CHAPTER TWO

            Nigel stared through the glass of the French doors that led to the balcony off of his bedroom, his posture composed, his thoughts chaotic. The sun was shining brightly and there was not a cloud in the baby blue sky above, a rare thing to see in England , and yet he missed the often overcast, foggy atmosphere.

            He’d been home for several weeks now, having moved back into the family home with Preston , and had taken up residence in his old room. His brother had been wonderfully supportive during this time, which surprised Nigel no end, but he supposed even a pretentious, insensitive twit like Preston could grow a conscience when faced with the torture of his younger brother.

            A bird landed on the railing outside, and he searched his memory for the species name, but as before, it failed him. Even the simplest things he seemed unable to remember anymore. It was brown, a brown bird with a tiny beak. Small, fragile, helpless; like Nigel had been at the hands of …

            He shook himself and his jaw tightened. He could not even bring himself to say the man’s name.  That was all over. The man was dead and Nigel was safe and living at home and undergoing therapy with some twit Preston had hired. Sydney was….

            Nigel fought the fear and nausea that rose inside him at the mere mention of his employer. He understood it was because of the brainwashing and the memories of pain that seeing Sydney had brought to him. Still, he started to bow and cover his head, before catching himself and straightening; he refused to stay a victim.

            His hands curled into fists at his sides as he battled with his subconscious, those feelings, and those memories were still ingrained and it was hard not to react. Another test of wills it seemed, only this time, the captor was the Coward Nigel that had submitted to the torture in that dark, hideous pit, verses the Brave Nigel that he knew he could be, the Nigel that wanted to get better.

            He stepped forward and put his hand on the doors, hesitated and then pulled them wide. He didn’t step out on the balcony, he didn’t go outside anymore, all that open space made him nervous. There was no where to hide and they could come from anywhere. So, every day, he tested himself a little more, determined to get past all these new fears. Today he had managed to open the doors, which was a step; a baby step, but a step nonetheless.

 His thoughts started to drift back to his capture, to that man telling him things that weren’t true, trying to make Nigel say them; five lights instead of four, but there had only ever been four that he could see; until finally he did start to see five, he would have said anything to make them stop hurting him. They had only given him a minimal amount of food and water to keep him alive for their torture.

Nigel had concentrated on the things he knew, things that could take him away from the pain, the names of all the Pharaohs in Egypt , the hundreds of types of ancient tribes that once scattered the globe, England ’s succession of Kings and Queens , anything to take his mind away from what was happening to him. The only one that really worked was memories of Sydney and soon, somehow, they had twisted her memory into something evil, so that he could no longer stand to think of her.

            A knock at his door caused him to swing around and for a moment he almost slammed the balcony doors shut again, but then he slowly released them and breathed in the fresh air. That’s okay, they’re fine like that, leave them. After a moment’s hesitation, the bedroom door opened and a kindly older woman poked her head in with a tea tray.

            “Good morning, poppet,” Mrs. Brooke, the family’s housekeeper and former nanny, greeted cheerfully. She had been widowed at an early age when her husband died in the WWII, and she never seemed interested in remarrying. She had been a Godsend when his parents had died. “I’ve brought your breakfast, are you hungry?”

            Nigel shook his head and waited by the doors for her to set the tray on his desk. She had always reminded him of the actress Emma Thompson; even in her seventies the woman remained handsome and regal.

            “Well, try and eat something, won’t you?” she encouraged, moving to straighten the covers on his bed, a wasted effort since Nigel had already made it; several times in fact, stripping it and then remaking it again. It was something he had control over so he liked to do it a few times, just to see if anyone would stop him. “I was thinking of doing some gardening later,” Mrs. Brooke continued. “Would you like to come help me, precious? Just the beds outside the kitchen, you won’t be two steps from the door, if you want to go back inside, hmmm?”

            Nigel didn’t answer her either way; he could feel himself starting to slip off again. He wanted to tell her to get out, he didn’t want her to see him like this, but he was frozen in place, frozen in terror as the memories flooded him.

