Chapter Eighty
"I can't believe this!" Dara Jensen spat her words out and emphasized her wrath with a smack of paper on the wooden desk.
Lt. Taggert slightly raised one eyebrow as his mouth twitched in his desire to hide his amusement. He rubbed his lips together and smiled broadly. "I don't know what you're most upset about, Dara. Is it the monumental incompetence of the PCPD or your own lack of follow-through and attention to detail?"
Dara glared death rays at Taggert as her temper continued to rise. "Luke Spencer has won the right to appeal his conviction. Doesn't that make you the least bit angry? After all the time and effort we put into making a case against him?"
"Apparently not enough time or effort," retorted Taggert with a small smile. "Seems to me you were so hot on throwing the book at Spencer that you may have overstepped the facts of the case. It was clear-cut manslaughter, yet you chose to go for murder one." Taggert shook his head. "So you've lost the feather in your cap. You've got no one to blame but yourself."
"You!" yelled Dara, thrusting her stiff finger in Taggert's face. "Your detectives botched up the evidence. They didn't have a proper search warrant. All they had was a warrant to search Spencer's house, not his car!"
"And you're just finding this out now?" asked Taggert laconically as he leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the wooden armrests. "In my opinion, Luke Spencer got a rough deal, and he deserves a chance to get off. Crime or no crime, Cassadine had been asking for it for years," he added lightly as he rose from his chair and walked around Dara. Dara turned her head as he walked behind her. "See you in court," Taggert said with a smile and a wave.
"Arrrggh!" Dara growled in frustration as she stood in place with her hands on her hips.
~*~*~*~
He walked at a medium pace but moved in a daze, not registering his surroundings or paying attention to where he was going. He just kept on walking with feet and legs that seemed to know where they were headed. He periodically stepped off curbs and then stepped up again. General Hospital was located near downtown Port Charles, and the right turn that he chose when he left the building's main entrance placed him in the direction that led further into town, into the seedier section known as Cortland Street.
Lucky stepped off of a curb without noticing that he was crossing a busy intersection against traffic and against a red light. The loud, repeated honking of a car horn stopped him in his tracks, and he jumped back when a car barely avoided colliding with his body as it raced past him. When he looked up, he saw the driver's angry grimaced face and the man's middle finger waving at him. He stepped back several times and hit the curb with his heels. He sat down hard and drew his feet up off the road. He'd left the hospital, that much he recalled. He remembered feeling the unceasing wave of anger and the overwhelming desire to leave.
Lucky slowly stood up and backed up to the wall of the brick building beside him, a dentist's office. He tried to make sense of what was happening to him, and he cradled his head in his hands and breathed deeply, trying to find his center of calm and reason as his heart raced. He'd left the hospital. Lucky cautiously raised his head and looked at the imposing General Hospital campus several blocks to his left. "Should I go back?" he asked out loud. He shook his head fiercely. "No," he said. "No!" Lucky held hands over his eyes. "I'm done. I'm finished with all that. I don't want to talk anymore. No one can make me. I'm not going back. I'm going to live my own life!"
A short, middle-aged man exited the dentist's office and looked at Lucky curiously. The boy was obviously upset with his bent over posture and sad tone of voice. "Son, are you alright? Do you need some help?" he questioned.
Lucky looked at the stranger's kind face. He frowned. "My head hurts," he said breathlessly. Lucky frowned again. Why am I talking to this man? he questioned himself as he glanced around in confusion.
"Can I call someone for you?" asked the man as he reached for his tiny cell phone held in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Lucky looked at the man's face again and then down at his phone. Lucky held out his hand, and the man gave him the phone. Lucky looked at the phone with a blank expression clouding his face and then moved his fingers over the raised numbers, dialing the only number that he remembered. He hesitantly raised the phone to his right ear and waited as the phone rang four times.
On the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up, and Tony Jones' voice read the recording. A look of relief crossed Lucky's face, and he smiled briefly at the man beside him. At the beep, Lucky froze, trying to think of what he wanted to say. Several seconds went by, and he said tentatively, "Tony? Uh…this is Lucky." He paused. "Tony? Um…uh…I'm not there anymore. In the hospital I mean?" Lucky paused again for a few seconds, confused as to what he wanted to convey to his uncle. "Okay," he said. "Uh…bye." He handed the phone back to the man. "Thanks," he said.
The man grew concerned and studied Lucky's face for a second. "You need a lift somewhere?" he asked. "You mentioned the hospital. Is that where you're headed?"
Lucky shook his head and smiled. "No," he said as he turned and started walking away. The man stared after Lucky for a minute, then shrugged and walked over to his car parked on the meter.
Lucky kept walking and walking. He watched for cars, but didn't pay attention to much else. He smiled when he noticed buildings that he recognized, silhouettes that seemed familiar to him. When he came to a hill that was banked with concrete, he sat down on the cap, which formed a perfect bench. Two other people were sitting on it, looking terminally bored and fidgeting while they waited for the bus. With the side of his arm, Lucky wiped off a thin line of sweat that formed on his forehead. I'm thirsty, he thought tiredly.
