Ch 22: Plan

Where had things gone wrong? I was visiting Portland in my dreams. Vinnie and Sammy and the bookstore. I was back in New York before I'd left. Before disaster hit. I remember my mom knitting a quilt for me in the living room. I remember dad taking me out to play catch or watching the Saturday toons with me. Wouldn't it have been easier if I were someone else? Not the useless delta I was at the moment, wishing for it all to end.

Three days. It had been three days and the aches were deep in my bones, the burns in my muscles, and the gripping pain all over my body. It hadn't been that bad, had it? No. A few kicks from some masked men with video cameras here and there. Maybe a good shiner or two. I couldn't feel my nose after the second day although the sensation had soon come back in the from of an incessant throb and a splitting headache. The assholes had even gone for my shoulder with the bullet injury. Pressing down on it was enough to make me scream.

Get a hold of yourself, Fitzroy. It's only a few minutes a day for the camera. Why the fuck can't you take a hit or two? Imagine how pathetic Ross and the others must think you're being.

I promised myself, at the very least, that I wouldn't cry. I couldn't forgive myself. Maybe it was ok but I couldn't give myself the satisfaction. The dirty cell with nothing but a blanket in one corner and a door that led to a dingy bathroom in another were my only company. For most nights, I'd sat in the pitch blackness trying to get used to the foreign smells, feeling, and...the screams of others. Apparently, I was the lucky one. The tears always stood at the precipice, ready to fall. I wouldn't let them. I felt like a scared little boy. It didn't matter.

Maybe it was for the best. It hadn't fully registered that I was going to die and it had. Part of my judgement was clouded with resignation. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to keep my sanity intact. I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with me dying. It was for Hans. It was for Hans. For Hans. If I said the mantra in my head enough times, the beatings would hurt just a little bit less that day.

The third day of beatings seemed to drag on longer than usual. One of the betas threatened to snap my arm, and I couldn't help the short sob that escaped me. An hour or so after they left, I dragged myself, crawling to a wall and sitting against while trying to wipe away the blood on my already heavily stained T-shirt. I hadn't been allowed a change. Then I sat there. Exhausted and tired. Tired of everything. Tired of who I was. Tired of telling myself I could take another four days. Tired of telling myself that it was ok if I died. I buried my head into my knees. My hands trembled. Water threatened to fall over the edges of my eyes.

Why are you so goddamn weak? What's wrong with you? Maybe you deserve it. Can't protect yourself like an alpha or a beta. You aren't nearly half as worthful as an omega. No, this is your fault. Your fault. Your fault...

"Hey kiddo, what's with the long face?"

My head shot up. I did a double-take. A tremor ran through my body. "Da-dad?"

His visage was smiling at me. We looked a lot alike. Red hair that was just neat enough to satisfy mom. Pale skin and soft trimmed beards. Emerald green eyes. Unbelievably green, as mom would say. Connor Fitzroy smiled.

"You're asleep, kiddo. But it's great to see ya! Can't tell you how much we missed ya!"

I sniffled. The tears were already trailing a path down my splotchy cheeks. "I wanna go home, dad." I stuffed my head back down. "I'm-I'm so pa-pathetic. A useless delta..."

He ruffled my hair and  gave his old, crooked smile that made the wrinkles around his eyes more prominent. "Remember what I used to tell ya, Con? Those are the cards you get-"

"-What you gonna do about it?" I finished for him. He beamed. I felt his calloused paw close around my hand and open it as his free hand set something down. I was taken aback to find my carving knife.

There was barely a time to say goodbye, barely any time to tell him how much I loved him before I woke up to the cold gray void with a start. There was no carving knife in my hand. It really was just a dream. As I sat there, tending my own injuries the best I could and thinking about dad and his smile, an idea popped into my head. It was simple. Would it work? I had to try.

"Erm, hey, uh, Lenny wazzit?" I threw out a goofy little accent as I leaned my aching body against the door and opened up the little slit my eyes could look through. Lenny was the overweight, mostly aloof guard that had been stationed to guard me. I assumed that my being a delta and most likely dead within a week meant that they had no reason to expend their best or brightest talent on me. If anything, Lenny was a prop. The real issue was the reinforcement on the door.

Lenny didn't respond at first. I continued. It was small talk for the most part. I asked questions, about family, friends, hobbies. He gave one-word answers but he didn't seem too mean.  If I could have gouged the look in his eyes, I would say he seemed to pity the pathetic delta. Pity. Pity was  good. Our mostly one-sided conversation dragged on before I left a brief pause.

Then, "Y'know, you must be bored out of your goddamn mind watching me all day. Hows about I entertain you a little? If ya bring me a piece of wood to carve, and a good knife, I'll make anything you want."