            Mrs. Brooke tilted her head and offered him a special smile. She walked over and brushed the hair out of his eyes, ignoring the fact that he gripped the balcony door behind him when she reached for him. She knew that he didn’t like to be touched, but he seemed to make allowances for her usually.

             She frowned at the way he stared past her, as if off in some private hell of his own. “Where do you go to, poppet?” she whispered, concerned. “Come back to us, Nigel, we miss you. We love you. Come back to us, luv, and leave that horrid place you’re in, hmm?”

            Nigel titled his head and seemed to focus on her for a few minutes.

            “There you are; there’s my lovely boy.”

            Nigel offered her a small, grateful smile and watched the older woman’s face light up. He hated this, hated being unable to express himself, even with the woman who practically raised him. She was so kind, so wonderfully patient and he knew that she was worried about him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t touch, they’d stripped him of that ability.

            Anytime he’d spoken he was beaten, anytime someone touched him, no matter how gentle, the touch would turn instantly brutal; they teased him, tormented him. But you’re not there now, the Brave Nigel insisted, you’re home, you’re safe with people that love you. Until they’re taken away, the Coward Nigel assured. They’ll take them away, all of them, Preston and Mrs. Brooke and Sydney…you know what happens when you let yourself believe, you know what they will do if you say her name, if you try and touch her.

            When Mrs. Brook’s fingers gently touched his arm, Nigel cried out and violently pushed himself away from her and back into the wall, striking his head. The blow started the flashes again. He slid down the wall, curled his legs up into his chest and covered his head as the screaming started.

            Mrs. Brooke ran out and called for Preston who ran in and crouched beside his brother as Nigel started to bang his head against the wall.

            “What happened?” Preston demanded as he struggled to stop Nigel from hurting himself further, but that just made Nigel more hysterical and he started to fight back. This was a good thing, according to the doctor; it meant that Nigel was shaking off the submissive tortures of his captors.

              Preston preferred to have his little brother screaming and trying to kick and bite him, than the way he was when he first arrived, curled into a ball, whimpering and so horribly terrified of everything.

            “He was fine!” Mrs. Brooke insisted, teary-eyed. “I was only talking to him; I touched his arm, that’s all…Oh Mother of Mercy help him!”

            Preston pulled Nigel away from the wall and wrapped his body around the younger man, despite the fight Nigel was putting up; it wasn’t easy, his little brother was wiry and hysterical, but Preston had a good thirty pounds on him and was probably the only one that could hold Nigel down. He felt bad for confining him, he was sure that was what Nigel’s captors did, but he also knew that he couldn’t let Nigel hurt himself. 

            Finally, Nigel went limp from exhaustion, his screams subsided into whimpers and gasps for breath.

Preston was more than a little out of breath himself, Nigel was getting stronger every day, and soon he wouldn’t be able to hold him down. “It’s okay,” he soothed, pulling his legs away, but keeping his arms around Nigel. “It’s okay, little brother. You’re safe.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at the sweat on his brother’s face. “Well, that was a good one, hey?”

Nigel was trembling in his brother’s arms, but made no further movement, his eyes stared blankly ahead, even as the tears slid down his face, unchecked.

“It will all be out of your system soon, Podge, I promise you. It will all be gone soon.” Preston ’s voice cracked on the last word and he dropped a kiss atop Nigel’s head. After one of his fits, Nigel didn’t seem to notice that he was being touched, so Preston used that precious time to show the affection he needed to show to his little brother. “You’re getting better every day.” He glanced up and smiled at the open balcony doors. “Look at that. Did you do that, open those doors?”

Silence.

  Preston caressed Nigel’s hair, tenderly. “You’ll be okay. Baby steps, right?”

-------------------------

Nigel lay on the plush leather sofa in Preston ’s office. Dr. Phil Reinheart was seated in a leather chair with a notepad on his lap. The note pad wasn’t for taking notes; it would be given to Nigel if he chose to communicate with the doctor during the session.  Nigel didn’t talk, only screamed when having an episode.

For now, Nigel ignored him, and instead concentrated on the small orange ball that he was tossing up in the air and catching again. He couldn’t quite remember where he had gotten the ball, only that he liked to have it during his sessions; it made him feel less exposed.

