Stories Hub / Incest/Taboo / Helping Mickey Ch. 02

Helping Mickey Ch. 02

by wakingDown 01/27/13

++okay, so Helping Mickey isn't an all out screamer. If you're looking for something nasty or fast or whatever, this is not it. It's mellow and slow. If you like it, great. If you don't, great. It simply is what it is. Enjoy++

*

Susan walked into the living room and saw Mickey out on the balcony, watching traffic. She watched him a moment before sliding the door open.

"Come in, we have somewhere to go." She said, smiling a little. He turned and looked at her, his face blank.

"A where to go." He answered, stepping in.

"Yup. We are going to storage. There are a couple things I want to dig out of there. Get dressed, something warm."

Mickey started off towards his room. She watched him go, wondering if her idea would work. She had thought of it while making breakfast. The little radio in the kitchen tuned to a classic rock station, she had paused when she heard Bad Company playing. It was a song that Mickey had played in high school, one of the ones he could be counted on playing almost every time he picked up an acoustic guitar. She had been struck by the idea as so simple that she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. Of course, there was a better chance that he would have no idea what to do with a guitar now, but she figured the slim chance he would remember how to play would be worth the trip.

They made the short trip down in a comfortable quiet. She pulled up to their unit and they stepped out. She ran up the door and Mickey simply stood and watched. After a little shifting and digging through the clutter she moved a tall box and saw the top of his guitar case sticking up. She quickly cleared away the stuff in front of it and pulled the case out. Mickey stepped forward as soon as he saw it. She handed him the case and watched him. He ran his fingers across the fake leather surface and frowned. When he looked up, she wasn't sure what he was thinking.

"Do you recognize that? Do you know what it is, Mickey?" She asked, speaking softly.

"Not all here. Rest of it." He said, still frowning.

"Rest of it?" She asked, confused.

"Other piece. Rest of it. The more." He struggled, his lips trembling.

Susan turned to the space the case had been sitting in, frowning herself, wondering what else he might mean, if anything. Then she saw. What the case had been leaning against. The huge amplifier that was surrounded by more boxes. She was about to say no way when she saw the smaller amp sitting next to it. The huge one said Marshall, but the small one said Peavey. She grabbed the Peavey and hoisted it out.

"The Marshall one stays, I don't need the neighbors pounding on the walls." She said with a smirk as she lugged the amp into the trunk.

Back at the apartment, she plugged in the small amp next to his bed, and stood back to see if he would be able to take it from there. He set the case on the floor and after a couple fumbles unsnapped the latches. He lifted the lid and she saw the guitar within. This was not the simple Fender he had bought with money from yard work. He must have bought this in the Marines or after. She had not seen this one before. It was a massive, sharp angled monster. The body was a jet black matte, with chrome metalwork, and the headstock said B.C. Rich. She watched him as he slowly lifted the guitar, turning it over and over in his hands, his finger tracing along the string, along the knobs, the tuning pegs. He sat on the bed and held the guitar across his lap, his frown deep, his teeth just beginning to show as his nasty grin tried to spread. His hands began moving faster than they usually did, and she heard the clear twang as he began tuning it. She was surprised that his hands moved so smoothly, and judging by his face he wasn't doing it with much thought; it appeared that this was more an act of memory than effort. When his hands finished their work, he grew still, just holding the guitar and frowning. She wasn't sure if she should say or do anything. She was about to ask him if he remembered how to play when he leaned forward and opened the small compartment inside the case. He pulled out the black cord and plugged it into the guitar. The other end, he stared at a moment before turning to the amp. He slowly moved the plug across the top, looking for the socket. He found it and plugged the cord in. He grabbed a small grey pick from the case compartment and plucked a string. It made a clear but quiet sound. He stilled, frowning at the guitar. Susan realized what the problem was and leaned down to the amp. She found the power switch and turned the amp on.

The squealing that came out hushed immediately when Mickey covered the strings with the side of his palm. He sat still a moment before plucking a few strings. The sound was clunky and discordant, and Susan was a bit heartbroken for the moment before his hands found themselves. He went from clumsy fumbling to fast precision in a heartbeat. His hands suddenly moved with a speed and accuracy that she scarcely believed. He played fast and hard, as he had when in high school. A couple of her friends had watched him playing fast thrash metal and giggled with her about what else his hands could do at those speeds. He played a song that was familiar to her, but she couldn't name it. She was never into that heavier stuff. He played like it was the easiest thing in the world. She wondered just how much he had been playing in the years before the attack. Whenever she had asked, he would just kind of shrug and say 'just fartin' around.' before changing the subject. Now she saw that he must have been doing more than farting around.

