Classic Passion: Origin
Copyright© 2026 by RedRambler
Chapter 6: Forged
June 27, 1962 - Sick Bay
The first time Dr. Reeves woke me, the world felt like it was moving through molasses. His hand on my shoulder pulled me from a dreamless void.
“Time to eat, Tom. You need nutrients.”
The broth burned my throat going down, but I forced myself to swallow every spoonful. My hands shook I was holding the bowl. Dr. Reeves steadied them without comment, his clinical gaze cataloging every tremor.
“Thirty-eight hours,” he said firmly. “That’s what your body needs if you’re serious about this foolish plan. Real rest, not the catnap nonsense you’ve been surviving on.”
I nodded, already sinking back into the pillow. The darkness claimed me before I could form a response.
The second time, sunlight streamed through the infirmary windows. Different soup this time, chicken noodle that actually tasted like something. My stomach cramped around the first few bites before settling.
“Your color’s better,” Dr. Reeves observed, checking my pulse. “But you’re still running on fumes. Back to sleep after this.”
I wanted to argue, to say I felt fine, but my eyelids were already dropping. The spoon clattered against the bowl as unconsciousness pulled me under again.
***
Dream Dock
This time, I found myself back on the dock at the lake. Birdie sat beside me, her feet dangling in the water. She wore cutoff jeans and that yellow tank top from the summer she taught me to water ski.
“You look terrible,” she said, not turning to face me.
“Thanks. Very helpful.”
She laughed, that bright sound I’d missed more than I’d admitted. “So, you want to confront Shanks. Why?”
I picked at a splinter in the dock’s weathered wood. “You already know why. You’re me, remember?”
“Humor me. Sometimes saying it out loud helps.”
The splinter came free, leaving a small divot in the board. “He tried to break me. Used every trick in his playbook, when his five flunkies didn’t work, he fell back on the punishment tours, sleep deprivation, starvation, and water torture. He wanted me on my knees.”
“But you didn’t break.”
“No.” I watched a fish jump in the distance, ripples spreading across the glassy surface. “But that’s not enough. He needs to know he failed. Not just that I survived, but that I won.”
Birdie finally turned to look at me, her, my eyes, searching. “Is this about him knowing, or you knowing?”
The question hung between us like morning mist over the water. I closed my eyes, feeling the phantom cold of those endless hours on the parade ground, the weight of that wooden rifle, the water soaking through my uniform over and over, the evening breeze sucking the heat from my body, but not my determination.
“Both,” I admitted. “I need to see his face when he realizes all his sadistic games accomplished nothing. That I’m still here, still standing, still me.”
“And what if he doesn’t care? What if he just shrugs it off?”
“Then I’ll know that too. But I don’t think he will. Bullies like him, they need to win. They need to see fear, submission. When they don’t get it...” I trailed off, remembering the frustration in Shanks’ voice as he’d ordered another dousing.
“While you were asleep, I heard the chief tell coach that he had guaranteed your grandmother that he could break you and turn you into her submissive servant ... well you actually heard it, but you were kind of busy not being---you know---dead.”
That brought a smile to my face, “I appreciate your taking care of me, I mean I know your me ... Is this confusing or what.”
“Dork, our whole relationship has been weird since you were eight, trying to say hello to an older girl.” Then Birdie pulled her feet from the water, tucking her knees to her chest. “You’re not planning to fight him.”
“No. My getting violent would prove him right, that I’m just another delinquent who belongs in a place like this. I just need to stand there, look him in the eye, and let him see that he accomplished absolutely nothing except adding another charge to his arrest record.”
“You need him to see that Tom Hardy doesn’t break.”
“Exactly.”
The dock began to fade at the edges, Dr. Reeves’ voice filtering through from the waking world. Birdie stood, brushing off her shorts.
“Then rest up, Tom. I don’t know if this will work as well as you think but you’ll need every ounce of strength for this performance.”
***
June 29, 1962 - The proposal
I woke to hushed voices. Sunlight streamed through the infirmary windows at a different angle than before. Chief Simmons and Coach O’Shanahan stood near the door, deep in conversation. My throat felt less raw, and the tight band of pain around my ribs had dulled to a persistent ache.
“Gentlemen,” I croaked, pushing myself up against the pillows. “How long was I out this time?”
They turned in unison. Coach crossed to my bedside first, his weathered face breaking into a relieved smile.
“About fourteen hours,” he said. “Dr. Reeves said you’d wake soon. How do you feel?”
I took inventory. “Like I was hit by a truck instead of five cowards with sticks.” I flexed my fingers, testing the chemical burns that had turned my hands raw. “But functional.” After another moments reflection. “I could eat a horse though.”