“Your brother tells me you had another episode yesterday, Nigel,” Phil stated, quietly. “Would you like to talk to me about it?”

Nigel continued to play with the ball. God, he hated this idiot, where did the man get his degree anyway, the College of Annoying People ?

“Come now, Nigel, I thought we were making progress, isn’t there anything you want to talk about?” Phil offered him the pad and a pen.

Nigel set the ball on his stomach and scribbled ‘Bugger off.’, before handing it back.

Phil smiled. “Well, at least that’s something. Do I annoy you, Nigel? Do you hate having me here?”

Nigel grabbed the pad again. ‘Yes!!!’

“Well, if you’d start talking to me, I’d go away; you know that, don’t you?”

Nigel started playing with his ball again, before a surge of rage suddenly ran through him and he pitched it across the room and through the pane of one of the windows.

He sat up, startled, he hadn’t meant to do that. He glanced at Phil, who was just watching him, and resisted sticking his tongue out. He rose and went to the window to stare down at his ball. He wanted his ball back; it gave his hands something to do. Of course, he was concerned that he had broken the window, Preston would be furious, but one dilemma at a time, his ball was more important.

Preston, who had been passing the study entered at the sound of the crash. “What happened?”

            Nigel, upon seeing his brother backed up against the corner next to the window. Oh hell, now he’d get it, Preston would kill him.

            “Nigel just showing his temper again, Preston ,” Phil assured as the older Bailey marched up and inspected the broken window. “And I’ve asked you not to come in during our sessions.”

            Preston glared at him, Nigel was his brother and this was his house, he’d do as he pleased. He smiled at Nigel who was looking very apprehensive at the moment. “It’s okay, Podge, we’ll fix the window, no real harm done.” He crouched and started picking up some of the glass that lay on the floor; most of it had fallen outside the window.

 Nigel slowly slid down to a crouch, and then reached a hand to help, but Preston caught his wrist and held it away from the glass. Nigel thumped back into the wall at his brother’s touch.

“Sorry, Nige, sorry, mate.” Preston immediately soothed. “I…I don’t want you to cut yourself, this is sharp.”

Nigel glared at him. I know it’s sharp, you bloody idiot, and I’m not a child! He started listing the different properties of glass in his head, confirming that he wasn’t a complete moron.

Preston regretted his condescending tone and held out the pieces to his brother. “Here, you...you can toss them for me, okay? I’ll have Mrs. Brooke come round with the vacuum, when your session’s done.” He knew he was taking a chance, Nigel might take a shard and slit his throat for all they knew, but he had to start trusting his little brother to know better.

Nigel hesitated for a long time, before cupping his hands together and sitting forward again. Preston carefully placed the pieces of broken glass in his hands and Nigel rose to put them into the small trash container behind the desk, missing the sigh of relief from Preston . He carefully dusted his hands, making sure that none of the glass stuck to his palm, and then turned back to his brother.

“Good job,” Preston grinned as he straightened. “I…I’ll let you get back to your session then?”

 Nigel was silent.

“Right, well, see you in a bit then.” He went out and closed the door. Nigel returned to the window and stared down at his ball, forgetting all about Preston .

“You’ll have to go outside to get the ball, Nigel,” Phil encouraged. “I could go with you, protect you, we could get it together. Do you want to do that?”

Nigel ignored him. Phil couldn’t stop his toupee from falling off his head, let alone protect anyone. Now if Sydney were here…He closed his eyes tightly. Sydney, God he missed her, and yet he was still so afraid of her. She sent him letters, but he never opened them, just put them in a box in his desk.

Cate had stopped by to see him a couple of times the first week he was here, and then stopped coming as he wasn’t much of conversationalist anymore, not that he was before. Claudia emailed him funny stories, which he enjoyed, he seemed to remember that he might have emailed her back, or was that Karen he emailed back? His memory was a little fuzzy. Claudia didn’t work for them anymore, he missed her, but he was happy for her new position.

“Nigel?”

Nigel turned back, forgetting where he was for a minute.

