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Aevum Carmen Chapter 3 part 1: Imprisonment

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1954

Twin boys, about three years old, sat in the middle of a sandbox in a large, toy filled yard. They sat, facing each other, not saying a word, but they both seemed to understand each other perfectly without talking. Systematically, they took bucket after bucket of wet sand and built a castle, one that was surprisingly well built for two boys so young. They stopped in unison as an older woman walked up to them, a young couple trailing after her. She knelt down and picked one of the boys up.

As she turned, walking towards the couple that was smiling happily, little arms reached over her shoulder, reaching for the other boy on the ground who was reaching back. As the older woman handed over the first little boy to the young couple, a shrill little voice called out.

“Jack!”

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“Jack!"

Jack woke.

There was no in between, no lingering in that moment between sleep and awake, he was just suddenly aware.

He bolted upright, dizziness disorienting him as his vision swam. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Jack! C’mon, answer me!”

Oh. Right. Mac.

Probably should answer him. A small niggling voice in his mind whispered. He nodded to himself, wondering if talking to a voice in his head was the first sign that he was losing it. He ruthlessly shoved that thought into the back of his mind and answered.

“…yeah… M’here, Mac.” He croaked.

“God, Jack, don’t do that!”

Jack quirked a little smile at that. It was nice to think that someone cared.

“Sorry, Mac. Think I dozed off, there, for a minute.” There was a little stretch of silence, giving Jack a minute to collect his thoughts. After a minute, Mac spoke.

“So, I told you about me, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Jack.” Jack sucked in a deep breath, and then nodded.

“Sure.” Jack leaned back against the wall. “What do you want to hear about?”

“I don’t care. Uhhh, your first car, first girlfriend… I don’t know. Something that’s…happy.” Mac shrugged; anything that would help to dispel the gloom and dread of being imprisoned.

“Happy, huh?” Jack smiled, leaning back and closing his eyes.

_______________________________________

June 1967

“Alright, son, you’re doing real well.”

Sixteen year old Jack O’Neill sat at the controls of a little single engine plane, 2000 feet above the ground. The older man sitting next to him was smiling at him with pride in his eyes.

“This is great Mr. Lewis!” The smile on Jack’s face was nearly blinding, and his eyes were bright with excitement.

“You’re a natural, Jack. I’ve never seen anyone take to flying like you did.” Mr. Lewis said. Jack blushed, not used to the praise. He suddenly looked shy, glancing at the man next to him out of the corner of his eye. With a few hesitating start, Jack finally spoke.

“I…I wanted to… to thank you for this, Mr. Lewis.” The man looked over at the young teen, a gentle look in his eye.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Jack.”

“But… but you went through all this trouble for me, taking me up here…”

“It wasn’t any trouble, Jack.” The man said firmly. “I wanted to do this with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at any airplane you see. I could tell that you wanted to fly, I could see it in your eyes just as plain as day.”

Jack flushed again, this time with the guilt of having been caught. Mr. Lewis sighed as he watched Jack divert his eyes, and refuse to look at him.

“Jack,” He said. “Look at me, Jack.” The boy looked up at him. “I’m going to tell you this again, and I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Jack nodded. “I wanted to do this with you. You are a very special young boy, and I am very, very, happy that I was able to share this with you. You are going to be a great pilot someday, Jack. You stick with this, and there is no limit as to how far you’ll go.”

“Really?” Jack asked, still unsure. Mr. Lewis smiled and nodded.

“Really.”

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“That was my first time up in the air. Man, it was great! And Mr. Lewis, I loved spending time with him. He was like a grandfather to me. I always had fun when I was with him. He’s the one that made me want to go into the Air Force. He showed me the joy of flying, and I’ve loved it….”

*CLANK*

The sound of the large metal door at the end of the hall opening cut Jack off mid-sentence. Multiple footsteps echoed on the stone floor, but stopped before they reached Jack’s cell.

Another door clanked open.

Jack stood, gripping the bars in his hands tightly, knuckles turning white.

Foreign voices rose in volume, and Jack heard Mac’s voice mix in the shouting.

“Mac.” He whispered; dread settling in his stomach like an iron ball. “No.”

The voices rose in volume, and Mac’s voice rose above the rest. He was screaming in protest, to not be taken. Something about the terror in his voice awoke something deep within Jack, and desperation filled him.

“Mac! NO, don’t you hurt him you bastards! MAC! Damn it, no, no, no, no!” Jack screamed at their captors. “Mac! Mac!”

