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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 9, 2010 2:15:48 GMT -8
Dalton had a system. He buried himself in movies, television, video games and an endless amount of computer time and occasionally ate and slept and shared a few words with other people. There was so little for him to say and half of the time he forgot the words that might be able to get his feelings across. Everything was different now, it felt new and he still didn't feel like a complete part of the family. He felt like an outsider slightly, someone that was wanted but didn't quite assimilate. How was he supposed to? It wasn't anyone's fault, of course. And now, at 3 in the morning, he was wide awake in a quiet and dark place. He had spent the last six hours on the computer, tapping away and playing World of Warcraft until his eyes started to burn. Shutting his laptop quietly, he crept from his room. Well, his shared room... He didn't have one of his own, because this wasn't the place that his parents had lived with his family. It was a friend of the family's. Another boy shared the room with him; he was blonde and they never spoke to one another. It was a nice relationship actually. Occasionally they nodded to one another or the other guy made a casual comment to whatever he was watching or playing. It was very civil and there was no pressure.
At three in the morning, he had no idea where he was. He'd been gone since eleven. A quirk he had picked up a long time ago was silence. He learned how to creep around as silently as possible. He had free range of the house before this one for a couple of years, and in the time he was able to wander as he wanted he learned to keep quiet at night, just in case he woke him. He never liked waking him. He was always more apt to anger then. Dalton was still on edge sometimes. He feared that one day he'd walk down the street and it'd happen all over again. He would be gone. For good this time. As he slipped out of the room and down the dark hall, he didn't see the shadow of another person until he turned the corner and nearly ran right into them. It was just someone in the family and he would have known that had his irrational mind not picked it up first and instead of reacting with just a gasp, he let out a yell and covered his head. Oh, smooth, Dalton. Smooth.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2010 3:08:37 GMT -8
Max tossed and turned in his bed. Sweat dripped from his forehead as in his dream, he was back in that river the night Sam died. He was diving down, searching for her. He saw a hand and, alarmed, swam deeper and moved a big boulder that was pinning her down. But it wasn't Sam--it was Asriel. Max held onto his boy as he swam back up to the shore. He laid his son down and tears streamed down his face "wake up! please, wake up! I'm sorry!" Thunder crashed and Asriel disappeared. He was running through the woods, searching desperately. when something jumped on him and he woke with a jerk. He gasped for air and looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. With a sigh, Max got up and got a glass of water. That was the fourth night in a row that he had a nightmare about losing Asriel. He didn't understand it. On his way back to his room, he looked in on his son, just to make sure he was in his bed alive and asleep (because the dream had him terrified that something might happen) He yawned sleepily and staggered down the hall, before deciding he wanted food. His mind was racing too much to sleep. As he turned around again, he ran into Dalton.
Max's eyes filled with concern when he yelled "hey," he said softly, wrapping his arms around the boy. "It's okay. Everything's all right. It's just me" He spoke soothingly, hoping to calm him down. He hated that he had scared him. Max knew what the boy had been through. Not the details, but the general idea. He understood the PTSD that follows stuff like that. Poor child. If Max could help him find his way, he would. He hoped he could. It would help him redeem himself for what happened with Sam.
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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 9, 2010 3:25:32 GMT -8
As soon as Max's arms were around him, Dalton calmed, realizing what he had just yelled about it. Shame washed over him in an instant. It was times like that that he felt like a freak. He noticed clearly how some people treated him. No one knew exactly how to treat him, it seemed. There was a lot that was jumbled and messed up inside, but he wasn't going to crumble, he wasn't going to break if they spoke to him. A lot had changed in a few years, he wasn't the same little boy that had gone running off to a friends house. He was older, less cheerful, and full of baggage that he couldn't get rid of. But, he was still... At the core Dalton. He didn't pull away right away though, he felt like clinging and not letting go. "I'm sorry, I just—it was dark and I thought maybe—maybe—I'm not crazy." He went from trying to explain to making a very strong statement on his sanity. He sure sounded crazy! He wondered if he always did. He didn't think so. And he wondered if they expected him to. Really, he didn't know what to think of anyone it seemed.
