Solitaire

by Chibimom

timjhaas@comcast.net

Fandom: Witchblade

Summary Ian's childhood--can't say more

Rated: PG

Category Angst/Drama

Please read and review. "Solitaire" was my first. I really would like reviews to see if my stories are any good. Thanks.

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Top Cow, WB, TNT, etc.

It was the last day of school and he couldn’t wait.

"Hurry Mom, I don’t want to miss the bus!"

"Honey, when have you ever missed the bus? Here’s your lunch...do you have your book bag?"

He nodded, pulling at her arm as she tried to kiss him goodbye. Then he was out the door, running to the bus stop, calling to the other children.

She smiled and picked up the phone. Moments later, "John? He’s off to school, I can’t believe he’s finishing the 4th grade, it just seems like yesterday. . ." her mind drifted back in time to when he was born. He was so beautiful!

"Well, I’m glad he enjoys school so much., but the best part of a boy’s year is here. . .SUMMER!" He paused. "I’m sure he’ll be tired tonight, maybe we can have a nice quiet evening to ourselves, ya think?"

Ellen smiled, "We’ll see, it sounds so nice. Shall I get out the satin sheets?" imagining John’s sparkling blue eyes.

John laughed, knowing they didn't have satin sheets. "Nice thought, honey, but I think just you and I will be great."

They ended their conversation as Ellen watched the boy get on the bus.

"Have a great day, Ian," she whispered to herself, "I love you."

Summer came.

Ian’s best friend was a boy named Jimmy. Jimmy was plump with flaming red hair that stood up in front with an amazing cowlick. His freckles were so dense, you could hardly see pink beneath them. He was on his hands and knees peering into the hollowed out log.

"Ian," he whispered carefully crawling towards the log. "I think the dragon, Firemouth, is in there." He unsheathed his plastic G.I. Joe knife and proceeded with caution.

Ian stood up, holding his silvery cardboard sword high in the air. Both boys were wearing paper masks, pretending to be medieval knights.

"I’m ready!"

They heard a stirring coming from the log. Jimmy winced, but stood his ground bravely.

Suddenly, something roared . . . snarling as it escaped from its hiding place. Ian chased after it with his sword slashing in the air. He ran fast, but ran out of steam before coming near the ‘dragon.’ Jimmy huffed and puffed, as he caught up with Ian who was siting on the ground.

"Firemouth got away," Ian signed. They took off their paper masks, folded them and carefully put them in their pockets.

"You know," Jimmy said, " Old Mrs. Kent would call our moms if she knew we were chasing her cat."

Ian got up and kicked at the ground with his tennis shoe, "Yeah, but it’s not as if we ever hurt him."

Ian decided it would be best to go after Firemouth another day. Jimmy agreed and solemnly took Ian’s arm in the ‘knights farewell embrace.’

"Gotta go," Jimmy's Mickey Mouse watch showed 5 p.m. ‘’It’s almost dinner time." With that, he headed over across the two vacant lots that separated their homes.

The front door flew open, "Mom! What’s for dinner?" Ian called.

His senses told him it was fried chicken, one of his favorites. Carrying his sword into the kitchen, he pulled a box of aluminum foil out of a drawer and began to repair a tear on its blade. He looked at his mother who was pulling a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

"Can I be a knight someday?"

"Sure, sweetie She bent down and kissed his perspiration soaked hair. "Go wash up."

As he ran off, Ellen turned to John who was setting the table, " Will you make sure he washes his face as well as his hands? He looks pretty dirty."

"Sure," John kissed her cheek and followed the boy upstairs."

2

Who invented younger sisters?!!! Jimmy was unhappy with his Mother’s request to take his sister outside to play. "Aww Mom, do I have to?" Her response was a stern look which Jimmy knew meant no arguments.

He gathered up his dragon slaying armaments and headed out the door with little sister in tow. Ten year old boys shouldn’t have to look after their 6 year old sisters. He sped up, hoping to lose her in the short distance over to Ian’s house. No such luck.

"Hi Jimmy!" Ian called out from the tree house he and his Dad build two years earlier. They build it to look like a castle with a tower and two spires. Since their subdivision was fairly new, there were no large trees to build it on. The castle was free standing, about eight feet high, and had been painted gray to look like stone. Ian was very proud of it.

"I had to bring my sister," Jimmy bemoaned, running ahead of her. The six year old caught up, her short hair damp and her mouth set in a pout.

