Fic: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep (24/?)
Nov. 30th, 2007 05:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep
Rating: NC-17 for descriptions of torture and death.
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: This is a nasty chapter. I thought long and hard about including it but it helps to explain why Dr. Perkins was willing to work so hard to bring Nick through his troubles.
Summary: Memories, like the colors of my mind.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
Alan’s memories of El Mozote are true. I took a lot of his words from this article The story the rebel tells him is not part of the article but bits and pieces I found during research on torture in 3rd world countries.
Nick looked around his room and was really surprised at how happy he was to be back in a familiar place. Alan had pushed him into his room and told him to stay put. He was sending someone in to help him with a shower, shave and clean sleep gear. He had some catch-up calls he needed to clear with Marie and then they would have breakfast together.
Nick had intended to take care of his personal grooming by himself but was surprised to find he was really woozy when he tried to stand up. What ever Alan had injected into him when he woke up was powerful stuff in an upright position; sitting or lying down was fine. He decided there was a time to be stubborn and a time to sit back and accept a little help; this was definitely the latter.
He was glad he was sitting down when his door opened and Charles walked in, followed by one of the new orderlies they were training. Charles looked horrible; he had bruises all over his face, his right arm was bandaged from the armpit clear down to his elbow and he had it in a sling.
Nick’s mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my God, did I do that to you?”
“It’s quite all right Nick; you were asleep and caught in the throes of a terrible nightmare. I know you would never hurt me if you were awake and aware of what you were doing. Now, I can’t help you myself because I can’t get my stitches wet but this is a perfect opportunity to assist you and train Russell at the same time.”
It took longer with three of them in the bathroom but even Nick was impressed with the competent way Charles oversaw the young man. They managed to remove his clothing with no embarrassment to him at all. The trick was to remove everything from the waist up and then drape a towel across his groin area while removing his lower garments. Charles manipulated that towel like a professional matador draping his cape across the bull’s horns. Nick was maneuvered into the shower chair so skillfully, the towel never slipped nor even shifted.
Russell shampooed his hair then washed his upper body and his legs from the thighs down. Then after carefully rinsing everything off, he handed Nick the body sponge and he and Charles casually turned away and laid out his shaving equipment while Nick washed his groin. He took the hand attachment and carefully rinsed himself then told the two men he was ready to get out. Russell moved a little closer to Nick and laid a strong arm across his chest letting Nick use it as a lever to get to his feet. He was enveloped in a large warm towel and carefully moved over to the waiting wheel chair. He was rolled back into his room, moved into the comfortable easy chair where Russell gave him a really professional shave. Then he was dressed, again with no uncomfortable exposure. When Charles handed him the menu to select his breakfast, he was feeling human again at least until he realized the menu was in Charles left hand because the right one was too weak to hold a simple cardboard menu.
He marked his selections, handed the menu to Russell, thanked him and told him either he was a natural or Charles was a ‘killer’ trainer. Russell gave him a blinding smile and said, “My uncle has been my teacher since I lost my dad when I was ten. I’m going to be a doctor and Uncle Charles figures this will be good training in what it’s like from the patients perspective.” Nick just laughed out loud and said, “It figures. I should have known when you did everything exactly the way he does. You’re going to be a great doctor and I’ll bet your bedside manner will be something to write home about.”
They were all laughing when Alan tapped on the door and walked into the room.
* * * * * * * * * *
Breakfast was over, dishes removed and both men were sitting comfortably across from each other. Alan asked Nick if he was ready to talk about the night before.
I’m sure by now, you’ve all realized that Alan can be a real bastard when he wants to be. He sent Charles in to care for Nick on purpose. He knew seeing what he had done to him would automatically put Nick at a disadvantage and he was going to use it. Alan was determined to get to the bottom of Nick’s rages and abrupt changes in personality. I think I mentioned once before that Alan didn’t have a psychic bone in his body BUT he did have an extra sense where some of his patients were concerned. Not all of them but some and Nick Stokes was setting off that warning signal and had it blaring in his head like a fire alarm. He knew, somewhere in that dream, were clues to Nick’s problems. Like all good hunters, when Alan picked up the scent, he had to follow it to the end.
“By the way, what do you think of Russell?”
“I think he’s going to be a top notch doctor and a tribute to his Uncle Charles.”
“Yeah, we all feel the same way. He’s been a pet of the clinic ever since Charles started working with us. Charles should have been a doctor too but when his brother was killed, he gave up his dreams for his nephew. It’s been our gain. He came to us because we gave him any hours he needed so he could always be there when Russell needed him. Russ practically grew up here in the clinic. He was so petted and pampered by the patients and staff, the only thing keeping him from turning into the worlds worst spoiled brat was his own sweet disposition.”
“Now, start with the hour before you went to sleep. Tell me everything you did.”
Nick thought for a minute then told him about talking to his folks and then Bobby and Steve. By now he had the routine down and he knew that Alan wanted every single detail that seemed odd or unusual so he mentioned the strange feeling he’d had that they didn’t seem to be happy to hear from him but he said, by the end of the conversation everything was same old, same old. He went through his conversation with Catherine. When he started talking about calling Greg, he seemed hesitant for the first time. He told him how they had started out joking but he got too personal and Greg told him he didn’t want to talk about them without Alan there as moderator.
