========================================================================== DEMONS I. Kathy Wolenczak a.k.a. Kathleen Brown ========================================================================== Timeline: SeaQuest DSV Author's E-Mail: kwolenczak@hotmail.com ========================================================================== AUTHOR'S NOTES: Pre season one ELF fic I wrote mainly to vent some anger and frustration with life. It's rough, please don't flame me. It accomplishes nothing but hurt feelings and the anger of others. ========================================================================== Demons 1 2017. A warm, comfortable, albeit messy room. Along one wall is the only piece of furniture clearly visible; a desk, covered in jerry-rigged computer equipment. There are cardboard boxes of miscellaneous stuff scattered about, but the owner ofthem can obviously find whatever he needs whenever he needs it. The room is unoccupied. From downstairs, people are yelling. LUCAS No, it's not fair, I don't wanna go!! Lucas' MOTHER answers, forcefully. MOTHER Well life isn't fair, and you're going! LUCAS But I don't _want_ to!! Lucas' FATHER is just as angry as his mother is. FATHER You don't have a say in this! LUCAS But it's _my_ life! MOTHER You're just a _child_, you don't know what you're _doing_! LUCAS But I know what I _want_, why can't you let me do what _I_ want?! Why can't you let me be happy?!! FATHER You don't know what happiness _is_!! LUCAS BECAUSE OF _YOU_!!!! There is a loud slap. All is silent for a moment. The camera moves toward the doorway, into a loft opening out onto a large living room. There stands fifteen-year-old Lucas Wolenczak and his mother and father. They are still arguing. FATHER You're going on _seaQuest_ whether you like it or not, you don't have a say in this. LUCAS This isn't _fair_!!! FATHER _Life_ isn't fair!! LUCAS You don't have an argument, you just keep saying the same things over and over again. You just want me outta here, you're sick of me, you want me gone so you can get divorced and not feel bad about it, well I'm not going, and you _can't_ make me!!! FATHER The _hell_ we can't, Lucas! There's a pause. Lucas gives up and runs up the stairs two at a time, sobbing. He runs into his room, slams the door, and slides to the floor with his back to the door, still crying. He picks his head up, his eyes red and raw from crying, exhausted, his cheeks tear-streaked, a red splotch across his face in the shape of a large male hand. He looks around his room, then stands and walks to his adjoining bathroom. He opens up a medicine cabinet above his sink and ruffles through prescription drugs and painkillers, Tylenol, and various acne "treatments". Lucas finally grabs a prescription bottle of Prozac, his current antidepressant, and pours himself a glass of water from the tap. He shakes about three pills into his shaking hand, takes them, swallows a sip of water, then shakes three or four _more_ pills into his hand, takes them, swallows a sip of water, and repeats that process quite a few more times. Say, ten. Lucas finishes off the entire bottle of pills, then gets scared. He walks into his room and turns around once, looking. He wants to tell his Mom and Dad, but is terribly afraid they'll yell at him. He's scared. He goes over to his bed, lays down, and curls into a tight ball, just absolutely terrified of what's going to happen now. For some reason he can't explain he gets very sleepy and drifts off, crying sorrowfully. Later. Lucas' mother walks to his door, gently knocking on it, cheerful, ignoring what happened before. MOTHER Lucas? C'mon, honey, time for dinner. There's no answer. This frightens and confuses her. She opens up the door, softy whispering his name. Lucas? There, lying on his bed, his mouth frothed pink from violent seizures and the blood from a bitten tongue, lies Lucas, unconscious. His mother screams in horror and fright. Hospital ER. Lucas is there, asleep, on a respirator, deathly pale. His mother is at his bedside, holding his slender hand between hers. Lucas' father runs in, frantic and angry. FATHER What the hell happened?!?!? MOTHER (with a few tears) Doctors say Lucas overdosed on his medicine, they say he tried to commit suicide. FATHER Little _BASTARD_! What the hell does he think he's doing!? MOTHER Lawrence, he's only a boy. FATHER It's no excuse for him to act this way! MOTHER (stroking her son's hair lightly) Lawrence, he can hear you. FATHER Good! He _should_ hear me! He's a _stupid