"Hi, Bethie" Ian waved. He didn’t mind the younger girl quite as much as Jimmy did. She could get in the way, but sometimes they needed a damsel to rescue when dragons were scarce.

"Hi, Ian!" Beth and Jimmy climbed the ladder up into the castle. She unfolded her Burger King crown and pulled it securely on her head, knowing she always played the princess, even though she did get tired of it. "Can I play a knight sometime."

"Girls aren't knights, silly," Ian laughed at her.

She pouted again, but soon got over it as she became the center of attention. They played , saving the princess from dragons, evil warlords, and kings who wanted to carry her off to distant lands. Her rescuers always came through, saving her and the day.

Ian loved this game. His father read him many stories about knights and King Arthur and his Round Table. When he was old enough he read the stories himself. Oh, how he dreamed to be a knight, like Lancelot.

The afternoon grew still and hot; the games came to an end. The children climbed down from the castle, tired from their activities.

"Mickey Mouse says it’s 4 p.m. We need to go home."

With, the knight handshake completing the day, Jimmy and Beth headed home.

Ian waved, "Bye Jimmy, Bye Beth."

"Bye Ian," both said in unison. Jimmy held Beth’s hand as they walked home.

Ian climbed back up into the castle to think. He sat in the corner, wrapping his arms around his knees, the summer heat lulling him to far away places. His was a medieval castle, no soft pillows or chairs and no blankets, with only a built-in bench on two sides of the castle to sit on. The only consideration to the civilized world was a single light bulb above, glowing a pale yellow. His thoughts drifted away to a time long ago when knights in shining armor carried long lances and crossbows. Beautiful ladies in long flowing dresses waved to the knights as they began their long journeys. Their righteous duty to battle the evil wizards, dragons and bad kings who lived in the dark, dank black castles. The castles from where only the most brave and capable knights returned alive. The ones who would lay down their lives in honor of their king and kingdom

Ian’s eyes opened, and he shivered slightly. When did he eat lunch? His stomach growled insistently. At that moment, his mother called him and he climbed down from the castle and raced into the house.

3

"Strike 2!" The umpire bellowed, making grave gestures with his arm. The bleachers were noisy with excited parents and friends, waving their signs and pennants, and stomping their feet for the home team.

Ian looked over his shoulder behind the backstop at his father, sweat collecting on his upper lip.

"Watch the ball, Ian, you can do it. Watch the ball and remove everything else from your mind. Think about the ball and keep your eyes on it as it comes toward you."

Ian licked the sweat off his lip and returned his gaze to the pitcher. He let his nervousness drift away as he watched the pitcher’s glove. Watch the ball, watch the ball. Finally, the wind up and the pitch. Almost in slow motion, Ian watched as the ball came towards him. His arms began their swing and . . .WLACKK! He dropped the bat as his mouth gaped open, standing there entranced.

"RUN!!" yelled John, the crowd standing and screaming, "Go, Go! Run! Run!"

Ian ran like he had never ran before. Dust clouds rose as he turned first base. He flew towards second, rounding it he continuing on, mindless to his coach yelling for him to stop. Suddenly the third baseman stopped him with a gloved hand in the stomach. Ian doubled over, falling into the dirt. Slowly, shaking his head to clear it, he realized he was out. The game was over, the opposing team winning by one run. He had failed to tie the score.

John ran out to the boy who was starting to stand up. "Are you okay, son?" He checked for signs of injury, but found none except a scraped knee.

With tears rolling down his face, Ian cried, "I lost the game. I coulda tied it but I didn’t run fast enough." He looked up at his father for a reproaching look. Finding none, he wiped his face on his jersey sleeve.

John hugged him as he spoke, "You did your best didn’t you." Ian nodded. "You watched the ball and thought of nothing else, didn’t you?" Ian nodded again. "Then you’ve made me very proud."

Ian looked up at his father and smiled slightly. He still felt bad about losing the game, though.

Ellen was waiting anxiously by the bleachers for Ian and John She did not want to embarrass Ian by running out into the field, so she let John handle it.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking from one to another. Both responded "Yes." She gave Ian a quick hug and he ran ahead to the car.

Ian was standing by the car when his coach walked up, his face so red he looked like he would burst an artery. He wgged his finger in Ian's face, berating him, as Ian tried to step back but couldn’t since his back was already up against the car.