He said Greg seemed to be excited about them doing the couple sessions and then they talked about Rob and he told Greg Rob was coming to see him and how good he was with Brady…..
Nick stopped talking. Alan waited then asked, “What happened then?”
“Greg lied to me. I asked him if he was coming to see me today and he said he couldn’t, he had a routine dental checkup.”
“What makes you think Greg was lying?”
“Greg had his six month checkup just before we broke up but even without that, I can always tell when he’s lying to me. There’s just something about the way his voice hesitates and if he’d been here, he wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I knew he wasn’t looking at the phone while he was talking.”
“Why do you think he was lying; I mean, what was his reason?”
“I don’t know. Bobby says he’s not seeing anyone new. With this teen gang war situation, no one has time for a personal life. According to Bobby and Steve, the only person Greg is seeing outside of work is them and his new friend Annabelle; but what if he was lying because he just doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore. Alan, what if he’s afraid of me or is disgusted by what he saw when they took me out of that club. I don’t know if I could stand either of those things. I know I can live with him deciding he doesn’t want to be with me anymore because he doesn’t love me. That’s something that could happen to anyone but I don’t think I could live if I saw fear or disgust in his eyes when he looks at me. Maybe that’s why he won’t come see me. He knows he couldn’t hide it from me.”
Alan could see the pain on Nick’s face and he could hear it in his voice. He did not want Nick to slip into a depression again; he needed him focused on last night.
“What did you do when he told you he couldn’t come? Did you get angry with him? Did you yell at him or call him names?
“God no! I told him I hoped I’d see him the next day and we hung up. I prayed like I do every night that he won’t find someone new until I have a chance to tell him how sorry I am for everything that did and didn’t happen between us.”
Alan filed the ‘didn’t happen’ remark away for future reference. “Alright, let’s continue. Was that the last call of the night?”
“Yes, I took a couple of Tylenol; I’d added 5 lbs to my weights and I was feeling it, turned out the lights and went to sleep.”
“Do you have any idea when the dream started?”
“It seemed like it was as soon as I closed my eyes but I never can figure time in a dream. It went on forever. It was like being tortured for a lifetime and then being told that was just the first 5 minutes of eternity and that’s the way it was going to be forever.”
Alan knew the next part was not going to be easy for either of them. “Nick, I want you to start your breathing; just like we’ve practiced. Relax and take a deep breath in through your nose filling your lungs completely from the bottom up.”
Nick was so used to the routine by now; it was almost like hypnosis. He automatically relaxed his posture, letting his hands lay loosely on the chair arms. He began taking deep breaths, deliberately pushing his stomach out so he could get as much air in as possible. When his lungs were so full they almost ached, he held his breath for a count of 10 then exhaled through his mouth pushing the air out by sucking in his stomach. He did this for 10 breaths and then began to breath easily but deeper than he normally did.
“Now, you have a picture inside your head. You have a projector that will show that picture on the inside of your eyelids. You are in complete control at all times. You control the projector. You control the starting and the stopping of the picture. It’s not a pleasant picture but it can’t hurt you because you control it. When you are ready, start the projector and tell me everything you see. If you see something that disturbs you, you can stop the projector for a few seconds or you can slow it down but you are going to play the picture through to the end and describe every single frame to me.”
Nick sat there for almost a minute; then began talking in a slow, dreamy voice.
* * * * * * * * * *
A long time later, he stopped talking and just sat, waiting for Alan to either tell him he could turn off the projector or ask him to rerun part of the film for him. He was used to this by now. Sometimes he wondered at Alan’s choice of entertainment. He didn’t always, let’s face it, he had not really enjoyed any of the pictures Alan wanted to see but he always ran them for him and reported every frame completely. Alan always thanked him and praised him for his eye for detail. He tried to learn from any new experience and he was pretty sure this was going to help him investigate a crime scene if/when he ever got to go back to work again. He had learned to see so much by having to describe everything to another party.
Alan knew Nick was sitting there waiting for him to release him from his semi-hypnotized state. He knew it but he was trying to assimilate what Nick had just told him. The dream was much worse than he had imagined and the thing that worried him the most was Nick’s description of the barbs that seemed to be coming out of Warrick’s penis just before he violated Greg. Logic told him that was from the experience at the club. Alan had not seen that instrument himself but Steve had described it in detail and it awoke memories that Alan never wanted to relive.
* * * * * * * * * *
When he was twenty-six, he was a starry-eyed dreamer out to change the world. He was for justice for every man and the truth will always prevail. He got the chance of a lifetime; a job as assistant to a photojournalist named Susan Meiselas. Susan was going to EL MOZOTE, El Salvadore with Raymond Bonner, a reporter for the Washington Post. They were investigating rumors of a grisly massacre.
It was shortly before Christmas in 1981 that soldiers from the elite American-trained Atlacatl Battalion conducted a search-and-destroy operation around El Mozote. A few days after they entered the area, the guerrillas' clandestine radio station began to broadcast reports of a massacre of civilians in the area. Reporters started pushing the guerrillas, officially called the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front, for proof.
In early January of 1982, Bonner and Meiselas were given permission to go with a rebel force on a behind-the-lines tour of the area. "There isn’t a reporter in El Salvador who doesn’t want to be where we are right now," Bonner said during lunch just before they set off on a long walk through Morazan province, a guerrilla stronghold.
