Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2012 13:39:43 -0700 From: B.E. Kelley Subject: The Foundling 1 This story is a work of FICTION. The events described are my own invention. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental. The author retains the copyright, and any other rights, to this original story. You may not publish it or any part of it without my explicit authorization. This story contains depictions of consensual sexual acts between teenage males. It is intended for mature audiences only. If you find this type of material offensive or if you are under the legal age to read said material; please proceed no further. Comments are always welcome at: hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com The Foundling Chapter 1: Who Am I? I don't know what was more disturbing, waking up in a strange bed or the blond boy bouncing excitedly at the other end of it. Instinctively, I recoiled from him, pulling the covers up tight and peaking out at him. "Good morning, my names Jamie," he smiled, "What's yours?" I started to answer him but the words wouldn't come out, a moment's reflection reviled that I didn't know the answer to his question. I reached up to scratch my head and almost knocked myself out with the fiberglass cast I was surprised to find wrapped around my wrist. Now I was really confused, I had no clue how that had gotten there either. "Be careful," said Jamie, as he scooted close to me. "See, you hurt yourself," he explained, holding my wrist in his hand to display the cast. "So what's your name?" he asked again, "don't be scared, you can tell me." I thought about it some more but I just didn't know, I returned his cheerful smile with a blank stare. "Well, that's ok, you can tell me later, are you hungry?" asked Jamie. There was a rumbling in my stomach and my brain seemed to twitch, when it heard that word, so I nodded, yes, I was hungry. "Ok, come on, everyone's downstairs," said Jamie, offering me his hand. I accepted his hand but was very tentative about it. He was friendly and his smile made him very non-threatening but I still didn't know who he was, how I had ended up in his room or even what my own name was. When I stood up, I discovered that Jamie was a little shorter than me and another piece of the puzzle began to wander through my brain, why was I wearing his pajamas? They had to be his; they were a little tight on me and made me look like I was waiting for a flood. My stomach rumbled again and this time Jamie heard it. He smiled at me, held my hand and led me down a long staircase, then into a sunny kitchen, where a man and woman sat around the breakfast table with another boy, who looked to be my age, maybe a little older. Jaime guided me to a seat then took the one next to it, continuing to stare at me with that friendly smile. "You didn't wake him up, did you Jamie?" asked the man. Jamie blushed and squirmed in his seat. "Jamie?" the man asked. "Come on dad, you know he did," the older boy stated, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Well, I thought he'd be hungry and mom said breakfast was ready," Jamie admitted. "I also told you to let him sleep if he wasn't awake," his mom stated. "Yeah but you're glad I woke you up, aren't you, I heard your tummy grumble," said Jamie, his blue eyes boring into me. I studied him for a moment but couldn't do more than give him a blank stare. It was all I seemed able to offer any of them. I wanted to reply but the words wouldn't form, I felt like my brain was on some kind of cruise control, I definitely didn't feel like I was behind the wheel. "Well he's awake now," said the mother, "Are you hungry dear?" I turned my blank stare on her but I instinctively knew what hungry was and that I wanted to eat. I nodded an affirmative reply that she smiled at, before turning to the stove. I looked at the faces around me, Jamie continued to smile, the older boy looked dubious and the father curious. "Do you remember anything about last night?" the father asked. I concentrated; I searched my mind but came up blank. All I could think of was a vision of blinding snow in the middle of the night. I shivered at the cold thought and as I tried hard to think, my head started to hurt. I winced and let out an involuntary groan, at which point the man placed his hand gently on my shoulder. "It's ok," he said soothingly, "you don't have to think about it right now, ok?" I looked at him and his kind face put me at ease, I nodded and relaxed in my chair. "My name is George Prescott, I'm a doctor and I treated you last night for that broken wrist," he explained, "This is my wife Nancy and these are our sons, Jamie and Dylan. I looked at each face, as he gestured to them, and committed the information too my blank memory, George, Nancy, Jamie and Dylan. "You're going to be staying with us for a little while," said George, "Just until we figure out where you came from and where your family is." Family, that sent another cold shiver down my spine. Where was my family, why couldn't I remember anything and how had I gotten this way? George seemed to be able to read the frustration on my face. "It's ok, you took a nasty spill last night, it'll all come back to you," said