"Why didn’t ya stop like I screamed. Why didn’t ya listen?!" The coach was right in Ian’s face.

John walked up and quickly put himself between Ian and the coach. Ian held his breath and got in the car.

"Coach Wells, Ian did his best today and that’s all you can ask of him, right?" John icily stared into the older man’s eyes, making him uncomfortable. "The team did well against the league champions, didn’t they?"

"Sure, of course they did. Good hit, Ian." Wells huffed and walked away to supervise the loading of the equipment.

"Ian," John looked straight into Ian’s hazel eyes. "Never, let anyone question your put you down. Listen to your heart and be strong. There are lots of people in this world who will try to dismiss your abilities, or your true intentions but remember who you are. You are Ian Nottingham, a fine son who will grow into a strong man, with a true and loving heart."

4

It’s not fair, raining on a Saturday afternoon. Ian glumly played with his Game Boy. He liked killing the bad guys in this game, but he was now growing tired of it. He would rather play outside. He loved the fresh air, and the freedom.

Ian sighed again staring at the floor. John looked down from his book and reached into the coffee table drawer and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Come here, Ian." Ian got up, moved over to his father’s chair and sat on the floor. "I’m going to show you how to play Solitaire."

John shuffled the cards and handed the deck to Ian. "This is a game you can play by yourself. Sometimes you’ll play for hours and wonder where the time went."

Ian doubted it, but humored his dad. "What does Solitaire mean".

"Singular. One. It means you can play by yourself or when you’re alone.

John showed the boy how to line up the rows of cards and place the remainder of the deck on the table, top card showing. He moved the cards, with Ian watching, always placing the next lower card just atop the higher card. Sometimes they could move half or whole rows. This time they reached a stalemate, using all the remaining deck without finishing the rows.

Pulling out another deck of cards, John helped Ian shuffle them. "Strategy can be used to win the game. Let's see how that works."

They continued playing, sometimes not moving cards until they had enough to complete an entire row. Sometimes they missed a card they needed, accidentally letting it pass.

"Ah, you have to keep on your toes and focus. That card is unplayable now and the opportunity is lost to us".

Ian was enthralled. He reveled in the strategy, adding a third deck as he became more proficient. He looked up at the clock on the wall. The afternoon did pass quickly. He was starving, again. Lunch was a long time ago. Ellen called him to dinner. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy--YUM. Brussel sprouts--YUCK, but Ian thought he could get by without eating any.

"Ian, your face and hands are dirty, go up and wash them," Ellen chided lightly.

Ian looked at his hands, as he went upstairs to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. How did he get so dirty? His nails were embedded with dirt and his face smudged? He hadn’t been outside today. He washed his face and scrubbed his nails with a small brush, rinsed and went back downstairs to dinner. The brussel sprouts were on his plate when he returned. He ate everything without complaining. He was starving.

__________________

His mother tucked him in bed and kissed him. (Ian, of course, felt he was too mature to be tucked in, but his mother insisted). He quickly drifted off to sleep.

Ian woke and through his window he saw the light on out in his castle He was so sleepy, that he rubbed his eyes and looked again. The light still shown. He was sure he had turned it off when he came inside the night before. His stomach growled. He was hungry again. He looked on his night stand for his glass of water, but it was empty. It’s never empty, Ian thought. Maybe he woke up earlier and drank it. He couldn’t remember.

He got out of bed and quietly passed his parents room and went downstairs. He didn’t want to wake them. Padding into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door and looked for something to eat. He took out a container of rice pudding and quickly ate it. That would tide him over until morning. Unlocking the back door, he quickly ran outside and climbed up into his castle, pulled the string attached to the light bulb, and watched it go out. Ian went back inside, locked the door and headed upstairs. Wait, he almost forgot. The water glass was waiting on the counter. He filled it and headed back upstairs. Setting the glass on the night stand, Ian got into bed and quickly fell back asleep. He was so tired.

5

Ian slept late the next morning. Ellen asked John to wake Ian for breakfast. John called from the doorway of Ian's room. He didn’t stir. John walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Ian was soaking wet; a strong smell of urine emanated from the sheets. Shaking him lightly, his eyes opened and he felt and smelled the offending urine. He was mortified as his father lifted him up out of the bed. Looking into his father’s face, Ian saw a slight glint of disappointment in the blue eyes, but John held the boy close, stroking his dark hair.

