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A/N: Congrats to Pierre and Coco Lacroix for becoming American Citizens on Friday and special Kudos to Coco for scoring 100% on the tests.
Chapter 66: Robbie II or The Land of Nuts and Fruits
It was insane, but the only thing Robbie could think of as the flurry of equipment managers, and Jacques Cloutier and even Patty helped dress him in Abby’s goal equipment and mask was that he must look like Darth Vadar. Once the mask went on his own breathing seemed so intensified and loud that he actually thought he was sounding like Darth Vadar. Could they all hear him now? Hooooooo-Paw! Hooooooo-Paw! He knew they must be able to hear that breathing! But no one mentioned it.
Patrick and Jacques were both talking to him, rapidly, and most of it was in French. Did they know that they were speaking in French? Did they know that he didn’t understand anything in French that wasn’t dirty or a curse word? Did they know that they were strapping all the equipment on him and that it was tight and that it hurt? Did they know that his legs felt heavy, too heavy to lift? Did they know how wrong this felt to him? Abby had been stripped of everything so fast, as he was gasping again and turning blue, they had stripped him. It was like pirahnas had ravaged him.
"You’ve got to watch your angles!" Patrick said, "And don’t be afraid to challenge the shooter, you’ve seen me do it so many times."
"Don’t wander from the net, you’ll get lost, you don’t know where it is by feel, and don’t look for the net behind you. Don’t be tempted, find it with your back."
Are you friggin heartless? Blake wanted to scream. He could hear Karns and others slapping Abby, commanding him to breathe he could hear the call for an ambulance. Abby could be dying behind them, he could be wearing a dead goalie’s pads and they were giving him tips?
The equipment was on him, all of it. And he felt so lost. He felt wrong.
This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This had to be a dream! A nightmare!
The ice looked brilliantly white and piercing and Blake felt ill as they began to push him a hand on each of his arms, towards the tunnel. A black tunnel with a white light at the end of it. Frozen water was piercing through his body now, prickling out onto his skin and dripping down his neck. Like a lamb that knows where it’s final end is, Blake cried out and his legs locked. "No!" he gasped. And he fell to his hands and knees ripped the mask off his head and vomited on the floor.
He was pulled back into someone’s body and he felt a warm lap under his head but he didn’t open his eyes. A bottle was pressed to his mouth and he tasted the sweet cherry of the Powerade filling his mouth erasing the sour vomit taste. "Spit it out," a warm breathed voice whispered into his ear and he was eased forward. Blake spat and he looked up at the voice, looking into Patrick’s blue eyes.
"You’re part of the Union tonight, yes?" Patrick said softly, "We welcome you."
It was actually a comforting feeling, a warm feeling that zipped through Blake when Patrick leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. "If you get scared, listen to the voice passing over your shoulder, mon cher. And remember, don’t think, react!"
Blake slowly stood up as Patrick held onto his arms, and he didn’t break the gaze. He could feel his pulse slowing, he could feel an energy building inside him, and he didn’t want to look away from Patrick. He wanted to stand just as he was, feeling his slow heartbeats and his rushing pulse. "You good, yes?" Patrick asked.
Blake nodded and Patrick smiled a warm sparkling one. "Bon!" he said. "Bon, bon, bon."
Blake was more disturbed by the hard, rough kiss Patrick suddenly planted on his lips, his fingers pressing into the sides of his face. "Be a warrior!" Patrick whispered and he pushed him forward down the walkway.
Blake stumbled a bit, the heavy weight of the pads throwing him a bit off balance. Reeling, he tottered onto the ice and he blinked rapidly, looking around as if he’d never seen a sheet of ice before in his life. He refused to even look at the bench, he just looked at the gaping, yawning, empty goal net, and it looked so huge! It looked like a cave.
There was a rushing silence, and then he heard a unified roar from the crowds. A roar so loud that it meshed together and bled into his ears like the sound of a raging waterfall. His eyes wide open, he turned around and looked at the people behind the glass. They were pointing, shaking their heads, laughing and screaming. How the hell....
Rob looked down at the mask gripped in his hands, he had forgotten to put it back on and now everyone could see him. And everyone was laughing. All that was missing was him being naked, and his old classmates pointing with the crowd. All the spit disappeared from his mouth and he began to tremble again, there was no way he could skate to that net! He had to get out of here.
"Put the mask on!" Patrick yelled from the walkway, "Put it on now!"
