. The large man toppled to the ground never making a sound as the broken bones invaded his brain and effectively stopped him in place.

"Freeze!" the loud voice rang out as multiple WSB agents flooded Wyndemere's grounds. One agent squatted with his gun drawn to take Mike's pulse and shook his head at another agent. "This one's dead." He made a disgusted face at the copious blood that had freely poured from the man's nose, only to suddenly stop seconds later when the man's heart ceased to beat.

Faison warily watched the drama from several feet away, confident that he could disappear to the other side of the island to make his escape. He quietly walked away with a quick grace, but soon stopped abruptly when he felt the strong arm around his neck and the cold feel of rounded steel at his temple. "Going somewhere?" Frisco Jones' voice asked.

Faison's face set with his frustration. "I have won," he haughtily announced to Frisco.

"Oh, I don't think so," Frisco answered. "You're under arrest."

"For what?" Faison inquired. His accent deepened. "There are no crimes if there are no wit-nesses."

Frisco tightened his grip and marched Faison back toward the house. Frisco's nerves were on edge with Faison's cryptic comments, and his heart contracted with trepidation.  Two agents were standing with their guns drawn, and two were kneeling beside bodies. This was not at all what Frisco wanted to see. He noticed a pale, upset looking Nikolas sitting by himself on a wrought iron bench and holding onto his arm while he rocked in pain.

Frisco pushed Faison toward an agent and ordered, "Cuff him - twice - and take him to headquarters. No phone calls and no outside contact for him until I arrive. Take no chances with this one." He hurriedly walked up to Nikolas. "What happened?"

Nikolas' eyes directed Frisco to the body lying several feet away. "They killed him," he whispered. "Faison said he placed cyanide in Lucky's drink."

Frisco ran over to Lucky. Lucky was sprawled out on the ground, his arms and legs flung away from his body, still conscious but barely. "Lucky," he said. Lucky's eyelids quivered in response but resumed their nearly closed position. He's alive! Frisco went into emergency mode and whipped out his cell phone, dialing 911. "I need two ambulances at the Port Charles docks. I'm on Spoon Island with two injured young men. One has a broken arm, and the other has been poisoned with cyanide. Notify the ER so they'll be ready."

"Help him," Frisco directed the one WSB agent with a nod of his head toward Nikolas. Nikolas gingerly accepted the man's offered hand and rose creakily from the bench. "Lucky," he said in a shaky voice.

Frisco had rolled Lucky onto his left side, and the young man was heaving with frequent deep breaths as if he couldn't get enough oxygen. When Frisco tried to pull Lucky into a sitting position, he became combative and weakly yelled, swinging his other arm in Frisco's direction. He thrashed and tried to move away from Frisco's help. Frisco made his decision. He abruptly swung Lucky up over his shoulder and took off running for the waiting speed boat. Nikolas and the other WSB agent began running for the boat when Frisco hollered that they had to hurry, time was of the essence.

Nikolas sat down near his brother, but Frisco pushed him away. "He's contaminated. If you get any vomit or other fluid on you, you'll be in danger." Nikolas watched as Lucky lay insensibly on the bottom of the boat and continued to breathe with a frantic intensity, his lungs filling to capacity and emptying at a dizzying pace. "Can't we help him?" he asked frantically, pulling at Frisco's arm.

"He needs oxygen," Frisco answered. "They'll be ready for him in the ambulance." Frisco yelled to the other agent. "Can't this craft move any faster? The kid is dying! He needs an antidote."

The agent coaxed the boat to its fastest speed, and Nikolas and Frisco had to hold tight to the edge of the craft as the white foam of the parting waters stung at their faces. The docks were soon in view, and Nikolas blinked back tears of relief when he saw the bright lights of the ambulances pulling up to the water's edge. When the boat stopped, Frisco ordered, "Nikolas, go to the one ambulance. Peter, accompany him. We'll meet you at the hospital."