He reached for his wallet in his back pocket, but realized with a stab of fear that he didn't have it. He'd left the hospital with nothing but the clothes on his back. Lucky felt numb. What am I going to do? A cloud passed over the sun, and Lucky shivered. Damn, I don't have a coat either. The warm April sun heated up the air to a moderately warm temperature of sixty degrees, but at night the temps fell much lower without the benefit of the sun's warm rays. Lucky slid off of the concrete cap and slapped his sneakers onto the pavement. This sweatshirt will have to do, he thought as he resumed his walk.
Lucky wore a blank expression on his face until he reached Tenth Street and stopped dead in his tracks. His face creased into a broad smile. Yeah! he thought. I know where to go.
~*~*~*~
Tony rode down the elevator and played with a metal bracelet while he was deep in thought. Dammit. Lucky had another seizure. I suppose that dovetails into the conversation that I planned to have with him this afternoon. I think he realizes now that his disorder is chronic, not a temporary situation, but he's still going to be upset. I'll just have to find a way to help him deal with it - we all will. It's a problem lots of people have, and they make decent lives for themselves. He'll get through this.
When the elevator stopped at the psychiatric floor, Tony turned the front of the bracelet over and read the engraved word, Epilepsy. He turned it over again and glanced at the medical alert emblem on the front side of the bracelet and sighed as he exited the elevator.
Tony walked to the nurse's station and asked, "Can I see Lucky Spencer's chart? I'm his neurologist. I was told he recently had a seizure. Did someone here witness it?" The nurse shook her head, "No, I just began my shift ten minutes ago. But here's his chart." Tony accepted the chart and read over it carefully. His face looked concerned as he handed it back. "Apparently he had another generalized seizure. I'll go back to his room and check how he's doing. Thank you."
Tony looked confused when he entered Lucky's room and no one was there. He stuck his head in the bathroom. No Lucky. The bed was rumpled as if someone had slept in it, and there was a small, white envelope tossed in the middle of it.
~*~*~*~
Half hour later…
Four people tensely milled around Lucky's unoccupied room. Kevin looked totally pissed off as he held the white envelope in his hand. Tony sat on the bed with his right hand to his forehead, and two nurses were having a heated discussion as to how this could have happened and whose responsibility it was.
Tony lowered his hand and growled, "At this point, I don't care whose fault it is. The boy is gone. If you cared more about your patients and less about who is to blame, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Did you ever think of that?" Tony looked over at Kevin. "Can we use your office to make some phone calls? Maybe he's tried to call one of our numbers. It's been at least two hours since he left the hospital."
~*~*~*~
Kevin lowered the phone. "Ten voicemails for me, none from Lucky," he said regretfully. He handed the receiver to Tony and pushed the phone toward him. "Why don't you try?"
Tony sat down on a chair directly across from Kevin's desk. He called his GH office number and leafed through six voicemails. He looked up at Kevin and shook his head. He called over at the free-clinic. "Jill," he said when a nurse answered the phone. "This is Tony Jones. Has my nephew been in there by any chance? You remember him, don't you?" Tony listened for a few seconds. "Okay," he said heavily. "Thanks anyway."
Tony's face looked grim, and he told Kevin, "I'll try my home number just in case he tried to reach me there." Tony dialed the number and waited impatiently. He tapped his fingers on Kevin's desk and held his breath. He frowned when the machine beeped once, signaling one message had been left. There was only dead air on the recording, and he lifted the phone receiver from his ear, but when he heard the voice, Tony looked sharply over at Kevin and held up his hand. His face fell as he listened, and he reluctantly hung up the phone. "He left a message," said Tony with a heavy voice. "I'll dial it again so you can listen and tell me what you think." Tony dialed again and handed the phone to Kevin.
Kevin's face looked intense as he concentrated on listening to Lucky's message and all of the nuances of his word choices and tone of voice. Kevin pushed the number seven per the machine's instructions to run the message again, and then he pressed seven again. He hung up the phone and took his seat behind his desk.
"What do you think?" asked Tony. He was almost afraid to hear Kevin's analysis, but he needed to know. Kevin looked unhappy, and his brown eyes reflected his concern. "He sounds disoriented to his surroundings. Unsure of what he did and what happened. That concerns me for his safety if he's out on the streets. From his tone of voice, he sounds nervous and afraid. He sees you as the primary person who he trusts, and he reached out for contact, to help himself feel safe. I don't like this, Tony," admitted Kevin. "He's going through a stressful period in his therapy, and he needs to be kept safe and secure."
"What should we do?" asked Tony He felt the hysteria rising in him, and he fought to remain calm and collected.
Kevin sighed deeply and folded his hands in front of him. "I believe it would be a mistake to bring in the police if we can find him within the next forty-eight hours. He is used to living on the streets, and he'll probably be okay for a short time. I don't trust the police to sensitively handle a patient like Lucky. If they approached him, I'm afraid he'd panic and be hurt. I don't want him to be traumatized like that." Kevin looked up at Tony. "Do you have any idea where he might be headed?"
