Failing Upward Ch. 09

"You little fuck. Do you think these people give a rat's ass about what happens to you or how they get their precious power?" he asked.

No, I didn't. I had no delusions about any of them. As Peter's finger brushed the top of my hand, I knew he'd seen Sid, and I knew he was here to help me. I didn't know why he wanted to-- right now I didn't care just as long as he got me out of here.

"I know you can see into me right now," said Deal, ignoring Shackleton. "But there's something else that sets you apart. Why don't we do this in reverse-- I'll tell you what's happening inside you and see if I'm right."

I closed my eyes. Maybe they'd all go away. Count to five.

One.

"When you touch someone, you become part of them. Connected. But what you do comes from outside yourself. You pull it in and use this power. What happens to time when you do this? I'll tell you what--"

Two.

"I think you alter time. Turn it back. You aren't really healing, you're taking your body back to a time before it was injured and restoring it. I think this is what all the healers do-- "

Three.

"--only you can do this outside of yourself. Shift ahead-- move an object; heal Sid-- move back."

"Nice theory."

Four.

Damn, that made sense. Of course there was no fucking way I could know if he was right. I kept my my eyes closed. I clenched my fists.

Five.

I wished them all out of the room.

I opened my eyes.

Nope. They were all still there. Relax. I needed to be sure and relax. I practiced the breathing Peter used on me. You know-- exhibitionist hypnosis in three easy lessons. Breath in and out. Slowly.

"Leave," I whispered. "Be gone."

Rats. They all still stood around me.

In back of Trent, the door slowly opened, and no one walked in. I'd done it. I opened the door.

"I'm tired," I yawned. "I think it's time for all of you to go."

--------------------

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Angela tried for the third time to find a good vein to start a new IV, slapping my wrist with two fingers to get my veins to pop. Time to give the gift of life again.

I used to give during the Red Cross blood-drives two or three times a year. My veins never collapsed before. She jabbed the needle in for another try. No luck. I don't think I'll give at a drive ever again.

"I'll try one more time." I looked away this time as she stuck me. She sighed with relief. Found one.

Before she hooked me up completely, I risked asking to use the bathroom. I hoped she'd let me go. After making me suffer digging for veins, I thought I might stand a chance. I'd beg. Look sad. Maybe whine. Nothing more degrading than pleading for permission to take a shit, but I felt desperate to get out of these restraints.

"Angela. I need to... you know... Ah, do you think I could use the toilet?"

Math equations. She was adding and subtracting pros and cons in her brain while I gave her my best pathetic puppy eyes.

"I promise I won't try to get away... just let me up and go," I pleaded.

It worked. She started undoing the restraints.

"Thanks."

"Good thing Dr. Shackleton ordered the video camera removed in this room, or I'd couldn't do this--"

She leaned over me and unstrapped the other side. My arms felt disconnected as I raised them-- I watched my hands open and close like Frankenstein, thinking they weren't even my hands.

Now to sit up. My legs felt detached too-- like the ghost limbs amputees feel that aren't there. I managed to stand on my first try without Angela's help. With my bladder-baggie strapped to my leg, I wobbled ahead. Still Angela stuck close beside me. I was unsteady, but my legs worked on automatic. Surprising how well I walked after being flat on my back for over two weeks.

She shut the bathroom door behind. Good. At first I thought she was going to follow me in-- times like these I needed privacy and plenty of reading material.

No reading material here.

After I finished, I washed my hands and got a close look at myself in the mirror. Circles under my eyes and pasty complexion. I scratched the black scruff on my chin-- never could grow a descent beard. As I traced my fingers up to my temple, it struck me like an off-loaded semi-trailer, why would a man obsessed with taking pictures of me remove a video camera from my room?

So no one else could see.

I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. Sure fucking burns when strawberry jam toast and oatmeal comes out your nose.

"Are you all right?" Angela asked, knocking at the door.

No, I wasn't. I recollected Shackleton's touch and heaved again. So much for breakfast.

My hands shook on the cold porcelain sink as I pulled myself up. Turning on the cold tap, I splashed the icy water in my face. God, I'd wanted outta of here.

Time to quit avoiding. Pushing Shackleton out of my mind wasn't going to make him go away. I couldn't count on Trent to watch his every step. Angela wasn't on duty 24-7. And I hadn't seen Peter again in the last few days. Sooner or later Shackleton was going to get me alone. No cameras-- no witnesses.

