2 Years, 2 Weeks, 2 Lives, Page 2

know I said he’s doing well, but he’s still in a very deep coma, and will need to go to the Intensive Care Unit.”

  Eric continued his silent screaming and motionless thrashing and fighting until he felt so tired he dropped off into a very deep sleep.

  Alarm Call

  “Dad!” Eric Peterson called as he stepped out of the back door of the typical 1970’s brick semi-detached house, sent by his Mum to find out if his Father wanted a brew.

  “Dad?” He asked, half-heartedly in the general direction of the garage, hoping his voice would be heard and answered quickly, saving him the precious few metres from the back door to the garage. A typical 12 year old lad, at the cusp of changing from a boy into a man, those few metres meant the difference from wasting time asking questions or getting back to playing his favourite kart game that he’d had to pause.

  It had been a very humid summer’s day, which was now drawing heavier and stickier by the second. A very light, and very welcome breeze drifted across the back gardens of Steelgate Drive, hurdling the fences easily every few metres, reaching him and lifted the sweat-stuck clothes off his body. The leaves on the huge baking apple tree that loomed over the bottom of his parent’s garden rustled their joy at the breath of cooling air. Eric looked up and saw the darkening sky, a thunderstorm building its immense power towards the inevitable conclusion. He glanced at his watch, 6:25pm, the evening only just beginning, even though the darkness of the sky made it seem as if it was three hours later.

  Eric had always loved to watch the wonderful sights and sounds of a thunderstorm at its colossal best. He’d spent many hours in his bedroom, the window slightly open to feel the cool breeze charging in to chase the warm humid air out of the room. Even for someone so young, the frenetic light show and deafening booms and crackles brought fresh hopes of a brighter sunnier day. Yet this one seemed to be particularly fierce in its strength. He’d never felt one so humid, the electrical charge in the air tingling the hairs on his arms as he stepped across the wooden decking at the back of their house. Eric felt as if he could capture the electrical buzz in the air, harnessing it’s power from the air. “Dad, you need to come and see this.” He asked the garage, his eyes locked on the thickening charcoal coloured clouds. A flash of light to his left whipped his head in that direction. It had been too quick, but he knew it had been very bright, and very, very close. He froze, feeling the crackle in the air intensify before a BOOM rattled the kitchen window behind him.

  Eric ducked a little, an automatic reaction upon hearing the noise. “Wow!” He exclaimed, the kart game was a feeble second to the hope of dashing back upstairs to count the seconds after the second flash of the day.

  A muffled mumble came from within the garage that he almost didn’t hear.

  “Da-ad?” Eric raised the volume and turned the name into a musical up and down pair of notes as he shuffled the short distance to the garage door. “Mum wants to know if you want a brew?” He checked the skies again to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “But you also need to come and see this storm that’s building up out here.” The first flash had been very close by, and he stepped cautiously off the deck and onto the back garden.

  Eric’s skyward concentration was broken when some well-dribbled paint tins clattered to the floor in the garage. He smiled, knowing his dad had heard him calling out and was playing their favourite game, hide and seek. All thoughts of the storm were lost for the moment, as the adrenalin brought his senses to the fore for the task ahead.

  At 12 years old, he was in his last throes of being a child. The harder edges of teenage years were just starting to be visible in his previously softer youthful lines. He’d look very carefully at himself in the mirror and was certain that his chin had a sharper edge, maybe even the hint of a hair or two sprouting out. The shoulders had started to broaden as the muscles underneath developed. He’d also grown a little, which was frustrating as his best mate, Tom, was still taller. This disappointed Eric on every occasion Tom mentioned it, which was every day. Even though the changes into manhood had started, he was still very much a child, and as such, loved to play games.