"I was just going to the kitchen." He added at the end, and yet still hadn't bothered to back away. He actually felt safe. Sometimes he thought that the man that took him in the first place was going to slip in in the middle of the night. He had lived the last few years thinking of him as almost invincible and able to see him whenever and could stop him from doing anything. It was hard to stop seeing it in that light and knowing that he was safe. After all, Dalton had been very close to having freedom if he just tried for a long time. But, he never did, he always thought he'd be outsmarted and he didn't have the strength to fight. It was so psychological and effected him even now. Then, to make matters more sick and wrong, sometimes he felt bad for running, almost like he'd done something wrong by finally getting away. And it wasn't even for himself, it was for whatever other little boy might suffer the same fate he did. He didn't know if he would have ever gone for another reason.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2010 3:40:18 GMT -8
Max rubbed his back.He shook his head when the boy apologized. "No. No. Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for" the pastor knew guilt and shame well. He also knew fear. Three things that they seemed to have in common. "I know you're not crazy," he assured him. The boy was scared, but he was holding onto Max. That must have meant that he felt safe with him. Max smiled to himself; he felt pretty important.
When he mentioned the kitchen, Max looked down at him. "Oh yeah? Me too. What do you say we get some ice cream or something and just talk?" He bit his tongue to keep himself from quoting a scripture that encourages people to throw their burdens on God. Not many teenagers liked the Bible. He'd have to work his way up to it. He didn't let go, even after he made the offer. He wasn't going to, either. Not until Dalton pulled away.
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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 9, 2010 3:56:28 GMT -8
"You're the only one," Dalton mumbled, not bitterly, but matter-of-factly. No one ever called him crazy and perhaps no one really thought it either. He could have been paranoid and he would be the first to say that he was. Dalton was insecure and afraid that people stared at him and questioned his sanity. Sometimes he knew that he did. He stayed in his arms a little longer. He needed that safe figure to run to. It wasn't that his own parents weren't safe. They were and he loved them. And his own father made it clear that he was there for him, but Dalton noticed a difference when he spoke to him. Peter didn't know quite how to talk to him, or how to pick things back up. He felt loved, but not necessarily stable. "I think so sometimes." He admitted quietly. He wasn't supposed to be screaming in the middle of the night, or thinking someone was going to appear in a window or rush him on a street. He wasn't even that skittish before he ran away and tried to find home again. But now he was, now it was all becoming too clear.
When he suggested ice cream, he attempted a small smile. It was genuine, and he nodded, before slowly pulling away. But he kept a certain amount of closeness. He loved food. Food was comforting, and it didn't come with scary images or crazy feelings. Food was simple. He liked simple. "Ice cream? I could do that." He said. No one really offered him things like that. They tried, but they tried almost too hard for his liking. And it made him awkward and them awkward and he didn't blame anyone. It was just the oddness of his situation. It was easier for him to keep to himself anyway, and while he kept his silence it didn't necessarily mean he wanted to be constantly quiet.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2010 12:29:44 GMT -8
Max listened, not saying a word. He was good at it. Sometimes, Max knew, words weren't necessary. Sometimes, a person just needed someone to listen. And if Dalton would let him, he could be that person for him. When Dalton said that he thought so sometimes, Max shook his head. "You're not," he said again. Max had met people with mental illnesses. Dalton was a normal kid who went through a traumatic experience. It was perfectly normal.
Dalton agreed and pulled away, and Max smiled. "We can go to the 24 hour market. You can get whatever kind you want, and if you can't choose, we'll get everything," he suggested as he grabbed his keys. Max didn't usually keep ice cream in his freezer. He wanted his kids to learn the value of healthy food. But this wasn't a matter of health. As delicious as yogurt was, it just didn't serve as the comfort food that Dalton needed. Max had no problem buying comfort food.
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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 9, 2010 12:48:54 GMT -8
"—thanks," Dalton said, and meant it completely. It was nice, even when he thought he was a little brain addled to hear that someone else didn't think so. He didn't want to be crazy! And he never thought he was, not until he got home and realized the extent of how out of touch he was. He was trying to figure out the expectations of him, to know how he was supposed to be reacting and how he should feel. He needed someone to remind him that he was normal, and that maybe his feelings weren't half bad. He tried to do the things he was comfortable with and knew best. In doing so, he was behaving basically how he had been as long as he had been gone. He spent a lot of time with electronics and out of the way of anyone else. Socializing was harder than it looked and it had been a long time since he really had a lot of contact with other kids and adults, except for the people in stores and restaurants. He'd been home a while now and it still didn't feel much easier. He tried though. He really did try.