Lenny seemed hesitant. It took a lot, but I had the good cards. I played into his boredom, into my weakness as a delta-"look, how could I ever overpower a big, strong beta like you?" and maybe even into a little sympathy-"I'm gonna be dead by the end of the week, man. I just wanna do one last thing before I go, y'know?"

It worked. Carefully and watchfully, he slid me a small knife and a piece of wood he had probably taken from the kitchen and the front lawn. I spent a good few hours carving something simple. By the time the light went out, I had managed to carve a dog, the best I could without plaster, references, a good knife and good lighting. The noise he made when I gave it to him almost sounded like he could be impressed. The was my third day and night.

I got another good beating the fourth day, leaving my body bloodied and bruised. I cried. When the aches subsided just a little, I gave Lenny a crooked smile and asked for more wood. That night, I churned out a tree, a bit more intricate than my last work. Lenny's eyes widened when he held it.

The fifth day was the worst as of yet. It didn't surprise me that no one had come for me. Which was good, I  told myself. They needed to protect Hans. Still, as my ribs took a kick followed by a punch to the gut, as I struggled to breath and to see, a bitterness seemed to rise  up within me. When they left, a throbbing pain through my back and chest had me slumped against a corner, bawling my eyes out and trying to breathe. Hours passed and I quieted down. I might have fallen into a dreamless sleep when I heard a sound. The door was opened and a piece of wood was left behind. I smiled as much as the throbbing in my face would allow. I didn't even have to ask tonight.

That night, it took longer than usual. Bloodied and shaking hands weren't the best for delicate carvings. I managed to spit out a small replica of New York City. I swore I saw Lenny smile this time.

On the sixth day, they went easier on me. Maybe it was because I'd be dead tomorrow. I knew I had to set my plan into action. It was no or never.

"Hey, Lenny! Wanna watch me carve something? Thought it'd be more fun than just sitting around waiting for me, y'know? I could even give you a lesson!"

That last part especially seemed to catch his attention. I smiled to myself, knowing he still seemed apprehensive. It didn't take long to heckle the guy in. After all, it was easy to convince him, with all the beatings I'd taken (and the fact that he was a much more powerful beta) that nothing would happen.

I gave him a short lesson. It lasted for an hour or so, but the man seemed intrigued. That was good. After I finished up, I asked him if he could fetch another, bigger piece of wood fro himself to work on.

As he walked in with another piece a few minutes after, I shook my head. "That jacket and hat of yours are gonna get in the way. Trust me, I know how it is. Here, lemme hold 'em."

Lenny hesitantly slipped off his jacket and threw it at me along with his hat. I gave him a good while to get used to the knife and the wood. His bigger hands were definitely more clumsy but the guy had spirit, I'd give him that. He was focused too. Focused enough were I slipped his keys. Of course, he noticed. The noise enough was a dead giveaway. But it hardly mattered because before he could even think of lunging, I had slammed the door shut and locked him in.

"You sonofabitch! You're dead! Dead!" I ignored his shouts. My hands were trembling. A tremor, probably fear, probably adrenaline, ran through me. I slipped on the brown jacket and flat hat and ran. I sprinted like the devil was on my heels. Which, to be fair, was an apt metaphor. I had only so much time before his shouting would draw attention.

I ran almost blindly, a set of dilapidated staircases taking me through rusty double-doors, through a narrow and dim hallway and straight into what looked to be a...kitchen? Ok, good, good. This was very good. I just had to find a way out of this confounded place without my heart ripping right out of my chest it was beating so fast. I continued to run. I was stopped by a plump woman. She shoved a plate at me with barely a side glance. Made sense. I was just a lowly delta.

"Give these to the missus Catherine will you? She's out on the veranda."

"Oh, erm, uh, wh-where would that be again...?" I could feel sweat on my face. She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes.

"You must be the new help." When general directions were given, I strode out as fast as I could, clutching the plate knowing that it was a perfect disguise. It didn't take me long to ditch it though. As soon as my feet hit the grass, I ran in the opposite direction to where this Catherine supposedly was. The fence. The tall, wrought iron fence. I was so close! I broke into a smile, the sweat and the excitement and the adrenaline pumping through my veins, washing away the ache and pain in my legs for the briefest of moments as I ran towards my freedom.

Then I felt myself go down as the weight of a thousand elephants slammed into me. After a gasp, I stared into the barrel of a gun and a cold face. I could have burst into another sob or fainted.

Right as the man grabbed my arm, however, a whirring noise sounded above. There was screaming. Gunshots. Police sirens. This cacophony of noises was the last thing I heard before the pain and dizziness overwhelmed me and everything faded into black.

-8-

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