Moments

Author's Note: This story was originally published in 1989 in a zine called Suffering Heroes by Tanis Press.

Mouse smiled as he rushed back down the tunnel, clutching the much-prized tool. He had spent a lot of time trying to get one of these, and now what a piece of luck; he had found one, and it had not taken him long to break into the warehouse to get it.

He paused, knowing that Father would be angry if he knew that Mouse had stolen again. He chewed his lip in a moment of worry, but soon this passed as he made up his mind not to tell Father, nor anyone, how he had acquired it. It would just appear, that was it, they never seemed to mind when things just appeared.

He scuttled onwards, his mind now clear from any guilt, and this tool would be of such use to his building and plans. His mind was already away, planning and seeing what he would use this wonderful tool for.

He stopped suddenly, brought back into himself with a bump. He tilted his head to hear better: yes, there it was again, the faint cry for help.

He took a few paces towards it, then stopped. Nobody came to this part of the tunnels, no one that he knew of, anyway. Swallowing hard, he heard the cry again, weaker. Someone was trapped down here.

He must go and get the others. He started off, but stopped. What if the person could not last until he got help? He saw mental pictures of a person slowly dying… He shook his head; he would find them first, then call for help. If needed, he could always his the pipes.

His mind made up, he headed towards the now very faint cry. AS he scuttled, he wished that he had more light on him.

Suddenly he came upon the caller and the problem; it was a girl, she was caught - trapped between the walls of the tunnel that seemed to have collapsed in upon her.

"No," Mouse cried, crouching down beside her. "Bad, bad," he whispered, seeing that he would not be able to move the rocks on his own.

"Help me…. Please," sobbed the girl," reaching out with her one free hand towards him, pain etched in every line of her pretty face.

"Mouse help, you stay still, no move." He looked frantically about: there had to be something he could use to send a message on the pipes. Then he remembered the tool that had brought him down this part of the tunnels.

Quickly he began to tap the emergency code of the tunnel people, knowing that it would bring them rushing to his aid.

While he waited, he knelt down and began to speak to the girl, trying to find out her name and where she hurt. He felt so helpless, but he did not know what else to do - but taking seemed to relax her. She began to tell him why she had run away and what rumours she had heard about the tunnel people. Mouse kept silent, her words bringing back the nightmares of his own past.

He could see that Sally was getting weaker and weaker; he would have to try to move some of the rocks, to make it easier for her to breathe.

"Don't, please," was all that she cried when he tried to move the rubble, tears streaking down her face, her breathing becoming even harsher.

"Mouse… Mouse…" He span round at the sound of his name and, taking a sobbing breath, he realised that they had found him.

"Here! Mouse is here!" Suddenly he was no longer alone, the little tunnel was filled with his friends. Gently he was moved aside and Vincent checked the rock fall, seeing that the firl was too far gone wit pain to realise who was bending over her.

"We must get her free from here," he said, starting to have the rocks from her little body.

"Let me get a lock at her first, Vincent," Said Father, moving closer. "I might be able to give her something for the pain."

He let Vincent pass by him in the small tunnel, then crawled into the space beside the firl.

"You're safe now," he answered her pitiful cries.

"I hurt," she whispered. "Please… Plea…" Slowly the drug that Father gave her began to take effect and she began to relax. He moved back.

"It will be easier on her now, but hurry Vincent. These walls don't look safe and I need to check on her injuries."

Vincent needed no reminder and very soon they had moved the rubble from the girl's body, passing it back in relays. As they worked, they could see that she was only young - twelve to sixteen - and she was from above. But what was she doing down here? And how had she happened to get caught in the tunnel? It looked like this was the only caved-in part, she had been very unlucky to have got caught in it.

Father looked over at Mouse who was hopping from one foot to the other, helping where he could, but mostly letting the stronger men move the earth. Maybe she had also been very lucky, the people did not use these tunnels very often.