George. I'd nearly knocked myself unconscious, the last time I tried to touch my head, thanks to the cast on my wrist, but as he mentioned my nasty spill, I reached up with my unencumbered hand and felt a large bump, along my hairline, that was painful to the touch. I pulled my hand away, but didn't have time to think about it as Nancy placed a large plate of pancakes in front of me. I started to eat slowly but picked up the pace as I realized how hungry I really was. The family didn't exactly ignore me but they let me eat in peace while they went through their normal breakfast routine. While we ate, I tried to commit their images to memory. George was a tall man with dark brown hair, grey at the temples, with friendly eyes. He said he was a doctor and he looked like one, he had a curious look about him that gave him an educated bearing. I didn't know what Nancy did but she fit the picture of a mother, she was shorter and slighter then her husband, with shoulder length blond hair and blue eyes. They looked to be in their late 40's or early 50's, it seemed odd that they would have such young kids. The boys intrigued me, I liked something about them but I wasn't sure what. They didn't really look like brothers, Dylan had brown hair and green eyes, he was tall and broad and built like an athlete. I sensed that he didn't like me or was at least leery of me, and I wondered what I had done to make things so. Jamie was cute, blond and blue eyed, he was thin bordering on skinny but a healthy kind of skinny, not malnourished. I suspected he burned off any weight he put on, excited energy radiated from him and from the brief conversation I'd witnessed between he and his mother, I would bet that he was a handful. "Can I call him Harry?" Jamie asked his parents, distracting me from my observations. "Jamie, he's not a pet," his mother admonished, "you can't just name him." "Well, we have to call him something, right?" he asked. "That's true, we can't just call him, hey you," George agreed with is son. "I'm sure I already know, but why do you want to call him Harry?" asked Dylan. "Cause, he looks like Harry Potter," said Jamie. Dylan laughed and his parents displayed knowing smiles. "I guess he does a little," said Nancy, who seated on my other side, reached over and stroked the hair off of my forehead. "I don't know mom, he looks more like Damien from the Omen if you ask me," Dylan scoffed. "Dylan, be nice," she admonished. Dylan rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast, I've only known him for a few minutes but I can already tell this is one of his favorite gestures. It clearly marks him as a teenager. "Harry," called George. I turned and looked at him, responding to the only name I knew. "Well, he seems to like it, I guess Harry it is for now," said George. "Awesome," said Jamie, aglow with that smile of his. "Hey dad, my hockey game is in an hour," said Dylan, changing the subject. "Yes, I know," said George. "What are we going to do?" asked Dylan. "We're going to go, just like every other Saturday," said George, a puzzled look on his face. "No, I mean with him," said Dylan, nodding in my direction. "He'll come with us of course," said George. "Dad, does he have to?" whined Dylan. "Dylan I'm surprised at you, lord knows what he's been through, considering your own past I would think you'd be a little more compassionate," said Nancy. "I know, I know," Dylan huffed, "He's just I don't know, weird." "Dylan, give him a break," his father admonished. "But dad," he whined again. "Dylan, that's enough," said George, giving his son a stern look. "Fine," Dylan grumped, as he took his plate to the sink and disappeared upstairs. "Don't worry Harry," said Jamie, patting me on the shoulder, "I don't think you're weird." I looked at Jamie and mimicked his friendly smile. "Dad, isn't there anything we can do to help Harry talk, or remember?" asked Jamie. "Well son, head injuries are tricky, the brain takes care of itself and, uh, Harry here, will start talking when he's ready," George explained. "So there's nothing then?" asked Jamie. "Well, just talk to him, ask him questions, tell him about yourself, even if he's not answering, it forces him to think and that stimulates brain activity, that could jog things," said George. "Cool, I can do that," smiled Jamie. "George, should we really be taking him to the hockey game?" asked Nancy. "It won't hurt him, he's physically fine, I think that being around people will stimulate him, again, maybe get him to remember something," said George, "Besides, there is also the possibility that someone will recognize him and help us sort this all out." "I put some clothes in the spare dresser in your room Jamie, why don't you take Harry upstairs and help him get dressed?" said Nancy. "Ok Mom, come on Harry," said Jamie, taking my hand and leading me back to his room. Jamie's room was a typical boy's room. There were two twin beds, his and the one I had slept in, it's presence suggesting that he was used to having friends sleep over. There was two of everything, beds, nightstands and dressers. Jamie went over to the dresser in front of my bed and extracted some clothes, then handed me the pile. I sat the clothes on the bed, took