Date: Sun, 10 Aug 2003 09:59:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: M D <equinusscorpius@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Silent Violin - Part 1
Legal Notice:
The following story contains descriptions of graphic sexual
acts. The story is a work of fiction and has no basis in
reality. Any resemblance between characters herein and
people in the real world is simply coincidental.
Don't read this story if:
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Note: This story will be slow moving, and plot oriented.
It is not a porno, though sex will happen. If you're
looking for a quick jerk, you may want to look elsewhere.
E-mail responses to the story, questions, suggestions,
criticism, and comments to: EquinusScorpius@yahoo.com
THE SILENT VIOLIN
PROLOGUE
Sebastian sat curled in the window seat of his bedroom,
looking out the window onto a world covered in pristine
white snow. He loved and hated the winter; loved the beauty
of it, hated the bad memories it stirred up. He couldn't
help but remember that fateful winter day, ten long years
ago. The accident had happened in the winter. One fine-
boned hand came up to touch the ridged scar at his throat.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes. There was a knock on his
bedroom door and he hugged his arms around his knees and
hunched his shoulders up. A few moments later, he heard the
door open and his mother's hesitant footsteps on the
hardwood floor of his room.
"Bastian, honey, are you okay?" Sebastian turned at
the sound of his mother's voice, and shook his head. Unshed
tears glimmered in his gray eyes and his bottom lip began to
quiver. "Oh, honey!" Marjorie hurried over to him, arms
extended to pull him into a hug. The tight control over his
emotions folded under her love and the tears poured from his
eyes as he began to weep in his mother's arms. Huge
shuddering sobs wracked his slender frame and a strange
keening sound emerged from his throat.
"Oh my poor boy, my poor baby. Let it out Bastian, let
it out honey," she whispered into his ear as she rocked him
in her arms. Marjorie Blackmoore didn't have to ask why he
cried. She knew, and she cried with him. His pain struck a
chord in her heart, and she couldn't help but rain tears
into his thick black hair. He had been such a happy child,
smiling and laughing and singing with joyful abandonment.
She cried for the joy he had lost. Together, they both
cried and remembered.
CHAPTER 1
New England winters were cold and harsh, but they were
also beautiful. The look of freshly fallen snow adorning
the branches of pine trees or the clear lining of ice on the
leafless honeysuckle glinting in the cold winter sunlight
were wonders of nature's beauty. It was January 14, 1993.
A fresh snowfall hid the ugly gray slush from the last
snowfall, and Bastian towed his red saucer behind him as he
ran outside to go sleighing with his best friend, Aiden
McKennough. He was clad in a bright blue pair of snowpants,
matching parka, and a mitten-hat-scarf set knitted for him
by his grandmother in vibrant yellow. Insulated yellow
rubber boots kept his feet warm and dry.
He chugged through the snow on short legs, climbing
over the mountain of snow left by the snowplow at the foot
of the driveway. Bobby Carrington, the older boy who
shoveled their driveway for ten dollars, would be around
eventually to dig his mother out so she could go to work.
Bastian laughed gaily as he made his way up the street,
being careful to watch for cars, but the roads were empty
this soon after the heavy snow. Two houses up, he could see
Bobby Carrington at work on the McKennough's house, aided by
Aiden's father and older brother in getting the driveway
cleared enough to get the family van out onto the road.
Aiden, who was six months older than Bastian's worldly five
years, sat perched on his own sled atop the mountain of snow
at the end of his driveway. He was dressed in faded green
hand-me-down snowsuit and a red and black Elmer Fudd hat
covered his ears and the curly orange hair that was
trademark of the McKennough clan.
"Hiya Bastian!" Aiden called as he spotted Bastian
trudging up the road. He stood up to wave and promptly fell
down the snow-mountain. Connor McKennough began to laugh
hysterically at his youngest brother, pointing at him and
pretending to fall in the snow, imitating Aiden's fall.
Aiden shot Connor a dirty look and stuck his tongue out
at him before picking himself up off the ground, tugging his
earflaps back around his ears, and dragging his sled down
from the top of the mountain. Shamus McKennough cuffed his
oldest son on the side of the head and told him sternly to
get back to work, if he wanted to ever get a learner's
permit. Connor quickly left off laughing and took up the
shovel with newfound vigor.
"Hi Aiden, are you ready to go sledding?" Bastian
asked. His cheeks were blushed from the cold and his breath
crystallized on the scarf obscuring his chin. Aiden smiled
his toothy grin and nodded. His left front tooth hard
already fallen out, leaving a dark gap in his smile.
