Chapter Fifty-One
Tony took off his Santa coat and placed it over Lucky, who was shivering violently with his clothing soaked through by the driving snow and ice storm. The ice melted on contact with his skin, and ran in rivulets across his cheeks and forehead, dripping into his wide, unblinking eyes. Taggert took in a deep breath and muttered, "shit," under his breath several times as he shook his head worriedly. Taggert tapped Tony on the shoulder and said, "I'm going to get help." Tony nodded and knelt by Lucky to check his pulse. He suddenly shouted, "Marcus, he's in trouble, hurry!" Taggert banged open the door with a forceful shove and ran down the GH hallway.
"Lucky!" Tony said. "Stay with me. Hold on." Lucky gave a small sigh, and his eyes closed. The white snow under Lucky took on a pinkish tone as it mixed with his blood and gradually deepened to a spreading red blanket defining the perimeter of his body. Tony frantically searched on Lucky's left wrist for the wound that was sapping his life. He applied pressure as he waited impatiently for the medical personnel. Someone looking at the scene with spiritual, rather than physical eyes would have noticed the separate figure of a robed man, surrounded by shimmering golden light, holding the dying young man in his arms with a pierced hand stroking Lucky's face.
~*~*~*~
The complexion of the young man on the swiftly moving gurney matched the stark white of the protective blanket covering his prone body. The gurney finally reached the ER, where a team of emergency specialists was ready and waiting. Orders were shouted as a flurry of activity descended on an unconscious Lucky.
Dr. Chris Ramsey was the ER physician on call that evening, and in a split second, he pulled on gloves and asked for his patient's vitals. A nurse had trouble starting an IV as Lucky's veins were collapsing from low blood volume. "Type and match five units whole blood, stat!" Chris ordered. "Let's move it people, we're trying to prevent a cardiac arrest here! Set up an OR -- who is available for surgery? We're going to need a hand surgeon to repair this trauma. He's hacked away at himself pretty good." Chris worked hurriedly to tie off the artery that spilled Lucky's lifeblood.
One nurse, wielding a large pair of scissors, cut away Lucky's jeans. "Temperature 102," another nurse called out. Dr. Ramsey frowned. "Dr. Ramsey!" a tense voice alerted. Chris finished with the wrist and glanced where the nurse was pointing. He let out a low, tense whistle. "There's our infection," he stated, shaking his head at the sight of multiple burns and deep, oozing cuts. "This kid has been mutilating himself. Find out if he has a psychiatrist and place a call."
~*~*~*~
A shaken Lt. Taggert reverted to his cop mode, an instinctive professional and protective mechanism honed by years of hard experience. He followed the trail of blood from the balcony to the men's restroom, where it all started. He pushed open the door and cast a sweeping glance around the room. It was a mess. The end of the countertop was filled with a large pool of congealing blood that had dripped down to the floor in a steady stream, leaving another, smaller pool in its wake. Broad splatters of blood littered the white tile walls in an abstract pattern. The thin stripes of blood on the walls had already dried to an iron brown color, but the pools of blood still glistened redly.
One item caught Taggert's special attention. Tossed in the sink was a green envelope with a reindeer stamp on it, ripped open and hastily thrown away. Several crumpled pieces of paper lay on top of the envelope. Taggert walked over to the sink and picked up a piece of paper, pulling it open and turning it over in his hand in order to read it. Taggert's brows knit as he proceeded through the note. His cry of "Dammit!" echoed around the cold, hard surfaces of the restroom as he kicked the trash can. He pulled open the other piece of paper and angrily shook his head. "This is murder," he said aloud with disbelief edging his voice as he tucked the papers and envelope into his pocket.
~*~*~*~
Dr. Chris Ramsey exited the emergency treatment room. It had been forty-five minutes since Lucky had been brought into the ER, and Chris had changed into a clean white coat.
Tony Jones was sitting in the waiting area by himself in a white teeshirt, still in the bottom half of his Santa suit, with the white trim around the ankles marred and matted by being dragged into the dirt, blood and snow of the balcony. He was holding onto the red hat, nervously flopping it back and forth over his knee, its white ball bouncing merrily, while he bent his head over with his fingers supporting his forehead.
"Tony," Chris said quietly. Tony jerked his head up and looked at Chris with red-rimmed eyes. "I understand that Lucky Spencer is your nephew?"
Tony nodded and replied, "He's my nephew, and I'm his legal guardian. He lives with me."
Chris looked serious. "He's in surgery now to repair the trauma to his wrist. He severed an artery and two tendons. Hopefully it can be repaired so that full mobility will be restored. Jeff Gordon is operating - he's a good hand surgeon."
Tony looked away. "Yes, I know," he said quietly. "How is he otherwise?"
"He sustained a serious loss of blood," Chris explained. "We transfused him with five units of blood and narrowly averted a cardiac arrest." Chris looked uncomfortable. "Did you know that he was self-mutilating?"
Tony coughed. "He cut himself about a week ago," he explained. "He was treated at the outpatient mental health clinic."
