Part 2: Fleeting Dreams and Waking Nightmares

Billy’s phone blared at his bedside, rousing him from sleep after only a few hours. Having worked nearly forty-eight hours straight, before finally being allowed to sleep, this was not the way he had planned his weekend to start. Cursing to himself, he picked up the phone and growled “What!?”

The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, slightly raspy, and female. “Mr. Perkins? Am I speaking to William Perkins?” She asked, almost as if she were hoping she wasn’t. And after the way Billy had answered the phone, he could understand why she might wish that.

“Yeah. Sorry for the attitude, you woke me up out of a deep sleep.” He explained lamely, hoping whoever this was could understand “Who’s speaking please?”

“Mr. Perkins, my name is Amelia Warren, I’m a social worker with Child Protective Services,” The lady explained carefully, “I’m calling from Our Lady of Mercy Hospital. It’s about your nephew Peter Daniels.”

Whatever the lady on the phone said next was lost on Billy, as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Had that lousy cunt finally stepped over the line with Petey? Why was she calling from a hospital? What the fuck was going on? All these questions, and a sense of dread like he had never experienced before, caved in on top of him, the instant she had said Petey’s name. “What happened?” he demanded quickly, as he fumbled around in the dark for his clothes. “What did my sister do to Petey?”

“Mr. Perkins, it would be best if we could have a face to face talk about your nephew. How quickly can you be at the hospital?” She asked, sounding as if time might not be on Billy’s side.

“Miss Warren was it?” Billy asked shortly, and she answered in the affirmative, “I’m a commercial welder, I’m on a contract on the pipeline up here in Alaska! I don’t know how quickly I can get back there, but you can be damn sure I’m on the next available flight!” he said as he jammed his feet into his work boots. “Now tell me what the hell happened to Petey!”

“Mr. Perkins, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say this sir ... But Peter is in a coma in the pediatric care wing. It seems his mother tried to beat him to death in their yard early this morning ... Mr. Perkins? Are you still there?” She asked into the silence on the other end of the line.

“What? Yeah. Yeah I’m still here,” Billy mumbled, as tears began to slide down his cheeks, his nephew was in a coma, and here he sat, on the other side of the continent, unable to be there for him. His heart dropped, as he realized he might never get to see the loving, innocent smile on Petey’s face again. He had to get there. And he had to get there fast! “Look, Miss Warren, I’m gonna be there as fast as I can. Just have someone take care of Petey until I get there ok? Make sure if he wakes up, that he knows Uncle Billy is coming!” And with that he hung up and dashed out of his camper in the yard of the crew camp running toward the foreman’s trailer as fast as his legs could carry him.

It actually took surprisingly little effort to be given home leave after explaining the situation. A jeep took him from camp into town, some little village with no real name, that didn’t even appear on maps. But Billy had to wait almost a full day for a bush pilot to pick him up. Every minute was an agony for him, knowing his nephew needed him, and that he was powerless to do anything for him. Finally after nearly two days of waiting and cramped travel, Billy’s plane was taking off from Anchorage, taking him home for the first time in nearly a year.

It took Billy nearly thirteen hours, and three transfers to make it home. And when he did, his body was so exhausted he could barely stand. He had called the social worker Miss Warren from Denver to let her know when he was due to land, and to inquire about Petey. Only to be told his condition was unchanged. By the time he arrived at Our Lady of Mercy, visiting hours were nearly over, but Billy demanded to see his nephew before he left.

Miss Warren escorted him to Pete’s room, quietly bracing him for what he was about to see, she wouldn’t go into detail about the extent of his injuries, but she did warn him they were severe. Finally they stopped by a large picture window, and Billy couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The handsome face of his nephew, which had always managed to smile whenever Billy was around, was mangled, nearly beyond recognition. The right eye was swollen shut so badly, Billy couldn’t even tell if he still had it, the broken cheek bone and jaw were so puffy that they distorted the entire contour of his face. Petey’s head was bandaged above his left ear with the hair shaved down, showing mute testimony of having needed many stitches at the very least.

Petey’s left arm was in a cast from his hand to his elbow, the brutally discolored fingers poking out feebly from the plaster. A bandage covered his left cheek where it had had to be stitched closed. Billy could see the edges of a soft cast which wrapped around Petey’s left side, through the opening in his hospital gown, obviously to support and protect broken ribs. And Petey’s right arm was wrapped in gauze covering some other, unknown wound.

Taking in the picture of his sweet, innocent nephew, lying there, unmoving, on his eighth birthday of all days, was more than Billy could handle. With a wrenching sob, a damn broke inside of him as he sank to his knees in tears. Billy was beyond words, beyond grief, all he could think was that he had somehow let this happen. He knew his sister had never really loved her son. And he felt he should have been there to protect him from her. And now Petey was here, unable to move, unable to see, that somebody, even just one person in this world, loved him. The tears would not stop, and Billy was powerless to try, but finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of heart wrenching sobbing he simply had no more tears left in him.

The next three weeks were such an emotional grind for Billy that he barely registered anything other than sadness, as he sat, day in and day out at Petey’s bedside. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he whispered to the boy, begging him to wake up, letting him know that Uncle Billy was there, and that he would always have his back from now on. Telling him how he was going to take him home, make things right for the boy.

Billy was sitting in the chair looking out the window at the cloudy September morning, thinking that this would have been the perfect kind of morning for Petey and Goliath to be in their yard, playing like they always did. When a new sound snapped him out of his grim thoughts.