"Where are we gonna sled, Bastian?" Aiden asked,
falling into step with his best friend. "Mr. Roberson said
we could sled behind his house as long as he's home. Let's
go see if he is."
Mr. Roberson lived in a cozy little house at the foot
of a steep hill. A sparse line of pine and juniper topped
the hill, and the neighborhood children had tied a rope to
one of the trees to aid in climbing the hill. Mr. Roberson
was also a gym teacher at the local middle school, and when
the district was purchasing new wrestling mats, he saved
several of the old mats to line the back of his house where
the hill ended, knowing full well that sledding children
often could not stop. He had implemented that change
shortly after Krystal Champier had fractured her arm and
dented the siding of his house upon impact with it. Of
course he immediately offered to pay medical bills, and
there were no hard feelings among the neighborhood adults.
They all appreciated his letting the children tear up his
backyard.
Bastian and Aiden headed back down the street, aiming
for the tall hill at the end of the dead-end street. Great
drifts of snow were pushed to either side of Mr. Roberson's
driveway by the snowplow that cleared the street. There
were a few other kids from the neighborhood already sliding
down the hill behind his house. Mary and Jane Morris, twins
from a street over, were screaming as they plummeted down
the hill together on their little toboggan. Kevin Haines, a
husky 11-year old greeted them warmly as they pulled their
sleds up.
"Heya guys, Mr. R's inside, said we can sled as long as
we want today." Kevin was a cool guy, and helped both the
younger boys up the hill with their sleds. Bastian and
Aiden laughed as a scrawny blond kid named Zeke flew
backwards off his sled which thudded into the wrestling mats
along the back of the house. Zeke ran forward to rescue his
sled before pulling himself up the rope to the top of the
hill again.
Bastian reached the top of the hill, and it seemed
miles down to the back of the house. Kevin was holding
Aiden's sleigh steady so Aiden could get situated at the top
of the slope. Aiden flew down the hill, laughing happily.
Bastian situated himself on his own saucer, held steady by
Kevin's helpful hands. "Thank you, Kevin." Bastian said
politely, and pushed himself forward, only to be halted by
Kevin.
"Wait till Aiden's off the hill, don't want anyone
getting hurt now." Kevin cautioned, and pushed Bastian on
his way down the hill as Aiden stepped aside.
Bastian leaned to one side, causing the saucer to spin
and he screamed with delight. The saucer began to gather
speed as it whipped down the hill. Too late, Bastian
realized the nearness of the house and put out his legs to
try and slow his descent. He let out a small cry of alarm
as he thudded painfully into the wrestling mats. The air
rushed from his lungs on impact and his yellow-clad head
thumped the mat. He heard a scream behind him and turned to
look up the hill. Zeke was heading down the hill again at
top speed. Bastian tried to roll to his feet, but his
saucer, full of snow lay atop his legs and he couldn't get
up. Zeke fell backwards off his sled again and it shot
towards Bastian. He heard several screams, one of them his
own. Pain blossomed in his throat and suddenly he couldn't
breath. He heard Kevin yelling from the top of the hill,
heard Mary and Jane Morris screaming shrilly in terror. The
back door to Mr. Roberson's house flew open and Mr. Roberson
himself flew out into the backyard wearing only sweatpants
and a bathrobe. Everyone was running towards him. Something
must be wrong. He began to cry.
Ralph Roberson had heard the screams outside his
backdoor while making breakfast. He loved to watch the
neighborhood kids playing in his backyard, having lost his
wife and child years ago to a drunk driver. The screams he
heard were not the usual screams of exhilaration, but of
pain and horror. He leapt out to the backyard to see little
Sebastian Blackmoore collapsed at the wrestling mats. A
blot of crimson stained the snow and the bright yellow scarf
around his neck. His gray eyes were glassy with shock as
his lifeblood leeched into the snow. "Oh shit, no." He
cursed to himself and ran towards the boy. "Kevin!" he
barked, "Call 911!" Kevin slid down the hill and into
Ralph's kitchen. He heard the boy pick up the phone.
Ralph knelt at Bastian's side and carefully pried away
the yellow scarf from around his neck. A fountain of blood
spurted into the air, eliciting another shriek from the
gathered children. Ralph looked up at them, "Get home you
kids, now! No more sledding!" He regretted his harsh tone.
He spotted Aiden's red and black hat at the back of the
crowd. "Aiden! Go get Sebastian's mom. Hurry!"