off the t-shirt I was wearing, than discovered a problem. With the cast on my wrist, I couldn't untie the drawstring in my pajamas. Unable to form the words I needed to express my problem; I looked around in frustration, that's when I learned that among other things, Jamie is very intuitive. "Need some help?" asked Jamie. I sighed in frustration and nodded my head. "It's ok, I had to help you last night too," said Jamie. He walked over to me and with no apprehension what so ever, he slipped his fingers into my bottoms and untied the drawstring that had caused me so much trouble. He tugged my pajamas down and I stood there in my underpants; that's also when I noticed the mirror for the first time. I looked into the reflective glass and didn't recognize the face that starred back; I reached up to touch my cheek just to make sure it was me. I guess I was pleased with what I saw because I felt the same warm feeling I'd felt when I had studied Dylan and Jamie. My hair was short and black as night, it looked like I usually combed it to the right side and though I couldn't see the bump on my head, I could see part of a bruise peeking out from under my hairline. My eyes were blue, not like Jamie's whose eyes were a soft sea blue, but rather more pale, almost fierce. My skin was pale; I had a slender neck that tapered out into slender shoulders and chest. I was by no means ripped but I had a lean, well toned frame. I wondered if I was some kind of athlete, not a hockey player like Dylan but maybe some kind of swimmer or runner. I was wearing white cotton briefs with the words Calvin Klein written around the waistband, was that my name? No, I was pretty sure I wasn't a fashion designer. There was a healthy bulge in my undies, I pulled my waistband back to take a peek and discovered my 4 inch circumcised penis, not bad for my body size, I thought. "Don't worry; it's plenty big," Jamie giggled, "I peeked last night." This boy was full of surprises and his comment sent that warm feeling surging through my body again. I couldn't sense any trace of shyness in Jamie, he talked openly and he'd just admitted to looking in my underwear, without even blushing, interesting. "Come on, we have to leave soon, let's get you dressed," said Jamie. I was able to pull on the jeans he gave me but Jamie had to button and zip them for me. I then put on the t-shirt and plaid button down he handed me. He helped me with the buttons and I was surprised when he tucked it in for me, inserting his hands into my pants. I could swear he lingered over my package, if just for a split second. Jamie put my socks and shoes on for me then handed me a dark grey sweater made of heavy wool. I gave him a look, I already felt warm in the shirt I had on. "I know it's kinda hot in here but it's really cold where we're going, you're going to need that sweater, and I've got a coat, hat and scarf for you too," Jamie explained. I put the sweater on; Jamie smoothed out the wrinkles and made some other adjustments. "See, you look nice," said Jamie, turning me back toward the mirror. Jamie left me to stare at the mirror and started to change his own clothes. I admired his body in his little cotton briefs, there was a strange twinge in my stomach that I couldn't explain and while I thought about it, Jamie finished getting dressed. When he was done, he handed me a coat, hat, and scarf. I assumed the clothes I was wearing had once been Dylan's because they fit me better then the pajama's I'd worn that morning, no danger of flooding in these jeans. Jamie took my hand again and was about to lead me downstairs, when Dylan walked in and shut the door. He walked right up to me, uncomfortably close. "Look whack-job, I can't stop them from bringing you so just don't do anything weird around my friends, got it?" he said threateningly. "Back off Dylan," said Jamie, inserting himself between us. Dylan gave his brother a little shove, then gave me another hard stare, before turning on his heal and storming out of the room. "Don't worry about him; Harry," said Jamie, "he's a lot nicer when you get to know him." I gave Jamie a disbelieving look. "No really he is," said Jamie, "Mom says he's just 15 and hormonal." I filed that information under the image in my head, Dylan, brown hair, green eyes, age 15, hormonal. "Come on, he'll be really bitchy if he's late for his game," said Jamie. It was my first trip outside and I was in awe of what I saw. The Prescott's lived on a lake and it was evidently winter. The tall pine trees were shrouded in snow, the ground was covered and the air was bitterly cold. I was thankful to Jamie for insisting on the sweater. "Is he going to stare at the trees all day or what?" asked Dylan, sarcastically. "Dylan I have had just about enough of that attitude young man," his mother scolded. "Well we're going to be late," Dylan complained. Nancy gave Dylan a look and he stopped arguing with her, choosing to keep his mouth shut and get in the car. "Harry, come on honey, we don't want to be late," said Nancy, placing her hands on my shoulders and guiding me into the families SUV. It was a long drive into town, and along the way Dylan brooded while Jamie told me his life story. Evidently he was 13 and had