Even now, after all these years, Alan’s memory can take him back to the hot, humid jungle-like place and time where the rose-colored glasses were forcibly removed from his eyes. He remembered fording a river, carrying Susan’s camera’s in a water-proof box on top of his head. She told him if a crocodile tried to eat him, he was to make sure he threw the box hard enough to land on the bank. He didn’t think she was kidding. The moon was full and so beautiful. Nothing bad could happen under a moon like that.
They arrived at El Mozote; a haunted village. Nothing moved. There was a plaza with a number of ruined, burned out homes. There was total silence. The scene was so horrible, even the ghosts were quiet. In the ruins were charred skulls and bones of dozens of bodies. In what had once been a white-washed church he saw countless bits of bones -- skulls, rib cages, femurs, a spinal column -- poking out of the rubble. There were more bodies along the trail leading into the village and at the edge of a nearby cornfield, including bodies of women and children.
When Bonner talked with the local peasants, the numbers reported were staggering. They gave the reporter a list of 733 names, mostly children, women, and old people, who they said had been murdered by government soldiers. The lead paragraph of Bonner’s January 27 article read: "From interviews with people who live in this small mountain village and surrounding hamlets, it is clear that a massacre of major proportions occurred here last month," and the piece went on to cite a great deal of circumstantial evidence tying the killings to the army.
Alan had been a great favorite with the rebel forces who were serving as their guides. He was American, young and very impressionable. They took great delight in teaching the young gringo the facts of life in a country ripped apart by civil war.
One night the soldiers were getting totally bombed on the local brew, Alan couldn’t even pronounce what they called it but he was sure they could use it to power their vehicles if they ever ran out of gas. In fact, he was pretty sure they would be better off it they drank the gas and poured the ‘brew’ in the trucks and jeeps.
They weren’t quite as hardened as they tried to make out. All of them had felt the ghosts of El Mozote but as men will do, they talked loud and tried to outdo each other telling horror stories to prove they weren’t affected by the smells and sights of death.
One of the older men, who had some of the strangest scars on his face Alan had ever seen, suddenly started talking. His voice was so soft at first; they all had to be quiet to hear him. He talked about being taken prisoner by the enemy. An enemy who had been trained by Americans who were carefully taught the art of torture by the CIA and graduates of "The School of Americas" in Benning, Georgia.
Alan never forgot what that soft spoken man said that horrible night that marked the end of his innocence. He talked about electrodes fastened to heavy duty commercial batteries and then inserted into prisoner’s rectums or fastened to their testicles. The women were not spared. For them, the wires were inserted in their vaginas or attached to their nipples. The soldier’s loved to get a pregnant woman. Alan could never bring himself to remember the description of the results of that exercise in depravity.
The man talked about the ‘pene de muerte’. The phrase roughly translates to ‘death penis’. It was almost beautiful if you didn’t know what it was used for. It was carved out of a dark, heavy wood into the replica of a man’s penis except the man would have had to be a giant from the days of the Titans or Goliath from the bible. The size alone would tear either a vagina or a rectum badly upon insertion but the ‘pene de muerte’ was even deadlier than it appeared at first glance. There was a tiny button or switch on the end of the instrument. The insertion was usually painful enough to cause unconsciousness but the torturers were considerate people. They would carefully revive the victim promising they would remove the object if only the prisoner would simply tell them what they wanted to know. Very few people kept quiet after than. When they had gotten what they wanted, they told the prisoner they were going to remove the object. They pressed the button and steel barbs sprung out of the ‘pene’ ripping and tearing the tender flesh as the disgusting thing was removed. Not many people lived to talk about their experience.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alan realized Nick was still waiting for him to speak. He tried to get the memories out of his head and concentrate on the young man waiting quietly for him. This one memory was the reason why Alan had put up with so much from Nick. When Bobby called him that night, he had no idea what was waiting for him. When he saw Nick’s torn, bleeding rectum he had a horrible feeling he knew what had been done and after talking with Steve, he realized his past had reached out and reminded him that he could put it behind him, but it would never go away.
When ever he got angry with Nick or disgusted or just plain sick of trying to cope with his mood and personality changes he remembered Steve trying to tell him about looking for the button to keep the barbs inside the thing stuck in Nick. Steve was crying, this big, strong ‘take on the world’ man broke down and cried before he finished. Then he went to the bathroom and threw up.
Alan would take every single piece of shit Nick could hand out as long as there was the slightest chance of helping him. The only thing Alan kept close to him from his experience all those years ago was the knowledge that it didn’t make any difference at all if you restored a body and left the mind so broken it could not function. He would not let Nick stay broken. He was going to fix him if it killed both of them.
He took a deep breath and said, “That was excellent work as usual Nick. You make me feel like I’m right there in the room. Please turn off the projector and lets’ talk about the movie.”
That was Nick’s signal to open his eyes and start working with Alan again. He waited for Alan’s first question.
“I didn’t realize Warrick was gay. Why have you never mentioned it before?”
“What makes you think Warrick’s gay? As far as I know, he’s as straight as a…..well he’s as straight as he thinks I am; which is pretty damn straight.”
“If Warrick is not gay, why was he having sex with Greg in your dream? Why wasn’t it Rob or even Bobby or Steve? Why did you conjure up a straight man to fuck your lover?”