Blake looked at Patrick briefly, taking instant strength from making eye contact. He then looked at the mask and then he could hear a unified chant from the crowd. "Raaaaaaaaaw-beeeeeeeeeeeee! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw-beeeeeeeee!" It burned his ears, and Blake was angered. How could a goalie ever take such a taunting?
Grinding his teeth together, Blake put the mask on and it was amazing. As soon as that suffocating grillwork was over his eyes, as soon as the top of it was tugging at his hair, the chanting stopped. Looking into the audience, he could see their lips moving their hands cupped over their mouths to intensify their chants. But he couldn't hear a thing from them.
And when he looked back at the yawning goal-mouth, he wasn’t so scared. He skated slowly towards it, and was a bit worried about how big it suddenly seemed. He knew now how tiny pucks were and how was he to defend the net from that? He couldn’t blink anymore; his skating had slowed to a crawl and even when his teammates skated by him, smacking his pads with their sticks, he continued to stare at the net. As he did, something odd seemed to happen, the net was shrinking. It was going smaller and smaller and Blake began to remember his mother reading Alice in Wonderland.
By the time he had reached the goal crease the net seemed more manageable. He touched it lightly with his hand inside the sticky, warm catching glove and he felt a sharp shock run up his elbow. As soon as that shock registered in his brain, Robbie felt angry. He turned around and scanned the ice, looking at the Kings in their jerseys, they had no faces. He knew none of them anymore. He didn’t care about any of them.
"They’re not human."
Blake flinched. Was that a voice or was that his thoughts?
"None of them are. Protect me! You must stop them."
Blake ran his tongue over his lips.
"You hate them! I hate them! Stop them!"
Blake inhaled. That must be his thoughts, running wild.
Over the loud speaker he could hear the announcement and the crowd’s delighted reactions. "Replacement in goal, Number Four, Rob Blake."
Blake exhaled and watched the faceless ones as they circled around and settled for the face off near the net.... HIS net! He had studied so many goalies that he knew where to settle himself and he crouched as best as he could, staring at them. Numbers and jerseys. Numbers and jerseys.
At that point, he noticed how hot it was in his mask, and how it was pinching him in odd places on his scalp. Sticking his tongue out again, he jerked his head a bit, trying to adjust it a little.
The puck was dropped and won back by a King. It clicked back on the point and the defenseman getting it wasted no time in ripping it straight at the net, it burned past Blake’s arm and into the goal. The noise was deafening and Blake burned all over. He was too embarrassed to think for a moment. He stood up not wanting to look at the taunting crowd screaming through the blaring music. Not wanting to see the faces of his teammates, what if they were accusing him now, blaming him. Exhaling, Blake did the only thing he could think of doing. He kept his eyes on the water bottle as he grabbed it and squirted the liquid into his mask and mouth.
"You’re fine, just fine," he heard Drury saying at his shoulder.
Blake put the water bottle down and looked at him. Drury was rubbing his arm vigorously, "We’ll do our best to keep that puck away." Chris said.
"Yeah, we won’t accuse you, just go on instinct," Peter said and there was more barks from Footer and Skoula.
"I know you can do it!" Radim Vrbata said quietly.
Blake nodded slowly, realizing that he was all alone and nothing they could say was going to change that. Nothing they could say would make him feel better. He muttered something to the guys and then crouched in front of the net again, looking at the loud KOHO glaring off the stick, spinning it a little in his hand and then shrugging his head around. The mask just wasn’t sitting properly.
He had another glance at the jumbo-tron. There was a little less than ten minutes to go in the period. He had to hold for half a period and just give the team a friggin chance at winning this.
"Watch the next face off they’ll do the same thing. Top right corner."
Blake shrugged his shoulders, the voice had come from over his shoulder or from within his head. Patrick told him to listen over his shoulder. It had to be in his head, he thought. But the advice was sound.
The next face off win by the Kings had Blake reading the play and he stood up on his toes a bit at the right angle of the net and that’s where the puck hit his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but the force of the hit on him surprised him and it slid down his chest. He tried to grab it but the gloves were so bulky that he fumbled it and it dropped to the ice where hungry sticks were waiting.
Blake dropped his stick and fell to his hands and knees swatting for it and then the sticks clattered over his hands pulling it back away from him and Blake thought that perhaps he screamed as he threw his arm into the mess. Soon he was crushed by eager desperate bodies, screaming voices, teammates and Kings that were piling on him, sticks that were sawing at him trying to find the puck. It felt like they were trying to cut into him, he felt helpless and attacked like a live animal on a buffet table. The voices were loud, screaming hungry voices belonging to people trying to force their desires on him. Why weren’t they blowing the whistle? Didn’t they know that he was being killed here?