Frisco noticed that Lucky's eyes were completely closed, and his breaths were not as deep as before - they were rapid and shallow, growing weaker by the second. He bent down to lift the boy over his shoulder once more and carefully laid him onto the dock before pulling himself up. Frisco placed his gun back into his waistband and shouted for the medical workers to join him.

"Careful," Frisco cautioned a paramedic. "He's contaminated with cyanide. Better get a mask."

The medical workers took precautions with masks and gloves and lifted Lucky's limp body onto a gurney.

"He was semi-conscious until about ten minutes ago," Frisco mentioned. "He's on a ton of medications. He has a medical alert bracelet on him, I think."

"His bp is low - 80 over 40 and dropping," the one paramedic said. "He's LOC, and I'm not confident he can maintain an airway. Let's bag him before we take off." The other paramedic had already started an IV line in Lucky's arm and moved to locate the appropriately sized respiratory equipment. Frisco watched worriedly as the paramedics injected Lucky's IV with a sedative and paralyzer and then rapidly intubated him to provide him with 100% oxygen.

Frisco hopped on board but gave the man and woman room to work over Lucky. The boy was connected to a cardiac monitor as the ambulance raced off for General Hospital. "What's that?" Frisco asked in puzzlement at the irregular lines on the monitor. "He has cardiac dysrhythmia," the paramedic explained. "They can tell you more when he gets to the ER. His brain's not receiving enough oxygen, and the heart is pumping too fast to oxygenate his blood."

Ten minutes later, Lucky's gurney was hurriedly pulled out of the ambulance and raced to the ER with the two paramedics on either side. Dr. Ian Thornhart stepped up to the gurney and allowed himself three seconds for a personal feeling. "Oh no," he murmured as his face fell. "I just saw him yesterday. He was fine." Ian's eyes brightened quickly as he stepped in Emergency Physician mode. "How did he get hold of the cyanide? Was it ingested?"

Frisco spoke up before the paramedics. "He drank it down with a can of soda pop. It was attempted homicide by the man who originally kidnapped him. He probably ingested it about an hour ago. He threw up in the grass. There was a bunch of blood. The other agent brought the can with him for evidence."

"Who are you?" Ian asked sharply.

Frisco winced and his face worked nervously. "I'm his uncle, sort of," he tried to explain as he rubbed his forehead. When Ian looked quizzical, he added, "Tony Jones is my brother. I'm a WSB agent, Frisco Jones. We were trying to protect the kid."

"Didn't do your job then," Ian replied tersely. When they reached the door to the ER exam room, he called over his shoulder, "I'll let you know how he's doing."

Frisco stood shaking outside of the exam room, suddenly alone and feeling helpless. The other WSB agent had gone to check on Nikolas. He backed up to a wall and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest with his eyes staring straight ahead from behind his dark sunglasses.

~*~*~*~

"Be sure to wear a mask," Ian instructed the other ER medical personnel. "Wash him off. He needs to be decontaminated. We don't want anyone else poisoned." Lucky was lifted from the gurney to the exam table, but he was totally unresponsive and paralyzed with no muscle tone. His arm with the IV slipped off of the table and hung straight down as it lightly bounced with the downward motion of gravity. Ian glanced down and lifted the arm back up. "Be careful," he admonished the person standing beside him. Ian was irritable as this wasn't looking good.

He flashed a light and examined Lucky's eyes. "Pupils are completely dilated, barely responsive. Retinal arteries and veins are equally blood red."  He looked toward the paramedics. "How long has he been LOC?"

"We estimate he's been unconscious for about 20 minutes. His Glasgow Coma Scale is very low at E1M3V1 equals five. Respirations are 35 - shallow and labored. His blood pressure is falling from 80/40, and he was in tachycardia in the ambulance. We used propofol to intubate, so he should have woken up by now."