"It’s okay, Ian. You must have had too much to drink last night. This can happen sometimes."

He helped Ian remove his pajamas. On his way to the bathroom, Ian saw the empty glass on the night stand. He couldn’t remember drinking any of it. He was ashamed. Only babies wet the bed. He would not keep water on his night stand any more. John turned on the shower and Ian quickly washed. John took the wet bedding downstairs and loaded it in the washer.

Dressing, Ian looked outside and couldn't believe the light was on again in the castle. He would have to ask his father to check it out. He went downstairs for breakfast, his head lowered, seating himself at the table. Ellen put a plate of pancakes in front of him. The aroma tingled his senses and he ate hungrily.

Ellen noticed that his face was smudged and his hands were filthy; hadn’t he just showered? She didn’t have the heart to send him back upstairs to wash again so she just sat down a sipped her coffee. John joined them and enjoyed a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee.

Nothing more was said of the bed wetting incident, Ian felt guilty enough. The sheets were washed and replaced on the bed. Ellen was sure it was just an isolated accident, but would watch her son for any signs that something was amiss.

John checked the castle light at Ian’s insistence. "It looks fine, son." He turned the light off and they left the castle.

6

Jimmy had the flu. "Shit" Ian mumbled to himself as he lay inside the castle alone. It was his favorite new word and he used it whenever he could, but not around his parents. Dad had actually smacked him the first time Ian said it in his presence. He couldn’t ever remember being smacked before. The slap hurt Ian's feelings, but his father’s eyes blazed and he knew he would have to watch his language around his parents.

Ian thought about retrieving the playing cards but felt tired, his limbs feeling light. He had read many books from the library on Solitaire. He could actually play the game in his head. He imagined lining the up the cards and watching them slide into place as he willed it. Ian liked playing in his head, because he won more often than not. Winning made him feel in control, and that was such a rapturous feeling.

A cold shiver suddenly overcome him and he was hungry again. He must be going through one of those growing spurts his mother kept talking about. But he didn’t feel any bigger. Actually, he didn’t feel very well today, maybe he was getting Jimmy’s flu. He stood up to climb down, but he became light headed and quickly sat back down on the bench.

"MOM!" He yelled, waiting a few seconds. Of course she couldn’t hear him. The house was shut up for the air conditioner. Nauseous waves hit and he vomited. He quickly went into dry heaves when no more liquid came up. He looked around for his Coke to wet his mouth, but it wasn’t there.

"The flu really makes you feel shitty!" He crawled to the ladder and carefully climbed down.

Ian stayed on his feet and staggered into the house. He lay down on the sofa, waiting for his head to clear, but it didn’t. Where was Mom? She must have gone out without taking him along. She never did that. Maybe there had been an emergency. Ian felt he should do something, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to call her cell phone but couldn’t remember the number. He tried to read the speed dial numbers but his vision was hazy. He got up and stumbled to the kitchen. He took some rice pudding out of the refrigerator, but decided not to eat it and put it back. He was starving, but didn't was another round of vomiting.

No one showed up by 5 p.m. so Ian called Jimmy’s house.

"Mrs. Holmes. My Mom and Dad aren’t here and I don’t know where they are.. . .you think so. . .okay. . .I’ll wait a while longer."

They didn’t come home by 8 p.m. and Ian was scared. His body wouldn’t move and he couldn’t reach the phone. He drifted off to sleep again.

___________________

Ian awoke to a far off voice which grew louder second by second. His head throbbed painfully as he opened his eyes. John’s strong hands were holding him close, as he murmured softly in Ian’s ear.

"I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I thought the sitter was going to stay with you. I’m furious that she left you alone, I just don't understand." John stroked the boy’s hair lovingly.

Ian was puzzled. This wasn’t right; he didn’t have a sitter. Where was Mom? His vision was cloudy, but those niggling questions quickly passed from his mind as his stomach rumbled.

"Dad, I’m starving."

John held him tight as he carried him into the kitchen. Holding Ian’s hands under the running water, John lightly scrubbed the grime from under his fingernails and wiped his face.

"How does this boy get so dirty?" John wondered.

John made some Hamburger Helper and steamed some fresh corn. The food quelled Ian’s nauseous feelings and his father put him to bed after giving him a dose of Tylenol for his slight fever.

