Return From Darkness 5/7

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Return From Darkness
Part 5/7
By T. L. Odell
Disclaimers in Part 0

Tessa sat up and looked at Richie, still huddled in the
corner.  Her stomach tightened as she imagined what it must
have taken to reduce the cocky young man to this state.
After a shower that did nothing to wash away her feelings of
tension, Tessa went into the kitchen and made pancakes.
Forcing a cheery smile on her face, she loaded a tray and
brought it back to Richie's room.

"Good morning, Richie," she said.  "I brought you some
breakfast.  How about you hop into bed, and you can eat?"

Richie blinked and put his hands to his eyes, a look of
puzzlement on his face.  He made no move to leave his
cocoon.

Tessa exhaled, although she didn't realize she had been
holding her breath.  She crossed the room and set the tray
down beside Richie.  He reached for the pancakes and
started stuffing them into his mouth.

"Richie.  Slow down.  There's plenty.  Don't eat so fast or
you'll make yourself sick.  And how about using the fork?
That way, you can put on some syrup and you won't get all
sticky."

Richie stopped and peered at Tessa.  "Tess?  Is it you?  Am
I home?  Is this real?"

"Yes, Richie.  Duncan found you yesterday.  We're so glad
you're home."

"Home.  Home.  I'm home.  No.  I'm dreaming again.  They'll
be back for me.  They always come back."

"Richie, nobody's coming back for you.  Duncan and Joe
took care of them.  They're gone.  You're here with us, safe,
where you belong."  Tessa clasped Richie's sticky hands in
hers.  "You're home."

"Home," he repeated.  He removed his hands from Tessa's
grasp and wiped his mouth.  His eyes met hers and he burst
into sobs.  "I tried.  I really tried.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."

"Shhh, Richie.  You have nothing to be sorry about."  She
moved the tray aside and rocked Richie, stroking his curls as
he wept.  "You're home.  We're here."

She heard Duncan enter the room, but motioned him back
and let Richie cry himself out.  She handed him a tissue.

"I don't know why I cried like that."

"I don't know why you didn't.  From what we can tell, you've
had a rough time.  Do you want to talk about it?"

Richie's eyes took on a glassy stare.  He looked down into
his plate.  "Nothing much to talk about.  This girl kidnapped
me, and then I just waited until someone found me."

Richie methodically finished his pancakes and curled himself
back into a ball.  Tessa took the tray back to the kitchen.
She found Duncan waiting for her.

"I don't know what to say, Mac.  He stuffed the food into his
face with his fingers.  He seems willing to take orders.  It's
like he's fading in and out of reality."

"He needs to talk about it.  I know that much."

"I agree.  I just don't think we should push too hard yet."

Just then, Richie walked into the kitchen, stark naked.
Tessa raised her eyebrows, then averted her eyes.

"Good morning, Richie," said Duncan, his voice even.
"We're glad to have you back.  How about you put some
clothes on?"

Richie seemed oblivious to his state of undress.  "Clothes.
Yes."  He turned and left the room.

"Shell shock.  Post Traumatic Stress," said Duncan.

"Do you know how to treat it?"

"Not really.  But I do know it will take time and patience."

Richie wandered through the apartment, in and out of the
shop, and sat at his bedroom window.   The haunted look in
his eyes still remained.  Tessa called him to the table for
dinner.  He came out of his room, took his customary seat
and began wolfing down his meal.  After a few bites, he
slowed down.  Duncan and Tessa attempted light
conversation about the weather, Tessa's current art project,
and Richie's recent sales in the shop.  He responded to
Tessa, but seemed afraid to meet Duncan's eyes, mumbling
his answers to the Scot's questions into his plate.  When
Richie's plate was empty, he pushed back from the table and
roamed aimlessly around the apartment once again.

"Why don't you come sit by the fire, Richie?" asked Tessa.
"Duncan will join us when he finishes the dishes."  She didn't
mention that doing the dishes was usually Richie's chore.