"Thanks. Good work," Ian smiled at the paramedics. "Find that can of soda pop and take it to toxicology to have the contents tested for cyanide," Ian ordered one worker. "Bring me two cyanide kits." Ian pointed to an ER nurse. "And we're placing him on a ventilator. We'll do a gastric lavage to pump his stomach since it hasn't been long that he ingested the poison." Ian looked up gratefully as a cyanide kit was placed in his hands. "Ah, good." Ian waved over a nurse. "The antidote is 300 mg of sodium nitrite injected IV slowly over 5 minutes. Wait ten minutes and infuse the sodium thiosulfate 25% solution into his IV, 50mL at 5mL per minute. The timing is crucial; don't deviate from it."

~*~*~*~

Frisco was still sitting slumped on the floor when Ian approached him. He struggled to his feet and placed his hands in his jeans pockets. "He's going to be okay?" he asked.

Ian shook his head. "No, he's not okay. He's comatose and receiving mechanical assistance with his breathing. I’m waiting on his blood tests to determine if any damage was done to his heart. We've pumped his stomach and given him the contents of one cyanide kit. If he doesn't respond after an hour, we'll give him another. That's all we can do other than give him life support and hope that he pulls through with no permanent damage to his central nervous system."

Frisco looked at Ian without saying anything. He was too stunned to speak.

"Take those infernal glasses off when I'm talking to you," Ian snapped. "I can't even tell who I'm speaking to."

Frisco removed his glasses and raised his weary eyes to look at Ian.

Ian softened a bit at the tangible evidence of Frisco's distress. "Have you called your brother?"

Frisco shook his head. He ran a hand over his face. "What do I tell him? It's my fault. It's always my fault," he said in a distracted voice.

Ian's brow knit at Frisco's odd response. "Why don't you page him when we're through with the boy and have more news," he stated firmly. "You said someone else was hurt?"

Frisco nodded. "Nikolas, Lucky's brother. He broke his arm. They're setting it now."

Ian shook his head.  "What went wrong with this operation of yours?"

"The island," Frisco answered leadenly. "We didn't figure on the boys taking off for the island. You need a boat to reach it."

"Stay here in the area," Ian stated. "I'll keep you updated."

~*~*~*~

Lucky was lying on the exam table hooked up to a ventilator with his eyes taped shut so they wouldn't pop open and be scratched in his comatose state. He never once moved on his own and instead looked like he was lying in state, ready for a burial with the only exception that his skin was livid pink in response to his blood being unable to properly utilize the oxygen in his system. Someone had placed his arms near his sides, and he was covered by a sheet for warmth and modesty.

Ian was standing near Lucky waiting for the next round of blood labs when the boy suddenly started jerking on the table, his legs thrashing against the solid surface. "Five milligrams lorazepam, IV," Ian stated loudly. "He's convulsing again, dammit." Ian stroked Lucky's freshly washed hair and pushed it from his forehead. "It's up to you, kiddo. We've done what we can for you. Come on. Help us out. We're not ready to let you go yet."

~*~*~*~

Nikolas was on his back in a recovery room bed, still groggy from the anesthesia he'd been given to set his arm. The break was in his forearm, near the elbow, so he had a large cast running up above the elbow and far below it to his hand. The break had badly splintered, and he'd been in surgery for over two hours to repair the damage.

Frisco came into his room and sat down quietly in a chair beside him. "Nikolas," he said softly.

Nikolas blinked slowly and tried to focus his eyes on the man who spoke to him. "Frisco?"

Frisco nodded. "I hear you're going to be fine."

"I think so," Nikolas replied with uncertainty. He frowned because he knew there was something he needed to discuss with this man. Suddenly, his eyes grew very wide and fearful. "Lucky? Is he okay? Tell me that Lucky is well. Frisco?"  Nikolas tried to rise in the bed, but only made it up several inches before he collapsed back down with a groan.

Frisco's eyes turned down sadly. "He's still in the ER. It's been over two hours. They're moving him to an ICU room as we speak. That's what I came to tell you."