little boy_! MOTHER (near tears) Lawrence, stop. Mr. Wolenczak gives the large bruise in the side of Lucas' cheek a good hard whack with the back of his hand. MOTHER Stopit, Lawrence, you're hurting him! FATHER (enraged) He _deserves_ to be hurt! MOTHER (frantically trying to protect her son) Lawrence, don't do this, he's your _son_, he loves you. He was just scared, leave him alone. FATHER _SCARED_?!!?!! We give him everything he could possibly want, food, shelter, everything he needs, what more could he _want_?! Hospital, two days later. One of the upper floors, an understated pediatric ward. Lucas's private room. It's early morning, the light is bright in is room, but, at last check, bright lights don't bother the unconscious. But, Lucas isn't unconscious. Still on a respirator, yes, but not unconscious. His eyes are wide open, he is very awake. His eyes are rolling around fearfully, looking for someone to help him. He's shaking in terror, tears are pouring down his cheeks. A kindly young African-American nurse in her early twenties walks in to check on him. He tries to look at her, but with the intubation tube in place, he can't turn his head. The nurse sees he's awake and reacts in complete shock. She runs out. Lucas closes his eyes in pain. Minutes later, the nurse looks on as the intubation tube is gently slid from his throat by a caring older DOCTOR, a male pediatrician who's been caring for Lucas since he arrived. As the tube is removed, Lucas coughs and gags and his lungs finally let him sob and sob in pain and despair and fear. The gentle man sits beside Lucas and gently takes the terrified youth into his arms. Lucas is both frantic with fear and limp with relief at the same time. This kindly old man is the first person in years to allow Lucas to cry. Mr. Wolenczak believes tears are for children ad women and not proud young men with "nothing to cry about". Lucas can not stop the pain and sorrow, he can't stop the tears that keep on coming no matter how hard he tries to fight them. The doctor holds Lucas close, his arms around him, giving him love and warmth and safety and _sympathy_. Lucas rests his aching head on the man's shoulder, his soft, fluffy hair brushing the man's cheek, his slender body crying out to be touched by another, if only for the sake of knowing _he's not alone_. Lucas manages a gentle sigh and continues crying softly, as his doctor rubs a gentle hand across Lucas' back, quietly taking note of the visible shaking, the ribs beneath Lucas' skin that he can _feel_. Night. Lucas is sitting in bed, watching some program on the explorer channel about dolphins, lightly sketching on a scrap of paper from time to time. When we get to see, it's actually a rough draft for the Vo-Corder program. He's lost in thought. He sighs and snaps back to reality when his NURSE enters with a thermometer and a blood pressure cuff. He looks at her, pained, irritated. She looks at his untouched tray of food. NURSE (gently) Not hungry, Lucas? He stays quiet, it still hurts to speak. LUCAS You can't blame me for not having an appetite. NURSE Nobody's blaming you, Lucas. He sighs softly. He looks up at the nurse, shy and fearful. LUCAS Can you help me up? She smiles at him. NURSE Sure, sweetheart. She peels back his blankets and pulls his IV stand from it's plug in the wall. She gently guides him onto his less-than-reliable legs so he may walk to the bathroom under his own power. He hobbles over and closes the door behind himself. Inside, moments later, he's finished what he needed to do and is washing his hands, being careful to keep the tape on the back of his hand as dry as possible. He splashes the soapy water on his face and rinses off, then slowly dries off with a rough brown paper towel. He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror. He's exhausted, hung over _still_ from the drugs, in need of a shower and a good long day in the sun with someone to keep him company. He turns to open the door, but is gently tugged back as the tube from his IV line becomes caught on the faucet. He gently untangles himself and looks down at his veiny hands, lightly begins picking at the tape on his left hand. Blood bubbles up into the catheter end. Lucas gets scared by that, and, in terror, begins to pull wildly at the IV. The nurse gently knocks at the door. Lucas whirls, terrified, and falls heavily to the floor. NURSE Lucas, are you all right? LUCAS (panicked) I'm _fine_! He reaches up to the door and locks it. In his room, the nurse hears the click