Chapter Eighty-Five
Lucky sat on the bed in Cindy's room and dumped out the contents of his bag from the free-clinic. The plastic bottles rolled and tumbled onto the white chenille fabric. He ran his hands over them, picking them up and inspecting them, one by one. Just a couple of years ago, he'd never even taken aspirin, preferring the pain of a headache over drugs in his system. Now, apparently, he needed five different drugs in order for his brain to work at a level that approximated normality. What's wrong with this picture? he wondered.
Lucky removed the baggie full of white powder from his pocket and threw it beside the prescription drugs. He poked the baggie and left an impression of his index finger in the powder. This one takes care of everything, he thought grimly. No dreams, no bad thoughts, no anxiety, no caring about a world that he didn't truly belong in anymore. And if he ever got totally tired of his life, he could end it with this white powder.
Lucky lay back on the bed and held his hands over his face. When had life been simpler and easier? When he was fifteen, sixteen years old? Had it ever been okay or did the few good moments mask something else, something darker that slithered under a rock and hid from the light of day? He supposed that Lucky Spencer had really died in that fire and was never coming back. He looked at his life with the detachment of a videocamera lens, rolling the tape over the scenes, identifying the cast of characters and the people who you could tell were only acting, playing a walk-on part. Some of the actors weren't very good, and you could tell they didn't really mean what they said. There was hollowness to their expressions or professions of love. His mother was queen of the bad actresses, a broken down diva.
Lucky sat back up and rubbed his head. Who was he kidding? He had a job making $300 a week. Who would ever hire him for a better job with his history of mental illnesses and addictions? Was he supposed to go to school with a malfunctioning brain and the inability to drive the car that he had worked so hard for? Why bother trying. Maybe he should let go and drift through his days and nights, never thinking about tomorrow. Parents would wrap their arms around their young children and cross the street to protect their little ones from the monster who walked past them, the monster that was Lucky Spencer. Even his little sister preferred the company of Nikolas, not him. He couldn't play a decent game of go-fish these days. Why couldn't he get it right? How did all of the good things slip away so quickly?
He missed Lulu, having only seen her once in nearly two years. But, he was barely able to deal with her, to relate to a six-year-old girl with lots of energy and no idea of what the sensitive subjects were. When he'd talked to her on the phone only a week ago, she went on and on about all the fun things that she and Lucas did with Nikolas - the movies they'd seen and games they'd played together. He supposed like everyone else, little kids moved on with their lives and made new attachments to replace ones that died off. Nikolas was great to come around the hospital so often to see him. He wondered why he did since there was so little they had in common to relate to one another. He and Nikolas had spent their childhoods in separate homes with different lifestyles. The times he'd tried to explain to Nikolas how he felt about their mother, he hadn't understood, Lucky knew that. He should ask Nikolas how he was doing concerning Stefan's death and be more sensitive to someone else for a change, but it brought up a lot of hurtful issues, and the two brothers had avoided that conversation.
Lucky sighed. Cindy was the one bright spot in his bleak universe. Tonight they would have their first real date, and he wanted to make it memorable for her. He smiled. He was sure she'd like the box of chocolates since he owed her a candy bar from their first night together when he'd mentioned that she surprised him by not ordering a café mocha. She'd joked that he could buy her a candy bar later.
Lucky gathered up his prescription bottles and laid them on top of Cindy's chest of drawers. He lined them up from most frequent dosages to least. He still hadn't decided whether or not he'd take any of them except for the anticonvulsant. When would it end with all of these pills and their careful schedules? Maybe he should stop taking them altogether and turn his back on pharmacology as well as psychiatry. Or maybe he should switch his allegiances.
Lucky carried the white powder filled baggie with him to the bathroom. He laid it on the sink's edge and opened the zipper-like closure. He grabbed an especially large pinch and swiftly snorted it up his nose, coughing and choking at the amount of the substance filling his nostril. He carefully resealed the baggie and placed it in his pocket. After several minutes, he began to feel dopey, and his skin itched terribly. He repeatedly dug his fingernails into the skin of his forearms, leaving long stripes of scratches that leaked small amounts of blood here and there. He barely made it to the toilet before he was overcome with a violent nausea. After throwing up in the toilet repeatedly, he sank to the floor with a grateful smile and half-closed eyelids. He nestled into this mother of a drug, warm and content to lie on the cold vinyl floor of a friend's bathroom. Life was good.