His smile grew a little at Max's kindness. "That'd be great," of course he didn't think he would wind up picking every flavour there, but it was nice to know that there were options. He didn't think he needed everything. No way, he'd be sick. Dalton was still fully dressed, shoes and all, because he hadn't bothered to change while he was playing his game, so he didn't need to bother with getting anything. He was more than ready to go.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2010 13:43:34 GMT -8
Max nodded and slipped into some house shoes. Normal, responsible Max would have left a note, in case one of the boy's parents woke up and found him gone. But Max wasn't thinking responsibly. He was thinking about taking care of the boy. Max knew better than anyone how Dalton felt. He just never told anyone--including Darcy. Max quietly left the apartment and led him to his car. He unlocked it and slid in the driver's seat before saying anything. After turning on his headlights and starting the car, he looked at the boy.
"You know, it's okay to be scared. Being grabbed and pulled away from your family, it's hard. Especially when the people who have you are scary. Like, when they keep you blindfolded but you feel hands all over. And when you accidentally let your real name slip and make them angry" Of course, he couldn't know if those were what Dalton went through or not. He wasn't assuming anything. He was speaking from personal experience. It was the most terrifying nine months of his life. Max had only been seven years old at the time, but he remembered it vividly. Heck, even the kidnapper's faces were still clear in his mind.
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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 9, 2010 15:36:48 GMT -8
Once in the car, Dalton buckled himself in and waited for Max to start the car. He thought little about telling anyone that he was going, given that Max was an adult that lived there, he figured no one would worry if they noticed both of them were gone. Besides, it was three in the morning and he knew from experience that they didn't tend to wake up at those hours. He was up at all hours, after all. His sleeping schedule was never normal and it was hardly the same night after night. And there were several reasons for this, but for the most part it was his detachment from their lives. He continued to carry on differently, a part of the family, but not a part at the same time. But, he wasn't sure he was ready to be fully integrated either. This things took time. He understood it, but wondered how much it would actually take.
As the man started to talk, his brow furrowed as he stared at him. Was he talking from experience? People didn't talk like that. Not unless they were reliving a story. He swallowed, staring at him. "You. You're talking about you." He said quietly. He wasn't a stupid kid, he picked up on things fast. He felt bad, but at the same time, relieved. Someone understood something... Maybe not exact. No, it wasn't exact, but he knew what it was like to be away from home. "—what if it isn't all bad?" He asked, not clarifying, because he was too scared to explain it. No one understood it. And he was scared no one ever would. He thought it would be easier if it was all one terrible, horrible nightmare and if there weren't grey areas in between.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2010 16:55:50 GMT -8
Max nodded "I was seven years old.Never knew my dad, and I lost my mom when I was five. The people who took me were running the group home that I was put in. It was three men. They dragged me from here to BC over the course of nine months. I was bound and gagged for the majority of the time. They would let me go to let me eat and bathe. When they settled in Victoria Island, I was kept in the backyard under the house, restrained by chicken wire. One day, they left and I never saw them again. A fourteen year old boy found me doing his newspaper run. I was put back into foster care and by the time I was nine, I was adopted." Max spoke very softly as he retold the story. It had been the first time in over twenty years that he even thought about it. He looked at Dalton and sighed "I've never told anyone about it. But being kept away from anyone who could possibly care and do anything about it....I know how that feels. And it doesn't go away just because you're rescued." Max knew firsthand. He had nightmares for years after that. He was scared that someday, they would take him again. The only time that anything really merited the fear in him was seventeen years ago, when the high school principal waged a massacre against the students and teachers. It wasn't enough for him to use all of his strength to get past the fear. It took one teenage girl who brought meaning back into his life. And that was Dalton's mother. By the time he met her, Max had been highly active in his parents' christian way of life. But he had been simply going through the motions, until he met her. She made everything better. And he fell in love with her because of it. Of course, he ended up making sure she was with the one she loved: Peter. He learned to love Sam, but he would never love anyone the way he loved Darcy.