Phil was standing by the chair, smiling. “Shall we go get your ball?”

Nigel knew the man was treating him like a child, but then he’d been acting like one really. He looked back through the window at his ball lying in the flower bed, just outside the front door. He glanced at the hole in the glass and started to put his hand through it, but was pulled back by Phil

“Careful! You’ll cut yourself, Nigel.”

Nigel shook him off and rubbed at his wrist where the man had touched him, as if burned; first Preston and now this screwball doctor. He glared at Phil, betrayed. Don’t touch me, his eyes said, never touch me!

Phil ignored Nigel’s malice. “Let’s go get your ball, hey?”

Nigel turned back to the window, just as a cab pulled up in the driveway and a tall, familiar figure in a brown leather jacket stepped out.

Sydney paid the cab driver and turned around, catching sight of Nigel in one of the front windows. She hadn’t seen him in almost two months, and he still looked so…uncertain. She had fought with herself over coming, but when he had not answered one of her letters, she knew that she had to see him.

She had to know if they had any kind of future together, or if he would ever be able to be around her again, before the waiting destroyed her. She may learn that he was no better and that he still feared her, and if so then she would deal with it, but for the last two months she had cried herself to sleep and walked around in a funk missing him and afraid she’d never see him again, she had to do this.

Nigel had not noticed her yet and was looking at something on the ground. She lowered her eyes to the ball, and then raised them to the hole in the glass it had no doubt come through. She walked over and bent to pick up the ball as Nigel’s gaze met hers, startled. She froze waiting to see what he would do, desperate for a smile, a wave, anything that told her he forgave her, but that fear was still in his eyes and he started to back away from the window, before disappearing from view.

Sydney slowly straightened and stared at the ground, blinking away the sudden moisture in her eyes. He still hated her, still feared her. She took a deep breath and, ball in hand, walked up to the front door, only to have it opened by some older man she didn’t recognize, before she could knock.

“You must be Professor Fox,” he greeted holding out his hand. Preston had shown him photos of his brother and Sydney , explaining the hard time Nigel was having regarding his boss. “I’m Doctor Phillip Rienheart, Nigel’s therapist. Please come in.”

Sydney glanced past him and saw Nigel standing in the foyer, close to the stairs, as if waiting to bolt up them at the slightest movement. “I…I won’t do that, thank you. I…I just wanted to see how Nigel was doing and I…” Again she looked past him to her former TA. “I see nothing’s changed.” She offered him the ball.

“Nonsense,” Phil denied, ignored the ball and pulled her inside, before closing the door. “He’s made remarkable progress. Nigel, look who’s here, and she’s found your ball for you, isn’t that nice?”

Nigel continued to stare at Sydney and rose to the first step of the staircase. His instinct was to run and hide, to cower before her. Her face triggered memories of beatings and he was struggling within himself to ignore his programmed response. His eyes finally dropped to the ball in her hand.

“H…hello, Nigel,” Sydney greeted, taking a step closer and holding out the ball, praying that he wouldn’t react badly again. He looked so terribly timid, so afraid. “I…Is this yours?”

Nigel hesitated for a long time, long enough for Mrs. Brooke to enter the hall way and gasp at the sight of Sydney standing there. Phil waved her to be silent and continued to watch Nigel’s reaction.

Sydney. Sydney was here, she was here in this house and she was real…Was she real? Maybe it was a trick? Yes, it had to be a trick, Sydney wouldn’t come here. His tormentor was dead, or so they claimed, but this could be a ruse. Who else liked to torment him? Preston? Yes, Preston could be trying to trick him or that quack Reinheart could be the cause.

Nigel couldn’t hide his confusion, his fear. What should he do? Why would Sydney be here, was it just another one of his day dreams? If she was here…Sydney…God, he’d missed his friend so much, even though her very name sent chills into the very deepest parts of his soul.

He slowly stepped off the step to the floor. She had his ball, the ball that he’d thrown moments ago, where did she get it? The ball was real, Nigel knew that the ball was real, and if Sydney had the ball…That meant that she was real too, right?