~*~*~*~
Lucky crawled from the bathroom to Cindy's bedroom. Man, he'd taken a lot of that stuff. It was six hours later, and he was still completely trashed. He could barely remember to breathe. He'd doze off and then jerk awake, gasping for air. Cindy and Tamara would be home soon from their excursion at the mall. He wondered idly how many johns they'd serviced, and he laughed out loud at his near joke. The sound of his own laughter startled him, and he leaned with his head against the bedframe for minutes to orient himself. He'd better get his act together if he wanted to be coherent with another human being. Lucky reached out and grabbed his cast-off pair of jeans. Reaching into the pocket, his fingers felt the hard surface of the two pills that he'd bought the other night. He shoved one pill in his mouth and swallowed. He curled up on the floor, not bothering to reach for a pillow. He laid his head down on the hard wood floor and waited for the speed or whatever it was to take effect.
~*~*~*~
8:30PM
"Nikolas? Hi! It's Lucky!"
Nikolas froze on the other end of the phone line. He couldn't believe he was talking to his brother. Last week Lucky had fled the hospital not too long after having lunch with him. Nikolas felt guilty about their conversation, like he hadn't been sympathetic enough or given Lucky what he needed. He was the last person that he thought Lucky would call. Nikolas took in a deep, nervous breath and answered.
"Lucky, it's great to hear your voice. How are you?"
"Fine, fine, fine," replied Lucky in a rapid, staccato voice. "You're still at work!" Lucky said happily. "Do you always work, gotta have fun. Do you have a girlfriend? I do."
Nikolas choked over Lucky's manic monologue. What's going on with him? he wondered. He was dragging so slowly last time we talked.
"Hey, buddy," replied Nikolas. "I guess I am working too hard. Time to take a break and grab some dinner. I haven't met a girl yet that I want to ask out. I stopped my Cassadine mistress club, remember?"
"Hahaha," Lucky laughed. "MO-NIQUE, so chic! Likes to shop at the bou-tique."
"So where are you living now?" Nikolas asked cautiously.
"My girlfriend's house," Lucky answered. "She's not home yet. She's at the mall. We're going on a date, she can't be late, hahaha."
"You're a real poet today with all those rhymes," Nikolas said. "So what's this girlfriend like? How did you meet her?"
"Actually, we met in the graveyard, no that was the first time when I killed the tombstone. The restaurant. She ordered a Diet Coke and got me instead. But she's so pretty and her skin's so soft, she so nice to me. I like her a lot, you know. Her roommate acts snotty but she likes me too I can tell. She calls me hotstuff."
Nikolas was totally confused now. Lucky wasn't making any sense. It was like he was rambling and barely connecting his separate thoughts. "You have a job? What do you do?" asked Nikolas.
"I do everything, I'm a master of all trades, that's what my manager says. He likes me because I show up and work," Lucky replied. Lucky was talking on the phone in the living room of Cindy's rental house. He slid off of the couch and moaned. "I feel funny," he said slowly.
Nikolas grew alarmed. "Lucky, how do you feel? What's the matter?"
"Ohhhhhh," replied Lucky. "Up and down, up and down."
"Lucky, are you ill? Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Nikolas with a tense voice. "Tell me where you are, and I can come and pick you up."
"My heart, it won't stop." Lucky laughed hard and panted into the phone. "Bang, boom, pow, flutter, flutter."
"Lucky is there someone with you?" asked Nikolas "Someone who can take you to the hospital or a doctor. I'm worried about you. What's going on?"
"No!" Lucky shouted. "No one's here. They're all at the mall, that…that damned mall. And they won't come back. Nobody comes back."
Nikolas looked around his office and nervously ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he could get a trace on the phone call.
"Lucky," he said in a low, calm voice. "Listen to me. Tell me where you are. Look around you. Where are you calling from?"
Lucky looked up at the ceiling and down at the floor several times. "I'm here," he announced.
"Where's here?" asked Nikolas patiently.
"Wherever I am," replied Lucky imperiously. "The feet, the floor, the head, the ceiling."