  The garage was his dad’s true Kingdom and Eric had started his apprenticeship in the art of understanding the wonders within a man’s barn. Be it a simple 6 by 4 overlap shed, through to a huge double garage, they were all mysteriously masculine places. It was the place where used paint brushes soaked in old mugs filled with water, there’s a stick with a singular lifelong purpose to mix paint. There had to be 2 sets of every tool you could find, from chisels to electric drills. It was the home of burnt out and blunt masonry drill bits, cardboard boxes full of old kitchen cupboard hinges, bits of semi-broken items that “might come in useful one day”, his dad told him on many an occasion. It was a vast warehouse of part cut timber, nails, screws and tie-wraps. Eric was in awe of the possibilities of creating dens, carts, and most of all, heaps of fun. There was always the smell of cut wood lingering in the air, and a 20mm thick layer of sawdust on the floor, and more than anything he simply loved just being in there while his dad worked on another project.

  At this moment though, he knew that it was simply a hiding place so that his dad could leap out and scare him once more. Except this time, Eric was anticipating the attack and he went into stealth mode. He had a rough idea of where his dad was hiding, but before he went in he realised that he needed to do a little reconnaissance work. Eric had been on many camping trips with his Dad in the Lake District, walking a few miles with heavy rucksacks on their backs before pitching a meagre tent on some common ground. A simple camping burner and a backup solid fuel fire cooked their meals, and a torch was their only light source, but the weekends would be full of walks and photographic-hunting. Eric had become the proud owner of a bridge camera for his 12th birthday, graduating up from a simple point-and-shoot. This meant they could get better pictures, learn new photographic techniques, and even stalk wildlife and shoot them with their cameras.

  Simon Peterson, Eric’s dad, had been in the military. The Not So Special Forces was what he called his time, not even daring to mention which group of letters they were more commonly known as. The good stories, mainly telling of the various pranks he played on his comrades, was all he told his son. Most of his time had been so secret only the Heads of State and his top Commanders would know what he’d done. Nevertheless, he’d turned those skills to some use and now took his only son on secret missions to shoot a majestic Deer, or capture a Beaver building a damn, the photos being displayed on the lounge wall for all to see, as trophies of their hunt.

  Another mumble and a shuffling noise crept out through the gap under the main up and over door leading into the front of the garage. Eric smiled again, as he could check his dad’s location through the side window.

  .The paint tins were on a shelf near the window, and if he peered in he’d be behind his dad’s hiding position, and could scare him first.

  Each step was taken carefully, watching where he placed each foot so as to not make a sound as he moved down the concrete path at the side of the brick garage.

  “Hrmf!” Eric heard the muffle this time and assumed his dad was struggling to get his beefy frame between the fridge and the rack on paints.

  Another shuffling sound was heard as Eric slowly raised his head so that he could peer in through the window.

  “What!” Whispered Eric as his brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening inside. He stood up, forgetting the game as he saw three cloaked and hooded figures around his Dad. Two of them had a firm grip on an arm each, as his Dad struggled as hard as he could to free himself. The third one, standing behind his Dad, had a gloved hand held securely across his mouth.

  “Get off my dad” Eric shouted defiantly through the window.

  Everyone in the garage stopped for an instant and looked in his direction. The hoods hid the three attacker’s faces, but Eric could clearly see the panic in his dad’s eyes. “DAAAD�
� Eric screamed.

  While the two struggling to contain Simon Peterson’s arms returned to their captor, the one holding his mouth looked through the window at the stricken Eric. It reached round and pulled out a huge needle with a luminescent blue liquid in its vial.

  Eric banged on the window, not being able to get through the wire meshed glass at the three figures attacking his father He couldn’t see their faces, but could sense the third one was smiling directly at him as it plunged the end of the needle into his Dad’s neck, and then slowly pushed the end of the plunger until the blue liquid had gone.

  “NOOO!” Eric screamed.

  The one holding the needle replaced it in their pocket and brought out a small tablet computer. It nodded to its two accomplices before pressing a thumb onto the screen. At the same moment, the two henchmen threw Eric’s Dad the full 7 metre length of the garage.

  Eric’s horror-filled eyes followed his dad’s flight as he sailed through the air, watching him crash-land onto his bench, before crumpling into a heap on the floor. His young body coursed with anger at what they’d done. He lifted both arms over his head, balled his fists, and let out a blood-curdling scream as he