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Dear Journal, It's over…the damned hospital finally let Zac out and we're all together again. He was ready to come home awhile ago, it's not even funny how long they kept him. I think he was just afraid that Jamie or Will or Mac might still be out there to come after us. They're dead… the cops told us and even went so far to show us some pictures. But Zac still doesn't believe them… not that we can't blame him, he got the hell beat out of him and he almost died because of what they did. I think I'd be just as nervous… …But he's here now… it doesn't matter that he's scared. He's on a few different anti-depressants for anxiety, severe depression, and post-traumatic-stress-disorder. Ike and I are on Zoloft, Paxil, and Effexor… but I'm pretty sure Zac's got us beat out by at least a dozen more. None of the kids really wrestle with him anymore like they used to. It's sad to see him watching them… you can see how much he wants to play but he can't. One time Jessica pinned his arms to the floor while Avery gave him a tickle attack… oh my god… he screamed almost as loud as he did at the cabin… we thought he had died. He went into shock and we had to call the paramedics but they treated him here and left him with us, thank God. It was terrible… Jess and Avie have a hard time going near him sometimes, even we do on rare occasions. Don't get me wrong, we're as close as we've always been, closer even, but the family just doesn't have the bond we do… we're not the same people we used to be and we never will be. We're DIFFERENT, our families try to say they understand what we went through, they saw the pictures, the scars, the men who did this… but they know NOTHING of what we went through. My god… I can't begin to explain how frustrating it is to talk to our shrinks about that. I'm not even going to go there. But mom and dad try so hard… really. They want the family back together again, but it just won't happen. We'll always be there with each other. ALWAYS. But we're still going to be separate. Isaac, Taylor, and Zac. Then the rest. Walker, Diana, Jessica, Avery, Mackenzie, Zoë. Like, we went to the movies the other night and we usually sit with a parent on each end of us so we don't get into too much trouble. Ike and Avie would cuddle up, Jess, Zoë, and me, and then Zac and Mackie. The ONE time mom and dad drug us out of the house for a movie (I still don't know how they managed that one), Zac cowered between Ike and I… we were up against the wall and totally away from everybody else. There was no regret there honestly. They were different from us, they don't KNOW how it was… there's open jealousy on our part. It would tear the family unit apart if we weren't seeing our head-doctors… but they're letting us know how to handle this and everything. We're trying our damndest not to let those assholes win and tear the family apart in the long run. They won’t win. We won't let them. Taylor Dear Journal, Tay called a few days ago to let us know that they brought home a new baby from the hospital… ok, not new… Just Zac, but close enough eh? Yeah, it's this huge relief now cause it shows that, though the damage has been done, we're getting on with ours lives. WHAT-THE-FUCK-EVER… Sure we've moved on… sure we're alive and those assholes are dead. But to move on? After something like THAT? One does not simply get along with their life after something so monumental. It's like a whole nother world now. It's pathetic. We see our lives two ways. Before the kidnapping and after them. Scott gets the worst sometimes though… he looks back to when he didn't have memories of Tony, Star, and all that shit and just cries and cries. He used to ask for Dad or Sheila or mom at first, but he realized that they didn't bring comfort the way the rest of us did. And you know what? THAT is one sorry thing to have to write. Scott Andrew Moffatt coming up to his LITTLE brothers and sobbing, with no shame whatsoever, into our shirts for hours on end. Before everything happened (See? Everything is before and after now, it's shit!) Scott wouldn't have DREAMED to come to us and tell us about anything, let alone cry to us. But we don't see it as something to tease him over. We do the same thing. It's hard not to sleep in the same room with them. The first night we got home we all went our separate ways… wait, wait, let’s talk about that for a second. It was so damn weird walking to our different rooms on our own. We were used to be shoved into each other, shouted at, having knives and guns jammed into our sides… not walking around on our free will. But anyway… I did it first. I was in bed for like, a minute tops before I got up and headed for Clint's room. Scott came second and Dave came in third and we all just kinda shoved the blankets and sheets on the floor and became the big mass again and fell asleep after a therapeutic group crying. That was kinda gross… so wet, nothing