I turned off the tap, unrolled some toilet paper and blew my nose.

"Fine, just peachy," I mumbled, wiping my mouth.

Dang, does any one say 'just peachy' anymore who isn't gay? Fuck it. What do I care what Angela thinks? Not like she hasn't heard me moaning Sid's name. If she hasn't figured out from that, well...

Avoiding again. Why? In this place, I had only myself.

If Shackleton smelled fear in me, I might as well just spread my legs and let him fuck me like a whore. I had to use the same weapon my uncle did years ago; I had to emasculate the son of a bitch. Taunt him, tell him he couldn't get it up for Aphrodite. Stand up to him (yeah, like I could do that being strapped to a bed).

Problem was... how to do it? What could I say to him that would castrate the sucker?

My hands were ice cubes. I ran the hot water, warming them.

Angela knocked at the door.

"I'll be right out..."

My breath steamed the mirror, clouding my reflection-- kind of a metaphor of what I was in this place, a fuzzy non-person. Maybe if I wrote my name on the mirror I'd be a person again. Practice my own form of empowerment.

Abracadabra, I'm Wesley Grant, and I'm somebody.

"What am I gonna fuckin' do?" I blurted, pressing my forehead on the cool glass. I could tap my heals three times and say, "there's no place like home." Trouble was, no ruby slippers.

I had to get home on my own. I had to find his vulnerable spot before he found mine. As much as I hated the idea of him touching me, letting run his hands over me was the only way I would find his weakness. Only then could I see into him then.

The back of my throat burned. How could I choke back the fear with his hands on me when I couldn't even swallow it alone here in the bathroom?

Angela tapped at the door again. I didn't want her to get in trouble, better go back. I took a deep breath, and turned the knob. Taking three shaky steps, I walked back into the room.

I lay back down on the bed. She chewed her lip as she refastened the restraints, not as tight as before, but not loose enough to get free. Maybe she should have left me harnessed to the bed. My stomach knotted as she strapped me back in-- sometimes knowing what other people feel about me hurts. Causing other people pain sucked.

Having the taste of bile in my throat wasn't helping either.

I felt the questions in her head. She was wondering what happened to me in the bathroom. She was pretty damn close to being right. Confirming her suspicions would only make her feel more responsible for me and hurt her more than she was hurting now. I closed my eyes. Please, don't ask.

She buckled the other side, but before she left, she squeezed my hand. There was kind of a finality to her closing the door. I couldn't expect help. Facing Shackleton was going to happen. I couldn't give him power over me. I decided to try some of that self-hypnosis clap-trap Peter and Sid had both used on me. Breath slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Imagine some place safe and peaceful.

I tried to think of an oasis. Only one place where I felt safe. Like in all those corny country music songs, I only felt safe in the arms of the one I loved.

I rested my aching eyes and slept. Keep me safe, Sid.

-----------------------------

I lost track of time again after that day. I don't know how much blood I donated. A haze descended over me. The world became cramped and tight.

Finally, time became separated again, and I could string thoughts together. It was the serum; they were building me up to take me down. I had nothing to think on but my situation so I decided to spin 'what ifs' through my mind. It seemed preferable to staring at bumpy white walls and dwelling on how hard the bed was. I'd live a few moments in the past-- think of what was, and what wasn't. Like Frankie, "regrets, I'd had a few."

If only I'd been brave enough to face what I was years ago.

If only.

Maybe regretting the wasted time and the life I could have had with Sid wasn't constructive but self pity was preferable to thinking about Shackleton.

I sighed. Now, it was possible I'd never get a chance to "travel each and every by way" like in Frank Sinatra's song. Frankie and Sid. God, I remembered Sid's first kiss to "Strangers in the Night."

I intentionally ignored all Sid's hints years ago. Soft smiles. Light touches. Aching to win me, watching my shows-- always approving and forgiving. Like the night I soaked him in beer. I tripped over this amp cord, and fell, splat, off stage on to his table. Glass and bottles everywhere, drenching poor designated driver Sid in beer. Of course, bad luck reigned; we got pulled over by the police that night-- the officers hauled him in. When he said, "Someone spilled beer on me," (not even looking at me) they laughed in his face. In the station he blew a 0.00 on the breath-o-lizer. The arresting officers were flabbergasted that he'd told the truth.