He turned back to Bastian and saw his breath heaving as
he struggled to draw breath. Bastian's throat was cut just
under the chin and the blood frothed as he tried to inhale.
Ralph didn't hesitate and clapped his hand across the wound,
feeling the blood and bubbles hot against his skin.
Bastian's eyes had lost some of their glassy look and stared
wildly into his, beseechingly.
"Don't worry, Sebastian. You'll be okay.
You'll be okay." Ralph said, as much for Bastian's benefit
as his own. Kevin peeked his head out the back door, phone
to his ear. "They're coming, Mr. Roberson. The ambulance is
on its way. They said it might take a while, cuz of the
snow," he said, voice trembling.
"Tell them to hurry, Kevin. Tell them to hurry."
Ralph said, staring into Bastian's eyes. Mercifully, Bastian
blacked out.
Marjorie Blackmoore arrived three minutes later having
sent Aiden home to his father after he came crying to her.
Ralph tried to explain to Ms. Blackmoore what had happened.
The entire time, he kept a steady pressure on the gash in
Bastian's throat, and never took his eyes off the boy's
chest as it hitched in and out in his attempt to garner air.
Marjorie was almost in shock herself, tears streaming down
her cheeks. The paramedics arrived a few long minutes later
and whisked Marjorie and Bastian Blackmoore off to Kingston
Hospital.
Bastian was in surgery for five hours, attempting to
repair the damage done to his larynx and trachea. He had
lost a lot of blood and needed two transfusions, as well as
his lungs suctioned free of blood. The surgeon, Dr.
Helmickie, came out of the operating room, a serious
expression on his haggard face. He was an older gentleman,
with graying brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and an almost stork-
like appearance.
"Sebastian has undergone a lot of trauma. The sled
crushed his larynx and almost severed his trachea. We were
able to recover his thyroid and parathyroids, as well as
close up the wound, but recovery will be long and arduous
for him. His larynx was irreparably damaged; he may never
be able to talk again. We're going to keep him here for
several dies to ensure he's healing. We'll also put you in
touch with therapists to aid you both in this trying time."
Dr. Helmickie explained gravely.
Marjorie began to sob disconsolately and he awkwardly
attempted to comfort her.
Bastian awoke from anesthesia disoriented and afraid.
He didn't recognize his surroundings and his throat throbbed
painfully. He tried to raise his hand to his throat and
found he was strapped securely to a hospital bed. A nurse
had noticed his movements and loomed over him.
"You're awake I see. Easy now, Sebastian. You're
safe. You're in the hospital. Do you know why you're in
the hospital?" she asked him in a grandmotherly voice. Her
white hair was pulled back into a bun and her face was lined
with wrinkles. She placed a comforting hand on his arm.
Bastian tried to answer her, but his throat hurt too much so
he stopped. Tears formed in his eyes. He looked back at
her, lower lip trembling.
"Here now, little one. It's okay. My name is Agnes,
and I'm going to take good care of you. Your mommy is
outside talking to the doctor. You woke up faster than we
thought you would. They tell me you had a sledding
accident. Isn't that right?" she brushed the thick black
hair back from his forehead.
Bastian nodded very slightly, wincing at the pain.
"Don't try to move too much, and don't try to talk, you hurt
your voice and it has to heal. I'm going to give you some
medicine to make you feel better."
For the first time, Bastian was aware of the needle in
his arm attached to an IV drip, and the oxygen tubes in his
nose. He was also aware of an unpleasant pressure in his
bladder. He had to pee. Agnes began to draw up a syringe
from a small glass bottle and he waved his hands desperately
to get her attention. She noticed his movements and looked
over at him. "What's wrong?"
Bastian screwed up his face and pointed to his crotch,
wiggling his hips and shimmying his legs, hoping she would
understand. Evidently Agnes was familiar with the
horizontal pee-pee dance and her mouth dropped open in an
"O" of realization. Bastian blushed with shame as she
lowered the sheets and placed a collecting jug between his
legs. "Don't be ashamed now. You don't have anything I
haven't seen on my own boys before." She reached between
his legs and propped his penis on the lip of the collecting
jug. He shivered at her cold hands and impersonal touch and
tried to pee. Finally, pain overcame embarrassment and he
managed to force the flow and emptied his bladder. She gave
his penis two shakes and removed the jug, patting his
hospital gown in place over his crotch. Bastian blushed
again and averted his eyes. Agnes finished drawing up the
syringe of painkiller and injected it into the IV port.
Slowly, Bastian faded into unconsciousness.