He tentatively reached for the ball, his eyes shyly peering at her from under his fringe; as if expecting her to snatch it away from him. When she didn’t, he stepped back and hugged the ball to his chest.

Sydney was so relieved that Nigel hadn’t pulled away or started screaming that she almost started to cry again. She offered him a watery smile. “I’ve missed you, Nigel.”

Really? Nigel found that hard to believe, he didn’t know why. Her smile had warmed his heart, but his uncertainty returned at the sound of her voice. That wasn’t the Sydney he knew, Sydney ’s voice was never soft…or so hesitant and sad. He wanted to ask her what they had done to her, what had happened to make her change? Had they hurt her too? The idea that anyone had hurt her alarmed him.

“Well done,” Phil decided, pleased. “Mrs. Brooke, put on a spot of tea, would you? We have a guest.”

Mrs. Brooke beamed at him and hurried off back towards the kitchen.

“Shall we continue our session, Nigel?” Phil suggested, gesturing toward the study door. He’d been so delighted, when Nigel, instead of running away at the sight of Sydney in the window, had run to the door, only to back away again. The young man was happy to see her, but he still had some bridges to cross.

“I…I should go,” Sydney said.

“Nonsense, I insist you stay for tea. Nigel wants you to stay, don’t you, Nigel? After all she’s come a long way to see you.”

Nigel settled on the staircase and took a sudden interest in his ball. Oh no, you don’t Reinheart, he thought, bitterly, you’re not tricking me that easily. Any answer I give will be the wrong one. He had learned that the hard way. It was better to just keep silent. Nope, he’d let the doctor do the deciding, he was staying out of it.

  Sydney ’s shoulders slumped and she turned to leave, but Phil again caught her arm; the man was lucky she was in a forgiving mood, because she didn’t often let people manhandle her.

“Come along then.” He guided her into the study and offered her the choice of chair or sofa, Sydney chose the sofa. “He’ll be along, don’t fret. He dislikes being told what to do and it’s his way of rebelling.”

Sydney stared at him, stunned. He was talking as if Nigel were a petulant child, was that what her friend had reverted to?

As if reading the expression in her face, Phil continued. “He’s still the man he was, Professor, Fox, he’s just having a few behavioral problems. Most people when their control is stripped of them become difficult and they feel they have to test the waters, just like a child would. It doesn’t mean he’s turned into a simpleton or anything.”

Sydney glanced up when, just as Phil had predicted, Nigel slid into the room. He glanced at Sydney , at the doctor, and then moved to settle behind the desk. She couldn’t put him through this. She could tell her presence was hurting him, bringing him back to a place that he’d rather forget.

She stood up. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I…I’m making him uncomfortable and that’s the last thing I want to do. It was wrong of me to come here.” She focused on Nigel, who was staring at his ball. “I…I’m so sorry, Nigel.” Her voice reflected the breaking of her heart as she rushed for the door.

Mrs. Brooke had just started down the hall with the tea tray, when Sydney threw open the front door and started down the steps.

“ Sydney !”

Sydney stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned around at the sound of a crash from inside, which was Mrs. Brooke dropping the tea tray, and found Nigel standing in the doorway, his expression desperate. “Nigel, I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry for what those monsters did to you and if I could I would find every last one I’d kill them, but…I can’t make you trust me again.”

She tossed up her hands. “I…I don’t know what to do anymore, Nigel. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, please…” Tears rolled down her cheek as she stared at his frightened face.

Nigel said nothing else, just gripped the doorway and continued to stare at her.

Preston, who had been upstairs had come running at the sound of the crash and found Phil and Mrs. Brooke, who was openly crying, and standing in the hall way and looking at Nigel frozen in the doorway.

“He spoke!” Mrs. Brook whispered.

Preston gaped at his brother, hopefully.

Nigel was waging a private battle right there on the threshold of his home, battling his demons, his captors and his fears all for the sake of having Sydney again. She was here, really here, and even though the Coward Nigel warned him that if he let himself believe it, she’d be taken away again and he would be beaten, he needed to accept her presence.