At the question, Max smiled softly. "It's okay to care about them, son. God loves all of mankind. Never be ashamed of caring about even the cruelest of people. Because in God's eyes, you're a real saint for it. You're a better man than I am. Never let anybody tell you different. Every child is a gift from God, Dalton. With the way you care, the gift your parents received when you were born is extraordinary"
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Post by Dalton Stone on Jun 10, 2010 0:01:52 GMT -8
Dalton stared at Max in awe and sympathy. For a long moment he didn't say a word, letting it all sink in. His eyes skimmed down to his lap and then up again, listening to him. Slowly, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, it sounds terrible. Horrible." He said gently—he would venture worse than anything he experienced. There was no binding, no gagging, no violence when he was first taken off the street. He couldn't imagine being stuck under a house, or caged that way. "You never told anyone—really?" He asked, surprised that he could go that long without. Slowly, however, he shook his head. "I wasn't forced—that day..." He looked down, shame filling his eyes. "It started to rain, and I was cold. I didn't want a ride at first, I knew I shouldn't, but it was so wet and it was just a block away, so I did. When I realized we weren't going home, I tried to argue, but—but he said things." Ever since he came back, he refused to retell his story, but Max opened up to him and he felt safe telling him. He feared the judgement from everyone else, but if he could tell him that... Then maybe— "We—he—I... It was an apartment. We lived in an apartment. There were just padlocks. Lots of padlocks on my door. But, I had a bed, and a TV and... he started to let me out of my room, then outside. We'd go to the mall, and I'd see the neighbours in the building. I even got to play basketball with another kid on Sundays if I was good... But I always had to be good. Always." He said, shuddering a little and looking out the window.
Being good entailed a lot of things that Dalton wouldn't share. Even if he was feeling open, they wouldn't come out. He wouldn't talk about the darker aspects or even repeat what was said that frightened him. And it wasn't the fear that had really twisted him around. It was the comfort afterwards. It was how he'd talk to him when he cried, or give him things to calm him. He was someone that no doubt was cruel and disgusting, yet, he held him for hours once until he calmed, promising not to do anything and he didn't. He kept it for over a day and just took care of him. It attached him, and when he thought of running, he had this idea that the man was invincible and that he would somehow know. He always told him he could, and told him that he knew where his old family was and that he could hurt them too if he took off. But, most of the time, it was a strange kindness. Something that Dalton couldn't understand as insincere or a way of manipulating him. He was already too far gone in it. He couldn't see through it.
"I know, I know God is there. But, what if they don't think so? What if they don't think I'm good? They can't understand. They won't. I didn't kick and scream and fight like they do on TV. I didn't do any of that. And now... I finally have them back. I have them all back and... And sometimes I think he's coming and he's going to hurt me, that he'll climb through the window... And other times... I miss him." He spilled everything, because once he started talking he couldn't stop. It resembled how he had been when he was a kid. He used to be constantly talkative. He would talk himself to sleep half of the time and it was a stark contrast to his silence. And with those final words, he lowered his head, ashamed and afraid. What if he thought he was crazy?
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Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2010 0:22:04 GMT -8
Max shook his head. "Your mother is my best friend, Dalton. But not even she knows. So it's between you and me. Whatever you say in this car, stays in this car. I won't tell anyone or make you tell anyone. I promise" Max didn't just go around making promises all of the time. It was hard for him to use those two little words, because he only made promises if he knew without a doubt that he could keep them. But this, he knew he could. The kid needed someone to talk to. Max wasn't about to repeat anything to Darcy or Peter or anybody else. He didn't comment on what happened because he didn't want to make him feel like it was his fault.
When he started talking about his family not understanding, Max reached out and touched his shoulder. "Your family loves you. No matter what happened. It wasn't your fault, Dalton. The kicking and screaming that you see on tv, all that is is a rehearsed scene. It's different when it's happening without notice. No matter what you did or didn't do, you are not to blame. You understand that?" Hopefully, he did, and hopefully, he believed him.
"I used to feel like that. I remember thinking they were coming for me, and the nightmares. It gets better, you just have to take it day by day." He paused when he said he missed him. Max saw shame in the boy and turned his body to face him. "Hey, look at me. Don't be ashamed. This man took care of you. Even though he took you. It's okay to miss him."
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Post by Dalton Stone on May 2, 2011 17:46:23 GMT -8
Dalton nodded. It meant a lot to him to have anyone willing to keep a promise. He didn't know if he lacked that, but he was afraid of opening up. Dalton didn't want to relive what happened or face it, but he couldn't forget it and he couldn't just pretend like it never happened. Those were a vital years of his short life and it hadn't been that long ago that he got away. All he wanted was to go back to the way things were before. But, he knew that couldn't happen exactly. He was older now and things had changed. He changed, even. And he couldn't find the person that he had been before. Sometimes there were signs of it, when he became excited and couldn't stop talking. But, it happened so rarely. It had started happening less and less after he was taken. And since he got home again, it still rarely did. He didn't ramble or rant, or otherwise talk until he couldn't take a breath. There was a lot more silence and he felt like he recognised it more now than he had in the past. "Thanks," he said. "It means a lot."
