Devolution TOC

Chapter Seventy-Five

Lucky sat indian style on his hospital bed and looked down at the thin sheets of paper scattered over its surface. This room on the minimum security floor was less spartan than his previous room on the locked unit. There was a generic, inoffensive abstract painting in shades of teal, earth and beige hanging on a side wall next to a dresser with a mirror, and a small window overlooked the scenic view of the hospital's power plant. A chair upholstered in teal vinyl rested beside the bathroom door. The sheets and bedspread on the bed were still utilitarian hospital white.

Lucky had scattered several pencils and pens among the papers. On the locked ward, he'd only been able to use markers with soft tips since he'd been on a sharps ban, a necessary measure for suicide prevention. Lucky's furrowed brow and stiff facial muscles reflected the intense concentration that permeated his features. The papers in front of him were capturing the majority of his attention, and he repeatedly marked on them with his pencil, occasionally using the eraser in a furious, annoyed motion and the back of his hand to sweep the eraser dust from the papers. Several times, he said, "Dammit!" in a frustrated tone of voice. Finally, he gave a resigned sigh and fell back onto his pillows with a limp arm draped across his forehead. He lay there for several minutes, motionless except for the spasms that his chest made as he sobbed silently.

A man stood at the doorway for a moment, watching Lucky. "Lucky," he said. Lucky slid his arm from his face, hurriedly wiping a few of his tears away with his sleeve. Lucky jumped up from the bed and smiled broadly.

"Tony!" he said with excitement. He walked over to Tony and hugged his uncle for longer than he ever had before. When Lucky stepped away, Tony laughed, and placing his hands on Lucky's shoulders said, "I don't think anyone's ever been that happy to see me. How's my nephew? I came over here straight from the train to see you. Are they treating you well?"

Lucky chuckled bitterly. "Oh, yeah, it's the Ritz Carlton," he said. "Four star service."

Tony didn't reply, but looked closely at Lucky. He seems upset about something, he thought. "Aren't you happy to be off the locked ward?" he asked. "I thought you were getting antsy there."

Lucky shrugged and turned away, walking to the window and looking out as he leaned against the wall. Tony walked behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we sit down so we can talk."

Lucky sat on the edge of his bed and dangled his feet while Tony took a seat on the teal vinyl chair and crossed his legs.

"How was your trip?" asked Lucky politely.

"It was wonderful," Tony replied. "The neurological conference in New York City was very interesting, and I did lots of sightseeing and eating unfortunately. I probably gained ten pounds in one week. I need to go on a diet before the wedding," he admitted as he patted his stomach and looked down at himself. "I brought you something," he said, searching for the bag that he'd carried into the room with him. He reached in and produced a black tee-shirt that had a cool graphic design illustrating the logo for the most popular rock opera playing in town. Lucky perked up when he reached for the black tee shirt.

"Thanks," he said appreciatively as he held it up and ran a hand over the front of the shirt.

"Maybe you can go to the City with me next time there's a conference," stated Tony. "There's lots we could do."

Lucky nodded distractedly while he continued to look at his new shirt. He folded it in half and placed it on his lap. Silence engulfed the room, and Tony wondered why Lucky had been so excited to see him, but now so reluctant to talk.

Lucky broke the silence. "I want out of here," he said intensely. "I don't belong here. I'm not crazy. I want to go home. Can you sign me out?"

"What did Kevin tell you when he moved you to this floor?" asked Tony.

"It takes time, it takes time, be patient," Lucky said angrily. "I feel like I'm in prison, I want to be free, I want OUT."

"Did something happen when I was gone?" asked Tony. He noticed that Lucky looked tired and worn.

"Lulu came to visit," Lucky said brightly. He kicked his heel on the edge of the bed while he looked down at his lap. "She's growing up. She looks different than I remember," he stated wistfully as he looked around the room, everywhere but at his uncle. "She seems happy. Thanks for taking care of her - you and Bobbie."

"I'm sure Lulu was delighted to see her brother. Ohmigosh, you can't get a word in edgewise when she starts talking about you. She really loves you a lot."

Lucky nodded. "Can you sign me out of here?" He nervously nibbled the edge of one fingernail, pausing only to rip at it with his other finger and thumb.