"Why was he in there so long?" Nikolas asked as his brows knit together in confusion.

Frisco chose his words carefully, but they still came out in a choked voice. "Nikolas, he was poisoned with cyanide. That's one of the most lethal poisons out there. Faison meant to kill him and gave him a dose to accomplish that. Ian said it was fortunate that he'd had plenty of food to eat today. Maybe it helped absorb the poison and slowed down its action on his system."

"Eli's," Nikolas said in near awe. "Lucky told me it stayed with him for days."

Frisco gave Nikolas a small smile. "He's still in a coma. I'm sorry. They're giving him life support, but it's up to his body to spring back from this if it can. They should know more about his condition in the morning. It takes the body time to eliminate cyanide."

"I need to see him," Nikolas said decisively.

"That's why I'm here," Frisco answered. "When you've been released from recovery, I'll take you to his ICU room." Frisco frowned. "Is there someone I can call for you?" Frisco realized that Stefan was dead, and he wondered who was left for the young man.

"Alexis," Nikolas stated firmly. "I want Alexis. She's my aunt in Manhattan."

"Give me her number, and I'll find a pay phone," Frisco offered. "Then maybe you'll be ready to pay Lucky a visit." Frisco glanced at his watch. "I'll be back in half an hour."

~*~*~*~

Frisco hung up the phone and sighed, leaning his head against the pay phone. Nikolas' aunt had been frantic when he'd provided her with general details of what had happened to her nephew and Lucky. He'd spent five minutes calming her and reassuring her of Nikolas' well being. He lifted his head and dug into his pocket for more change as he had one more phone call to make.

Should he have called Tony the instant Lucky was brought in? Frisco had figured that Lucky would be fine after receiving the antidote; he hadn't counted on the kid being comatose and near death. It would have been so much better to be able to reassure his brother that Lucky was fine, no need to worry. But, it hadn't worked out that way. Frisco knew how he'd feel under the circumstances, and his previous conversation with Tony lurked in the back of his mind as he recalled his brother's voice.

<<<"Faison is responsible for the boy's suffering. I won't have Lucky hurt again - for any reason. We're clear on that, aren't we?">>>

The words rang in Frisco's ears, and he knew he was responsible for that boy lying motionless in an ICU bed. Frisco ran a hand over his face. Tony and Bobbie needed to be here for their nephew. Any further delay in calling them would be cruel. Frisco dialed the number of their hotel suite and waited breathlessly.

"Tony, it's Frisco."

Tony immediately caught the heaviness in his brother's voice and became alarmed. "Frisco, why are you calling? It isn't Lucky, is it?"

"Yes, I’m here with him at GH. He's in ICU. We arrested Faison, but not before he poisoned Lucky. Nikolas is here, too, with a broken arm, but he's okay. You need to get here."

"We're on our way," Tony answered shortly and hung up the phone.

Frisco looked at the phone receiver and slowly hung it up.

~*~*~*~

Frisco wheeled Nikolas down the hallway. "They said you need to stay overnight in the hospital because you're on heavy duty pain meds. And they want to make sure your arm doesn't swell or bleed."

"Okay," Nikolas said, too distracted to protest.

They stopped outside of ICU9, and Nikolas bit down hard on his lip in a futile attempt to control his tears. "He looks dead," he whispered in an upset voice.

"That's because of the machines," Frisco explained. Frisco nodded to the ICU nurse. "Nikolas is Lucky's brother." He patted Nikolas on the back. "I'll return in twenty minutes or so."

The nurse rose from her chair and smiled sympathetically at Nikolas. "Let me show you what we're doing to help him," she said lightly. "It's simple, really, and might put your mind at ease."

Nikolas looked at the nurse gratefully, but couldn't help noticing the cascade of long, dark brown curls that tumbled down her shoulders and the way that her curves filled out her uniform. He gave her a slight smile. "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Renée," she responded.

"Renée. So how long have you worked in the ICU?"

