Chapter Forty-Eight
~~ What the hell am I?
Thousand eyes, a fly
Lucky then I'd be
In one day deceased
Sickman, sickman, sickman, sickman
12:35AM
Lucky opened the front door of the Brownstone and slipped into Bobbie's living room without making a sound. There was only one light on, a night light or sentinel, kept on so that he wouldn't trip through the house when he returned. When Lucky passed the leather sofa, he noticed that Tony was stretched out on his side, sound asleep with a crocheted afghan covering his back and a pillow placed under his head, courtesy of Bobbie. Tony had tried to wait up for Lucky, but sleep had overcome him as the sledding events of the day took residence in his muscles, and he'd crashed by 10:00PM. Lucky smiled. He'd pretty much come and gone as he pleased when he lived with his mom and dad, and no one had noticed his whereabouts.
Tony seemed comfortable on the long, wide sofa, so Lucky was careful not to wake him. Although he yawned and stretched in the guest bedroom, Lucky still felt wired after the monster coffee he'd bought in a drive-thru to help him drive home without crashing the Mustang. The rigid, military poses of all of the shadowy dolls lining the walls made it seem like they were accusing him of something, what, he didn't know. A chill passed through Lucky, and he shivered as he changed out of his clothes and drew a teeshirt over his head.
Lucky slid between the sheets of the guest twin bed and laid his weary head back with fingers entwined behind his head. There was no way that sleep would come when he was this wired. It had been two days since Lucky had taken his medications, and a persistent anxiety had begun to stab and needle at him with an alarming regularity, alternated only by feelings of deep despair. On the bed, his leg was bent and drawn up at the knee, and it kept bouncing and jerking to some unheard, inner beat. Lucky reached a hand down to the crazed leg, gripping it tightly and silencing its fury, but his other leg caught the rhythm and began shaking rigidly. Lucky started sweating as he was anxiously reminded of another time and place.
*** Lucky was in Faison's compound and tied to a rigid, wooden chair with his bleeding, chafed wrists and ankles shooting fierce pains throughout his entire body. He was shaking and trembling. Sweat rolled from his forehead and paused at his eyebrows before falling into his eyes with large, salty drops. Faison was not a happy man. Lucky had resisted him for months, refusing to give him the information that he needed. All of this would come to an end quickly - one way or another. Faison was a patient man, but his patience had reached its end.
Faison walked behind Lucky's chair, and Lucky's muscles tensed, waiting for Faison to hurt him again. Silent moments ticked by, and suddenly, Lucky shouted with fear as Faison pulled his hair so viciously that his head snapped back painfully and the joints in his neck cracked. Faison's upside down troll face bent close to Lucky and hissed, "Where is the Ice Princess? Tell me or you die. It's up to you, Master Spencer." Lucky's mind raced as he recalled his father's words. "The Ice Princess is our family's backup. Our existence depends on it. Guard the knowledge of its location with your life."
Angered at Lucky's silence, Faison
drew a thin sheet of clear plastic out of his pocket and whipped it tightly around Lucky's
face, pulling it until Lucky could draw no air from his nose and lips. "How does it
feel to die, Master Spencer?" asked Faison as he grunted with the effort of
smothering Lucky. One minute passed, and then two. Lucky's terrified eyes saw vague shapes
through the distortion of the plastic covering his face, but the shapes darkened as he
began to lose consciousness from the lack of oxygen to his brain. He weakly jerked his
arms as legs in a futile effort at survival. After three minutes, Lucky's head dropped and
his eyes closed. Disgusted, Faison removed the plastic sheet and kicked Lucky's chair
hard, toppling it to the hard floor.
.
.
.
Lucky lay back on a hard metal table, restrained only by the powerful drugs forced
into his veins. The overhead light shined down into Lucky's eyes, and he blinked
repeatedly in anxious confusion as the light changed colors and danced and twirled
psychedelically in his vision.
~~ I can feel the wheel, but I can't
steer
When my thoughts become my biggest fear
Ahh, what's the difference, I'll die
Ahh, In this sick world of mine
Faison slapped Lucky's face repeatedly. "It won't be long now, Lucky," he said evilly. "If you give me what I want, I'll let you go. I'll let you live. You'll be free." Lucky's eyes slowly turned toward Faison's face, trying to understand the implications of his speech. "But…if you don't tell me where the Ice Princess is, I'm sorry but you'll force me to abduct your little sister…Lulu, that's her name is it?" Faison's beady eyes narrowed and held Lucky's gaze as Faison made a lopsided grin.
Lucky saw Lulu's beautiful, innocent face in his mind's eye, so carefree and happy. Fear and protectiveness licked around the edges of his mind. He opened his dry lips and spoke with a raspy voice. Faison bent down close to hear Lucky's breathy words. "The Ice Princess is…in Switzerland…the National Bank." Faison's eyes lit up. "What is the account number?" Lucky blinked, recalling the set of numbers that held the account. Tears filled his sad eyes as he betrayed his father. "Account number 345-566-44345-67," he said in a dead voice.
"Why thank you, Master Spencer," Faison replied. He motioned to the large guard hovering near the door. "Come here, he's all yours now." As the guard approached, the one responsible for most of Lucky's sexual abuse, Lucky frowned in confusion. "You said you'd let me go," he hoarsely shouted with terror and rage.