Suddenly she was free and Vincent was gently lifting her up, Father beside him, checking her for any breaks, any reason why she should not be moved. But he realised that they would have to take the risk, they could not wait here any longer and the child needed medical attention.

The journey back to their part of the tunnels was slow and quiet. Father could hear the others whisper, "Who is the child? Where has she come from to be caught in the tunnel thus?"

Mouse kept up with Vincent's fast but cautious pace. He dodged about behind the taller man, jumping up at times to catch a glimpse of the girl's face.

As they entered the main cave, Father directed Vincent to his own bedroom. The girl would have to stay here until she was better, or they could get her up into a proper hospital.

Father ushered the others from the room, keeping back only Mary and Jamie to help him with his young patient.

Mouse hopped about outside in the main cave. Vincent watched him with concerned eyes; if the girl should die, then Mouse would take it very hard. He had the mind of a genius but the heart of a child, and all death hurt him - and Vincent knew that he would only blame himself, or worse, Father, if he was not able to save her.

It was a long wait; the others began to slowly drift off, knowing they would be informed as soon as there was any news.

"How long?" Mouse finally asked, moving to stand beside the entrance to Father's private quarters.

"Father will do his best. Mouse, do not worry. Everything that is able to be done is being down," Vincent answered.

Mouse cast an anxious look over at his tall friend. "Mouse worried." All his fears and concerns were in those two words.

He looked like he was going to cry. Vincent wanted so much to just take him in his arms and hug all the worries away, but Mouse was not like the other children; his life had been different, he did not talk much - didn't need to - he was understood by the others and that, to him, was all that mattered.

Father appeared at the entrance, looking tired and drawn. Vincent could see by his burdened shoulders that it was not good news.

He moved further into the room before he spoke. "I'm sorry, I can do no more…. The injuries are too bad."

"What if we got her to a hospital?" Vincent asked, knowing even as he spoke that if it would have helped, Father would have been arranging it.

"No, it will only cause her unnecessary pain."

"And if we do not move her?" Vincent asked quietly, knowing the answer but needing to ask.

Father seemed to sink in upon himself as he finished, "we can only make her as comfortable as possible."

"Mouse don't want her to die." The blond boy spoke for the first time, ears shining in her eyes. "Girl, Father, make better.?" It was a quiet plea, one that tore at both the other men's hearts.

Father moved over to Mouse and reached out to him. "I've done all I can Mouse, I'm sorry, I wish I could do more." He paused, unsure how to go on.

"Mouse go see," he said, moving out of Father's reach, his eyes refusing to meet the older man's.

Father let his arms fall to his side, a flash of pain crossed his face. "Yes, yes of course." He stepped aside to let the young man pass. He realised that his inability to save the girl had driven Mouse further away from him.

After he had gone Father stayed where he was, playing over in his mind what had just taken place. Mouse had never rejected him before and yet he could not deny the look of betrayal in the young man's eyes.

"Father," Vincent enquired, moving to stand beside him. "are you all right?"

"What?" the older man seemed to tremble, then, straightening up, he nodded his head. "Yes… Yes, I'm fine. It just seems such a waste to see one so young die." He brushed his hands over his face, trying to hide the tears he felt.

Vincent pushed past the pretence and took hold of his Father. Slowly he began rocking backwards and forwards, while the other man's defences crumbled and fell. Seeking and receiving warmth and love. Father was able to replenish his emotional defences. "You know, Vincent," he finally said, Gruffly. "You'd make a very good doctor yourself."

"are you all right Father?" Vincent asked earnestly.

The older man stood back. "Yes, now I am." He gave a weak smile, then slowly turned as Mary and Jamie came into the room.

"Is she…? Father asked, but was unable to finish the question.

Mary shook her head, then said, "Mouse is with her."

"Is that wise?" Vincent enquired.

"Do you want me to go back?" Mary asked.

Seeing the distress this would cause the older woman, Father shook his head. "I'll go."

Vincent reached out a hand and stopped him. "No, I will."