Before he sat down, Richie turned on every lamp in the
room.  He sat down next to Tessa, his hands in his lap,
staring into the fire.  Duncan came in a few minutes later.
Tessa could see Richie stiffen.  She looked at Duncan.  He'd
noticed it, too.  He moved to the stereo system and started a
Mozart CD playing.  The bright sounds of the overture to
'The Marriage of Figaro' filled the room.

"Richie.  Do you remember the concert?" Tessa asked.
"They played Mozart that night.  Then the three of us went to
dinner at Chez Normandie."

"I guess so."

"Do you want to talk?" asked Duncan.

"I don't know."

"Mac, maybe Richie is still tired.  Richie, would you like to go
to bed?"

"Okay."  He remained sitting motionless on the couch.

Tessa took his hand and led him to his room.  She went to
his dresser and pulled out his usual sleeping uniform of
boxers and a T-shirt and handed it to him.  "Here.  Put these
on and get into bed."

Richie did as he was told.  Tessa's heart sank as she
watched the shell of the young man behaving like an
automaton.  She shut off the light.  Richie screamed.

"Oh, Richie.  I'm sorry.  Here, I've turned the light back on."
She went to the bed, where Richie had hugged his knees to
his chest.  She ran her fingers up and down his back.  "Lie
down and get some sleep."

Richie tucked himself into a tight ball and pulled the covers
under his chin.

Tessa stormed out to the living room.  "Oooh, just give me
one minute with whoever did this to him.  Just one minute-"

"Tess, calm down.  Joe's handling them.  As much as I'd like
to deal with these ... animals, right now getting Richie well is
our priority.  And I've talked with Sean Burns; he said Richie
has to face what happened.  It won't be easy for any of us.
But he's young, he's strong and resilient.  I'm sure we'll make
progress.  We can't undo the damage overnight."

"You're right, but I'm still furious."

Late that night, screams from Richie's room awakened the
couple.  Duncan threw back the covers, but Tessa put her
hand out to stop him.  "Wait.  He's more relaxed with me.  I
think he's still got you mixed up with the men who hurt him."

Tessa rushed to Richie's room.  She held him.  "Richie.  It's
me, Tessa.  You're home.  It's a nightmare.  Please, tell me
about it.  Nightmares don't hurt so much when you talk about
them."  Tessa barely heard Richie when he began to
respond.

"It was dark.  Like the closet.  I couldn't be good enough, so
it was dark all the time."

"Richie, I'm sure you were good enough.  They were just
very evil people.  Did they hurt you?"

"Yes," he whispered.  "I tried not to cry."

She looked up and saw Duncan standing just outside the
doorway, out of Richie's field of vision.  He nodded
approvingly.

"We've talked before about crying.  It's okay to cry,
especially when you're hurt.  How did they hurt you?"

Richie shook his head violently.  "They took my sword.  Don't
tell Mac."

"Richie, no.  Mac brought your sword back.  It's over there,
see?"  She pointed across the room where Richie's rapier
lay across the top of his bookshelf.  "He cleaned it for you,
too."

"Don't tell Mac," Richie repeated over and over.  Then, "Can
I go to sleep now?"

"Of course, Richie.  Do you want me to stay here for a
while?"  The grip he had on her hand tightened.  She sat up
against the headboard and let Richie lie in her lap as she
massaged the taut muscles in his neck.  Soon he was
asleep.  "Go back to bed," she mouthed to Duncan.  "I'll be
fine."

The dawn added its brightness to the perpetual light left on
in Richie's room.  Tessa extricated herself from under Richie
and went to make some coffee.  She found Duncan already
in the kitchen.

"I looked in on you a little while ago; you were still asleep.
How did it go?" Duncan asked.

"Not good.  He woke up three more times."

"You should have called me."

"No.  One of us needs to be rested.  Besides, I think he's
afraid of you."

"Afraid of me?  Why?"

"He thinks he's failed you.  You showed your trust, and he
feels he betrayed it.  You're a father figure to him.  He loves
you.  Remember, he hasn't had a positive father figure
before.  He equates displeasing you with being punished or
thrown out, like what happened with so many of his foster
parents."

"But he knows better.  We've had a strong relationship."