of the lock and runs out. Inside, Lucas is growing panicked. His blood is spreading onto his fingers, hands, and falling in tiny drops onto the floor. It's growing quite painful for Lucas. His doctor comes into his room, walk over, and gently knocks at the door. DOCTOR (highly concerned) Lucas? Son, open the door. LUCAS No. DOCTOR (pleading with him) Lucas, please, I'm here to help you, you know I wouldn't hurt you. Lucas' blood is really flowing right now, onto the floor, making his fingers wet and slippery. LUCAS I _don't_ know. Everyone has always hurt me. What makes me think you should be any different? DOCTOR I helped you, Lucas. I let you cry, I held you and you're okay now. LUCAS (near breaking) No, I wanted to die, you wouldn't let me. DOCTOR Lucas, what're you doing? LUCAS It _hurts_. The doctor shoves the door hard with his shoulder, forcing it open. Lucas is sitting on the floor in his own blood, crying and sniveling pathetically, looking up at the one man who can help him. His doctor kneels by his side and gently takes Lucas' bleeding hand, first checking to see if he slit his wrist, then, seeing all is comparatively well, to gently remove the IV end. He pulls a small packet of sterile gauze from his pocket, tears it open, and quickly slides the white tubing end free from Lucas' torn skin, trying to prevent him from tearing it any more. Once he's finished, Lucas wraps his arms around the man and holds himself close, thanking him through love, the way Lucas needs and wants most for himself. DOCTOR Oh, Lucas, what's _wrong_? LUCAS (crying) No one loves me. My parents hate me, my dad hits me, my mom makes me feel bad, it never stops. DOCTOR What do _you_ want, Lucas? LUCAS (picking his head up, brightening at those words.) What?! DOCTOR What do you _want_, Lucas? LUCAS (eager. like merely saying the words will fulfill his greatest wish in life) To love. To _be_ _loved_. I want somebody to really care about me. DOCTOR Boy-girl love or father-son love? LUCAS (talking fast, excited, I want a _salary_!=94) I want somebody to care about me enough to not hit me or make me feel terrible or drive me to try to kill myself! I wanna be allowed to ask for a hug when I feel like dying, but not be treated like a little kid. I want somebody to miss me when I'm gone but not hound me every waking moment to be with them. I want a _family_. The doctor holds Lucas close, gently stroking the boy's hair. Lucas sighs shakily. DOCTOR Why did you try to kill yourself, Lucas? LUCAS (whimpering) I wanted my Mom and Dad to listen to me for once. To show them I was serious. I'm _not_ a little kid. DOCTOR You're _not_ a little kid, Lucas, we know that. LUCAS (wallowing in self-pity) _They_ don't know that. They won't let me make decisions in _my_ life, they won't let me do what _I_ want. I've got a Bachelors in Applied Science, I'm almost sixteen years old, I know how to take care of myself, but they still insist on telling me when to go to _bed_ at night. They can't treat me this way and still expect me to be the mature kid they show off to their friends. DOCTOR What do you want to do, Lucas? LUCAS I don't know, and they won't let me figure it out for myself. They only care about themselves, they don't care about me, if they did they'd notice me when I brought home an A in Calculus when I was only eleven, they'd notice me crying and try to help me, they wouldn't torture me into crying _more_. They hate me! The doctor gently cradles Lucas, holding the young man close to his heart, letting him feel the comfort he needs as a frightened boy. Lucas pulls back, his male pride finally kicking in, then looks at his bleeding, torn arm. The doctor gently touches it. DOCTOR You really did a job on this, you're gonna need stitches. Lucas nods softly. His doctor helps him off the floor and leads him back into his room. Later that night, Lucas is awake, sitting up in his bed, reading a magazine of some sort. It's a science community publication, speaking of the wonders of the newly refitted _seaQuest_. Lucas' doctor walks in, smiling despite his weariness. He gently check's Lucas' bandaged left arm, then makes sure the IV line is secure in his other. He takes Lucas' pulse and spies his reading material. He's interested, but saves his questions and comments for later. Lucas looks up at him, his eyes incredibly innocent. DOCTOR (gently smiling) How's it feel? Lucas half-shrugs. DOCTOR Does it hurt? LUCAS (putting on a strong front) It's nothing I can't handle. The doctor gently touches