Father would have argued, but Vincent's looked warned him not to and, after a second's thought, he realised that it would be best if it was Vincent. Mouse would turn to him and he would give him every inch of support the other man/child would need.

***

Vincent stopped at the door and silently watched the scene before him.

Mouse was on his knees beside the bed, holding one of the girl's hands. They were talking; she whispering because she could not talk and Mouse because he did not want to break the spell.

"Am I going to die? The girl asked. She did not seem afraid.

"No." he lied, drinking in her pale face. He could not believe that there was nothing they could do: she looked so young, so small, laying there. He felt he could just pick her up and carry her to safety.

"You don't lie very well," she returned sadly.

"Mouse don't want you to go." He spoke through his tears; his mouth didn't want to form words, the bottom lip kept wanting to turn down and only by swallowing hard was he able to carry on.

"Mouse… that's a funny name." she suddenly remarked.

He shrugged. "Mouse is Mouse."

"Where am I? she asked abruptly, looking for the first time into his face. Such a handsome face, so kind and gentle. She wanted to just reach out and wipe away the tears that slipped down his dusty face. Had he gotten dirty on her behalf?

"Look after you, they won't hurt you no more."

"Do you live in the tunnels? Did I make it?"

He nodded, moving his head up and down, unable to speak past the tightness in his throat.

She smiled, then suddenly she took a deep shuddering breath, gasping, clutching his hand. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out, then relaxed, her body going loose, fingers no longer holding his hand, eyes looking at him but beyond him.

"Sally." Mouse spoke her name gently then, reaching out, he stroked her face. "Pretty Sally," he murmured. Then slowly, almost tenderly, he closed her eyes.

With each breath he took, he could feel a tremendous force building up inside of him. He felt he was going to burst. He rubbed his hands over his face and staggered up.

He had to run… to get away. But he was unable to, for he was caught in a tight clasp. He began to fight against it: it was so wrong - she as only a child; a child who had escaped a bad, terrible life. She had heard about the tunnels and tried to get there, only to die, never to have a good life, to smile, to joke, to… with every thought he fought harder.

Vincent held onto the fighting boy, riding out the blows and kicks and yells, knowing that it was his inner self Mouse was fighting. Suddenly the storm abated and Mouse crumbled in his arms, his body wracked by bitter sobs, all the injustice of it falling from his eyes. His heart was breaking. Gently, Vincent picked him up to carry him from the room, wishing he could wipe away all of Mouse's misery.

As he moved, he saw Father standing by the other door. He nodded; the others would make the girl ready for burial. Vincent could feel his father's pain and hugged Mouse closer. It was returned, almost as if the boy was drowning and the beast was his life's rock. Quietly, Vincent left the others to their unhappy task, carrying his burden back to Mouse's room. He needed rest; the boy was not used to emotional turmoil. He led a simple life, seeing only good in people. What fools they had been. Vincent should have seen how this could have affected Mouse, dragging up all his unhappy times.

Vincent stayed with him until the boy fell into an exhausted sleep, hiccupping gently as he dreamed.

Quietly he stood up, stretching. It had been a long while: Mouse had cried himself to sleep, all his old hurt surfacing once again, letting the nightmares of his past chase him down the alleyways of time, and Vincent felt like he had run every step with him. He was tired and shattered himself. He made his way slowly back to the main cave. He smiled as he passed Eric, who had agreed to keep an eye on Mouse's chamber and report if the boy awoke.

As he went into the main chamber, he saw Catherine. She rushed to him; he caught her close, taking in her gentleness, hugging her close. Already he'd begun to feel better, drinking in her nearness like a claming balm.

Father let them have a few moments, then asked, "How is Mouse?"

Vincent sighed. "Asleep."

"Will he be all right?" Catherine questioned. Vincent knew that Father had told her all that had happened.

"I do not know," he answered, moving to sit down. She went with him. "It is not so much the fact that she died," he went on. "It…" he shook his head; how could he explain? "It is like a part of his belief died with her, a kind of innocence, and Mouse has some very bad memories to forget… I think this had brought them back."