Bastian slowly came back to consciousness. Someone was
crying in the corner of the room, and in the moonlight from
the window, he could see his mother weeping. Bastian's eyes
began to tear and his bottom lip began to quiver. He let
the tears come even if they hurt his throat. Marjorie looked
up to see her boy crying and wiped her eyes. "Oh my poor,
poor baby-boy. Oh Bastian." She fluttered about him,
trying to hug him without hurting him and ended up laying a
multitude of kisses all over his face. Her own hot tears
splashed against his skin as she leaned over him. "It's
okay, baby. Mommy's here now. You're gonna be okay."
Slowly Bastian's tears trickled away and he fell into a
deep slumber as Marjorie gently stroked the thick locks of
black hair from his forehead. She studied her young son,
with his long silky lashes and pug nose. His round cheeks
were stained red with what she called angel-kisses. His
throat was swathed with thick bandages. His little body lay
still beneath the sterile white hospital sheets. She turned
from him for a moment and took the few steps to where her
bag was. She took a plush stuffed wolf from the bag and
placed in the crook of his left arm. She pulled the hospital
chair closer to his bed and sat watching him sleep until she
succumbed to exhaustion.
The next few days were filled with tests and
medications, sleep and pain, family and visitors. Granny
Eleanor, his maternal grandmother, came to see him on his
second day, having taken the bus up from Long Island, which
she hated to do. She was a no-nonsense type of woman, with
wavy pale gray hair combed back from her face. She gave him
a kiss and a slight hug before shooing her daughter home to
sleep. Then she pulled out her knitting needles and made
him a new yellow scarf as he slept.
Shamus and Aiden McKennough came to see him too. Aiden
looked at the bandages with wide eyes, and the tubes
emerging from Bastian's nose seemed to scare him as he
turned into his father's leg in fear. Shamus patted his
son, and his son's best friend to comfort them both. A tall
blond man came in with Zeke, and Bastian figured it must be
Zeke's father. Zeke came over to Bastian and apologized
through streaming tears. Zeke's father conversed in hushed
tones with Granny and Marjorie. Soon they left too.
Bastian was very surprised when Ralph Roberson and
Kevin Haines came in to see him. Ralph smiled down at him
and told him he was glad he was okay. Kevin smiled sadly
and nodded. Both of them apologized too. Ralph talked to
Marjorie for a few minutes before taking Kevin home. These
visits were interspersed by visits from the doctor and
nurses. They took blood samples several times, and changed
the dressing over his wound, and put him into medicated
slumber. Sometimes a different doctor would come to examine
him and ask him questions that he would nod or shake his
hand at.
Bastian's recovering was long and slow. Although the
wound healed completely in a couple of weeks, he had lost
the ability to speak. The hospital provided Marjorie with a
special teacher, one that would teach them both sign
language and help Bastian learn to write at a faster pace.
Bastian was a smart boy, and despite his negative outlook on
things, quickly picked up both sign language and
handwriting. Granny Eleanor helped as well, after the
teacher went home. Her sister had been struck deaf and mute
by a bout with polio, and she had learned sign language to
communicate with her. Grandpa Guy helped in his own gruff
way. He was a big man of Quebecois descent, and made
instruments for a living.
"Cher," he began in his heavily accented bass, "I have
something for you. You may not be able to talk, but that
doesn't mean there are other ways of communicating." He
produced a violin case from behind his back. "I made this
for you, and I will teach you to play it. Now you can talk
with your music." He pulled Bastian into a fierce hug and
patted him on the head.
Bastian smiled widely at the present. Ever since he
had seen the great Itzhak Perlman on public television, he
had loved the violin. He took the violin eagerly out of its
case and held it gingerly with his chin. His throat no
longer hurt him, but there was a scar. He brought the bow
across the strings, producing a painful caterwaul. Grandpa
Guy guided his fingers and hand to produce a more accurate
chord and Bastian smiled hugely again, hugging his
grandfather tightly.
Sadly, Bastian had to stay out of school for several
months while he recuperated and learned new ways of
communicating. Marjorie kept him sequestered inside the
house, afraid to let him out for fear of his being hurt and
unable to call for help. Bastian didn't see any of his
friends, and began to grow depressed. Marjorie lost her job
as a waitress and was unable to keep the house they lived
in. She took Bastian and moved in with her parents in rural
upstate New York very near the Vermont and Canadian borders
in Rouses Point on Lake Champlain.
The years passed, and every year on the fourteenth of
January, Bastian and Marjorie would cry together.