Chapter Nine
Two days later, 9:00 AM
Dr. Tony Jones arranged and restocked medical supplies in the glass shelved metal cabinet. His privileges at General Hospital had been reinstated, but he still volunteered at the free-clinic twice a week because he enjoyed the everyday drama of general medicine as well as the challenges of his neurology practice.
Tony smiled as he thought back to his troubles and the near miracle of his second chance at life. The humble work at the clinic had worked wonders on his attitude. Gone was the 'noblesse oblige' and arrogance of the specialist. He found that he genuinely enjoyed helping people now. It wasn't all about the prestige and the money. Tony shook his head and grinned wryly. Whodathunk? Tony Jones actually might have a heart.
Tony's head rose at the sound of the bell at the door. Another customer. As he walked out to the reception area, he frowned at the sight of the thin young man who staggered through the doorway and leaned heavily on the front counter. Beneath the general grime and streaks of blood, he looked vaguely familiar. The young man hanged his head with his long hair falling around his face as he coughed loudly and panted with attempts to catch his breath. His arms started shaking, and his knuckles turned white with the effort to stand. It looked like he'd fall flat on the floor in another second.
Concerned, Tony rapidly took his elbow and directed him toward the adjoining waiting area and seated him in a chair. With his years of experience at the free clinic, Tony knew that he needed to approach this young man gently and slowly if he were to get anywhere with the kid. Most homeless people grew very wary and suspicious because of their hard life on the streets and were often hard to communicate with or help in any way.
The young man did not speak. He just wrapped is arms around himself and slightly rocked in his chair, taking shallow, rapid breaths and averting his face from Tony. Tony wondered what exactly he was dealing with here. Street people had so many problems. Often there were mental as well as physical problems mixed with substance abuse - an all-around toxic cocktail.
He placed his hand on the young man's arm and asked, "Can I help you in any way. What do you need?"
The young man flinched, grew more agitated and reached into his pocket for a crumpled card that he handed to Tony. Tony read the card: Lt. Taggert, PCPD. With a raised eyebrow, he turned over the card and read several phone numbers and the address of the free-clinic and men's shelter. Taggert has a heart of gold, thought Tony. He wants everybody to think he's a tough guy, but I know better.
Tony tried again. "Did Lt. Taggert send you here?" The young man nodded, but still bent his head over his knees and let his hair hide him. He was overcome with a coughing fit and fell over on the side of the chair. Tony gasped when the boy laid his head back on the arm of the chair. Could it be? I haven't seen Lucky in probably two years, but this kid looks like Lucky. I heard that he was rescued from a kidnapper, but that's all. I never saw or heard anything else about him. Tony looked worried and thought back to Luke's trial and imprisonment. Who is looking after him?
"Lucky?" Tony asked tentatively.
"Huh? Uh, yeah," Lucky answered slowly, still keeping his head down on the chair.
Tony felt a mixture of fear, sadness and anger all at once. "You look like you need help, Lucky. We have a shower in the back. Do you want to take a shower and then have me examine you?" Lucky nodded.
Tony helped Lucky to his feet and walked him slowly to the shower. While Lucky was showering, Tony made a phone call to General Hospital.
"Bobbie?" he asked. "It's Tony. I have a patient here at the free-clinic that you may have some information on. Bobbie…" he hesitated and then continued. "It's Lucky. He looks like he's homeless and in bad shape, physically and mentally. Do you know anything about this? What has he been doing since Luke went to prison?"
Bobbie replied sharply, "As far as I know, he's been drinking and boozing. He showed up at the Brownstone some months ago, tanked and wanting to speak to Lucas. I sent him packing of course. I really haven't seen him since, and good riddance, I say. I just can't tolerate that type of behavior around my son."
"How old is this kid, Bobbie? Is anyone even looking after him?" Tony asked with impatience.
"He's eighteen, Tony, an adult. And no, Laura moved to North Carolina, and you know where Luke is."
"So, it's okay with you if your nephew, a Spencer nephew is homeless and on the streets?" Tony asked angrily.
"It's his choice, Tony. I'm not going to be a rescuer or an enabler." Bobbie yelled.