"Lucky, I think we need to have a conference with Kevin. Maybe we can coordinate plans toward your release."

Lucky sighed and shook his head. His face took on a rigid, disapproving expression.

"I do have good news for you," Tony stated with twinkling eyes. "How would you like to go to church with me every Sunday morning and to brunch afterwards? It's not out of here full-time, but it's a start. I haven't spoken to Kevin since I left for my trip, but he told me earlier that you could start leaving the facility for several hours on the weekends when I returned. How's that sound?"

Lucky smiled briefly at Tony. "That sounds great," he said with a bit more enthusiasm. "A couple of hours is better than nothing. So we can go this weekend. Great."

Tony changed the subject. "They seem to have a nice recreational area out there," he commented. "How come you're not watching TV or doing something interesting? I remember how much you complained about the TV ban you had before and how bored you were."

Lucky shrugged. "I don't like all the people and the noise," he said. "I told them I needed some quiet to work on algebra problems, so they let me stay in here." Lucky didn't mention the fact that the staff wanted him to rest after his recent seizures.

"You need quiet for algebra problems?" snorted Tony. "I thought Mr. Brain could eat, play pool and do problems on the side. You received a nearly perfect math score on your SAT's, why are you doing algebra problems?" Tony paused. "Oh, right, you're helping out Luke with his class? Is that it?"

"Yeah, I'm doing problems for Luke," said Lucky.

"So you've started writing to him again."

"No, he sends me problems he can't figure out, I do them and mail them back," Lucky said flatly with his mouth set firmly.

Tony mentally rolled his eyes at Lucky's stubbornness. Poor Lucky and the dreaded Spencer genes, he thought. He's upset with his father, yet does his algebra problem for him. They're going to be playing this cat and mouse game with each other for the rest of their lives.

Lucky walked over to his dresser, a blonde wood veneer piece of furniture with simple drawers with carved imprints for the hand to grasp and pull open. He opened the top drawer and placed his new teeshirt on top of a pile. He closed the drawer and started pacing by the window. He fidgeted mercilessly, placing his hands deep into his pockets and pulling them out again to fiddle with his belt loops, repeating this motion over and over. He stared out the window, inspecting the flat, dirty metal surfaces of the power plant, noting the tangle of pipes and hoses and the places where rust was starting to form. There was a bird's nest haphazardly placed between a hose and a vent, for the equivalent effect of central heating for a cold bird family.

Tony wondered if Lucky wanted to be left alone, and he rose slowly from his seat. Lucky noticed that his uncle was preparing to leave and knew that he'd better spit it out soon or risk carrying this burden for another entire day. He'd been anxiously waiting all week for his uncle to return so that he could talk to him.

"Um…Tony?" he asked. Tony paused in his walk toward the door. "Would you stay for another minute? I need to talk to you," he said hesitantly.

So he is upset about something, Tony thought in confirmation of his earlier feeling.

"What's up, my man?" asked Tony encouragingly. "I'm all ears," he said, sitting back down in the chair.

Lucky sat down on the bed again and crossed his blue-jeaned right leg over the left, pulling the Velcro from his sneaker and refastening it. "I've had some problems while you were gone," he admitted with a quiet, pained voice.

Concern washed over Tony's face as he regarded his nephew's reactions. "What is it, Lucky?" he asked softly.

Lucky ran a hand over his eyes, trying to maintain his cool composure while relating his fears. He continued to fidget with his shoe as he continued. "I have seizures," he said matter-of-factly. "They sent me for all kinds of tests, and the doctor said that I have a scar on my brain." His eyes darkened, and he glanced at Tony as his chin quivered.

"Lucky, what happened?" Fear entered Tony and took residence in his gut. He almost felt like he didn't want to hear this.

Lucky ran his fingers through his hair, working on untangling a few knotted ends. "I fell down in Kevin's office while we were having a session, and Jim said he thought it was a partial seizure," he stated. "They sent me to Dr. Watanabe the next day for MRI's and stuff like that."

"How many seizures have you had?" questioned Tony. When he noted Lucky's hesitance, he said firmly, "And, I want to know exactly how many, Lucky. No lying or stretching the truth."

Lucky's cheeks flamed pink in response to being exposed. "Seven," he said flatly. "Seven over the last five days."