"Got it!" he heard a voice scream and the deafening mob disappeared off him and the whole pack skated away, following Peter as he disappeared up ice with the puck. Blake gasped and popped to his feet. He wanted to skate after them; he needed to be there with them. He was glad the noisy mob was gone, but now he felt tiny, lonely and alone on the ice. He glanced at the time again. Nine minutes to go. They only had stabbed at him for fifteen seconds? He thought they had been at him for at least five minutes!
"Wonderful. You held your ground. Your feet are wet. You will swim soon."
Blake shook his head. It had to be all in his head.
He began to watch them up ice. He saw the perfect formation of his team as they were hemming the Kings in their zone, he knew they were desperate to keep that puck as far away from Blake as they could. He knew they were afraid that the Kings were going to embarrass them. And suddenly Blake felt insulted. They had no faith in him!
Blake skated forward a bit, trembling some. All of a sudden he wanted them in his face. He wanted them coming at him. He wanted to show them all what he could do for them. Blake shook his head again. "What the hell can I do!" he muttered. "I’m going nuts here!"
Then they were coming again. "Heads up! Heads up!" he heard someone yelling as some King was coming towards him with the puck on the blade of his stick. Blake held his breath and resisted the urge to turn his head to find the net behind him. He knew the blue was under his skates, he knew the net was there.
"Drop!"
Blake fell onto his butt in a sitting position and just as he did the puck smacked his inner groin. "Woah!" Blake screamed suddenly damning the day he told Brandi that they should wait before making Jack a sibling. Spooked at the sight of the puck at his crotch, Blake put his glove on it and swept it away from him straight into the players.
Woops! he thought. He should have frozen that.
"Chest!"
Blake sat up taller and the puck bounced off his chest. The voices in his head continued to call to him, telling him to move his body left then right and then to stand to come out from the crease and then the puck hit his left leg just as he kicked it out to catch it. His teammate had the puck then, and he took it out of the zone and the crowd left him.
Rob resisted the urge to grab a drink from the bottle, and he thought to himself. I’ve made three saves. Doesn’t that make a seventy five percent save percentage?
Blake shivered a bit watching them waste the time at the other end. He didn’t want them to come back and then they did and it was another minute as Blake flicked his gaze to follow that basterd of a puck. That slut of a puck as it went from player to player and he made two more saves, and he was filled with love for his teammates as the majority of them fell to block at least five shots and then the puck was going away again. I hate the puck. Blake thought. I hate it.
Then the horror came. There was a King, a faceless King because Rob was only looking at his skates and stick and puck as the man was coming at him on a breakaway. Angered, Blake ran at the guy, intending to hit him and knock him senseless but the guy brushed past him and laughed teeing for the empty net. His heart in his throat, Blake fell to his stomach and threw his stick, it smacked the puck and directed it wide of the net.
The whistle blew and Blake groaned as he put his face at the net. There was no way to avoid that that call was to be for a penalty shot.
The crowd was cheering when the call was made and when the skater stood at the line, ready for his shot. Blake had not listened to anyone but the voices in his head. Nothing they could say would make it better, so he wouldn’t listen to them.
"He’s cocky. He wants to make you look like an ass."
Blake smiled, "He’ll try to deke me."
There was the silence from the crowd. The crowd that was expecting this shot to be cake. There were worried eyes on his teammates. The teammates that were expecting the shot to go in. And here he came. The sound of his skates scratched into Blake’s head like the sound of a needle on an old record with no song on it. The puck was bobbing back and forth on the guy’s stick, he pulled the stick back like he was gonna shoot it but he didn’t shoot it. He pulled the puck to the left, Rob leaned to the left and saw the empty side of the net and the man going straight to it. Dammit! he thought as he flipped his body to the right landing smack on his back. The puck slid into his ribs and Blake quickly closed his arm to his side tucking it safely under him.
He closed his eyes. The crowd was booing, some were cheering, he was safe.
"You did it!" he heard Tangers cry.
"You stopped it!" Hejduk exclaimed and all the guys on the ice were hugging him and pulling him to his feet.
"You looked just like Hasek," Tangers laughed. "Just like him on your back like that."
Blake sighed and laughed. The adrenaline was still fizzing under his skin. The feeling was beautiful, he felt important and all-powerful. This was living! What a way to end the night! No wonder goalies loved themselves so much! And that’s when he looked back up at the clock.
There was still eight minutes to go.
"Dammit!" Rob spat. "It’s only been two minutes? Goalies are nuts!"
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