Nick looked confused. He sat there thinking; why the heck had he put Warrick in the dream? By now, he realized that most of his disturbing dreams had connections to things that were actually going on in his real life. There had to be some reason but he just couldn’t think of one. He looked up at Alan and said, “I don’t know. You’re going to have to help me with this one.”
They began their back and forth; a technique they had developed at the start of Nick’s therapy when he was still fighting Alan every step of the way. Alan would ask him questions and he would answer but always with an evasion or a half truth. After several months, he began to realize the only thing he was doing was prolonging his stay at the clinic. If he wanted to get out of the place and back to his life, he needed to work with this man until his rage and his confusion were controllable. Now they used the technique for times like these when Nick could not make a connection. Alan asked him random questions about Warrick; had they every flirted the way he did with Greg? No. Had he ever had any sexual dreams about Warrick? Good God NO. The questions continued with the only ‘yes’ answer coming when Alan asked him how he knew what Warrick looked like nude. When Nick told him about the showers at work and the one’s at the gym, he asked him if he enjoyed looking at his friends naked body.
Nick said, yes he did but not in a sexual way. Warrick was a very handsome man and his build combined with his chocolate mocha skin and his green eyes made him a pleasure to look at. “It’s kinda like those statues you see in museums, you know? Looking at ‘Rick is kinda like that. He’s always been my back-up and I’m his. When I look at him, with or without clothes, I feel safe because I know if he’s there, he’s looking out for me.”
Alan changed directions and asked about the last conversation he’d had with Warrick. What did they talk about? Was there any tension between them? Nick shifted a little; just the barest movement and Alan was on it like a snake on a rat.
“What have you remembered Nick? What happened during your conversation with your friend?”
“’Rick’s gotten a divorce. He said he wished I was there, he could use some support. I felt so bad for him but I was a little mad too. He married this woman Tina at a drive through wedding chapel after I was kidnapped and buried. He sure as hell didn’t need my support then. Hell he didn’t even tell us; he waited until Catherine noticed his ring. But now he needs me to be there for him?”
HUM…there’s a lot of unresolved anger there. I wonder if Nick really does have feelings for Warrick and felt betrayed by the wedding. But still, that wouldn’t be a reason for him to put him in a dream with his lover. He’d be more likely to dream about him and ‘Rick together than ‘Rick and Greg. Okay, lets dig a little deeper.
“Was there anything else? That doesn’t seem to fit you picking him to violate your lover. What happened next?”
“I told him I was sorry I wasn’t there for him. I was mad but still, we’ve been through too damn much together to not support each other now. He said the only good thing that came out of me being gone was he and Greg had been getting to be friends.”
Alan almost quivered. HOT DAMN now we’re getting somewhere!!!
“Did that upset you?”
“No, not that but then he said Greg could never completely take my place because Greg just doesn’t like sports the way we do but he was fun to be with and he played a mean video game.”
Suddenly Nick fell silent, just staring at Alan, his eyes getting bigger and bigger.
“What Nick? What have you remembered?”
“He said the home cooked meals were just the frosting on the cake.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Alan was remembering the last dinner he’d eaten in Greg’s beautifully decorated apartment. Bobby and Steve, Greg and Annabelle, Rob and Warrick and he and Marie had been the dinner guests and Greg had fed them until they were laughing about having to hire someone to roll them down to their cars.
“Greg cooking? Give me a break, the kid can just barely boil water for those freaking noodles he eats all the time and anyone trying to eat anything in that shit-hole he calls home would probably get ptomaine.”
Alan realized for the very first time that Greg had never told Nick about his adventures in decorating or the cooking lessons Annabelle had been giving him. He didn’t know about Mr. Emerson and the table and mirror that started Greg on his life long journey of self-improvement. Well, well, well! Wasn’t that special?
“You found this statement disturbing Nick?”
“It wasn’t disturbing. It was like Greg telling me he was going to the dentist. It was a god-damned lie. Why would he lie to me like that? What good would it do him? It wasn’t a half-truth or an evasion; it was a fucking lie. The son-of-a-bitch! I’m away trying to take care of my family and that bastard is fucking my boy-friend and of course Greg would just love that. That big, black dick would make him cream his drawers. GOD DAMN THEM!”
Alan looked at the man sitting across from him and felt like he should ask for an introduction. This was not his patient. This was the contemptuous, sarcastic, cruel bastard who’d laughed at pulling the wool over his co-workers eyes, the man who’d told Greg he wouldn’t get involved with him on a one-night-stand basis and then kept him dangling on a string having to wait for him to let him in the house he called ‘theirs’. This was the son-of-a-bitch who raped the young man Alan had become so fond of. Finally, here he was and Alan was ready for him. What was it Bobby always said? Oh yeah, “Hello Mr. Stokes. Let’s you and me have a come-to-Jesus-meeting. Right now!”
Rating: NC-17 for descriptions of torture and death.
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: This is a nasty chapter. I thought long and hard about including it but it helps to explain why Dr. Perkins was willing to work so hard to bring Nick through his troubles.
Summary: Memories, like the colors of my mind.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
Alan’s memories of El Mozote are true. I took a lot of his words from this article The story the rebel tells him is not part of the article but bits and pieces I found during research on torture in 3rd world countries.