Tony's face tightened. Bobbie didn't say a thing about this when I talked to her on the phone She wanted me to have my R&R I suppose. "Are you on any medication?" he asked.

Lucky nodded. "An anticonvulsant," he said. "It doesn't seem to help," he added. "I almost had one when Lulu was here." Lucky started chewing on his lip at the memory of his sister's visit and the near miss he had when the seizure hit him.

"Do you want me to review your tests and give you a second opinion?" asked Tony. "It's always a good idea anyway. Let's go to my office. I'll contact the staff and pick you up in a few minutes, okay?"

Lucky nodded with a look of relief flooding his eyes.

~*~*~*~

Lucky stepped into Tony's office and looked around curiously. "I don't remember ever being here," he said as he walked over to Tony's bookcase and glanced at the titles of medical books.

Tony sat at his desk and opened up Lucky's medical records. "Maybe you haven't been here," he commented. "I've been visiting you while you've been in GH, and you didn't have any reason to be here years ago." Tony was still in rest and relaxation mode and leaned back in his chair, placing a foot on an open drawer. His desk held the usual pen and pencil set, desk blotter and Lucite paperweights, but was messier than Kevin's.

Lucky sat on Tony's plain tan couch and leaned his head back onto the armrest, his feet dangling off the end of the short furniture piece. "You don't believe in decorating," he commented, as his eyes perused the dowdy yet functional surroundings. "Even Kevin has little dartboards and college mascot statues."

Tony glanced up from the files and snorted. "Maybe your Aunt Bobbie needs to come in here and do her magic," he reflected. "Or maybe not," he said, reconsidering. "I'd have chintz roses covering the cushions of my chairs and rows of dolls staring at my patients." He resumed reading the results of Lucky's neurological tests and continued for ten minutes while Lucky rested.

Tony closed the folders and said, "Okay, kiddo, do you want my opinion?"

Lucky sat back up and looked intently at his uncle. "What's the damage?" he asked.

"Such an optimist," Tony chided. "Dr. Watanabe was correct. You do have some scarring on the front temporal lobe. And, yes, that is the source of your seizure activity. However, I don't agree with his choice of anticonvulsant. He's very conservative, and there are newer alternatives that would work more efficiently. And, you need some rehabilitation work. I like it that you're working on algebra problems. Give it some time, and the brain will try alternate pathways. Mental exercises could speed that process. I'm going to buy you some books that you can utilize while you're in the hospital."

Lucky spoke with a leaden voice, "So, the damage, it's permanent?"

"In a sense, yes," replied Tony. "The brain doesn't regenerate its cells, but like I said, it can redirect neural pathways. That's what we'll work toward. Your other symptoms point to recovery from a concussion. You might have trouble with coordination, sensitivity to light and sound for some months. It just takes time to recover. Are you comfortable having me act as your neurologist?" asked Tony.

"Yes," Lucky answered quickly. "I trust you."

Tony smiled. "Let's try a different anticonvulsant then and get those seizures under control. Keep up with those mental exercises, and we'll take it from there. You need to be kind to yourself, though, Lucky, and realize that you've received an injury that needs time to heal. Don't be too frustrated, okay?"

"Okay," said Lucky quietly. "I want everything to be back to normal. I want my life back."

"What's normal for a person changes with time," said Tony. "Everything changes, ages, acquires problems. You'll have to work at accepting your limitations and be determined to have a good life in spite of them. Everyone has problems and limitations, but we can't run or hide from them."

"I want to go to college," said Lucky worriedly. "Does this mean I can't go now? That I can't learn anymore?"

"Definitely not," stated Tony firmly. "You have months to recover before school starts, and if you are left with any permanent learning disabilities, those can be worked with. You're not getting off that easy, Mr. Brain. I expect you to go to school, study hard and graduate from college with honors."

~*~*~*~

Luke smiled when he regarded the letter in his hand. He'd been waiting all day for a private moment to read the letter from his son. His fingers impatiently tore at the envelope and lifted out the sheets of paper. His brow creased into a frown as he rifled through the papers and turned them back and forth. "Lucky Spencer, you're a skunk butt," he said out loud. "I spend hours crafting the perfect letter, pouring my heart out to you, and all you do is send back a couple of algebra problems, not even a note."

