vigorli

TITLE: Out of the Darkness...Light - Chapter 17/?

AUTHOR: DS

E-MAIL: LOTR58@bellsouth.net

RATING: R - slash, angst

PAIRING: Orli/Viggo

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these guys (though I wish I did). No money is being

made from this endeavor and no disrespect is intended. It's all for fun!

FEEDBACK: Yes, but be kind, gulp:)

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know. Thanks.

*********
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Orlando

Darkness surrounded him as he fought his way out of the fog and up towards
consciousness. Everything felt so heavy; each and every movement a struggle.
One of the first things that registered in his muddled brain was the fact
that his arms were sore as if…as if he’d been fighting or something. But
that couldn’t be. He was in the hospital. Raising his hand to rub at his
aching head, he realized in alarm that…he couldn’t. His arm wouldn’t
move.

Attempting to move the other one he realized he couldn’t lift it, either.
What was going on?
Forcing his eyes open, Orlando glanced around the dim room, taking in
everything--the stillness, the gloomy lighting, the bars on the side of his
bed and…the straps surrounding his wrists?

* What the…why…*

Trying not to panic, he concentrated on slowing his suddenly accelerated
breathing, while at the same time trying to figure out why he was strapped to
the bed. And then it hit him…everything came crashing down on him as he
remembered it all in agonizing, infinite detail. Viggo’s words, his comments
regarding the past. His own violent reaction. Hands holding him
down--again. Hands keeping him from moving, from getting away from the
pain--again. Screams. Someone had screamed and screamed. Oh, it had been
him. He had done that. And then, the blessed relief of oblivion as a doctor
or someone had sedated him. Finally, awareness was gone, to be replaced by a
feeling of nonexistence as he lost consciousness.

Now, looking around the unfamiliar room, Orlando felt panic rising up inside
himself, but fought valiantly to control it. He couldn't lose control. Not
now! Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. In...out. In...out. There, it
was a little better. At least his heart didn't feel like it was going to beat
right out of his chest anymore. In...out. In...out. Cracking one eye a bit
and seeing that nothing had changed from two minutes ago, he snapped it shut
again. In...out. In...out. Finally, he started to feel a bit calmer. He
no longer felt as if the room was closing in around him.
And then he heard it...a low moan, or wail, he wasn't sure which. He wasn't
even sure where it came from. But before he could try to pinpoint the
source, the sound was cut off quite abruptly--mid-wail. That, more than
anything else, filled him with terror.

"V...V...Viggo?" he asked in a small, trembling voice. Nothing. "Mum?"

Silence.

Forcing his eyes open once again, he looked around, taking in his
surroundings. Still a hospital room but...different, somehow. Instead of
bright, cheery sunshine flooding in the window there was murky dimness. No
windows. No sunshine. No light. Just darkness. Focusing on the empty chair
at the end of the bed, Orlando realized with despair that he was alone. No
visitors. No Mum. No Samantha. No Viggo. No anyone. He was alone, in the
silence and the darkness.

But then he heard another sound. Not a wail this time, but a genuine scream.
And then he knew! He knew where he was. And he knew that he didn't want to
be here...not now, not ever! He had to get out of here. But to do that, he
had to free his wrists. Yanking as hard has he could with his right arm, he
pulled on the strap. Putting every ounce of energy he still possessed, he
pulled and pulled. The strap was taut, rubbing against and chaffing his
skin, but still he pulled, desperate to break free. Just as he was sure the
veins in his neck were going to burst, the door to his room opened, admitting
a physician, followed by an orderly. He stopped in mid-pull, his right arm
still elevated, strap pulled taut. Watching the two men warily, he said
nothing as they advanced on him.

"Well, Mr. Bloom. I see you're awake."

The doctor got no response, but it didn't seem to bother him, nor did the
screams which continued to fill the air from somewhere beyond this room.

"I'm Dr. Hammond, and this," gesturing to the middle-aged man beside him, "is
Mr. Wells."

Orlando surveyed them both, listening, but still said nothing. He did,
however, lower his arm.

"You've been moved, Mr. Bloom. Because of your outburst earlier, you've been
moved to the...ah...the *special* ward. You're going to remain here for a
few days until we make sure that everything is okay. That you're able to
handle things."

Suddenly...silence, as the screaming suddenly stopped. Seeing his patient's
panic-stricken eyes widen and look towards the door, the doctor chuckled.

"It's all right, young man. You'll get used to that. Won't hurt you, even
though I know it's a bit intimidating. Especially at first."

Orlando returned his gaze to the man who was speaking.

"Why...why am I here? I don't belong here."

Dr. Hammond chuckled again, a little louder this time.
"Young man, no one thinks they belong here. In your case, you were moved up
here because of your violent outburst earlier today."

Seeing his patient's look of confusion, he clarified.
"You were screaming? Took two grown men to hold you down before they could
administer a sedative? Ring a bell?" He waited, smiling slightly.

Orlando remembered it all, very clearly. Too clearly. He didn't want to
remember any of it, nor did he want to remember the reason it had occurred.
Sighing, he wished briefly that it was possible to go back in time...to erase
certain incidents and start over. If only it was, he would erase this entire
day...no, this entire week...actually, his entire life. But that wasn't
possible, unfortunately, so he would just have to live with the results.
As if from a great distance, he heard a voice, asking him a question,
pestering him.

"Mr. Bloom. Do you remember any of that? Mr. Bloom?"

Snapping himself out of his reverie, Orlando focused once again on the man
beside him. He nodded, although it was such a small nod that it was almost
imperceptible.

"Yes, I remember," he replied, voice low and subdued. "How long do I have to
stay here?"

For some strange reason—strange to Orlando, anyway—that brought a grin to
the doctor’s face. The man chuckled again. Orlando found that to be very
irritating; he didn’t know why. It just was.

"Well, young man. In reply to your question, how long you stay here depends
on you and you alone."

Orlando looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, is that you need to cooperate. You need to try to get well.
If you do that…we’ll see."

"But I do want to get well. I am trying!" The young man spluttered,
frustration evident in his voice and on his face.

Dr. Hammond shook his head, a smile overlaid by concern apparent in his eyes.

"I have it on good authority that you won’t even talk to the counselor."

‘Oh, well, there was that.’

Orlando shrugged as best he could while lying down with his wrists
restrained. The good doctor wasn’t finished.

"How about you talk to the counselor? Think you can do that? After
that…well, we’ll see."

Talk to the counselor? That was the last thing he wanted to do. But, it
looked as if he had no choice. Inhaling deeply, the young man nodded. He
was just going to have to make the best of it.


tbc... 
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