The nurse who brought all the supplies I needed came over, shoved a thermometer in my mouth and took my pulse. “Would you like that with or without the saddle?”
“Wim ot te sdl.” I tried to get out around the thermometer.
“Oh, Stop complaining there are other places I can put that thing you know; I get a better reading too.”
When she removed it. “Not the same one I hope.” I said with mock terror.
Chief Simmons just shook his head and pulled a chair beside my bed. “You’ve got a strange definition of functional, son, not to mention sense of humor.”
“Catholic school. We’re taught to endure.” I meant it as a joke, but neither man smiled.
“About that,” the Chief began, “Judge Matthews has ordered the school closed pending a full investigation. Federal marshals are securing records, interviewing staff.”
I nodded, then asked the question that had been foremost in my mind. “And the cadets? Shanks?”
O’Shanahan exchanged a look with Simmons before answering. “All still here, as you requested. Parents have been notified to arrange pickup. Some are coming from as far as Maine.”
“And Shanks?”
“In custody but on-site,” Chief Simmons confirmed. “Pending formal charges and arraignment. We’ve kept him separate from the others.”
I sank back into the pillows, relief washing through me. “Good. I need to see him. Today.”
“Tom—” O’Shanahan started.
“I know what Dr. Reeves said. I’ll rest after. But I need this, the other cadets need this.”
The Chief leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “There’s something else you should know. Your grandmother...”
My stomach tightened. “What about her?”
“We’ve uncovered quite a bit in the last few days.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “Falsified custody documents. Financial irregularities. Evidence of physical abuse going back years.”
“And her connection to this place,” Coach added. “Lieutenant Shanks confirmed she paid extra to ensure you received ‘special attention.’”
I’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed still felt like a punch to my already damaged ribs. “How bad is it for her?”
Chief Simmons ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Bad. Child endangerment. Fraud. Possibly conspiracy charges related to a group called the Unity Covenant.”
“The what?”
“Extremist organization,” O’Shanahan explained. “Anti-Catholic, anti-Jew, anti-immigrant. They funnel money into places like St. Augustine’s to maintain control.”
I processed this, memories clicking into place—her hatred of my Catholic schooling, her mysterious “meetings,” her obsession with breaking my spirit. “And her connections? The ‘powerful friends’ she’s always talking about?”
“Very real,” Chief Simmons confirmed. “Senator Carmichael’s involved, along with others. This goes beyond Lake Sebring, Tom. Federal investigators are building cases against at least seven public officials.”
I stared at the ceiling, connecting dots. “That’s why she was so desperate to send me here. Not just to break me, but to keep me away from anyone who might ask questions.”
Both men nodded.
“She’ll go to prison,” I said. Not a question.
“Most likely,” the Chief confirmed. “The evidence is substantial.”
I thought about the duplex, the old lawn mower, Grandpa’s workshop. The years of silent meals and cutting remarks. The broom handle snapping against my arm.
“I’d like you to hold off,” I said finally.
“Hold off?” Chief Simmons straightened. “On what?”
“On arresting her. At least for now.”
O’Shanahan frowned. “Tom, what she did—”
“I know what she did.” I shifted, wincing as my ribs protested. “But there’s a bigger picture here, right? The Unity Covenant, Senator Carmichael, all these connections. If you arrest her now, they’ll scatter. Close ranks.”
Chief Simmons studied me carefully. “What are you suggesting?”
“Let me go back home.”
“Absolutely not,” O’Shanahan cut in.
I held up a hand. “Not like before. Things will be different now.” I met the Chief’s gaze. “She knows I’ve seen Shanks. Knows what happened here. And I know about her. The power balance has shifted.”
“That’s a dangerous game, Tom,” Chief Simmons warned.
“Less dangerous than letting these people continue operating, hurting other kids.” I gestured around the infirmary. “How many St. Augustine’s are out there? How many families are they controlling?”
The two men exchanged glances.
“You’re proposing we use you as bait,” O’Shanahan said flatly.
“I’m proposing you use me as an asset. I go home, act normally, maybe even frightened. She’ll think Shanks broke me, and report back to her contacts, tell them everything’s fine. Meanwhile, you build your case.”
“And what about your safety?” Chief Simmons demanded.
“I can handle my grandmother.” I flexed my hand, remembering the snap of the broom handle. “She can’t hurt me anymore. Not physically, not emotionally.”
“Judge Matthews won’t like this,” O’Shanahan muttered.