Lucas' arm and, in a single instinctive jerk, Lucas pulls back, sucking air quickly between his teeth. DOCTOR I'm gonna up your level of pain medication. LUCAS No, I'm okay. DOCTOR But you're in pain. LUCAS (shaking his head) It's not that bad. DOCTOR But you're in pain, right? LUCAS Well, yeah, but- DOCTOR (acting like it's his God-given _duty_ to give Lucas all he wants) But nothing, I'm your doctor and you'll do what I ask. Lucas sighs softly. His doctor is gentle with him. DOCTOR Your parents would yell if you asked for things, wouldn't they? Lucas nods softly, ashamed. DOCTOR (trying to get Lucas to see the light) You parents _abused_ you, Lucas. You did nothing wrong. They were horrible people. LUCAS (dredging up old, painful memories) My Mom would...call me a girl and say I was weak if I complained when my Dad hit me. Sometimes she'd encourage him. To toughen me up. I cried so much those times. Everybody had abandoned me. Lucas gently wipes at some tears, looking down at his blankets. His doctor continues his gentle exam of Lucas, and lightens the tone of his voice. DOCTOR So how'd that psych evaluation go? LUCAS No surprise. I'm severely depressed, dangerously suicidal, I need counseling, blah, blah, blah... DOCTOR That doesn't surprise you? LUCAS Of course not. Why would it? Despite what my Mom may think, I know myself, I know what I want. I'm know that I cry all the time, I know I want to die, and I know I _want_ to ask for help. But nobody ever lets me ask. The doctor gently lays his hand on Lucas'. He looks up at Lucas' face, surprised. DOCTOR (quiet) You're shaking. Are you all right? (beat. Lucas doesn't answer) Lucas? Are you all right? LUCAS (waking up) Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just...tired, I guess. DOCTOR (smiling) Get some rest. I'll talk to you in the morning. The man leaves. Lucas nods softly. He opens his mouth as if to call out, to tell him something, but decides against it and goes to sleep, trying to rest as he was told. He aches for his mother, it doesn't matter that she made him cry so many times, she's his mother, and he will never stop wanting her by his side. But she never comes. Two a.m. Lucas wakes in a pool of sweat, shivering, lightheaded, with a violent headache. He pushes at his hair and desperately presses the nurse call button for help. A pudgy OLDER NURSE enters. OLDER NURSE What's wrong, child? LUCAS (lost) Where's Doctor Clemens? OLDER NURSE (trying to be of some assistance) He went home. You want me to help you up? He looks at her, his big blue eyes filled with tears of pain and fear. OLDER NURSE (getting closer, looking at him) What's the matter? LUCAS (shy. desperate) I can't feel my legs. Well...I _can_, a little, and they hurt. OLDER NURSE All right, that we can take care of. I'll go look for someone to help you. Later. It's six a.m. Lucas is exhausted. He'd rather deal with the pain alone than stay awake another moment. He's hooked up to an EKG, an EEG present but not on. There's an overzealous YOUNG DOCTOR and two young nurses clumped around Lucas' left leg as it is probed with a sonogram, looking for the cause of Lucas' troubles, they suspect an embolism. Lucas is amazed that they can know what's wrong with him based solely on his original statement, that they know where his pain is, how it feels, how terrifying it is to wake and wonder what happened to make you paralyzed. He's amazed they haven't asked him any questions, every doctor he's ever been to has, how's he feeling, where's it hurt, does this hurt, can you feel this. Lucas is utterly confused by how these people work, something about it isn't right. He's also terrified, his mind racing as he thinks of all the things it could be, all the painful ways to die, all the possibilities. Lucas' beloved Doctor Clemens comes in, giving the younger doctor an angry look, seeming equally as confused as Lucas. It's hopeful, frightened little Lucas who notices Clemens' entry, no one else. The doctor walks over to Lucas and looks wondrously at the equipment in the room. The man kneels beside Lucas, at eye level with him. DOCTOR What's going on, Lucas? LUCAS (near tears) I don't know. I woke up last night with a headache and I couldn't feel my legs and then these people came and they started running tests and they didn't even ask what was _wrong_. (Lucas sniffles a little, trying to be brave for this man, it's how he was raised) I'm so scared and they're hurting me and I'm so tired I just wanna go to sleep, it's not worth it. The doctor