“Jack!” Mac screamed back at him, irrationality filling him. Jack’s voice yelling at him made him want to reach out to the man he had just met, thinking if he could just reach him, they wouldn’t take him. “Jack, help me! Please! Jack, JACK!” The hands holding him dragged him further down the hall. “No, JACK! Don’t let them take me! Jack!”

He was dragged through the heavy metal door, and he watched as they slammed it shut, cutting him off from Jack, the only friendly voice he had found in the hellhole they woke in.

“MAC!”
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Without a way to tell how long he had been in the cell, Jack came to the conclusion that time did not exist. Whether it had been four minutes, four hours or four day, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell how long ago they had taken Mac, and he didn’t want to even think about what they were doing to him. Horror stories that other, older soldiers had told him, trying to scare the newbies, flashed through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and started humming ‘row, row, row your boat’ as thoughts of Mac being beat and tortured filled his mind, trying to drive them away. He didn’t want to think about his new friend being hurt that way, because thinking about it made a part of him inside howl with rage and grief because he couldn’t protect him…..

*CLANK*

The sound of the door opening again made Jack’s eyes snap open. There were rustling footsteps, the sound of something being dragged, and murmur of voices, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

And he couldn’t see anything, damn it!

Jack let out a frustrated growl, craning his neck to see further down the hall, to see what was going on. More clanking of iron doors, and footsteps, and they were gone.

Silence.

Jack’s heart was in his throat. He swallowed hard, and then opened his mouth to speak.

“Mac?” His voice came out in a harsh whisper. “Mac, you there?”

Silence.

“Mac?!” Jack called a little louder.

Nothing.

Jack sighed, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. His grip in the bars of his cell slacked and he was ready to turn away when he heard something.

“Ja-ackk?” The soft, cracking voice floated down the hall. Jack almost missed it because of how soft it was. He immediately straightened.

“Mac!” Jack’s wide grin threatened to split his face in half. “God, Mac. Are you okay?!”

“Ja-ackk…” The reply was softer this time, and Jack had to strain to hear it. His grin faded.

“Mac?” Concern now laced Jack’s voice. “Mac, answer me. C’mon, buddy, give me a sign here!”

There was another stretch of silence, and then Jack heard something that made his grin come back full force.

“Be quiet Jack. My head hurts like a sonuva….” The weak but coherent reply was like music to his ears.

“Damn, Mac, don’t do that to me! I thought you were dead or something!”

“Naw, I’m good.” Mac chuckled, and then grunted as it jostled his ribs. “Nothing….ugh! permanent.”

Jack nodded, his grin fading again, as feelings of guilt and anger filled him again.

“God, Mac, I’m so sorry.” He said. Down the hall, Mac frowned as he settled himself against the wall, leaning back to ease the stress on his damaged ribs.

“What are you sorry for Jack? You didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly! I didn’t I do anything! I didn’t do anything when they came in here and grabbed you!”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done!” Mac reasoned.

“I should have done something!” Jack paced in his small cell, fists clenching at his sides.

“Jack, stop! There was nothing you could do.” Mac said firmly.

“I should have protected you!” Jack shouted, some deep instinctual part of him screaming in agreement. “Isn’t that what being in the military is about? Protecting people? Helping them, fighting for them? God, why did I ever go into the military if I couldn’t even do that!?”

“Jack, don’t say that. You love being in the Air Force, you said practically said as much yourself!”

“No,” Jack said sharply. “No, you want to know why I joined? I joined, because I wanted to get away from the hell hole that I lived in. And look at me now, I traded one for another.” Jack said

There was another stretch of silence.

“Was it that bad?” Mac asked softly.

“Yeah, it was that bad.”

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July 15th 1965


“What the hell is going on here?!” Bill Dowtry shouted. Fourteen year old Jack O’Neill looked up from his project, staring at the man through his protective goggles, and slowly turned off the blow torch. “What in god’s name are you doing, boy?”

“I’m building…”

“I don’t care what you’re doing! Did I say you could touch my tools?” Bill shouted, face red, spittle flying from his mouth. Jack frowned fiercely, eyes flicking to the half full beer bottle in the man’s hand.

“Your tools? These are my dad’s tools!”

“Well, your ‘dad’ is dead, ain’t he? And when I married your mother, they became my tools! And I didn’t say you could use them!” Bill said, stumbling half a step forward. Jack grimaced in disgust as the smell of beer wafted over him.

“You’re drunk.” He stated. Bill’s face turned an even brighter shade of red. He lurched forward, and grabbed Jack by the collar of his shirt.

“Boy, you better watch your mouth! Otherwise you just might find yourself back in the orphanage, where you belong!”