"He has a more recent cut, a very serious cut," replied Chris. "The wound reaches down to the fatty tissue in some places. It is infected and looks like it was made in the last two days. He also has self-inflicted burns."
Tony looked surprised and ashamed. "No, I didn't realize he was hurting himself to that degree. I blame myself. I should have known."
Chris shook his head. "Don't blame yourself, Tony. He was covering it up pretty well. It looks like he was trying to patch himself up and hide it. Lucky should be in surgery for several hours," Chris continued. "I'll check on his progress and keep you informed. A nurse will be out with some consent forms for you to sign."
"Thanks," said Tony in a voice betraying his continuing level of shock and grief.
"I put a call in to Kevin Collins," added Chris before leaving. "I'll send him your way when he arrives."
Tony nodded wordlessly.
~*~*~*~
Taggert found Tony in the waiting area. He sat next to his friend, clapped him lightly on the back, and asked softly, "How's the kid doing?"
Tony had been maintaining his composure but relaxed when Taggert joined him. Tears started to form in his eyes, and he replied in a teary voice, "He's in surgery to repair his wrist. He damaged it pretty badly - cut an artery and two tendons."
"I'm sorry," said Taggert. "I like the kid. He doesn't deserve this. I'm just glad that he was close to the ER when this happened."
"Yes," agreed Tony. "Thanks for being there, Marcus. You saved his life."
"I was happy to. I don't want to see anyone die."
"I should have stayed home and not gone to the Christmas Party," said Tony. "Then, maybe none of this would have happened."
"It seems like it might have happened eventually regardless of location," said Taggert. "You wouldn't have wanted him to be alone in his car somewhere, would you? You were able to be there for him. I'm confused, though. If he was doing so well with his life, why did this happen?"
"It was the GH men' room, Marcus. Remember what we were talking about? Lucky was doing well, and then he was sexually assaulted. He couldn't cope - it was one thing too many, and he fell apart."
Taggert's face clouded. "We're going to stake out this place and catch that perp. Speaking of the men's room, I have an idea what sent him over the edge," Taggert said as he pulled the papers out of his pocket.
"What's that?".
"I found these in the sink in the restroom where Lucky…" Marcus trailed off but quickly redirected. "There is a North Carolina postmark on the envelope." Marcus paused and looked at Tony. "The letter is from his mother."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "His mother hasn't contacted him at all. Not once in nearly two years. What in the world is in that letter?"
The muscles in Taggert's face tensed. "I think you'd better read it for yourself, Tony. It's not good."
Tony took the crumpled piece of paper and started reading with apprehension.
~*~
Dear Lucky,
I wish I could tell you Merry Christmas, but unfortunately, I can't. Your Aunt Bobbie and Tony have filed a custody suit over Lulu and are playing all kinds of dirty tricks and manipulations. I moved with Lulu to North Carolina so we could be free of people like them, but they won't let it go. They are telling lies about me, and it sounds like your father is behind this. It is just like him to twist everything around to make it look ugly to suit his own purposes. Have you been talking to him? It would be better if you'd let him rot in prison, but I suppose you two are too much alike to stay apart for long. You're two of a kind.
I'm writing this letter to let you know that there is no way I intend to ever let Lulu move to Port Charles. With recent events, I am not comfortable allowing her to visit. Lulu and I will make a life together separate from Port Charles. If your aunt and uncle persist, we may leave the country permanently. I suggest that you talk them out of their crazy ideas.
When Bobbie visited me back in August, she said that you bought a firearm but weren't trained at handling it. Enclosed is your Christmas gift. It is a gift certificate to Bob's Guns for three weeks of lessons.
Your mother,
Laura Webber
~*~
After Tony finished reading the letter, Taggert handed him the other piece of paper. It was the Bob's Guns gift certificate with an advertisement at the bottom. It read, "A bullseye on your target - guaranteed within two weeks or your money back."
Tony's eyes were big, and his jaw dropped when he looked up into Taggert's eyes. Taggert's cheek twitched, and he said, "It's not officially a crime, but in moral reality I'd call it attempted murder, wouldn't you?"
"I feel sick to my stomach," whispered Tony.
"You and me both," replied Taggert.
"Can I keep this? I want to show this to my attorney."
Taggert waved the letter away. "Sure thing, doc. Go sic an attorney on her. Just be sure to videotape her downfall because I'd love to see it. Hey, want me to get you a donut and coffee?"
Tony smiled sadly. "The man knows me well. Thanks, Marcus."
~*~*~*~
Tony stood at the public phones and nervously tapped his Santa hat on the side of his leg. "Bobbie," he said gratefully. "I have some bad news, honey. Um…it's Lucky. He's hurt and in surgery. He's going to make it, but I'll fill you in when you get here."
"Ohmigod! I'll wake up Lucas and drop him off at Felicia's," Bobbie said urgently. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Tony, are you okay?"
"No. I really need you. But drive carefully. The roads are slick."
"I love you.".
"Me, too," replied Tony,
hanging up the phone.
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