been adopted by the Prescott's when he was 9, and his parents had been killed in a car accident. He told me that Dylan had been adopted a couple of years later but when he tried to tell me why, Dylan elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. At least now I understood why they looked so different from each other, they weren't blood related. When we got to the rink, we hurried inside, but the temperature wasn't that much different. There was a group of kids waiting in the lobby, and most of them waved when they saw us. "Hey Dylan, hey Jamie," said a red headed boy. "Who's that?" said the red head's twin, pointing at me. "Oh, don't worry about him, he's nobody," said Dylan. George opened his mouth to chastise his son but it was too late, Dylan was already on his way to the locker room with his friends. We made our way to the bleachers and Jamie and I, took our seats between George and Nancy. "Do you know anything about hockey, Harry?" asked Jamie. I wasn't sure, I didn't think I did, I wasn't as big as Dylan, or his team mates from the lobby, I'm sure I'd never played this game. I looked at Jamie and shook my head, no. "That's ok; I'll teach you everything you need to know. That little round black thing is the puck and the object of the game is to get the puck past the goalie and score..."Jamie rambled. I listened for a moment but eventually just tuned him out and watched the puck fly around the ice. We watched the first few minutes of the game and then an older, heavyset man with a cowboy hat and coat with the word `Sheriff,' stitched into it, walked over to us. "Ma'am," he said, nodding at Nancy. "Sheriff," she replied. The Sheriff's eyes lingered on me for a moment and then he took a seat next to George. "He looks better than he did last night," said the Sheriff. "I told you he was fine, Ed," said George, "Other than the wrist and the bump on his head, there isn't anything physically wrong with him. "Has he said anything to you yet?" asked the Sheriff. "Not a word," George replied, "has anyone reported him missing?" "Nope, not so far," said the Sheriff. "Don't you think that's strange, Ed?" asked George. "It's very strange. We took the t-shirt and underpants he had on last night as evidence, both were high end labels and you say he's healthy?" asked the Sheriff. "Extremely, his dental work is impeccable, good bone structure, good muscle tone, he's built like some kind of athlete," said George. "That's my point, good health, expensive clothes, someone cares about this kid, has taken good care of him, so why haven't they reported him missing?" said the Sheriff. "Your guess is as good as mine, did anything else happen last night?" said George. "Nah, after Jimmy brought the boy to the hospital, he busted Joe Harper for drunk driving, out on I-95, but what else is new?" the Sheriff replied. "That man is a menace," said George, "it's only a matter of time before he kills someone." "I know," chuckled the Sheriff, "he's all kinds of pissed right now because I won't let him out. I told him it's the weekend and the judge can't see him until Monday." "Well at least that will keep him off the streets for a while. Nothing else happened last night?" asked George. "Are you kidding Doc?" asked the Sheriff, "That storm last night dumped two feet of snow on northern New Hampshire, I think most people had the good sense to stay out of it." "Then I guess we just have to see what develops and hope he starts talking soon," said George. "You're keeping him with you?" asked the Sheriff. "I am, I talked to Virginia at social services, she said they'd put him in the juvenile center until we can find his family, I couldn't do that to Harry," George explained. "Harry?" asked the Sheriff. "Yeah, sorry, I forgot to mention that, the boys think he looks like Harry Potter," said George. The Sheriff laughed and told George that he would be in touch the moment he had any more information and asked George to do the same, should I start talking. After that, we watched the rest of the game. Dylan played well and even scored a goal. Jamie said that should put him in a better mood, I hoped he was right. When the game was finished, we waited in the lobby, while Dylan changed out of his uniform. "Mom, I gotta pee," said Jamie. "Can you hold it sweetie?" said Nancy. "No, I gotta go bad," Jamie whined. "Alright, but don't be long, Dylan will be out soon," said Nancy. "Ok, come on Harry," said Jamie, taking my hand. Jamie led me to the bathroom where he proceeded to unzip and use the urinal. I felt a tingle in my own penis and decided that I should pee to. We didn't waste any time in the restroom, as with any boy's bathroom, it stank and I couldn't wait to get out. Back in the lobby, we started walking towards George and Nancy. There was a man in front of me and I read the back of his jacket, "Tyson Wire and Cable." I read the words over and over; I must have processed them a hundred times in the seconds it took to walk back to the Prescott's. The man with the jacket walked off to join his own family but the words on his back repeated through my mind, again and again. The word Tyson stood out, it flashed before my eyes, there was something important about it but I couldn't tell