Nikolas was almost in tears from his worry, fear and lack of control over the situation. What should he do? What could he say? Nothing he said was reaching his brother or producing a useful answer. "Lucky, what's going on?" he asked softly. "You're making me worried."
Lucky started sniffing. "They're not coming back. I know they're not. I've been waiting and waiting."
"Who's not coming back?"
"Cindy - and Tamara," he sobbed.
"How do you know they're not coming back?" questioned Nikolas.
"They're NOT!" Lucky yelled. "I don't know, I don't know." He continued to sob quietly, the grief evident in his vocalizations.
"Lucky, are you taking drugs, is that what's making you so unhappy?" asked Nikolas. He held his breath waiting for Lucky's answer.
"I'm always on drugs," Lucky cried. "Five bottles, five bottles on the chest of drawers. All lined up in a row." Lucky began sobbing earnestly, unable to talk anymore.
"Lucky, have you called Tony or Kevin? I bet they can talk to you and help you to feel better," Nikolas suggested gently. I'm not getting anywhere, thought Nikolas. I can't get him to make any sense.
"I'm not going back!" Lucky blurted out tearfully. "No."
"One phone call to Tony might help you," stated Nikolas. "I'm sure he'd be glad to talk to you."
"No, I can't! Oh, God." Lucky continued to cry softly.
"Lucky, what can't you do? What are you afraid of?" Nikolas asked.
Lucky hung up the phone, not answering Nikolas' last question. He fell over onto his side and continued to weep.
~*~*~*~
"Doctor Jones, um…Tony. This is Nikolas Cassadine. I'm sorry to call you at home, but something happened, and I'm really worried." Nikolas' voice betrayed his fear and tension. "Lucky just called me. I talked to him for a minute, and he hung up on me."
Tony gripped the phone tightly. "What happened, Nikolas? What did he say?"
"Tony, he didn't make much sense. He was rambling and didn't have his thoughts in order. I'd ask him questions, but he wouldn't reply the right way. He kept rhyming and spitting out words, and then he said he felt funny. I'm really worried about him. I tried to get him to call you or Kevin, but he started crying and saying he couldn't. Then, he hung up on me."
"Do you think he was taking drugs?" asked Tony.
"I asked him that, and he said he was always on drugs, five bottles in a row or something like that. That's when he started crying really hard."
"Okay, Nikolas, can you tell me anything about where he is or whom he's with?" questioned Tony.
"I tried, Tony, I really tried. All I got out of him is that he has a girlfriend he met in a graveyard? And he killed a tombstone. That was weird. He said she asked for a Diet Coke and got him instead. Um, he says he lives with her. And, she has a roommate - Tamara I think he said. Oh, and the girlfriend's name is Cindy."
"Oh, boy, Nikolas, you don't know how helpful that is," stated Tony with relief. "Man, you've retrieved more information out of him than any of us. Thank you. This gives us information to work on so we can find him. I've met this girlfriend of his. It's someone he hooked up with when he was homeless before. And I think I might know where he's working as well."
"Tony, I'm worried about him. He said his heart was pounding and fluttering."
"Well, I'm worried, too, Nikolas. I think he's taking street drugs right now. The sooner we find him the better. This information you've given me helps a lot. We have Lt. Taggert helping us to find him. You did well, Nikolas."
Nikolas sighed with relief. "I tried. I wanted to help him. It's so frustrating."
"I know," replied Tony sympathetically.
~*~*~*~
1:20AM
Lucky lay still and curled up in a ball in the middle of Cindy's bed. He was breathing slowly, only taking in a shallow breath every four or five seconds. After talking to Nikolas earlier in the evening, he'd exhausted himself crying and fell asleep on the living room floor.
*** He woke up about 11:00PM almost scared to move with the heavy darkness of the house and the endless, permeating silence that surrounded him. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up from the floor and wandered to the kitchen, where the clock revealed that it was now three hours past the time that Cindy had promised she'd be back for their date. The last movie of the night had already started, and the possibilities of their date vanished.