reaches out and gently strokes Lucas' hair. He looks at Lucas' EKG readings and listens to the sound of Lucas' breathing. The doctor looks back at the poor exhausted boy. DOCTOR They didn't ask what was wrong? LUCAS No, they just started running tests. They won't tell me what's happening and I'm _scared_. What exactly is _happening_ to me? DOCTOR Are you dizzy, Lucas? (Lucas nods) Lightheaded? (again) Shaking? (Again, getting amazed, "how'd he know?") You must be terribly afraid, huh? Lucas looks deep into the man's eyes. DOCTOR (just observing, like he didn't even mean to say it out loud) I've seen very few eyes _that_ scared, Lucas. It's okay. You're not sick. The doctor stands. DOCTOR You looking for an embolism? The young doctor looks up, huh? He nods softly. DOCTOR Find one? The young doctor shakes his head. YOUNG DOCTOR (grinning) Not yet. DOCTOR (wise) You're not _going_ to find one. You coulda' saved yourself a lot of time and effort if you have just talked to this young man. YOUNG DOCTOR (I'm right, you're not, I'm 21, you 56, you have no idea...) He's a child, we're not supposed to listen to the diagnosis by a patient. They don't know what's going on. Lucas winces as if struck. DOCTOR (getting furious at this man's gross incompetence) He's a fifteen year old boy, and you're _always_ supposed to ask _any_ patient what they're feeling. If you had done that you woulda' known that this boy does _not_ have an embolism, he's having a panic attack. He's absolutely terrified. That's why his pain has been getting worse, because he's getting more and more frightened. All he needs is a little hand-holding and a light sedative to calm him down. This boy is here because he tried to kill himself, not because he had a _stroke_! Get this crap the hell outta here and I expect to see you in my office at noon today. We need to have a talk. The young doctor sits in stunned silence a moment, then the nurses do as Dr. Clemens ordered. Moments later, Lucas is quietly sitting in bed, no better, but a tad more relaxed. No machines beeping or doctors poking him. Doctor Clemens is keeping him company, and a nurse is just entering with a hypodermic needle. Lucas' eyes go wide, frightened. LUCAS What's that for? DOCTOR (smiling) Relax, Lucas, I'm not gonna stick you, it's just a sedative to calm you down and help you get some sleep. I know you need it. He injects the needle's contents into Lucas' IV line. Almost instantly, Lucas relaxes and lays back against his pillows. Doctor Clemens sits beside him and smiles gently. DOCTOR Is that better? Lucas nods, weak. He barely has the strength to pick his head up. His doctor looks at the _seaQuest_ article by his bedside. DOCTOR (thoughtful, gently probing Lucas.) You don't wanna go? Lucas looks over and sighs. LUCAS Yeah, I do. I mean, my Dad threw this idea at me and said "you're going", he didn't even give me a choice. I hated the idea, that's why I'm here in the first place, but maybe, on the _seaQuest_, I could actually be important. I might make a difference or do something well and actually get some kind of acknowledgment. This could be _it_. DOCTOR Then that's wonderful, why do you look hesitant? LUCAS (shy) Because no one there will love me. It's a Navy ship, nobody's gonna give me that. DOCTOR (encouraging) You never know, maybe they will. LUCAS Or maybe they're treat me like crap. I'm not a little kid, I've seen how the military works. They might expect me to act like a soldier. I can't do that. DOCTOR I thought they were turning that into a research vessel. LUCAS It's still owned and run by the military. The doctor looks at Lucas, closely. DOCTOR (matter-of-factly) Lucas, being appreciated and possibly loved with the possibility of manual labor is much better than staying home and being beaten and abused by your mother. LUCAS I'm scared. DOCTOR Of course you're scared, new experiences scare people, it's normal. Lucas looks suspiciously at his doctor. DOCTOR (smiling) Take a chance! Lucas thinks, and slowly a smile spreads across his lips. Off his expression, _seaQuest_ Berth. Inside Lucas' Quarters, Lucas is unpacking his stuff, shy. KRIEG comes in. KRIEG Who're you? Lucas turns, scared, but hiding it. LUCAS Lucas Wolenczak. KRIEG (thinking) Oh, the computer kid. (Lucas half-shrugs) Wanna give me a hand? LUCAS With what? KRIEG (thinks) It's best not to ask. Lucas leaves with him, smiling. Fade out. The End. ========================================================================== Copyright Kathleen Brown, May, 1997