"Are you sure you feel OK? I am so sorry about what happened. I love you and never want you to be left alone. You know that don’t you?" John pulled the covers up under Ian’s chin and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Daaaddd," Ian protested. "I’m not a baby."

"I know you aren’t, but I'll love you forever, no matter how old you get." John left him, noticing his hands as he struggled out of the neck tucking. How does he get so dirty?

7

This dragon had not been slain. The Knight lay alone in the king’s dungeon, his armor gone, his feet bare. He sat up. A small sky light above his cell allowed a faint glow. He looked around at his surroundings. The cell was small with a dirt floor. Between the gray stones of one wall, tiny rivulets of foul smelling liquid seeped. A heap of stale hay was pushed into one of the corners. The captured Knight didn’t know how long he had been there, but he was very hungry and thirsty.

Figures he thought he knew, entered the dungeon cell and spoke angrily to the Knight, but he couldn’t understand their words or make out their faces. He saw that their mouths were sewn shut with black thread, their eyes red. One floated directly in front of him and in the dim light its eyes were a brilliant blue and blazed as if on fire. The Knight was mesmerized, he couldn’t look away from those fiery eyes. The apparition took a bamboo cane from beneath his robes and began striking the Knight across his back, never saying a word. He sat perfectly still, on his hands and knees, accepting the punishment until he fell into sweet unconsciousness.

8

Ian woke up softly sobbing and soaking wet. His heart pounding, he smelled of urine and sweat; then realized that he had wet the bed again. He tore off his bedding, feeling quite ashamed, and carried it down to the laundry room. Then he stripped off his pajamas and put them with the soiled linen. He would have washed them himself, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother do the laundry. Oh well.

He went back upstairs and looked out the window at his castle. The light was on. How can it be on? He always turned it off when he was finished playing. He sat in the corner of his room, naked, until morning.

__________________

John took Ian to the pediatrician’s office for a check up and to discuss the bed wetting incidents. They were occurring more frequently during the past few weeks and he was concerned. Ian's blood was drawn, he had to pee in a cup, and endure cotton swabs poking the back of this throat. He was glad when the nurse told him he could go out to the waiting room.

The doctor ushered John into his office, leaving Ian in the waiting room looking through a book.

"I can’t find anything physically wrong. Ian is a healthy boy," Dr. Makita told John. "He’s a bit thin, but he’ll fill out as he gets older. I wouldn’t worry about him. I’m sure this is just a phase, but if you’d like, I can suggest a Child Psychologist you could take him to. Bed wetting in children of this age is usually caused by psychological problems. Once the problems are resolved, the bed wetting should cease."

Dr. Makita wrote the name down on a pad and tore off the sheet. John thanked him and left the office.

Ian put the book down when he saw his father. He felt a little uneasy wondering what the doctor said.

"You are just fine Ian," John smiled, but there was a slight edge to his voice. "Dr. Makita said it will probably go away on its own." He didn’t want to go into the alternative treatment at this time.

As they walked to the car, Ian asked, "Can we stop at McDonald’s for dinner?" He was starving, and didn’t want to wait until he got home. His father’s cooking wasn’t very good anyway and he was tired of Tuna Helper, Hamburger Helper, and frozen chicken pot pies.

"No, you need better nutrition. Dr. Makita doctor said you’re a little thin. I’ll fix something better when we get home." John started the car and drove home.

Ian frowned and hoped dinner wasn’t going to be the Helpers again.

9

The Knight awakened to the horrifying terror of complete silence. Only his thoughts, again, to keep him company. Was it day or night? He couldn’t tell. His torn clothes hung on his thin frame, his skin was caked with dirt. His back burned. Red welts raised through the dirt on his skin, where he had been beaten. His stomach was empty, no longer growling, past feeling hungry. He didn’t feel much of anything anymore. The stench of urine and feces filled the air as he rolled over in the musty hay.

His thoughts were not good company now. He didn’t have much imagination left. The sewn mouth people didn’t come anymore; nor the wizard, nor the king. He began to dream again of a dragon named Firemouth. That was the monster he had been sent to eliminate. He had failed. Firemouth curled his tail and laughed at him. It seemed so natural, as dreams do. Slowly the image of Firmouth faded also.

The Knight tried to play solitaire. At first he drew the cards in the dirt, but then became too weak to draw; and relinquished the cards to his mind. It was difficult, at times, to see the game, but there was little else to hold on to. Was he going insane?