Tony sat in silence for a minute, then said, "I might know. He lived for a number of weeks over in the Cortland Street area. It's only a few miles from here and pretty much a straight shot east. I'll leave word with the free-clinic that he's on the streets and to keep an eye out for him. I'll also leave another recording on my answering machine in case he calls back. I'll ask him to meet me at the free-clinic so I can give him his meds. How's that?"
"It's a good idea," agreed Kevin. "Don't you have a detective friend on the PCPD? Maybe he can help look for him off-duty."
Tony nodded. "That's a great idea. Marcus Taggert has been in on this since Lucky first became homeless. Lucky trusts him. Good. I'll call him right away. He might have some tips on how to locate him."
~*~*~*~
Lucky remembered that square sign that was always in the front window directly to the left of the door. It was still there: Help Wanted. He pushed open the door to the White Castle and walked straight up to the counter. "Can I talk to the manager?" he asked.
"You're speaking to him," the 30ish black male replied. It was the same guy who'd been the assistant manager of the place back in Lucky's homeless days, but he didn't recognize Lucky because of his haircut and the weight that he'd gained.
"I'm looking for a job," Lucky said, turning and pointing to the Help Wanted sign.
The manager looked up at him briefly. "You healthy, no TB or hepatitis?" he asked flatly.
"No," replied Lucky. "I'm healthy."
"An American citizen?" he asked.
"Yes," said Lucky.
"No felony record?"
"No."
"When can you start?" asked the manager.
"As soon as possible?"
"Come around here," instructed the manager, waving Lucky behind the counter. "Pay's $6.00 an hour to start, first check at the end of the week, free food. Welcome to the wonderful world of fast food with a smile."
~*~*~*~
"You need to bring a driver's license to show me proof of your citizenship by tomorrow at the latest," said Joe the manager. Lucky looked up from the vat of oil where he was frying the French fries. "Okay," he said. How am I going to get my license? he thought. I suppose Tony has it somewhere.
Lucky worked eight hours straight and remained until Joe was ready to hand over the evening shift to the assistant manager. "Do you need a ride anywhere?" Joe asked casually.
"Um, no," said Lucky. "Thanks, though. When should I show up tomorrow?"
Joe looked over at Lucky. "Be here at 2:00. And bring your ID so we can get you squared away. Good first day, Lucky."
~*~*~*~
Lucky walked back to the office and picked up the phone. He dialed Tony's number and waited nervously.
"Tony," he said when his uncle answered on the second ring.
"Lucky," Tony breathed with relief. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Lucky answered. "But I need a favor."
"What do you need?"
"I have a job. I need my driver's license. Can you get it for me? And my wallet, too?"
Tony hesitated. He wanted to ask Lucky a million questions but didn't want to spook him. A face to face meeting with Lucky was essential. "I can give that to you," he replied. "Where should I meet you? Do you want to stop by the free-clinic?"
"Yeah, okay," Lucky agreed. "When does it open? I don't remember." Lucky's voice started to sound strained, and Tony desperately tried to think of how to keep him on the line.
"The clinic opens at 9AM tomorrow morning," Tony answered. "Do you need a place to sleep tonight? I can pick you up and we could go home," he offered.
Lucky's thoughts turned to the hospital, and he grew skittish. "No," he said. "No, uh, bye Tony."
Lucky hung up the phone and stood there while his stomach churned. What was he going to do now?
Lucky walked back out into the food prep area and greeted the assistant manager, explaining who he was. "I'm just going to get a bite to eat before I leave and sit over here for awhile," he said.
Lucky nibbled on a burger as he sat in a booth by the window, looking out into the night. He tried to work up his nerve to leave, but his feet wouldn't move from under the table. He sighed and sipped on his iced tea, hoping that the assistant manager wouldn't get suspicious or ask why he was hanging out so long.
~*~*~*~
"Kevin? It's Tony. Lucky called back. He says he has a job and needs his wallet and driver's license." Tony listened. "Yes, well maybe that's good news - he's employable. He says he'll meet me at the free-clinic tomorrow at nine. Do you have any pointers on how I should talk to him or what to say?"
~*~*~*~
Lucky finally decided to head over to the free-clinic and rubbed his arms briskly to ward off the chilly night air. He wished he could think of a way to break in, but he didn't even have a plastic card to jimmy the back door locks. He stood for a minute looking at the door. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so tired. His head still throbbed from his seizure earlier that day, and his inside cheek hurt terribly from where he'd bitten it so badly. It periodically bled, and he'd swallowed blood throughout the day. It made him nauseous. Lucky walked up to the back door and tried the doorknob just to check if it were open by some extreme miracle. The knob turned easily, and Lucky opened the door with his jaw hanging down in surprise. He walked through the clinic, still stunned at his good fortune. When he reached the front counter, there was a plate full of cookies lying there, a big container of juice and his evening medications. Lucky picked up the note beside the plate. It read, Take your medications. See you at 9AM tomorrow morning. Tony.
Lucky broke out into a grin and laughed
long and hard. He opened the lid to the juice and shook out the pills into his hand,
shoving them into his mouth and swallowing. He picked up a cookie and headed for the room
with the bed.
Next...
.