Nick looked around his room and was really surprised at how happy he was to be back in a familiar place. Alan had pushed him into his room and told him to stay put. He was sending someone in to help him with a shower, shave and clean sleep gear. He had some catch-up calls he needed to clear with Marie and then they would have breakfast together.
Nick had intended to take care of his personal grooming by himself but was surprised to find he was really woozy when he tried to stand up. What ever Alan had injected into him when he woke up was powerful stuff in an upright position; sitting or lying down was fine. He decided there was a time to be stubborn and a time to sit back and accept a little help; this was definitely the latter.
He was glad he was sitting down when his door opened and Charles walked in, followed by one of the new orderlies they were training. Charles looked horrible; he had bruises all over his face, his right arm was bandaged from the armpit clear down to his elbow and he had it in a sling.
Nick’s mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my God, did I do that to you?”
“It’s quite all right Nick; you were asleep and caught in the throes of a terrible nightmare. I know you would never hurt me if you were awake and aware of what you were doing. Now, I can’t help you myself because I can’t get my stitches wet but this is a perfect opportunity to assist you and train Russell at the same time.”
It took longer with three of them in the bathroom but even Nick was impressed with the competent way Charles oversaw the young man. They managed to remove his clothing with no embarrassment to him at all. The trick was to remove everything from the waist up and then drape a towel across his groin area while removing his lower garments. Charles manipulated that towel like a professional matador draping his cape across the bull’s horns. Nick was maneuvered into the shower chair so skillfully, the towel never slipped nor even shifted.
Russell shampooed his hair then washed his upper body and his legs from the thighs down. Then after carefully rinsing everything off, he handed Nick the body sponge and he and Charles casually turned away and laid out his shaving equipment while Nick washed his groin. He took the hand attachment and carefully rinsed himself then told the two men he was ready to get out. Russell moved a little closer to Nick and laid a strong arm across his chest letting Nick use it as a lever to get to his feet. He was enveloped in a large warm towel and carefully moved over to the waiting wheel chair. He was rolled back into his room, moved into the comfortable easy chair where Russell gave him a really professional shave. Then he was dressed, again with no uncomfortable exposure. When Charles handed him the menu to select his breakfast, he was feeling human again at least until he realized the menu was in Charles left hand because the right one was too weak to hold a simple cardboard menu.
He marked his selections, handed the menu to Russell, thanked him and told him either he was a natural or Charles was a ‘killer’ trainer. Russell gave him a blinding smile and said, “My uncle has been my teacher since I lost my dad when I was ten. I’m going to be a doctor and Uncle Charles figures this will be good training in what it’s like from the patients perspective.” Nick just laughed out loud and said, “It figures. I should have known when you did everything exactly the way he does. You’re going to be a great doctor and I’ll bet your bedside manner will be something to write home about.”
They were all laughing when Alan tapped on the door and walked into the room.
* * * * * * * * * *
Breakfast was over, dishes removed and both men were sitting comfortably across from each other. Alan asked Nick if he was ready to talk about the night before.
I’m sure by now, you’ve all realized that Alan can be a real bastard when he wants to be. He sent Charles in to care for Nick on purpose. He knew seeing what he had done to him would automatically put Nick at a disadvantage and he was going to use it. Alan was determined to get to the bottom of Nick’s rages and abrupt changes in personality. I think I mentioned once before that Alan didn’t have a psychic bone in his body BUT he did have an extra sense where some of his patients were concerned. Not all of them but some and Nick Stokes was setting off that warning signal and had it blaring in his head like a fire alarm. He knew, somewhere in that dream, were clues to Nick’s problems. Like all good hunters, when Alan picked up the scent, he had to follow it to the end.
“By the way, what do you think of Russell?”
“I think he’s going to be a top notch doctor and a tribute to his Uncle Charles.”
“Yeah, we all feel the same way. He’s been a pet of the clinic ever since Charles started working with us. Charles should have been a doctor too but when his brother was killed, he gave up his dreams for his nephew. It’s been our gain. He came to us because we gave him any hours he needed so he could always be there when Russell needed him. Russ practically grew up here in the clinic. He was so petted and pampered by the patients and staff, the only thing keeping him from turning into the worlds worst spoiled brat was his own sweet disposition.”
“Now, start with the hour before you went to sleep. Tell me everything you did.”
Nick thought for a minute then told him about talking to his folks and then Bobby and Steve. By now he had the routine down and he knew that Alan wanted every single detail that seemed odd or unusual so he mentioned the strange feeling he’d had that they didn’t seem to be happy to hear from him but he said, by the end of the conversation everything was same old, same old. He went through his conversation with Catherine. When he started talking about calling Greg, he seemed hesitant for the first time. He told him how they had started out joking but he got too personal and Greg told him he didn’t want to talk about them without Alan there as moderator.
He said Greg seemed to be excited about them doing the couple sessions and then they talked about Rob and he told Greg Rob was coming to see him and how good he was with Brady…..
Nick stopped talking. Alan waited then asked, “What happened then?”
“Greg lied to me. I asked him if he was coming to see me today and he said he couldn’t, he had a routine dental checkup.”
“What makes you think Greg was lying?”
“Greg had his six month checkup just before we broke up but even without that, I can always tell when he’s lying to me. There’s just something about the way his voice hesitates and if he’d been here, he wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I knew he wasn’t looking at the phone while he was talking.”
