Alright everyone, sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. Here’s the next installment of the series, with a special thanks to MacsChick for the beta reading, (Thanks, MacsChick!! ).
Enjoy and please review. I’d love to hear what you think of the story.
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Aevum Carmen: Chapter 2 part 3....



September 25, 1962

“Mom? Ma, I’m home!” A young boy about age thirteen called out, slinging his book bag to the floor before kicking off his shoes. He made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing the milk and chugging right from the bottle.

“Jack? We’re in the living room, sweetheart!” His mother’s high voice called out, sounding overly sweet.
'We?’ Jack thought, frowning as a burst of laughter floated into the kitchen. One laugh he easily recognized as his mother. The other was a man, of that he was certain, but he didn’t know who. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before putting the bottle back in the fridge and making his way to the living room. He paused in the alcove, staring at the strangeness of it.

His mother was sitting on the small love seat next to an older man, her fine china – But she never touches those, except when gran’s here! – on the coffee table, the faint smell of earl grey wafting through the room.

“Ma?” He said, slightly hesitant. Marge O’Neill looked up, a wide smile on her face, her green eyes shining more then he’d seen in years.

“Jack! Sweetheart, come here. I have someone I want you to meet.”

The man seated on the sofa turned his head, face smiling, and a friendly expression on his face. He stood, reaching out his hand, a genial greeting passing his lips, but all Jack could focus on were the man’s eye.

His cold, black, lifeless eyes.

A shiver went up Jack’s spine as he swore he could feel the temperature in the room drop as the man gripped his hand.

“Jack, this is Mr. Dowtry. He’s just moved in next door. He’s a retired hockey player Jack, I’m sure you two will get along quite well.” Jack heard his mother say, but it was as if her voice were a great distance away.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure Ma.” He said distractedly. The skin around Mr. Dowtry’s eyes tightened a bit, lines that weren’t there before appearing, and his large hand gripped Jack’s painfully. Hissing a little in pain, Jack wrenched his hand away, breaking the painful grip, and turned to face his mother. “I’ve-I’ve got a lot of homework to do tonight, Ma. Is it okay if I get started on it now?” Anything to get away from him.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Jack all but ran from the room, snatching his bag before thundering up the stairs. He stopped on the second floor landing, turning around to find the source of the burning itch in his back. He once again met the cold dead eyes of Mr. Dowtry, glaring at him from the living room. Jack wasted no time in scurrying to his room and slamming the door shut with a bang.
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Bang!

Jack woke with a start at the loud slam of a door, somewhere down the dark recesses of the hall. Getting his bearings, he sat up slowly; listening to the receding foots steps, clutching at his surely broken ribs. There was the sound of another door being slammed and Jack knew that he was alone. Or at least he thought he was. A low pitched groan had him on instant alert.

“Hello?” He rasped out, throat parched with thirst. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

“Is there someone else there? Hello?!” He called a little louder.

“Wha..?” The half formed response was barely whispered, but in the quiet of the prison cells, he could make out the bleary word.

“Who are you?” Jack called out, hoping it was a fellow soldier, and at the same time, not wishing this hell on anyone.

“Wha….what’s goin’…on?” The voice rasped, but it was definitely an American accent.

“You’ve been taken prisoner,” Jack said. “There was an attack on the base.”

“Prisoner?” The man seemed more coherent now, voice less slurred.

“What’s your name, soldier?” He called out.

“Mac… name’s Mac.”
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“Mac…name’s Mac.”

God, his head hurt. MacGyver shifted to lean against the bars of his cell. The bars felt cool on his face, soothing some of the heat from the beating he’d received. His breaths came in short pants as he tried to breathe through is mouth and not his nose, ‘cause his nose hurt.

“Yeah, that happens when you get bashed in the face with a rifle.” The sardonic voice in his head snarked at him.

“Hey! You still there?” The other man called out. “Mac?”

“Yeah…” He croaked out. “M’here.” Getting his bearings, he looked up, and took as deep of a breath as he could. “How… ‘bout you. What’s y’r name?” He said, the words still a little slurred through his bruised lips.

“My name’s Jack.” The man, Jack, replied.

“Hey Jack, s’nice to…. meet….you.” In the quite of the prison, Mac could clearly hear the half-hysterical snort that echoed across the hall.

“Yeah, man. It’s nice to meet you, too.” The fear was making the walls close in. Mac clenched his fists, trying to stop the trembling in his limbs. The tension in his body was pulling his already abused and tender muscles. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Mac settled himself against the bars of his cell, unknowingly mirroring the man down the hallway. He rested his head back against the bars, trying to let his fear go, trying to relax.
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Jack knew he was getting a little hysterical, he could feel the bubbly panic that was rising up and threatening to choke him. He took a few deep breaths, the smile dropping from his face. He turned against the bars, leaning back and sliding to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Sucking in another deep breath Jack let his head fall back against the bars of his cell.

“So, Mac. Looks like we’re… going to be here for a while.” The words, all but admitting they were doomed in their small cells, fell from his mouth like ash. “Tell me about yourself.” Jack said, desperate for any distraction.

“Sure, Jack.” Mac answered.

The words flowed over him, soothing raw nerves.

Jack closed his eyes, and listened.
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July 13th 1957

“I got one! I got one, Harry!” A young Angus MacGyver called out excitedly, watching with wide eyes as the fishing pole in his hand twitched and pulled as the fish struggled.

“Alright, Bud, alright. Just, stay calm. Don’t tug on it, or he’ll break free.” The grizzled older man came up behind his young grandson, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Be real easy, give him some slack. Make sure he’s got the bait real good before you try and reel him in.” The boy did as he was instructed, letting the fishing line slack a little.

“Can I reel him in yet?” He asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.

“Not yet. Ya gotta be patient, Bud. If you’re not patient, he’s gonna get away.”

“Okay, Harry. I can do it.”

“I know ya can, Bud.” Harry said. He gently guided the boy, telling him when to give slack, when to give tension, until it was time to reel the fish in. “Alright, Bud. Bring him in!”

“Oh, wow! Harry, look at it! Look at how big it is!”

“It’s a whopper, for sure!” Harry deftly pulled the hook and lure from the fishes mouth and started to put him in the empty catch bucket. The boy watched the entire process, eyes locked on the fish, its desperate twitching and gasping. Something inside his little body felt sorry for the poor creature, he needed to help it somehow. He looked up at his grandfather and spoke.

“Harry?” The now timid voice of the little boy made Harry look up.

“Yeah, Bud?”

“Do…do we have to keep it? Couldn’t….couldn’t we let it go?” Wide brown eyes stared up at Harry, and he couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Sure, Bud. We can let it go.” The brilliant smile he received in return was nearly blinding. So together they lowered the fish back into the lake and watched it swim off. The little boy threw his arms around his grandfather’s waist, squeezing him tightly.

“Thanks, Harry.” He said. Harry gave him a quick hug.

“You’re welcome Bud.”


To be continued….