A small bowl of something resembling liquid cream of rice and a small cup of water appeared in his cell. The Knight crawled over to it and noisily lapped it up with his mouth and fingers. He carefully carried the water back to the hay pile. The tiny skylight above gave off a faint yellow glow.

He always tried to make the water last, but it didn’t. He looked up at the light and began to sob. The deep sobbing brought on vomiting and he lost his supper. Desperately, he ate the vomit off the dirt, knowing nothing more would come for a long time.

_______________________

Ian woke suddenly and sat up in bed. He was wet again., and he was crying.

John ran into the boy’s bedroom. His eyes grew angry as he saw and smelled the urine soaked sheets. Ian, still crying, ran to his father trying to embrace him. John grabbed Ian’s arms and held him at a distance. Ian could see the large hand coming but he did not move. The slap knocked him to the floor. His father picked him up again and backhanded Ian across the room, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Take the sheets downstairs and get cleaned up. Be sure to scrub your filthy face and hands." John turned and went downstairs.

Tears were streaming down his face as Ian carried the sheets downstairs. He put them in the laundry room then looked at his hands. There was something under the dirt, something he hadn’t noticed before. He went to the sink and turned on the water. A pale white scar glistened on the back of his right hand as the dirt rinsed away. He dried his hands on a kitchen towel. He had never seen this circle shaped scar before. Where did they come from? How long had he had it?

10

"DAMN, SHIT, HELL!!! The Knight was very angry. What did the King want with him? Was he left to die? For the first time, the Knight’s dreams floated his body through the walls to other parts of the castle. He saw many very large rooms, mostly dark and out of focus. The walls shifted and changed colors as he floated by. There were a few people in the castle but he didn’t see the Wizard or the King. He tried to shout at the people but became frustrated when no one looked up at him. No one could see or hear him and his dream faded into shadows.

Still floating, he suddenly was in a dark and dank room; one with steaming beakers, jars with different colored liquids, and jars containing strange animal parts. He looked away, frightened. A man in long white robes was writing something with a feather on parchment paper. He floated over to the paper, but it contained strange letters he couldn’t read. The robed man looked around and up, staring him in the eyes. This man could obviously see him. The Knight was excited.

"I can’t help you. The King forbids it, and no one crosses the King." The Wizard went back to his writing.

The Knight’s gaze dropped as did his hopes. He drifted down to look the Wizard in the face. The face grew clearer and clearer. . .

________________________

"DAD, NOOO!!!" Ian awoke from his daydream. Sad and hungry, he sat down at the kitchen table. He felt...funny, like he should be somewhere else. A tear trickled down his cheek.

"Ian," a soft sultry voice spoke his name." He spun around expecting his father, but there was no one there. "Ian, where are you, why are you crying?"

"My dad hit me. He never used to hit me" Ian trembled, remembering, wiping a dribble of blood from his mouth.

"Where’s your mother? I remember you telling me about your mother. How much she loved you." The voice was faint, very faint.

"Mother?" He couldn’t remember a mother. Ian sat there, transfixed, licking his lip. His eyes stared far away, searching his past for his mother. "No, it’s always been just me and Dad."

Who was talking to him? Ian felt faint. He tried to get up from the chair kitchen chair but couldn’t.

"Have you played with Jimmy lately?"

He couldn’t remember Jimmy either.

Are you trying to trick me?" Ian asked the voice. He could almost feel the voice wrap around him like a gentle summer breeze.

"No. . . I’m sorry Ian, I won’t come again."

11

The Knight’s dream left him. He cried out for Ian, but Ian wasn’t there. He couldn’t even play solitaire in his head, anymore. The castle must be abandoned now and he had been left to die. He brought his legs up into the fetal position, thumb in his mouth, muttering incoherently.

"He’s hallucinating again," Dr. Immo’s gaze moved from the security monitor to stare at Irons. His voice was slightly angry. "How much more do you expect him to endure? It’s already been 126 days. He is too weak to stand and the hallucinations are constant now. Solitary confinement and starvation . . ."

"I know what they do," Irons replied, furiously, peering at another monitor. He was enraged that Immo would speak to him like that.