He blistered through song after song, his eyes locked on the fret board, his frown never wavering. Susan just watched and listened, spellbound and amazed. She had hoped for a couple chords, or a few simple riffs, not this screaming, wailing thing. After he finished the song he was playing he leaned down and pushed a small button next to the volume and the amp dropped the heavy distortion, leaving a clear, clean sound. He began playing, and she immediately recognized the song. How could she not? It was the one he always played for her. She was crying when he began to sing, his voice steady and soft.

He was playing and singing Astronomy. For her. The way he had for so many years. She sat next to him on the bed and curled an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her tears fall where they may. He finished the song and set the guitar aside. He turned off the amp and wrapped his arms around her.

"White hallway. Come Suzie dear, let's take a walk, just out there upon the beach. Coming home. White hallway."

"What hallway, Mick?" She asked, her voice rough with emotion.

"Not what, white. A light in the bright. Coming home. Coming home now." He answered. She looked up and saw the grin was back. It was not as eerie to her as it had once been, but she still did not like it.

"I know, Mick. I know you're coming home. I know you're trying. I just don't know how to help you. I'm doing my best, but I don't know what to do." She said.

"Don't go. Stay in this where, in this when. Don't go." He answered, holding her tight as his grin began to fade.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mickey. I'm right here with you and I'm going to stay with you." She said before kissing him.

"A path in the dim, a light in the bright. My corridor. Coming home. White hallway. Coming back clearer, Susan. Here now with you. Don't go." He said, clearly fighting to find the words.

"Mickey, I don't understand a lot of that. I know you're trying, I do, but I just don't get it. I don't know what you mean. Please, keep trying."

"White hallway. It's all white hallway." He answered, his voice tired and frustrated.

"What, what else is white hallway? Can you say it any other way? I mean, well. Shit. I don't know what I mean anymore. What else is white hallway, Mick?" She asked, fumbling for words herself.

"A light in the bright. A path in the dim. Corridor. A what for going." He struggled, his grip on her tight, his grin wide.

"A what for going? Corridor? You mean, like a way to do something, or go somewhere?

"Yes. A way for going. Doing. A path in the dim."

"A way to come home? A way to come back?" She felt excitement growing, as she thought that he was coming closer to explaining what was going on in his mind.

"Yes. Coming home. White hallway. It's all white hallway." He said, his teeth gritted tensely.

"Ok, Mick. White hallway is your way back?"

"Yes."

"Back to how you were?"

"No. Back home. To here. To Suzie dear let's take a walk."

"Back to, uh, how you were, but here with me?" She asked, frowning, trying to word it correctly.

"Yes. Coming home."

"White hallway is your mind healing? Is that it? It's how your mind heals?"

"Mostly. Coming home and take a walk. A light in the bright and out there upon the beach. My corridor and the here that is now." He was speaking faster and faster, the grin beginning to break up. "How we are, and how I was. A path in the dim and don't go."

"Mickey, I think I get it. But what happens after? When you get better? When you're back to normal, like you were, what then? When you start your life again, will you still want to be here with me? What then?" She asked, her excitement dimming at the thought.

"Don't go. Please, don't go." He was clearly disturbed by the thought. "Stay here, coming home, don't go cold outside cold inside don't go." He was speaking very quickly and holding her very tightly.

She tried to calm him, making hushing sounds and repeating that she wasn't going to leave. As he began to calm down she saw his tears begin to roll down his cheeks. She kissed him and repeated that she was staying over and over until he was calm again.

"I'm not going anywhere Mickey, I was just asking if you would when you got better. I don't want you to go. I just didn't know if you wanted to. Hell, I've wanted to be with you since we were kids. When we were teenagers, and I was starting to understand what love and real relationships were all about, I realized that I wanted to be with you. I have ever since. I just knew that I couldn't because so many people would say that it's wrong. When I asked you to kiss me when we were camping, I kind of lied. There was no boy down the street checking me out that I knew of, I just wanted you to kiss me. Not like a brother does, but for real. That's why I said it should be practice. So you would kiss me for real." She was speaking with her face pressed to his neck, holding him tight. She didn't think she could bear to look him in the eye while she confessed.

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