“Why do you think he was lying; I mean, what was his reason?”
“I don’t know. Bobby says he’s not seeing anyone new. With this teen gang war situation, no one has time for a personal life. According to Bobby and Steve, the only person Greg is seeing outside of work is them and his new friend Annabelle; but what if he was lying because he just doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore. Alan, what if he’s afraid of me or is disgusted by what he saw when they took me out of that club. I don’t know if I could stand either of those things. I know I can live with him deciding he doesn’t want to be with me anymore because he doesn’t love me. That’s something that could happen to anyone but I don’t think I could live if I saw fear or disgust in his eyes when he looks at me. Maybe that’s why he won’t come see me. He knows he couldn’t hide it from me.”
Alan could see the pain on Nick’s face and he could hear it in his voice. He did not want Nick to slip into a depression again; he needed him focused on last night.
“What did you do when he told you he couldn’t come? Did you get angry with him? Did you yell at him or call him names?
“God no! I told him I hoped I’d see him the next day and we hung up. I prayed like I do every night that he won’t find someone new until I have a chance to tell him how sorry I am for everything that did and didn’t happen between us.”
Alan filed the ‘didn’t happen’ remark away for future reference. “Alright, let’s continue. Was that the last call of the night?”
“Yes, I took a couple of Tylenol; I’d added 5 lbs to my weights and I was feeling it, turned out the lights and went to sleep.”
“Do you have any idea when the dream started?”
“It seemed like it was as soon as I closed my eyes but I never can figure time in a dream. It went on forever. It was like being tortured for a lifetime and then being told that was just the first 5 minutes of eternity and that’s the way it was going to be forever.”
Alan knew the next part was not going to be easy for either of them. “Nick, I want you to start your breathing; just like we’ve practiced. Relax and take a deep breath in through your nose filling your lungs completely from the bottom up.”
Nick was so used to the routine by now; it was almost like hypnosis. He automatically relaxed his posture, letting his hands lay loosely on the chair arms. He began taking deep breaths, deliberately pushing his stomach out so he could get as much air in as possible. When his lungs were so full they almost ached, he held his breath for a count of 10 then exhaled through his mouth pushing the air out by sucking in his stomach. He did this for 10 breaths and then began to breath easily but deeper than he normally did.
“Now, you have a picture inside your head. You have a projector that will show that picture on the inside of your eyelids. You are in complete control at all times. You control the projector. You control the starting and the stopping of the picture. It’s not a pleasant picture but it can’t hurt you because you control it. When you are ready, start the projector and tell me everything you see. If you see something that disturbs you, you can stop the projector for a few seconds or you can slow it down but you are going to play the picture through to the end and describe every single frame to me.”
Nick sat there for almost a minute; then began talking in a slow, dreamy voice.
* * * * * * * * * *
A long time later, he stopped talking and just sat, waiting for Alan to either tell him he could turn off the projector or ask him to rerun part of the film for him. He was used to this by now. Sometimes he wondered at Alan’s choice of entertainment. He didn’t always, let’s face it, he had not really enjoyed any of the pictures Alan wanted to see but he always ran them for him and reported every frame completely. Alan always thanked him and praised him for his eye for detail. He tried to learn from any new experience and he was pretty sure this was going to help him investigate a crime scene if/when he ever got to go back to work again. He had learned to see so much by having to describe everything to another party.
Alan knew Nick was sitting there waiting for him to release him from his semi-hypnotized state. He knew it but he was trying to assimilate what Nick had just told him. The dream was much worse than he had imagined and the thing that worried him the most was Nick’s description of the barbs that seemed to be coming out of Warrick’s penis just before he violated Greg. Logic told him that was from the experience at the club. Alan had not seen that instrument himself but Steve had described it in detail and it awoke memories that Alan never wanted to relive.
* * * * * * * * * *
When he was twenty-six, he was a starry-eyed dreamer out to change the world. He was for justice for every man and the truth will always prevail. He got the chance of a lifetime; a job as assistant to a photojournalist named Susan Meiselas. Susan was going to EL MOZOTE, El Salvadore with Raymond Bonner, a reporter for the Washington Post. They were investigating rumors of a grisly massacre.
It was shortly before Christmas in 1981 that soldiers from the elite American-trained Atlacatl Battalion conducted a search-and-destroy operation around El Mozote. A few days after they entered the area, the guerrillas' clandestine radio station began to broadcast reports of a massacre of civilians in the area. Reporters started pushing the guerrillas, officially called the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front, for proof.
In early January of 1982, Bonner and Meiselas were given permission to go with a rebel force on a behind-the-lines tour of the area. "There isn’t a reporter in El Salvador who doesn’t want to be where we are right now," Bonner said during lunch just before they set off on a long walk through Morazan province, a guerrilla stronghold.
Even now, after all these years, Alan’s memory can take him back to the hot, humid jungle-like place and time where the rose-colored glasses were forcibly removed from his eyes. He remembered fording a river, carrying Susan’s camera’s in a water-proof box on top of his head. She told him if a crocodile tried to eat him, he was to make sure he threw the box hard enough to land on the bank. He didn’t think she was kidding. The moon was full and so beautiful. Nothing bad could happen under a moon like that.