“Uncle Billy?” a dry voice rasped behind him. Jerking him back to reality in a flash, as he spun around to the bed behind him. “Where are we Uncle Billy? And where’s Goliath?” Petey was awake! For the first time in weeks, the sun seemed to shine on Billy’s world, Petey was finally awake. Tears poured down Billy’s cheeks as nurses and doctors rushed into the room to poke and prod the small, scared boy. Weeks later, after poor Pete was finally released from the hospital, a fresh hope of going to live with Uncle Billy, bringing that smile back to his face, both of their worlds came crashing down.

In a surprising turn of events, the social worker Miss Warren had, citing Billy’s on again, off again, employment, and the need for him to travel extensively for such employment, recommended that Pete be placed into foster care. Thinking that a stable home would be best for the boy. Sadly for Pete, and Billy, the judge agreed. Pete was taken, screaming and crying for his Uncle Billy into the system, where his life would be irreparably changed. Over the next eight years Pete’s life heaved from one unstable home to the next. Pete being forcibly removed from three of them due to severe physical, and sexual abuse.

As the years of pain and isolation continued, several changes happened to poor Pete. He finally realized that love was a sham. Anyone who ever told you they loved you either left when things got hard like his Uncle Billy, or used that emotion as a weapon, like his mom, or any number of his foster parents, like his first foster father, who would come into Pete’s room at night, and leave the poor boy a crying mess for days afterward.

Pete also finally grew into the promise his father had shown. By the time he was sixteen years old Pete had reached six foot two inches tall, closer to six foot four if he bothered not slouching, and weighed almost two hundred pounds. He was lean and muscular, his brown hair had filled out and now he kept it scraggly, covering his face, in the hopes to hide the scars left by his mother. Sadly for Pete, it was the soft good looks, inherited from his father, that led him to the last bit of hell the foster system could throw at him. His foster mother Sarah, a single, rather plain woman in her forties had gotten drunk one night, and knowing how Pete reacted to harsh words, began berating him for being such a failure that his mother didn’t even want him. Pete had been near tears wondering why he was being treated this way, until with a sultry smile she had told him how he could make up for his failings.

Taking Pete by the hand she had led him to her bedroom. Pushing him against the wall, the drunken woman dragged Pete’s face down to hers, and for the first time in his life, he was kissed. She kissed him aggressively, her tongue forcing its way into Pete’s mouth. Up until that moment in his life, Pete had never been kissed by a woman. He didn’t even have a memory of his mother ever touching him in a loving manner. But, even though he knew Sarah had felt nothing for him, being a teenager, he couldn’t stop himself from having a visceral, physical reaction to her.

Moaning deep in her throat, Sarah had reached down and began rubbing the obvious bulge in Pete’s jeans. “Mmmmm” she had growled, her voice low and gravelly “I’ve been watching you boy. I’ve seen what you hide in these pants you big fucker.” She said as she began tugging his pants open, roughly forcing her hand deep into his fly, searching for the end of his cock as it snaked down the right leg of his pants. “Jesus boy, I knew you were big! But damn!”

Sarah had then pulled Pete by the waist of his pants across the room to her bed, feverishly trying to force his carpenter jeans down without bothering with his belt. Reaching up with her hand she roughly pulled Pete down into another sloppy, and unwanted kiss, moaning and breathing cheap wine into his mouth. “Time to earn your keep you little fucker,” she whispered, when she finally managed to free his cock from the confines of his pants. Looking down she gasped at what she saw. Fully erect Pete had to be over nine inches long, and at least as thick around as a can of that axe cologne he was always using. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, this boy was bigger than any man she’d ever been with! “You make Miss Sarah feel good Petey, and I’ll make sure the social worker doesn’t send you back to the group home again.” Sarah breathed, as she desperately worked her jeans and panties down her over wide hips displaying her hairy, sopping wet cunt to the poor boy “That’s right Petey ... You make sure Miss Sarah feels good, and Miss Sarah’s gonna make sure she takes real good care of you.”

Pete had heard this whole line before. A foster father who told him he’d see his Uncle Billy again if he just shut up and let it happen. A seventeen year old foster brother who told him he would make sure he got the shit end of life, taking the blame for all the petty shit the older boy took joy in pulling, unless an eleven year old Pete would suck the pathetic four inch excuse for a cock he had without complaint. The director of the group home who had promised to find Pete a good home, so long as he let him touch the boy how he wanted. And now this, an overweight, middle aged, woman promising Pete a better life so long as he gave her what she wanted.

Pete was forced back into reality as Sarah took hold of his enormous cock, and slowly slotted it into the entrance of her hairy, overused, vagina. “C’mon Petey, push it in me now! Time to prove you’re worth the effort boy!” She urged, as she wrapped her chubby thighs around his waist, and slowly pulled him inside of her. All of Pete’s sexual experiences up to this point in his life, had been disgusting, painful, and extremely degrading. This was the first time in his life that he could remember, where even though he was being forced or coerced into performing, that it actually felt good. This isn’t to say that Pete was happy, being forced into sex yet again, but at least this time there would be no pain, this time Pete thought, he may actually get some pleasure out of the act too.

Pete went with what he felt Sarah doing, and slowly pushed his cock into her. Sarah wasn’t exactly tight, but she was warm, and wet, and for Pete, it felt better than anything he had ever been forced to do before. Once he was half way into her pussy, Sarah’s eyes were as wide as saucers, her breath coming in sharp pants as she felt him continue to push more and more of his thick fuck rod into her. “Oh God Pete!” She moaned as he finally bottomed out, the head of his huge cock nudging her cervix, and his heavy balls resting on her flabby ass cheeks, “Stroke it baby. Pump that giant fucker into me.” She hissed, as her hands pushed against Pete’s waist, causing him to partially withdraw from her cunt.