what. I tried concentrating on it and this time my head didn't hurt, rather I started to get dizzy. I shook my head to clear it but my eyes fluttered and then everything went black. When I woke up, I found myself looking up at the Prescott's and a crowd of kids and parents that had gathered around me. George knelt over me and was lightly slapping my cheeks, trying to rouse me. Nancy stood back, her hands on Jamie's shoulders, trying to keep him out of the way; Dylan flashed me a dirty look while the rest of the crowd muttered. "What happened?" "Is he ok?" George felt the back of my head, to make sure I hadn't bumped it when I hit the ground, then he checked my pupils. "Harry, are you ok?" he asked. I felt ok, at least as ok as I had before passing out, so I nodded my reply. George took my hand and helped me to my feet. "George, let's go home," said Nancy. Jamie put my arm around his shoulder, offering his body as support, but I felt fine. We walked out to the car and Dylan threw his stuff in the back. As he came around to get in, he checked me into the door with his shoulder. "Way to go shithead," he grumbled. I registered the hurt from the intentional buffeting but, of course, couldn't find the words to offer a complaint; instead I took my seat next to Jamie. The ride back was quiet, no one talked and there was a slight tension in the air. I didn't know why I'd passed out, I didn't know anything and the frustration started to take its toll, I wanted to scream but instead tears started to run from my eyes. The car was quiet and everyone could hear my pathetic whimpering. "It's ok Harry, its' ok," said Jamie, rubbing his hand across my back. Even Dylan's harsh gaze softened, instead of looking like he wanted to hit me, I saw sympathy in his eyes, even if it was only for a moment. When we walked into the house, we hung up our coats and Jamie took my hand so that he could lead me away, but his mother stopped him. "Jamie why don't you go hang out with Dylan for a while, ok sweetheart?" said Nancy. Jamie looked like he was going to object but after a moment's thought; he obeyed his mother and ran upstairs. Nancy placed her hands on my shoulders and guided me towards the living room. "Nan..." George began. "It's alright dear," she stated, "let me handle this." George nodded his compliance and Nancy took me into the living room. She sat me on the couch then took the seat next to me and drew me into her arms. I rested my head against her shoulder and she held me tightly, kissed the top of my head gently, and rocked me back and forth. Her touch was soothing, I was still crying but I felt safe in her arms. Nancy knew that she couldn't offer me anything more than a mother's touch, but she also knew that such a touch was exactly what I needed. Nancy held me as long as I needed her to. Occasionally she would whisper to me, `it's ok baby,' or `just let it all out, sweetheart,' but she didn't question me, didn't push me for answers, she just comforted me. When my tears stopped, Nancy smiled and wiped them off my face. "Better now?" she asked. I nodded my reply and she sent me up to Jamie's room. When I got there, he was playing a video game so I lay down on the bed. I hadn't felt tired but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. They let me sleep through lunch but woke me for dinner. It wasn't like this morning; I wasn't hungry and mostly pushed my food around the plate. Afterwards the family took me back to the living room and I sat quietly while they watched TV. At bed time, Jamie helped me put on some pajamas, I wasn't sure where these had come from but they fit better then the pair I'd had on that morning. George and Nancy tucked Jamie in, before each of them kissed me on the forehead and wished me a good night. I don't know how long I was asleep before the dream started. I was standing out in the snow, no, I was running, running through the snow. The snow was blinding, falling in sheets and the wind blew it all around me. I shouldn't be out here, but I kept running; I couldn't even feel my feet; they were numb from the cold. I wanted to stop, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, feel my lungs burning for air but still I ran. I felt branches stinging my body as I ran through the trees and just as I burst through a grove of pines, I woke, sitting straight up in bed and panting for breath. I must have woken Jamie because he was standing next to me, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Have a bad dream?" he asked. I looked at him and nodded my head in the dark. "That's ok, I have them too sometimes," said Jamie, "move over." I scooted over and Jamie climbed in next to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and discovered that my shirt was drenched; my dream had been so intense that I'd broken out in a cold sweat. "Harry, you're soaked, lift your arms," said Jamie. Puzzled, I did as he said and then he took my t-shirt off. I put my arms down and he laid me down, gently resting my head on the pillow. Jamie pulled up the covers and snuggled close to me, putting his arm across my chest. His touch was gentle, like his mothers, and I slept soundly for the rest of the night, safe in the arms of the little blond boy.