Lucky walked over to the sink and poured a glass of water from the faucet, pausing to drink down the fluid in one long gulp. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth as he checked to make sure that the back door was locked. The moon was nearly full and cast a bright light into the long, narrow back yard. Lucky spotted a cat creeping through the bushes, a mouse firmly held in its mouth. He watched, fascinated by its sinuous movements and obvious comfort in the dark night. He made his way back out into the living room and headed towards the stairs. He didn't turn on any lights, and his eyes became adjusted to the dimness of his surroundings. One by one, he climbed the stairs heavily, growing more hesitant as he neared Cindy's empty bedroom. He opened the door and stood entranced by the shadowy circle of cast light from the streetlight outside the house, the light that illuminated the emptiness of her bed with its pretty, white chenille bedspread.
Lucky pulled off his shoes and jeans, carefully placing them in the corner where he kept his meager possessions. He crawled on top of the bed and pulled a silk pillow close to his face, breathing in the scent of the teenaged girl that he wanted so badly to appear in the doorway with her tinkling laughter and soft, hugging arms. He rested on the bed for about an hour, then rose to retrieve his baggie full of powdered heroin.
Lucky padded to the bathroom and turned on the light. He opened his baggie and pinched a generous amount of powder between his fingers, snorting it into his left nostril. Immediately, he retrieved another pinch of heroin and snorted it into his right nostril. He never made it to the toilet. Almost immediately he retched and heaved directly into the sink and held himself up precariously with white knuckles gripping the edge of the sink. He had the presence of mind to grab the baggie as he collapsed onto the floor, sealing it quickly and hiding it under a towel. He felt hot all over with the rush of the drug, and his head lolled to the side as his palms uncurled. His tense fingers loosened and hung open and waiting.
After an hour of lying on the floor, Lucky pulled himself up with difficulty and stood in front of the sink, turning on the faucet and flushing his vomit down the drain. He staggered over to the door and fell on one knee as he entered the hallway. It took him ten minutes to rise again, and he made his way very slowly to the bedroom, collapsing finally into Cindy's bed.***
6:20AM
Lucky woke up briefly and turned his head, listening. No one was in the house. He hadn't made it up. They never came home. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes again.
11:45AM
Lucky opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing a narrow crack in the plaster from right above the bed to the farmost right corner of the room. He lacked the will to move and closed his eyes.
2:25PM
Lucky had slept as long as his body would permit him, but he didn't move from the bed. His eyes were open, and he stared at the wall beside the bed. Once, he extended his fingers and felt the rough, cool texture of the plaster. He knew that he should think, but the thoughts weren't there. His mind was blank, and his heart was heavy.
With a monumental effort, he dragged himself out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he searched for his baggie of heroin and found it under the towels. He took a drink of water from the faucet, cupping his right hand under the stream of water and bringing it to his mouth several times until he was satisfied. He held the baggie up in the air and surveyed the amount left. He chuckled sadly. This was supposed to last two weeks, and already half of it was gone. Oh well. He grabbed hold of the small wastebasket and carried it with him to the bedroom just in case. Lucky sat down and slumped over. He snorted another generous amount of heroin and fell back onto the bed. This time, there was no retching, only the continual, warm numbness of the world's most powerful narcotic.
~*~*~*~
4:30PM
A brief thought crossed Lucky's mind. He was supposed to go to work today. Lucky sighed. His hand waved up in the air as if making an apology for his neglect, and crashed back down, but he never moved from the bed.
~*~*~*~
9:30PM
Taggert walked to the car and leaned over the open passenger's window. "Bingo," he said. "I just spoke to Lucky's employer. The kid's been a model employee, but he never showed up to work today or called in. The manager's worried. Says Lucky is his best employee. Oh, and the manager also mentioned, that the kid has a hot and heavy romance with a local hooker, a teenaged girl named Cindy. Real cute, long blond curls. Sound familiar?"
Tony nodded. "Yep. That's what I thought. How in the world did those two manage to get together again?"
"Kismet," chuckled Taggert. "It must be fate. True love."
"I'm glad one of us has a sense of humor," said Tony wryly. "What now?"
"If we find the girl, we find Lucky," stated Taggert. "But it's gonna be hard to find out where she lives. It might be easier to trace where she usually works, other than this restaurant I mean. She usually shows up at the restaurant around 10:30PM, but she never showed yesterday. We should wait in the car for another hour to see if she shows up tonight."
.