Faison shrugged. "I thought you knew me better than that. You're such an idiot. Never trust a villain." Lucky had no where to go, no hope, no where to hide. He withdrew into himself, his head lolled to the side, and his blue eyes betrayed the emptiness of his mind and soul. ***
Lucky held himself, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and he sobbed with grief. Would he ever feel clean again? He was just a thing, an anonymous shell of a body dragged through the mud and left alone in a soggy heap, oozing with hurt and shame.
~~ What the hell am I
Leper from inside
Inside wall of peace
Dirty and diseased
Sickman, sickman, sickman, sickman
Lucky grabbed his hair in desperate handfuls, yanking on it and banging his head against the headboard, unable to escape the flood of diseased memories and feelings. He had to do something. He angrily threw back the covers of his bed and made his way to the bathroom, padding silently into the darkness.
Lucky opened up his toiletry kit and frantically searched through the bag, feeling his anxiety lift slightly when his fingers felt the smooth wood handle of the small paring knife hidden in the bottom.
~~ I can see the end is getting near
I won't rest until my head is clear
Ahh, what's the difference, I'll die
Ahh, In this sick world of mine
Lucky raised his teeshirt over his head
and threw it to the floor. He carved a slice in his flesh from his hip to his bellybutton,
stopping only because the sharp knife blade dragged and halted when it hit the gristly
indentation in the middle of his belly. "ZZssssss," he hissed in pain.
"Hahahaaha," he laughed under his breath with his head thrown back in utter
relief, his pain like heroin to the waiting drug addict.
~~ Can you see the end?
Choke on me my friend
Must to drown these thoughts
Purity over rot
Lucky looked down at his stomach, his left hand held tightly over the wounded area. He placed the small knife on the bathroom counter. Blood seeped from his long cut and squished between his fingers, making small pools until it spilled over and ran a trickily course into his reddening white briefs.
*** Lucky was handcuffed to his seat in the back of a speeding van with blacked out windows. Faison turned around and sneered at him. He had been taunting and belittling Lucky day and night for months now.
"You're no good, little man. Do you think your father can ever forgive you, let alone look at you? You're shit, an insect, pure and simple. The mighty Luke Spencer has a faggot son who loves letting people like Mike here fuck him silly." Faison looked over at Mike, the guard who was driving the car, and laughed long and hard. Lucky cringed and burrowed into his seat.
"Don't ever try telling anyone what happened to you at the compound. No one will believe you. It is your fault entirely. How could Luke ever tolerate such stupidity? You're no son of his, obviously. Just a street urchin, good for nothing but a swift kick. You couldn't wait to tell us where the Ice Princess was. Maybe I should explain to Luke how happy his son was when he told me the account numbers. You remember that, don't you, Lucky? And Mike here. He remembers how grateful you were when he sucked you dry. The two adults laughed in the front seat as Lucky trembled and cried in the back, unsure of what would happen next.
The van stopped abruptly in front of 24 Royal Street. Lucky was pitched forward, but jerked back by the tight handcuffs around his sore wrist. Mike opened the back door of the van, unlocked the handcuffs and kicked Lucky into the street. Lucky fell on his hands and knees and crumpled to the ground. The van roared off, leaving behind only a trail of filthy black smoke.
Lucky rose to his feet and stood alone and bewildered in the street. The endless blue skies, blowing wind, and rustling leaves terrified him - he had only seen the interior of steel cells for over an entire year. The house in front of him looked vaguely familiar, and he hesitantly made his way to the porch. Lucky pushed the doorbell and trembled. The door opened swiftly, and the astonished eyes of his father opened wide, filled with tears at the sight of his "dead" son standing before him.
Luke's voice quivered with emotion. "Son! You're alive!" he shouted with joy. Luke drew Lucky into a big hug as Lucky shook with fear and worry. "You're no son of Luke Spencer." Faison's voice echoed in his mind, and Lucky accepted these words even as he sank into his father's embrace. ***
Lucky raised his right hand and looked at the thick coating of blood that obscured the color of his skin. I can't mess up Aunt Bobbie's bathroom, he thought dazedly. He turned on the water in the sink and placed his hand under the stream, watching as blood mingled with water and his lifeblood swirled crazily down the drain. Lucky grabbed a handtowel and carefully wiped off his abdomen. Blood continued to seep from the long cut, and he rolled the towel and pressed it tightly against his stomach. After a few minutes, he raised one corner of the towel and inspected. The cut was starting to scab and seal itself, and Lucky searched in the cupboard until he found some surgical adhesive tape. He used his paring knife to cut a few strips, and bound the towel to his stomach. Looking around, he spotted some drops of blood here and there on the floor and counter, and he wiped at those with a tissue that he threw into the toilet and flushed away.
Lucky took off his blood-soaked briefs and wrapped them in a toilet paper cocoon. He pulled on his teeshirt, which betrayed the bulge of the makeshift towel bandage stretched from his side toward the front of his abdomen. Lucky was hit with a punch of sleepy tiredness, the result of adrenaline, endorphins and physical and emotional shock.
~~ What the hell am I worn eroded
pride
Saddened 10 mile wide
I'm gonna let it slide
Sickman, sickman, sickman, sickman
Lucky took another look around, and satisfied that everything was clean, picked up his wrapped underwear, wiped the knife on it, and exited the bathroom. Back in his room, Lucky hid the underwear and knife in a pair of dirty pants and slid them to the bottom of his suitcase. He winced when he rose to climb into bed. The cut was throbbing and searing with pain. Lucky lay on his back in the dark, his mind emptying and preparing for sleep.
Ahh, what's the difference, I'll die
Ahh, In this sick world of mine
Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh *
* lyrics by Alice in Chains, Sickman
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