Then there was that night two years ago college preppies taunted him in between sets at Mac's Place. They threw cold fries and squirted Hunt's ketchup from those cheap red plastic bottles at him. Called him "faggot" and asked him how many dicks he sucked a week. Instead of sticking up for him, I left the table when they asked if he sucked mine. I still hated myself for that, leaving him that way. I hurt him that night. It took me years later to realize getting up and walking away that night hurt me more.

Now, I hurt just recalling him. It was bittersweet thinking of his biting kisses and the hollow of his throat. I anguished over Trent's promise to keep Sid safe. I'd given up all hope of Peter showing up and saving me. I'd waited days for him to reappear. Nothing.

In the midst of my daydreams, I heard the door open and my heart pounded like it did every time, thinking Shackleton would come through the door. Instead, Peter waltzed through the door alone. No Angela. No tag-a-longs.

"I feel right at home here." He sat on the edge of my bed, patting my knee. "You're dressed like all my regulars."

"Yeah," I frowned. Couldn't he do better than a nudist camp joke? "Not my choice of attire, I'm afraid. Sheets, and its not even a toga. Not really my color either." I kicked at them with my feet.

"I suppose you know why I'm here..."

"Well, I was hoping I read you right," he said. "But I was beginning to think I was wrong."

"Getting someone out of this place unnoticed isn't an easy task, dressed as you are does raise some complications. Not a big problem-- I've got that covered. The main stumbling block was Trent-- took me forever to get him out of the way. I managed to send him off on a mission today. Now's the time. We may not get another chance."

"You mean right now?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not this second. I have a few distractions to create yet."

I frowned, Trent not being around also gave Shackleton the run of the place. I hoped he was on Deal's list of distractions.

"You sure you can't get me out of here now?"

"This isn't Hidden Hills. Walking out of here in your birthday suit no matter how cute your ass is, isn't going to cut it."

I blushed. He gave me one of his crooked grins. He started to stand.

"I'll be back with some clothes. For now, listen to me. Can you get dressed if I leave the clothes with you?"

"Yeah, I can manage. They pumped me up with that serum earlier."

"I have to disable the video in the main hall and the stairwell. I only have a small window of time without raising much suspicion. There will be a closet unlocked in the hallway. Go in it and hide until I come back. It wouldn't take more than ten minutes. I'll come get you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll be as fast as possible."

He looked down at me and sighed.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

He shrugged and thrust his hands in his pockets.

"I owe this to Sid. For some reason he thinks you're the most important person on earth, and since I think he's pretty damn important too, I want to see him happy. Then there's Glenda who happens to love you. And I didn't have anything going this week-- kind of dead at the old nudist camp."

"Thanks. This can't be easy going against the Community."

"I don't owe the Community my loyalty. And don't thank me yet. Wait until you're out of here."

-----------------------------

I couldn't sleep-- not even if I downed four bottles of Nyquil or a handful of sleeping pills.

I waited. And counted. Not sheep. I didn't count the wrinkles in the sheets either. I thought of counting all the men Lynn fucked that I knew, but I was hoping that Peter wouldn't be that long. Instead I counted kisses. True-- a dorky time filler, but I was a dork afterall.

I began by compartmentalizing kisses. Some had subtle differences-- Mom's comfort kisses for skinned knees were awfully close to her so-sorry-your-girlfriend-dropped-you kisses. And how do you define some of them? Shit, the way Sid sucks a tongue should be sold like Viagra.

I stared at the white ceiling, counting Mrs. Robert's kiss on graduation day. How do I categorize that? I remembered her peck, light on my cheek as my knuckles turned white gripping my mortar board. She thanked me for being her number one poet in her Creative Writing.

As I spackled in the pits in the ceiling above with my brain, I silently thanked her back.

I counted all Sid's kisses-- bruising and soft. Kind and hard. And I counted on being able to steal countless more from his lips-- if only Peter would show up soon and get me out of here.

I was counting grandma kisses when the door opened.

Finally I was getting out of here.

Then Shackleton stepped in. My eye started to twitch-- fucking nervous spasm. Always happens when I got stressed and tired.

He braced the old wooden chair under the door knob and turned, facing me. I closed my eyes and counted, but not kisses. Instead I counted to get myself under control. I had to go to a safe place and stay calm. I imagined Sid-- his hands massaging my temples, pulling me close.

Relax. Relax.

