"Q.E.D." Part 13
When he awoke, it was dark. The notion that he'd been buried aliveentered his addled brain, and the resulting fear surged through him,forcing him into consciousness. His senses reconnected themselves oneby one, and he became aware of the handcuffs which held his armsbehind his body, and the tape fastened across his mouth. He couldhear the cries of seagulls circling, and he could smell the salty airof the Aegean Sea. He strained his eyes, but could not see anythingbesides a small sliver of light marking the opening of the woodencrate which served as his cell. The inside of his mouth tasted awful,and his head pounded with the after effects of the chloroform.
He searched his memory, trying to reassemble the events that led upto his current state, but all he got was a series of disconnectedimages. The smallness of the plane. The colors and sounds of theinflight movie. The cold sensation he felt as he leaned against thewindow, watching the world pass below him at 30,000 feet. Thealternating glimpses of light and dark as he slept fitfully, tryingto shorten the flight by relegating the majority of it to hissubconscious. And the large hand of Doctor Bill Malcolm: Ears, eyes,nose and throat. The same hand which later held the chloroform ragover his mouth and nose, effectively ending his brief foray intoadulthood.
How could I have been so foolish? Nikolas asked himself, alreadyknowing the answer. "Naive" would be the kinder term for describinghis recent actions. "Rash and impulsive" would be more accurate.Years spent learning chess from his uncle had not yet taught him thefiner points of strategy, and the long hours spent reading anddigesting the works of Tolstoy had not yet taught him patience. Andhe wondered why, after being raised by one of the most calculatingand methodical men he had ever known, those qualities had escapedhim.
"Nikolas, I've seen you looking at the last pages of those thrillernovels, trying to ascertain the answers before the author haspresented all of the questions. Patience, my boy," his uncle hadsaid, and then indicated a vase of flowers on the table. "The flowersare beautiful in their finished form, each one opened from its bud.But from here, one has only their death to look forward to. For me,it's far more enjoyable to watch them growing in the garden, goingthrough all the stages of their lives."
Nikolas winced as he replayed the rest of the memory, and heardhimself reply, "Uncle, if you could, you would go through the tediumof watching the seed sprout beneath the soil, too. I have betterthings to do."
Yes, I have better things to do, Nikolas thought, like feeling everymuscle cramp in protest of my current accommodations.
He struggled against the handcuffs, trying in vain to pull his handsthrough the metal rings. The effort exhausted him and his lungswaited impatiently for oxygen as he tried to take in enough airthrough his nose. This is futile, he thought, and he felt his feartaking him over, jabbing at his insides with needles of panic,welling up as hot bile in his throat, threatening to drown him.
His senses retreated, and he felt his consciousness start to leavehim, as if his mind was being wrapped in black velvet. It was thenthat he heard his uncle's voice again:
"Patience, my boy."
He concentrated on slowing his breathing first, remembering thelessons learned from his Tai Chi training. He shut his eyes, andpictured himself with his uncle, following him through the slow,controlled motions, stepping lightly on the ground, his musclestensing and releasing in response to his mind's commands.
His anxiety lessened, and he was finally able to mentally take a stepback and assess his situation: He was at sea, there was no doubtabout that. He could feel the rocking motion of the boat. And he wasquite certain that he was on his way to the Cassadines' island, mostlikely at his grandmother's "request".
He sighed. This is his uncle's worst fear realized. And he felt aswell of concern for the man who had raised him.
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Three separate actions were reduced to one fluid motion, as Lukeopened the front door, saw who was standing there, and immediatelytried to shut it again. He swore under his breath as the door stoppedsuddenly, wedged up against his visitor's foot.
"Cassadine, what the hell do you want?" he asked.
Stefan pushed open the front door and stepped past Luke, regardinghim with a look normally reserved for lower life forms. "Is Laurahere?"
"No."
"Do you know where she is?"
"Yes."
"Might you tell me where she is?"
"I might. But I won't."
Stefan sighed. "Spencer, much as I enjoy listening to your rapierwit, I haven't the time for this. Nikolas is missing, and I thinkthat his mother should be informed."
Luke crossed his arms and leaned his shoulders against the wall,propping one foot behind him, assuming the posture of a man who hasnothing but time. "So... the kid ran off again, eh?"
"Yes. Yes he did," said Stefan, in the annoyed tone of one forced torepeat the obvious. "I've been searching for him all night."
"And you want Laura to drop everything and run off with you toSchenectady and go look for him... is that it?" He launched himselfaway from the wall and grabbed Stefan by the lapel of his coat."Well, we've all played that game before, haven't we, and frankly,I'm sick to death of it!"
Stefan seemed unimpressed by the action and made no move to releasehimself from Luke's grasp. "Once again, Spencer, you assume that theentire world revolves around you and your paranoid delusions," hesaid.
Luke get go of Stefan's lapel and wiped his hand against his shirt."Paranoid?" he said, "As far as the Cassadines are concerned, I couldnever be paranoid enough!" He reached into his pocket and pulled outthe ring taken from the Faberge egg. "You don't think that I knowwhat you're doing? Planting your nephew's ring in my house? Playingcomputer games with my son? Filling Lesley's head with gruesomestories? Marrying my sister? Dangling Stavros' son like a carrot infront of my wife?" Luke's voice increased in volume with eachaccusation, "You're trying to insinuate yourself into every aspect ofmy life, trying to take away everything that I care about!" He walkedto the front door and opened it. "Get the hell out of my house!" heyelled, "And take this damn thing with you!"
Luke threw the ring out into the snow, and out of the corner of hiseye, saw the look of panic shoot across his adversary's features. Hewatched Stefan's eyes follow the trajectory of the ring, makingcareful note of where it landed.
Stefan shook his head. "You don't know anything, Spencer," he said,in a quiet voice filled with disappointment, rather than rage. And heturned to leave.
The sight of Stefan Cassadine kneeling on the wet sidewalk in hisexpensive clothes, digging through the cold snow with his bare hands,should have brought Luke some satisfaction, but to his surprise, itdid not. He shut the front door, unable to watch any longer.