"It looks so easy on TV," he admitted, thinking back to the kind of shows where the victim put up a huge struggle. He hadn't done that though. And even after a while, he hadn't been willing to. Once, he tried to hit and kick, long after he'd been there and the results were ones that he didn't care if he ever remembered. The man didn't take that kind of disobedience. He was strict, extremely so and Dalton learned quick how to behave. And when he wasn't like that, he was kind and Dalton did have some good times. He had moments where he forgot how bad his life was, but he never forgot his family and he missed them every single day. That never changed and now that he was there, he never wanted to leave them. "I know, I can tell sometimes. And dad, dad really tries, I think." He noted, though he was also busy and he seemed to be having a tough time dealing with what happened. Which, Dalton didn't blame him, he was just glad that he was there. Listening to him, he looked down, because he wasn't sure. He wanted to believe it wasn't his fault and a part of him knew it. Yet, still, he nodded very quietly. "I try to... But sometimes, I'm not sure."
He turned to him, nodding, but was struggling not to feel ashamed. "I just, I feel like I'm turning my back on them somehow. I never, never want to go back. I never want to see him again. But, sometimes it was okay. Things were good." Not always, but sometimes. It wasn't enough though, because he couldn't take away the bad things. And those were so much more poignant than the others.
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2011 21:41:33 GMT -8
He pulled out of his parking spot, driving slowly to the gate. "All they care about is that you're safe, you know. I think that as long as you still love them--your sisters, your parents--they won't feel betrayed. They might even be happy that it wasn't all bad. I remember the day you went missing. The searches, the flyers--they didn't want to stop searching. Couple of different times, a small boy would be found and your mom would be sent to the coroner's office. Those days were the worst. Every Sunday, right up until you came home, I prayed for you. What hurt the most was the thought that you could be tortured. So if they knew....I don't think they would feel betrayed. I think there would be relief."
As the gate opened and let them drive out, he looked at her. "Now, you can tell me this is none of my business. I'm not your father, and I'm not trying to be. But I am your friend, Dalton. Your friend and your pastor. And your answer, whether it be back the flock off, or a detailed answer, it will stay between us and God. Only the three of us will know, unless you choose to share it with someone else. But I'm not going to be the cause of that, all right?" he looked at the boy and took a breath
"did the man who took you touched you inappropriately or...hit you?" He spoke softly as he turned on his left turn signal and turned onto the intersecting street. He knew it was a sensitive subject to discuss. And he wasn't about to judge. He just wanted to know the extent of the help that Dalton needed.
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Post by Dalton Stone on May 2, 2011 23:50:51 GMT -8
"I didn't want them to be so scared," he admitted. Yet, at the same time, he was glad to hear that they cared so much and tried so hard. He was worried that they would give up on him. When he found out his mom hadn't changed her phone number, his heart had lifted. He feared she would have by now. But, she hadn't, through everything, she kept the number he remembered and to him that was a saving grace. He knew he could have called the cops, but he was too scared for that. He just wanted her to come and take him home. When he escaped it hadn't even been so hard. He was in public, but he was so used to is life and so scared he would always catch him that it wasn't until he made that request that he had to leave. "But, I'm kind of glad they were-- I mean, it means they cared. I thought they did... I hoped they did." He never wanted them to give up, not like he was always told they had. He needed to have some hope to cling to.
Dalton was watching him, knowing quickly that he was going to ask something that was either hard to ask or hard to answer. But, he was quiet, nodding, because he knew he could tell him he didn't want to answer. But, he was waited to hear what it was and when he did, he went into an unsettled quiet. His eyes went to the window and he fought hard not to cry. There were tears already forming and he swallowed hard, heaving a breath in. "Yes—When I did something he didn't like, he got angry. And I tried to be good, so he wouldn't have to." He said, quietly, taking some blame for it. Because he honestly believed he made him hit him when he was upset. He would do something wrong and it provoked him. He should have just listened. "And the other stuff..." He looked down, playing with his sleeve. "That happened too. But, he was getting tired of me, I think. He wanted someone new." He hadn't spilled details like that, but he felt safe with Max. He felt like he would keep his secret. But the second he finished saying it, he shut his eyes, fighting back the crying.
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