"I want him pliant for reconditioning, he was getting out of control, becoming disobedient. He thought I didn’t know when he left his lessons early and snuck outside. He was always under surveillance, were it here, the office or off the grounds. He was telling lies about his whereabouts . He must be taught strict obedience, and that time is now! The outside world will never be a place for him; he will never live there." Irons shot Immo a fiery blue stare. He left little doubt that Immo should disagree.

Immo shuddered and immediately dropped his eyes.

" He should be ready now, there can’t be much of himself left. He’s only 16. The Army doesn’t subject grown men to this kind of. . ."

Irons grabbed Immo by the collar. "It is me he belongs to, not the Army. My needs are much greater. I demand complete obedience, loyalty and service, nothing less. I don’t care if he is 6, 16, or 26. He’s already quite lethal; his tutors and trainers have seen to that. Without complete control over him, he is useless to me. If he becomes useless. . ." Irons left Immo to his monitors, smirking, knowing he had made himself quite clear.

At 140 days the door opened. Strong lights were brought in. The Knight covered his eyes with his arms. Strong, rough hands picked him up and carried him through the castle to the Wizard's bright room and lay him on a table. He still couldn't open his eyes without pain.

"Ian". . .a soft voice spoke to him.

But he wasn't Ian, he was the Knight. Ian was the beautiful boy he visited, with the loving family and wonderful childhood. Had it been his own family? His own loving mom and dad? A real childhood with friends? Had it been real? Slowly, painfully, remembering, Ian's fantasy life began deteriorating around him.

Dr. Immo began to wipe his face. The ground in dirt came off slowly and he didn't want to chafe the boy's skin.

"Mom, Dad?" Ian croaked, his throat too dry to speak. The visions of his fairy tale life were quickly fading.

At that moment Irons walked in. He roughly pulled Ian’s arm away from his face pulling his chin up to look at him.

"You have only me, you filthy pathetic thing." Those icy blue eyes bore down into Ian’s, ripping his soul apart. The boy's gaze lowered.

"No one loves you! You exist only because I wish it!"

"NO!! My Mom and Dad love me!" Ian tried to sit up but Irons knocked him back. It didn’t take much of a blow, Ian was so weak. He began to cry, overcome with horrible grief and loneliness; his thumb moved towards his mouth.

Irons struck him hard across his face, and Ian’s hand automatically went behind his back, tears streaming down his face.

"Yes!!" Irons bore down on him again. "I am your Mother, your Father, your Teacher, your OWNER, your MASTER., your GOD! There is only me. You live only to serve ME."

Irons looked at Immo. "After he is cleaned and fed, he is to clean his cell. The stench is repugnant."

"But, he’s too weak." Immo pleaded with Irons. "He can barely stand and he barely knows who and where he is. Recuperation will take time. Food will have to be increased gradually or he will become violently ill." He was afraid he had said too much. He didn't want to make things worse.

Irons was seething, "I want the cell cleaned by tomorrow and Ian back in training in 3 days. His genetic make up will speed recuperation."

The fragile, gaunt boy presented a picture of pity as Irons gazed at Ian on the table, thumping his cane against his palm. Ian's long lashes fluttered atop hollow hazel eyes.

"Please, Sir, right now he can’t even control his bowels," Immo pleaded. He stopped wiping the boy's face to look up at Irons.

"Mommy," Ian mumbled, his thumb returned to his mouth, his legs pulled up underneath his chin.

Irons raised his cane to strike, then lowered it. A slight wisp of something he wasn’t used to feeling touched his heart, but he couldn't quite place it. He never dreamed Ian would look like this; he hadn't really thought about it at all. Perhaps it had been too long. H is words softened.

"I will have the cell cleaned. Take care of him, Dr. Immo, he is very important to me." Irons leaned over and gently kissed the unconscious boy on the forehead. "Return him to his training when he is able. I will begin his mental reconditioning, myself, in a few days." Irons wondered if he was being too soft, as he left the room.

Immo nodded, thankfully, returning his attention to the filthy boy before him. Maybe there was some humanity in Irons after all. Immo shook the feeling away, knowing Irons had no humanity. He only wanted his property returned physically healthy. Ian would never be mentally healthy.

Ian slipped back into his sweet dream. He saw the boy at the edge of the shadows. In his heart Ian knew the fairy tale life hadn’t been his life. In the end his mind could not accept a normal childhood with love and kindness. It had never been so. It would never be so.

The young Ian waved from the edge of the dream and disappeared into the shadows forever.

END