They arrived at El Mozote; a haunted village. Nothing moved. There was a plaza with a number of ruined, burned out homes. There was total silence. The scene was so horrible, even the ghosts were quiet. In the ruins were charred skulls and bones of dozens of bodies. In what had once been a white-washed church he saw countless bits of bones -- skulls, rib cages, femurs, a spinal column -- poking out of the rubble. There were more bodies along the trail leading into the village and at the edge of a nearby cornfield, including bodies of women and children.
When Bonner talked with the local peasants, the numbers reported were staggering. They gave the reporter a list of 733 names, mostly children, women, and old people, who they said had been murdered by government soldiers. The lead paragraph of Bonner’s January 27 article read: "From interviews with people who live in this small mountain village and surrounding hamlets, it is clear that a massacre of major proportions occurred here last month," and the piece went on to cite a great deal of circumstantial evidence tying the killings to the army.
Alan had been a great favorite with the rebel forces who were serving as their guides. He was American, young and very impressionable. They took great delight in teaching the young gringo the facts of life in a country ripped apart by civil war.
One night the soldiers were getting totally bombed on the local brew, Alan couldn’t even pronounce what they called it but he was sure they could use it to power their vehicles if they ever ran out of gas. In fact, he was pretty sure they would be better off it they drank the gas and poured the ‘brew’ in the trucks and jeeps.
They weren’t quite as hardened as they tried to make out. All of them had felt the ghosts of El Mozote but as men will do, they talked loud and tried to outdo each other telling horror stories to prove they weren’t affected by the smells and sights of death.
One of the older men, who had some of the strangest scars on his face Alan had ever seen, suddenly started talking. His voice was so soft at first; they all had to be quiet to hear him. He talked about being taken prisoner by the enemy. An enemy who had been trained by Americans who were carefully taught the art of torture by the CIA and graduates of "The School of Americas" in Benning, Georgia.
Alan never forgot what that soft spoken man said that horrible night that marked the end of his innocence. He talked about electrodes fastened to heavy duty commercial batteries and then inserted into prisoner’s rectums or fastened to their testicles. The women were not spared. For them, the wires were inserted in their vaginas or attached to their nipples. The soldier’s loved to get a pregnant woman. Alan could never bring himself to remember the description of the results of that exercise in depravity.
The man talked about the ‘pene de muerte’. The phrase roughly translates to ‘death penis’. It was almost beautiful if you didn’t know what it was used for. It was carved out of a dark, heavy wood into the replica of a man’s penis except the man would have had to be a giant from the days of the Titans or Goliath from the bible. The size alone would tear either a vagina or a rectum badly upon insertion but the ‘pene de muerte’ was even deadlier than it appeared at first glance. There was a tiny button or switch on the end of the instrument. The insertion was usually painful enough to cause unconsciousness but the torturers were considerate people. They would carefully revive the victim promising they would remove the object if only the prisoner would simply tell them what they wanted to know. Very few people kept quiet after than. When they had gotten what they wanted, they told the prisoner they were going to remove the object. They pressed the button and steel barbs sprung out of the ‘pene’ ripping and tearing the tender flesh as the disgusting thing was removed. Not many people lived to talk about their experience.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alan realized Nick was still waiting for him to speak. He tried to get the memories out of his head and concentrate on the young man waiting quietly for him. This one memory was the reason why Alan had put up with so much from Nick. When Bobby called him that night, he had no idea what was waiting for him. When he saw Nick’s torn, bleeding rectum he had a horrible feeling he knew what had been done and after talking with Steve, he realized his past had reached out and reminded him that he could put it behind him, but it would never go away.
When ever he got angry with Nick or disgusted or just plain sick of trying to cope with his mood and personality changes he remembered Steve trying to tell him about looking for the button to keep the barbs inside the thing stuck in Nick. Steve was crying, this big, strong ‘take on the world’ man broke down and cried before he finished. Then he went to the bathroom and threw up.
Alan would take every single piece of shit Nick could hand out as long as there was the slightest chance of helping him. The only thing Alan kept close to him from his experience all those years ago was the knowledge that it didn’t make any difference at all if you restored a body and left the mind so broken it could not function. He would not let Nick stay broken. He was going to fix him if it killed both of them.
He took a deep breath and said, “That was excellent work as usual Nick. You make me feel like I’m right there in the room. Please turn off the projector and lets’ talk about the movie.”
That was Nick’s signal to open his eyes and start working with Alan again. He waited for Alan’s first question.
“I didn’t realize Warrick was gay. Why have you never mentioned it before?”
“What makes you think Warrick’s gay? As far as I know, he’s as straight as a…..well he’s as straight as he thinks I am; which is pretty damn straight.”
“If Warrick is not gay, why was he having sex with Greg in your dream? Why wasn’t it Rob or even Bobby or Steve? Why did you conjure up a straight man to fuck your lover?”
Nick looked confused. He sat there thinking; why the heck had he put Warrick in the dream? By now, he realized that most of his disturbing dreams had connections to things that were actually going on in his real life. There had to be some reason but he just couldn’t think of one. He looked up at Alan and said, “I don’t know. You’re going to have to help me with this one.”