“Then don’t tell him everything,” I countered. “Just say I’m refusing to testify against her for now. That I need time.”
Chief Simmons stood and paced to the window. “You’re asking us to leave you in an abusive home to protect an investigation.”
“I’m asking you to help more people than just me.” I pushed myself straighter, ignoring the pain. “Look, I’ve survived fourteen years with that woman. I can manage a few more weeks or months. But how many kids at places like this won’t survive? How many families are these people controlling?”
The silence stretched between us. Finally, O’Shanahan sighed.
“He has a point, Bill.”
The Chief turned from the window. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” I admitted. “But I’ll have you watching my back. And Cathy across the street. And I’m guessing Coach will find a reason to visit regularly.”
“At least monthly,” O’Shanahan confirmed.
Chief Simmons considered me for a long moment. “We’d need conditions. You check in every day. Any sign of danger, you call immediately. You stay with us at the first hint of trouble.”
“Deal.”
I nodded at Chief Simmons’ conditions, feeling a strange mixture of dread and resolve about returning to my grandmother’s house. A plan was taking shape—one that might actually help dismantle something truly evil.
“Good, then it’s settled,” I said, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Hold on there,” Chief Simmons said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “Let Dr. Reeves treat those injuries properly before you go anywhere. Including your little meeting with Shanks.”
I started to protest, but caught O’Shanahan’s stern look. “Fine.”
As if summoned by his name, Dr. Reeves pushed through the infirmary door, clipboard in hand and stethoscope around his neck. His eyebrows shot up when he saw me sitting upright.
“And where exactly do you think you’re going, Mr. Hardy?” He crossed the room in three quick strides. “Back against those pillows. Now.”
I complied, not having the energy to fight another authority figure. The doctor’s hands were gentle but methodical as he checked my vitals.
“This boy isn’t going anywhere but a hospital bed after he does this stupid thing he’s planning,” Dr. Reeves announced to the room, not bothering to look up from his examination. “And even that’s being generous.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
Dr. Reeves gave me a look that could have wilted flowers. “You have moderate hypothermia that we’re still treating. Two cracked ribs—possibly three, we’ll need X-rays to confirm. Chemical burns on both hands from industrial cleaning solutions that could lead to permanent nerve damage if not properly treated. A hairline fracture of your right ulna that needs proper casting. Multiple contusions from what appears to be a gang assault with wooden implements. Evidence of malnutrition and dehydration. And that’s just what I can see without further tests.”
He turned to Chief Simmons and Coach O’Shanahan. “This boy needs a real hospital. Today.”
“After Shanks,” I said quietly.
Dr. Reeves’ face softened slightly. “Thomas, I understand your need for closure. But medically speaking—”
“One conversation,” I insisted. “Five minutes. Then I’ll go wherever you say.”
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You Catholics and your martyrdom complex.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “Just following tradition, Doc.”
“Five minutes,” he conceded. “Under my supervision. Your core temperature is stabilized, but these other injuries—”
“They can wait another hour,” I finished for him.
Dr. Reeves shook his head in defeat. “I’ll prepare some additional bandages and pain medication. And proper clothing,” he added, gesturing to my thin hospital gown. “You’re not confronting anyone looking like that, with your butt hanging out, there are a few girls and women around now, they’d be scared for life.”
As he bustled away, O’Shanahan leaned closer. “You sure about this, Tom? There’s no shame in letting the legal system handle Shanks.”
I stared at my bandaged hands. “I need him to see me standing. To know he failed, and the other cadets to know that people like him do not define who they are.”
“Always the protector.” Coach said with more than a little pride.
The Chief nodded. “I understand. But after this, you’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”
“Yes, sir. Besides, there is a candy striper there who promised to take care of me if I ever came back.” Everyone groaned except the nurse, who guffawed.’
“And we’re still discussing this plan of yours. I’m not convinced it’s safe.”
“It’s not about safe,” I said. “It’s about right.”
Dr. Reeves returned with a small stack of clothing—a plain button-up shirt and loose pants that would accommodate my bandages.
“I need privacy to help him dress,” he announced, shooing the others toward the door. “And prepare yourselves, gentlemen. Five minutes is all I’m allowing, and I’ll be timing it to the second.”
As they left, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window glass—pale, bruised, but somehow more solid than I’d ever felt before. For the first time in my life, I was making my own choices, not just enduring what others decided for me.
Birdie would be proud.
“This isn’t settled,” the Chief warned. “Judge Matthews will have the final say.”
“Then let me talk to him,” I suggested. “After I see Shanks.”
O’Shanahan shook his head in wonderment. “Where did you learn to negotiate like this?”
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