Tony sadly sighed and rubbed his forehead. It was obvious that he wouldn't get anywhere with his pig-headed ex-wife. But, he had his answers now and knew what he was working with.
"Well, he's at my clinic in what looks to be a bad condition. If you're interested in your nephew, you can call me back later to check on his status," Tony said coldly as he slammed down the phone.
~*~*~*~
Lucky quickly showered, changed into a gown and fell asleep on an examining table. He lay on his side, breathing with rapid, shallow breaths. His arms hung down limply over the side of the table.
Tony entered the room and stifled a laugh at the sight of Lucky snoozing. Lucky reminded him of his son Lucas sometimes. Lucas was always able to fall asleep anywhere, anytime. Tony's smile evaporated as he realized that he was looking at a young man who was seriously underweight with needle marks on his skinny arms.
Tony walked up to Lucky and pushed his hair away from his face. It looked like Lucky had been beaten recently with the evidence of a black eye, contusions and cuts on his face. Tony let out a silent whistle as he took in Lucky's sunken cheeks, pale skin and difficult breathing.
Tony gently shook Lucky's shoulders to wake him.
~*~*~*~
Lucky lay back in the free-clinic's one bed. He was hooked up to an IV that administered fluids, antibiotics and glucose. He was having difficulty listening to and comprehending Tony's words. Other thoughts kept crowding into his mind, and he was having trouble regulating them. Tony was explaining to him his diagnosis and recommendations. Lucky felt very anxious and kept digging his fingers into the sheets and blanket.
"Your lungs didn't sound good, and the chest x-rays showed that pneumonia has set in your lungs. Your severe weight loss and substance abuse has hampered your healing. I'd like to admit you to General Hospital, but you mentioned that you don't have insurance. There is a program at Mercy that will treat the uninsured. Would you like me to contact them to set up a room for you?"
Lucky blinked his eyes, trying to focus on Tony's words and respond to him. "No hospitals, Tony. Spencers don't do hospitals."
Tony felt a stab of sadness. Lucky was still clinging to Luke's perverse set of rules. Abandoned, he clung ever tighter.
"What do you want to do, Lucky? Go back to the streets and die?"
"Maybe," Lucky replied honestly.
Tony noted Lucky's depression with concern. "Lucky, how have you been doing since your father was imprisoned? Have you talked with anyone about it?"
Lucky flinched and rubbed his hand on his forehead. "I don't want to talk about it," he stated emphatically.
"Do you think that's what's contributed to your current situation?" Tony prodded.
"What situation," Lucky replied tersely. "I'm fine; I just have to look for another apartment and a job."
"Lucky, you don't seem fine to me at all. In fact, I barely recognized you when you came in here this morning. Can't you tell me what's been going on? We used to talk sometimes, remember?"
Lucky's face softened, and his eyes
focused on the white wall beside him as he remembered a sunny day about five years ago.
Lucas was having a huge birthday party in the park, and almost everyone in Port Charles
was invited.
*** "I'm hungry, Uncle Tony! When can we eat?" Lucky asked.
"The master chef must take time
to prepare the delicacies," quipped Tony as he threw some more barbecue sauce on the
hamburgers.
"Can I just have something quick?" Lucky asked tensely as his teenage stomach growled.
"How about a hamdog to go?" Tony asked with eyebrows raised and eyes twinkling.
"Hamdog," Lucky snorted. "What's that? Are you making that up?"
"Most assuredly not, Mr. Spencer!" Tony intoned with a very serious face.
"Well, whatever," Lucky replied with his hand on his stomach. "Just give me one."
Tony produced a hamburger bun with a hotdog and hamburger both stuffed inside.
"Knock yourself out, kid," laughed Tony.
Lucky squirted half a bottle each of mustard and ketchup on his hamdog, and he ran away to join the volleyball game.
Five minutes later, Lucky returned
with a sheepish grin. "Uh, can I have another one of those hamdogs?" ***
Lucky laughed out loud and asked with a fake kid's voice, "Got any of those gourmet hamdogs, Uncle Tony?"
Tony looked puzzled for a second, then chuckled. "No, but I bet I can round up something else for you to eat!"