He was lost without her, he knew that now, knew that he’d never get through this without her. She was his champion. He wanted to make her happy again, he hated seeing her like this and he wanted to beat whoever was responsible.

Sydney continued to observe Nigel, their gazes locked so intense that she could physically see the inner conflict he was fighting. She wanted to walk away and stop end his torment, but she couldn’t move, not until he told her what he needed from her.

 She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks and forced herself into her more natural role, that of his protector. “Nigel, you can beat this. You’re strong and smart and…God, you can do anything. We’ve faced so much together, and we’ve always come out on top, we can do this to.”

Nigel’s grip on the doorway tightened as a wave of nausea wormed its way into his stomach and ate through to his heart. Sydney was crying. Sydney never cried, it had to be a trick!

She moved one step closer. “Nigel, those men were evil and what they did to you can’t be changed, but you can still win, you can beat them by taking back what they stole. Do you remember when we after the Mochican vessel and the soldiers took you? I never gave up looking for you, I had to find you. I had to keep you safe, Nigel.”

 Nigel’s eyes were swimming with tears, as he remembered that hunt. It had been the only time he had ever doubted her, the only time until the last time, when she’d forgotten him and left him at the mercy of those men. Why hadn’t she come for him? They beat him, tortured him and almost destroyed him and Sydney had not come for him. He’d been left alone to deal with the anguish and for the first time, Sydney had not been there to save him, not until they had broken him and by then, what did it matter?

“I failed you, Nigel,” Sydney said, her voice filled with remorse as she took another step closer. “I failed you and I can never make that up, but I promise if you give me another chance…if you let me be your friend again, I will never, ever let anything happen to you.” One more step and she was almost at the top of the stairs, almost at eyelevel with him. “I love you, Nigel. You’re my best friend, my best…everything. Please, please forgive me for letting you down. Please, give me…give us another chance?”

Nigel licked his lips, still confused, still uncertain. He could feel the pounding rush inside his head and he knew he was about to give into another of those screaming fits, the ones he couldn’t control, where he woke up with Preston holding him, comforting him. He didn’t know…couldn’t convey what he wanted, he wanted her to stay, but he was afraid of her, afraid of what she represented. He was angry at her for leaving him alone, for letting him down.

“You…left me,” he managed to force out, his voice sounding painfully pitiful and uncertain.

His words slashed through Sydney ’s heart far worse than any ancient blade and she visibly winced from the pain, yet she nodded. “Yes.” She had left him at the hands of those bastards, even though she was searching for him; she had not been quick enough. She never imagined what they would be doing to him.

Nigel was having trouble breathing, trying to force the words out, when he was still so afraid of speaking. Speaking brought torment, everything he said was wrong when he spoke, everything he said was used against him.

 Finally, just when Sydney thought he might bolt, or collapse from the strain, he straightened and tossed the ball at her. She caught it on reflex and stared at him, stunned.

“Don’t…do it again,” he requested, quietly.

Sydney’s legs almost collapsed beneath her as she hugged the ball to her chest. “No,” she promised.

Nigel released the door and stepped down on the first step so they were level. “Well, alright then,” he encouraged, shyly.

Sydney threw herself into his arms and their audience rushed forward, bracing themselves for Nigel’s fit. Everyone was shocked when Nigel’s arms slowly went around Sydney and held her tight. Mrs. Brook’s hands flew to her mouth as she tried not to squeal in delight, Preston wiped at his suddenly moist eyes and Phil nodded approvingly, as he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief.

Sydney held onto Nigel as if terrified of letting go; he didn’t seem to mind, and they were both trembling. “Welcome back, my friend,” she whispered tearfully.

God, he’d missed her, missed the feel of her, the smell of her, everything about her. For a long moment nothing else mattered but the strength of the arms around him, the knowledge that here he would always be safe. The embrace of Sydney Fox held goodness and light that could battle all his dark demons.

 Finally, he pulled back and realized that he was actually standing outside the house. In a moment of panic, he grabbed Sydney and bolted back inside, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, worried.

Nigel managed a small grin. “One…one step at a time, Syd.”

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