Eye, stop twitching.

I heard Shackleton's feet scraping across the floor. Closer and closer.

"Open your eyes. Don't you want to see your next fuck?" I felt the sheet move, then he picked it up and flung it off me.

I opened my eyes, staring at him hard. His eyes scraped over my body like jagged glass.

"We can't have this," he said, tugging at the catheter.

"Fuck, that hurts, you ass hole," I yelped as he yanked it out. He ripped the bag off taped my leg and threw across the room. Urine splattered out of the tubing all over the sheet and the crotch of his pants.

"Scream. Yell," he taunted. "Call out to your buddy, Trent. No one will come. They're all staying away. They don't care. It's just you and me Wes. Time to get acquainted..." He pulled the familiar syringe out of his pocket. "Want a fix?"

"Sure," I answered.

He frowned. He didn't expect that answer from me, but reverse psychology didn't work. He plunged the needle into my IV anyway, rubbing my wrist with his thumb. My stomach lurched. Then in an instant I felt euphoric. That damn serum.

I looked at my pee on his nice pressed slacks and laughed.

"Piss on you! That's all your getting outta my dick." He looked into my eyes, face turning red. That worked-- not my comment, but my hysterical mocking laughter. Didn't matter that I forced it. My eye twitched, and he smirked. In an instant he jumped on the bed, knee slamming my chest and knocking the wind out of me. His ankle rubbed against my cock--

Fucking roses. I was hard. Not good.

One of his hands clutched my throat. Not tight enough to cut off my wind, but tight enough to make me dizzy. At least I couldn't vomit if he was strangling me.

Talk. Quick, while I still could.

"What's the matter?" I rasped. "Can't get it up? This is a chronic problem for you, isn't it? Hey, Sid knows this herbalist... " his hand crushed my throat, and he dug his knee into in my sternum. Fuck that hurt.

"I don't have a problem," he hissed.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, happens to a lot of people. I heard eating too much red meat causes impotence. How much do you eat? Maybe you should cut down. Or maybe take a little ginseng and you might be able to get it up-- if you're lucky," I choked, trying my best to giggle. It was working.

He let go of my neck and clamped his hand over my mouth.

Now would be a good time for Deal to come back.

He started unfastening his jeans with his other hand. This wasn't going well.

Shit.

He moved his knee from off my chest and slid down, shoving it between my legs. He took his hand off my mouth. I only had one shot.

"Pretty pathetic that you can only get your rocks off messing with someone who can't fight back. What sport is there in that?"

His eyes narrowed, then the corner of his mouth raised. His hands went for the straps on my right hand.

"I wanted to flip you over anyway."

I kept silent. I didn't want to do anything that would make him change his mind about freeing my wrists.

Right hand free. Then the left.

I reached up to grab him, but his upper body spun me over with out much of a fight on my part. He body slammed himself on top of my back, wrestling with my hands and pressing my face hard into the mattress.

He told me once, life for him was flat without pain. Maybe it was time to make his world round again.

As his hand covered my mouth and nose, I sunk my teeth into his hand, and I gagged as his blood filled my mouth.

His body crushed me; I gasped for breath. What crushed wasn't the weight of his body, but the weight of his nature. Like some dense black hole, his specter sucked me in. He struggled to get hold of my hands and wedge them behind my back. I squirmed, twisted, kicked and bit. Desperate, I reached both of my hands in back of my head for his face-- this had to work. My thumbs blindly felt for his eye sockets, then feeling his lids, I dug both of my thumbs in. White hot wires seared from my brain to my spine, and I willed myself to push the pain I felt into him. The resistance my thumbs met was more than his flesh and blood. There was a dank pit in Shackleton. Now I filled it with every raw nerve ending I could seduce. In through my thumbs, I stabbed my pain into him.

Take that, you sick fuck.

He screamed. He shrieked. The man who'd forgotten pain now remembered what he hadn't felt in over one-hundred years, repayment for all the suffering he'd inflicted on others.

His hands flew to his eyes. I shoved him as hard as I could, and I jumped off the bed, legs wobbling. I looked back to see him on the floor, clawing at his eyes.

I ran for the door.

As I kicked the chair aside, my toe cracked. I knew I broke it, but I felt no pain. I wondered if I transferred his inability to feel to me, but as I frantically tried unlocking the door, I felt it throb. I was never so relieved to feel pain in my life.