"I'm sure deep down he knows that.  But right now he's so
emotionally messed up he can't think; all he can do is feel.
And it's those old feelings that are all mixed up with his new
life."

"Why do you think he's comfortable with you?"

"Probably because I'm more of an older sister to him than a
mother figure.  Someone he's willing to confide in.  He didn't
say much last night.  I think he was talking in his sleep, but it
sounds like they did a lot more to him than keep him locked
up in a basement.

Tessa stopped talking as Richie walked into the kitchen.
This time he was dressed in faded jeans and a tattered old
sweatshirt that had probably once been blue.  Tessa never
thought she'd be glad to see it again.  She'd tried on more
than one occasion to relegate it to her studio rag pile, but it
always found its way back to Richie's room.

"Good morning, Richie," Duncan said.  "Can I fix you
something for breakfast?"

Richie gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Oatmeal?" Duncan asked.

"Sure."

"Richie, you hate oatmeal," Duncan said.  "How about
French toast?"

"Okay."

Tessa finished her coffee preparations.  "While you two have
breakfast, I'm going to take a shower.  I'll see you later."
She gave both men a kiss.

In the shower, Tessa adjusted the water as hot as she could
stand it, trying to soothe the knots in her stomach.  Her tears
mingled with the sharp spray.  The water was almost cold
before she felt in control.

After her shower, Tessa checked and found Richie was back
in his room, staring out the window.  She went out to the
living room; Duncan had cleaned up the kitchen.  She
assumed she would find him in the shop, preparing for
opening.  She started to join him when the doorbell rang.

Tessa answered the door to a man about her age, tall and
lean, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater, a coat
slung over his arm.  Hazel eyes peered at her over a hawk-
like nose.

"Tessa Noel?" he asked.

She noted the British accent that added an air of dignity to
his simple question.  "Yes.  Is there something I can do for
you?"

"I came by to see how Richie is doing.  I hope I'm not
intruding."

She looked at him warily.  "How do you know Richie?"

"I'm sorry.  I should have introduced myself.  My name is
Adam Pierson and-"

"Adam Pierson!  Please, come in."  She stepped aside and
led him into the living room.  "We owe you a debt of
gratitude.  Thank you so much for your efforts in finding
Richie."  She motioned him to the couch.

Tessa watched her guest glance around the room.  She
recognized the look that had come over his face and turned
to see Duncan entering through the studio, katana at his
side.  Richie appeared around the corner, his face an
impassive mask, but his rapier in hand.  Great, she thought.
Another Immortal.  Until recently, she'd known only Duncan,
and now her living room was a Gathering place.

Adam stood up, palms upturned away from his body in a
gesture of peace.  "I didn't come to challenge.  I wanted to
ask about Richie."

"Duncan, this is Adam Pierson.  You remember how he
helped us."

Adam bobbed his head.  "Thanks for the beer, by the way."

Duncan hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  "Let's talk in
the shop.  Tessa, you'll excuse us, please.  Keep an eye on
Richie."

Tessa opened her mouth as if to protest, but forced a polite
smile.  "Can I get you anything, Mr. Pierson?  Coffee, tea, a
beer?"

"As long as you offered, a beer would be fine."

Tessa retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator and handed it
to Adam.  She gave Duncan a look that said, "I'll speak with
you later," and went to Richie.  He sat just inside the
doorway of his room, knees drawn to his chest.  His rapier
rested on the floor at his side, within reach of his fingertips.
Tessa knelt down beside him, marveling at the strength of
his conditioning.  Barely able to function, he still reached for
his sword at the sense of another Immortal.

"Hi, Richie. You can relax.  Adam Pierson is the man who
led Mac to you.  He's talking with Mac now.  I think you can
put your sword away.  Would you like to come sit in the living
room?"

He picked up his sword, rose to his feet and sat on the edge
of his bed.  He stared at the floor.  Tessa reached for the
sword, but Richie would not relinquish his grip.  She kissed
him on the forehead.  "I'll be out in the living room if you want
me."

She paced restlessly, wondering what the men were talking
about, then flopped onto the couch with a book, resigning
herself to wait until they returned.

End of Part 5

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