"About five years. I love my work. You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?" Renée scrutinized Nikolas' face and decided that he was very handsome indeed.

Nikolas shrugged playfully. "The GH newsletter?" he guessed. He held out his hand. "Nikolas Cassadine."

Renée raised one eyebrow, but showed no sign of shock or giddiness. "Pleased to meet you," she responded as she placed her soft hand into his. "Now let me show you what we're doing for Lucky. His eyes are taped shut. Don't let that bother you. It doesn't hurt him, and is only to protect him in case his eyes open accidentally. As you can see, he's connected to a mechanical ventilator and a central line IV - it looks a little scary. The cardiac monitor ensures that his heart rhythm is normal. If it isn't we can give him medications to correct that. What he needs from his family is love and attention. It would be good for him if you talked to him and held his hand perhaps? Let him know you're here."

Nikolas looked gratefully at Renée. "Thanks. You've helped a lot. Can I touch him?"

"Sure." Renée lifted Lucky's hand and placed it into Nikolas' palm. "Tell him about your day."

Nikolas pointed toward his cast. "I don't think he wants to hear about this."

"Oh, that's recent? I’m sorry."

"It's nothing. It's my brother I'm worried about."

"I'll be with him for the next six hours," Renée offered as she sat in a chair. "I'll make sure the next nurse takes special care of him."

Nikolas stroked Lucky's hand lightly. "Lucky, it's Nikolas. I want you to know that I'm all right. I broke my arm, but other than that, I'm perfectly fine. No one hurt me. The WSB is in charge, and Faison has been locked up for good. You did it. You put him away and saved me as well. You're a hero, little brother. I knew there was a reason why I gave you those golf clubs." Nikolas laughed, but the tears built up in his eyes. "I've enjoyed spending time with you this weekend. You're one of my best friends, you know that? I'll only tell you when you're comatose, so you'd better remember. Only you could make me wear a pair of blue jeans."

Renée smiled as she sat in her chair.

Nikolas remained silent for long minutes as he continued to hold Lucky's hand. "Prince Lucas, wake up," he teased. "The children want to come out to play." Nikolas laid Lucky's hand back on the bed and noticed that it gave no resistance. Lucky's face never moved in recognition of his brother's presence. Nikolas pulled up closer to Lucky's bed. "I killed a man," he whispered in a desperate voice. "I killed that Mike guy. I feel afraid when I think about it. I didn't mean to, but if he hurt you, I'm glad I did it."

"Nikolas."

Nikolas looked up at Alexis, who had placed her hands on his shoulders. "I'm so worried about you. I almost had a heart attack when that man called me. I came as soon as I could. How are you feeling?"

Nikolas shrugged. "My arm hurts, and I’m all drugged up, but I'm really worried about Lucky."

Alexis' eyes swept sympathetically over the motionless figure on the bed. "I know," she said sadly. "He doesn't deserve any of this."

"No, he doesn't," Nikolas replied. "He offered his life for me, and they told him he was expendable. He wasn't rich so they couldn't get a ransom out of him. You should have seen his face. He has to wake up, Alexis. He has to be all right. I won't allow for anything else."

Alexis smiled at the hint of imperial demand that lingered on her nephew, a remnant of his uncle's upbringing. She ran a soft hand over his cheek. "You both are important to me. I want you well. Why don't we wheel you to your room so you can get some rest? Lucky will need you to be in top form tomorrow. Nurse, Lucky will sleep through the night, won't he?"

Renée nodded. "Even if he wakes from the coma, he'll still be asleep. It's better to rest now in case there's improvement tomorrow." She caught Nikolas' gaze. "We'll notify you if there's any change. I know your name, so I can find your room number."

"Thanks," Nikolas said. He ran a hand over his forehead as he couldn't seem to keep his gaze confined to an appropriate location. Damn, she's fine. I'll have to practice talking to her tomorrow and ask her questions like Lucky recommended.