They began their back and forth; a technique they had developed at the start of Nick’s therapy when he was still fighting Alan every step of the way. Alan would ask him questions and he would answer but always with an evasion or a half truth. After several months, he began to realize the only thing he was doing was prolonging his stay at the clinic. If he wanted to get out of the place and back to his life, he needed to work with this man until his rage and his confusion were controllable. Now they used the technique for times like these when Nick could not make a connection. Alan asked him random questions about Warrick; had they every flirted the way he did with Greg? No. Had he ever had any sexual dreams about Warrick? Good God NO. The questions continued with the only ‘yes’ answer coming when Alan asked him how he knew what Warrick looked like nude. When Nick told him about the showers at work and the one’s at the gym, he asked him if he enjoyed looking at his friends naked body.
Nick said, yes he did but not in a sexual way. Warrick was a very handsome man and his build combined with his chocolate mocha skin and his green eyes made him a pleasure to look at. “It’s kinda like those statues you see in museums, you know? Looking at ‘Rick is kinda like that. He’s always been my back-up and I’m his. When I look at him, with or without clothes, I feel safe because I know if he’s there, he’s looking out for me.”
Alan changed directions and asked about the last conversation he’d had with Warrick. What did they talk about? Was there any tension between them? Nick shifted a little; just the barest movement and Alan was on it like a snake on a rat.
“What have you remembered Nick? What happened during your conversation with your friend?”
“’Rick’s gotten a divorce. He said he wished I was there, he could use some support. I felt so bad for him but I was a little mad too. He married this woman Tina at a drive through wedding chapel after I was kidnapped and buried. He sure as hell didn’t need my support then. Hell he didn’t even tell us; he waited until Catherine noticed his ring. But now he needs me to be there for him?”
HUM…there’s a lot of unresolved anger there. I wonder if Nick really does have feelings for Warrick and felt betrayed by the wedding. But still, that wouldn’t be a reason for him to put him in a dream with his lover. He’d be more likely to dream about him and ‘Rick together than ‘Rick and Greg. Okay, lets dig a little deeper.
“Was there anything else? That doesn’t seem to fit you picking him to violate your lover. What happened next?”
“I told him I was sorry I wasn’t there for him. I was mad but still, we’ve been through too damn much together to not support each other now. He said the only good thing that came out of me being gone was he and Greg had been getting to be friends.”
Alan almost quivered. HOT DAMN now we’re getting somewhere!!!
“Did that upset you?”
“No, not that but then he said Greg could never completely take my place because Greg just doesn’t like sports the way we do but he was fun to be with and he played a mean video game.”
Suddenly Nick fell silent, just staring at Alan, his eyes getting bigger and bigger.
“What Nick? What have you remembered?”
“He said the home cooked meals were just the frosting on the cake.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Alan was remembering the last dinner he’d eaten in Greg’s beautifully decorated apartment. Bobby and Steve, Greg and Annabelle, Rob and Warrick and he and Marie had been the dinner guests and Greg had fed them until they were laughing about having to hire someone to roll them down to their cars.
“Greg cooking? Give me a break, the kid can just barely boil water for those freaking noodles he eats all the time and anyone trying to eat anything in that shit-hole he calls home would probably get ptomaine.”
Alan realized for the very first time that Greg had never told Nick about his adventures in decorating or the cooking lessons Annabelle had been giving him. He didn’t know about Mr. Emerson and the table and mirror that started Greg on his life long journey of self-improvement. Well, well, well! Wasn’t that special?
“You found this statement disturbing Nick?”
“It wasn’t disturbing. It was like Greg telling me he was going to the dentist. It was a god-damned lie. Why would he lie to me like that? What good would it do him? It wasn’t a half-truth or an evasion; it was a fucking lie. The son-of-a-bitch! I’m away trying to take care of my family and that bastard is fucking my boy-friend and of course Greg would just love that. That big, black dick would make him cream his drawers. GOD DAMN THEM!”
Alan looked at the man sitting across from him and felt like he should ask for an introduction. This was not his patient. This was the contemptuous, sarcastic, cruel bastard who’d laughed at pulling the wool over his co-workers eyes, the man who’d told Greg he wouldn’t get involved with him on a one-night-stand basis and then kept him dangling on a string having to wait for him to let him in the house he called ‘theirs’. This was the son-of-a-bitch who raped the young man Alan had become so fond of. Finally, here he was and Alan was ready for him. What was it Bobby always said? Oh yeah, “Hello Mr. Stokes. Let’s you and me have a come-to-Jesus-meeting. Right now!”
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Date: 2007-12-01 12:15 am (UTC)I did not read the flashback of Alan really well (will do it tomorrow after a good night sleep) but that does not seem a good life experience. I read through the description of the torture and chill, hope i won't have nightmare about it.
Take care of the guys and like always waiting for the next part^^ (impatient? me?)
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Date: 2007-12-01 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 05:03 am (UTC)I think he just took a couple steps back ... Greggo needs to get his ass there NOW and assure Nick that he's not seeing anyone he's not fucking anyone and he's trying to heal himself to be with Nicky!
*SMOOCH* Awesome just freaking awesome!
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Date: 2007-12-01 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 10:01 am (UTC)Can't read now... I am too distracted by my yellow and reds, but when I get all those confusing thoughts out of my head, I might actually concentrate on reading! :-) Can't wait!
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Date: 2007-12-01 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 01:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-01 06:54 pm (UTC)Loved it!
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Date: 2007-12-02 03:27 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and I hope I don't get too graphic for you (unless it's intimate scenes of course).