“What are you talking about!?” Jack shouted, attempting to pry Bill’s hands from his shirt. The glazed look in Bill’s eye lifted momentarily, and an evil gleam settled in.

“We-he-he-ll now, you mean, you didn’t know?” Jack gave a mighty shove and managed to get out of Bill’s grip.

“Know what?” Jack bit out, tugging his shirt back into place.

“That you were adopted!” Bill laughed, eyes now filled with a manic light, enjoying the fact that he was revealing this to Jack. The boy looked at him in shock.

“That is not true!” Bill just let out a giant laugh, doubling over as he cackled. “You lying bastard!” Jack flew at the man, tackling him to the ground. He got in a few solid punches before Bill managed to pin him to the ground.

*SMACK*

Bill slapped Jack across the face and the boy almost immediately stopped his struggles. He slapped him again, and again, repeatedly until Jack’s nose was bleeding and he was almost choking on his own blood. Finally Bill stopped and got up, leaving Jack on the ground, rivulets of blood mixed with tears running down his face.

“Next time you decide to take me on boy, you’d best be damn sure you can take me down, or this won’t be but a scratch compared to what I’ll do to you.” Bill hissed, then turned on his heal and stalked towards the house. He stopped a few feet away, turned around and said. “And what I do to you, I’ll make it double towards your mother, so you best watch your mouth, boy!” With that he disappeared into the house.

Jack lay on the ground, watching the clouds, and wishing he was someplace else.

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“That was the first time he actually beat me,” Jack said softly. “And the day that I found out I was adopted.”

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Mac said, knowing it wasn’t enough, that nothing could erase the hurt that the other man had gone through.

“Yeah.” Jack let his head drop to his drawn up knees and wrapped his arms around them. God, why was he letting the memory of it get to him so much? “It’s just… I couldn’t protect her. Just like I couldn’t protect you.”

“Jack, you were a kid! It wasn’t your job to protect your mother. And, today? Jack, there wasn’t anything you could have done. If you had tried, they may have killed you!” Mac said. “Then who would I talk to?”

Jack let out a disdainful snort.

“Ya know, bein’ adopted, it’s not all bad.” Mac said; not sure if he would be well received. “I mean, sure your step-father was a vicious jackass, but you still had your mother, right? And what about your dad, before he passed away, you had him, even if it was only for a little bit.”

“What do you know about it!?” Jack growled out.

“I’m adopted, too.” Mac admitted. “My dad, my adopted dad, he died when I was 13. Even though I only had him for a little while, I still treasure the fact that I had him as my father.”

Jack felt some of the anger melt away. For some reason, Mac’s words broke through the red haze that so many had tried and failed to.

“Yeah,” Jack confessed, “I still had Ma. Even in the worst bits of it, she was still there.” Jack stated, remembering the nights he spent in her arms as she sang him to sleep and soothed the nightmares. “So how old were you….” Jack started to ask.

“I was five,” Mac cut in. “Old enough to remember being alone, but not much else.”
“From what my mom tells me, I was about two and a half when they adopted me. I don’t remember any of it.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Lucky. Yeah. Is that why I ended up in the middle of the damned jungle, ostracized to Johnson airbase, grounded because some idiot decided it would be a good idea to walk out into the target area during practice with live ammo, and got himself frickin’ shot…” It all came out in one long rant, everything that was pent up inside, because sharing this with Mac just seemed right…

“Wait! That was you?!” Mac exclaimed, “You’re the guy that everyone is talking about, the one that shot someone under friendly fire?”

“Yes, that was me, but it wasn’t my fault! We were just doing basic firing exercises. Target practice! And he just walked out into the field, no notice or warning, and god I didn’t see him, I swear I didn’t!” The last part came out in a choked sob.

“Jesus, Jack. They blamed you for that?”

“Yes! Yes, they blamed me, everyone blamed me! I didn’t mean… it wasn’t like I tried…. I didn’t want him to die! I didn’t want anyone to die! I’ve never wanted anyone to die! I just wanted to be a pilot, to be up in the air, to fly….”

“Whoa, hay, Jack, it’s okay! You’re right, it wasn’t your fault!” Mac said. He gripped the bars in his hands, and craned his neck to see out of the cell. He wished he could see the other man, make eye contact, grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, do something, because hearing this man in agony like he was, was just wrong… “It was an accident! You hear me, Jack?! It was an accident. Yes, it happened, but you are not to blame, alright? You got that?!”

There was another stretch of silence, where only Jack’s ragged breathing could be heard.

“Thanks Mac.” Jack said at long last. Mac smiled gently, sagging against the bars.

“Sure thing, Jack.”


To be continued…