Luke shook his head as he recalled the entire year that he'd shoved his son aside out of anger and fear. "A chip off the old block," he said. "Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior." That's the way mother nature, that old bitch, gets us back. She gives us sons who throw all of our own faults back into our faces.

Luke picked up the papers again and noticed that the problems were done in pencil, not pen, like they usually were. And, there were lots of harsh eraser marks on the pages. What's wrong with my son now? he wondered as an uneasy feeling flitted through his mind.

~*~*~*~

Two hours later…

Lucky was back in his room again, and he walked over to his dresser, opened a drawer and removed an envelope. He sat down on his bed and removed a letter out of the envelope. He read it through, and then read it again. Lucky reached for a blank sheet of paper and a pen. He pushed aside his algebra problems and started writing, using the top of a book for a mini-desk.

~*~

Dear Dad,

I corrected your algebra problems and sent them back to you. You should have them by now. Good luck on your test.

I didn't write you a letter then because I was angry with you. I don't think you can compare what happened to you as a kid to my situation. I'm a different person than you, and we haven't had the same life or experiences.

Things happened to me when I was a little kid because you weren't home, and Faison kidnapped me because of you. So, I'm still mad. I can't get over what happened to me. You can still send me algebra problems, but I don't know how much I want to write to you or tell you about my life. Maybe some day I can deal with this, but not right now.

Your son,

Lucky

~*~

Dear Emily,

Thanks for the cards that you sent me. They made me really happy. I'm sorry I haven't written back to you. I've been sick a lot and was trying to get better.

It's been such a long time since I've seen you - three months isn't it? I wanted to say that I still love you and think about you, but I understand if you don't love me back anymore or if you want to see other people. I can't make promises to you about when I'll get out of the hospital or what I'll be like when I do.

Whatever you decide, you'll always have my heart.

Love,

Lucky a.k.a. Lorenzo

~*~

Lucky sat sullenly on a couch in the recreation room. They told him he had to be there at least two hours a day and that he'd been holed up in his room for too long. What the hell do they know? Lucky thought resentfully. He decided he'd at least try to give the appearance of toeing the line so that he could quickly get out of this rat hole.

It seemed like there were so many older people in the room, and he scoped out the younger patients, the ones under thirty. He sat with a group that was watching MTV, and he decided that he enjoyed listening to music for a change. It had been a long time since he'd even been near a radio. He talked to one or two women that looked to be in their twenties, and they were kind of cool. They laughed with him and made fun of some of the videos in the same places that amused Lucky. After awhile, another young man who looked to be in his late twenties with short brown hair and a wiry build joined them. He made comments that seemed inappropriate to the situations showed on the television, and Lucky and the two women ignored him. He acted like he was going to sit beside the two women on the couch, but there was only room for three, including Lucky. The women tried to shoo him off, but he persisted.

Lucky looked at the guy with disinterested eyes, and said, "Hey man, the couch is occupied. There's a chair right over there." He pointed to a chair to the right of the couch. The wiry guy jumped up and stood right in front of Lucky, blocking his view of the television.

"What are you, a fag-boy or a rock star?" he sneered as he glared at Lucky and his long hair.

"Back off," replied Lucky in his best cool guy from the streets voice. He moved closer to the woman beside him in order to view the television. The wiry man stood in the same place, watching Lucky. The three on the couch resumed their MTV critique, laughing and commenting. "You're so funny," said the one woman as she lightly patted Lucky on the arm in an affectionate way.

The wiry man had reached his limit of being ignored and grabbed Lucky roughly by the arm, dragging him to his feet. The woman beside Lucky shouted, "Hey, lay off," while her companion nervously looked around the room for an orderly.

"Get your hands off of me, you creep!" yelled Lucky as he batted at the wiry guy's firm grip on his arm. The wiry guy lost control and backhanded Lucky solidly across the mouth, sending him flying onto the floor in a heap. Stunned, Lucky held a hand to his mouth and looked down at the blood that smeared it.

"You motherfu****!" Lucky ground out in a low, dangerous tone of voice as he quickly rose to his knees in an attempt to get up. The wiry guy rushed him and placed his hands around Lucky's throat, violently pushing him back onto the ground.

Next...

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