"You mean from his time before?" Catherine queried, gently stroking Vincent's hair, relaxing him.

"Nobody really knows where Mouse is from. He lived for years in these tunnels before we even found him."

Catherine looked at Father, confused. "How could he?"

Father sighed. "He used to steal from us: food, clothing, anything he needed to survive. We knew it was happening, but he was like a ghost. If Vincent hadn't caught him that time…. He would no doubt still be doing it."

"You mean he lived down here all alone?"

"Yes," Vincent replied. "That is why he does not speak very well. He was very young when we first noticed his presence and a long time passed before we even found him. He did not know ho to speak."

"We had to reach him," Father said; the memory brought a small smile to his face.

"How old we he?" Catherine asked, shocked.

"We can only guess." Father replied. "But I would judge about seven, maybe eight."

"That's terrible," Catherine said, moving closer to Vincent. "Alone for so long… what dove him down here? Why would he live like that?"

Father sat down slowly. "We don't know. He never talks about it… just, sometime, you can see a hunted look deep in his eyes, but he's never spoken of it… not once." Both could feel Father's helplessness at this. He knew that Mouse would never really be happy until he could put his past behind him.

"How can we… help him, Father?" Vincent asked, concern-rumbling deep in his voice.

"There is nothing we can do. He will have to come to terms with it. We can only be there for him, show we care, and how important he is to us. He survived this torment once… he must be strong again.

"And if not?" Catherine asked.

Father suddenly looked very old. "I don't know; only you can fight the devils inside of you. I love him, I love all my children." Vincent nodded in agreement. Father took a deep breath. "Mouse is stronger then he looks; he will sort things out, I know he will." He spoke with a confidence he did not feel. Catherine, realising this and seeing his pain, sensing Vincent's said no more. She only prayed that Father would be strong enough to take the bereavement if he lost this particular one of his children.

***

Weeks passed. Mouse retreated far back into his shell, talking only when he had to, going for long walks in the tunnels. Always he was watched, but he never knew.

Winslow tried to get him to help them with a few building projects, but he just stood up and wandered off. Vincent shook his head when Winslow would have stopped him.

Hours he spent; hours walking the paths of his past, arranging his mind in such a way that he was able to tuck Sally's memory safely away, deep into his soul. He tossed the torments of his past and the new pain of her passing, gathering up the moments they had had together, the so short span of time.

To him she had been like a little bird that the cat had caught. He had realised that they could do nothing to save her, but how he wished they could have. And, like many young people before him, he wrestled against the fact that if their lives were ruled by a greater being, like Father said, then why did this wonderful being let so much pain loose in the world?

Slowly he found himself heading towards the main cave. Father was bent over the chess board; he had kept out of Mouse's way, as if his presence would cause him more pain. Mouse suddenly realised that he had hurt this man who had only shown kindness to him and it bothered him, more so than anything had ever bothered him before, and he knew that was why his feet had brought him here. He had sorted out his mind: everything had a place now, order could be maintained. Now all he had to do was return to those who loved him, who had waited so patiently for him.

He walked up to Father and knelt at his feet, resting his head gently on the other man's knee. He stayed there, letting father stroke his hair. He knew he was home, he could now think of Sally without pain. She had found a kind of freedom too. He would have the moments he had spent with her, just like he had those moments with Father and Vincent to keep locked in his heart.

Looking up at Father, he smiled. "Mouse loves you." He spoke it quietly.

"I love you too," came the gently "so very much."

Silence fell for a short while then, slowly, hesitantly; Mouse began to speak about his past.

Maybe it was the way that Sally had spoken to him. Had it given him the courage he needed to tell others? Or had he just reached that past of his life where his life story could no longer go untold?

Father knew not, nor cared. Mouse had come back, that was all that mattered - that, and the love he felt for all his family and friends who lived and shared his daily life down in the tunnels deep beneath the city of New York.

THE END

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