to blow our noses on…Ew. Sheila and dad tried to keep us in our own beds. We did for awhile there, but for one reason. We were afraid. So much fear was drilled into us we thought they'd do something to us if we didn't listen. So that's what it came to. But eventually we figured out that this was family and not abductors. Dad and Sheila even went out and bought us this like… massive king sized bed, because Clint's twin sized was not gonna hold us four very easily. So that's the gist of it for today I guess. I dunno how much I'm gonna be writing in here b/c it's just like our lives. There's the before section and the after section. And I don't think I'll wanna read this later in my life. It'd depress me too much. Talk to you later I guess. Bob Bob put his pencil down over the cover of his journal and pushed himself off of the communal bed with his arms, rubbing his hands fiercely over the top of his newly shaved head. That had been the first thing to change about him when he got back from his stint in, what he called, captivity. Scott had done away with that… that thing on his face that he was trying to call a beard. Clint and Dave hadn't really gotten around to doing anything really. He walked across the hallway to get to the bathroom and put the slightest amount of gel in his hair, frisking his fingers over the tips to make it stand at attention. Bob ran a finger over the scar on his head from the time Clint walloped him with the bucket and smiled sadly. He hadn't known it would leave a mark behind, but he told them it had hurt! They just wouldn't believe him when he had complained. "Bob! Hurry your dumb ass up!" A voice yelled upstairs. The person being called for watched his shoulders shake in silent laughter in the mirror. There was one thing that nothing would/could/should ever change. Knowing his luck, or lack of, he would always be the one to picked on, antagonized, and/or beat up. All in good fun, but it was still something that would go unchanged. He pulled in a long breath and turned to go out the door when, all of the sudden, a memory assaulted him. He didn't know where it had come from but he was suddenly being pulled in and cocooned the thoughts of where he had been such a short while ago. The helicopter was churning, thrumming deeply over the baron, yet still breath-taking, landscape. Bob had been thrown back into the back of the chopper after his body heat had raised substantially enough for no worries to be held aloft any longer by his abductors. All of the sudden the machine pulled hard to the right, flinging all those onboard in that general direction; right on top of him and his prone body. Panic ensued for the entire group, muffled yelling, squirming bodies, tears, hacking coughs, the whole nine yards. And Bob was beneath it all, trying not to throw up, not to die, not to- "BOB! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR BEFORE WE INSTALL A STICK SHIFT TO GET YOU MOVING!" Wild laughter followed this statement. Bob gasped, stumbling back against the open door, his knees giving out as he sunk quickly to the floor, his emotions overcoming him. He was still himself enough to try and calm down as his shrink had taught him, but it was useless. The stifling feeling was only getting stronger and it felt as if it would swallow him up. The edges of his sight began to turn black. There, in the middle of it, was suddenly Taylor, looking afraid and worried. "C'mere Bob…" He sighed, pulling the young man into his arms. They all had these fits and it was best to let them ride it out and get it out of their system rather then bottle if up and save if for some other time. Bob let few tears fall but he did let his emotions roam freely for a short period of time, knowing he was safe in this person's grip. Soon enough all traces of the feeling were gone and Bob pulled away, wiping his nose against his sleeve. "Sorry, I got caught up in it…wow…" Bob felt as if he had just ran for miles and miles on end. "What was it about?" Taylor pulled a section of hair behind his ear, rubbing the other's shoulder slowly. Bob rubbed his face in his hands before continuing, "In the helicopter, going to the cabin. That one turn that everybody squished me on. I felt like I was getting no air…" He shook his head to clear his memory. He pushed up against the wall, sliding his body up, noting that Taylor did the same. He rubbed his hands vigorously over his face and back up over the top of his head and nodded once to Taylor to let the concerned young man know that all was well. As the two passed through the narrow hallway, Bob noticed with shame that the green walls were in dire need of a new coat of pain. He was supposed to do that before IT had happened. No bother, nothing could be done about when he was supposed to have done the job, he could do it now and he could have his six brothers help him. ::::::::End. << Back to Story Page>> << Back To Index Of Chapters Page>> Back To Main Page>> |