Title: "Heavyweight Champ of the World" (1/1)
Author: Beautiful Cynic
Email: beautiful_cynic@yahoo.com
Classification: V/A, Lukefic
Spoilers: None specific, through S8
Rating: PG
Summary: They say your life flashes before your eyes when 
you die...but what if you're only seven years old?
Disclaimer: Luke Doggett belongs to 1013 Productions, the supposition
about what happened to him is all mine.  Song lyrics
(denoted by the /'s) from Grant Langston's "Heavyweight Champ 
of the World", off his latest album.
Archive: Gossamer, Ephemeral, wherever you like, just let me 
know.
Author's notes: Normally, I shy away from anything involving 
children dying.  But I was inspired and sad at the same time.  
Never a good thing.  This is for all the Luke-a-holics out there,
especially those on SHODDS.
Thanks to Mare for her speedy beta.  Next time, I'll send kleenex :)
Feedback:  Yes, please.

/Cause I was a fireman, I was a poet, I kicked in the 
front door and I got the girl. I was a general, a senator 
and the heavyweight champ of the world./


Mama and daddy always told me not to play in the trunk 
of the car because I could die of heatstroke.  I don't 
see how.  It's pretty cold in here.  I think I'm scared, 
but my arms hurt too much for me to think about anything
else.  I fought hard when he grabbed me, just like my 
daddy told me to. But he is lots bigger, so it didn't 
really help.  Daddy told me to scream, too.  Scream loud 
as a girl, if I had to, but scream.  That just made this
stranger madder.  I don't think I'll be wanting to make 
him mad again any time soon.

Opening my eyes, I try and see if there's anything in 
this trunk I can use to hurt the creep who took me.  My 
daddy calls people who hurt kids creeps. At least, 
that's what he calls them in front of me.  I've heard
him use other words when he didn't think I'd hear him; 
bad words that'd get my mouth washed out with soap real
fast.  My mama didn't tolerate that kind of talk from 
her little gentleman.  I really hate when she calls 
me that, but right now, I'd give anything to hear her 
say it.  Even the taste of the Ivory soap she washes my 
mouth out with would be better than the taste of my own 
dry mouth.

I move my lips as much as I can, to see if I can loosen 
the tape there, but it's not working.  It's the wide, 
silvery tape my daddy has on his work bench.  I think he 
calls it duck tape, though I can't figure out why you'd 
want to tape anything to a duck.  My skin starts to hurt 
a little where the tape does pull away, so I give up on 
trying to loosen it.  Hurts too much.

Besides, he promised he'd undo the tape when we got 
where we're going, so I should just be patient.  
Maybe there was a reason he had to put me in the trunk.  
He said that he was a policeman, like my daddy, and that 
he had to take me somewhere to see my daddy.  Said it is 
very important.  Maybe it's a secret, a suprise.  I really 
like surprises, so I figured it'd be okay to go with him.  
His badge looked just like daddy's.

I move around a little, trying to get comfortable, but all 
that does is make the tape on my hands and feet pull at the 
skin there.  It just hurts too much after a few minutes to 
keep trying.  I'm face down, and he put something on my 
legs so I couldn't kick up at the trunk.  Why does he
think I'd do that?  I'm just going to see my daddy, aren't 
I?

Daddy's been really busy the last few days.  Working late, 
coming home long after I'm in bed.  I'm not asleep, though.
I just pretend to be when he comes in the room.  I hear him 
and mama talking through the wall.  They aren't yelling, but 
I can tell it's not a good kind of talking.  Mama's probably 
mad about all the hours daddy works.  Doesn't she understand 
that his job is very important?  He helps a lot of people; 
he's a hero.  Mama even said that herself.  I don't understand 
grown-ups sometimes.

I feel the car jerk to a stop and the smell of the brakes 
fills the trunk. That's what my mama's car smells like when 
she gets the brakes fixed. [New brakes.  Remember that, Luke,] 
a voice in my head says.  I don't know why it'd be important, 
but I will do my best to remember.

There is the sound of feet crunching on gravel.  Just like 
when you walk from the dugout to the plate at the Little 
League field by our house.  I'm on the Braves.  Daddy was 
really happy about that.  He says that's the best team in 
my age group.  When I think about the field, I can almost
smell the grass, just after Mr. Randall has run the big 
riding mower around.

The trunk opens, blinding me with sunlight.  I blink a few 
times, trying to adjust to the new brightness.  The man is 
standing there, but he's not wearing his policeman clothes 
anymore. [Look at what he's wearing.  Remember it, Luke.]  
I keep hearing that voice in my head!  Hope I'm not going 
crazy.  My daddy would say I've gone "5150" on him.

Reaching in the trunk, the man picks me up.  In my head, I 
repeat what I can see of his clothing to myself.  Dark shirt, 
sunglasses, a hat.  Is his shirt blue or black?  I'm still 
sun-blind, so it's hard to tell.

He starts to walk, and I look around behind me.  Trying to 
get an idea of where I am.  But all I see is trees.  There's 
not even a real path.  He lifts me off his shoulder and-


/I was a pilot; I was a movie star; sang lead in a rock band 
and got all the girls.  I was dangerous, and taking no lip as
the heavyweight champ of the world./


Everything hurts.  I think he threw me onto the ground.  But 
I'm not laying flat, I'm kinda sitting up.  Everytime I open 
my eyes, I see stars, so I just don't open them anymore.  I 
know I'm still outside, and I can feel what I think is a tree 
trunk against my back.  When he dropped me, I hit this tree 
hard, and scraped up my back.  It stings every time I move.

I never should have gone with this stranger.  But he said my
daddy wanted to see me.  I haven't gotten to see him much the 
last few days, and I missed him.  Thought maybe we'd get to 
have a quick catch before I had to get to school this morning, 
but he was already gone.  I really wanted to show him my new 
fastball, too.  I've been working real hard on it.

The man who took me, he's talking.  I can't tell if he's talking 
to someone or to himself.  I'm scared to open my eyes now.  My 
mama and daddy are going to be so mad at me when I get home.  
I'm going to be grounded, I just know it.  Bobby Richards is 
having a sleep over for his birthday this Friday, but I bet I 
won't get to go now.

Oh, man!  My homework!  It's in my backpack.  When he put me in 
the trunk, I lost track of it.  We had to write an essay about 
what we wanted to be when we were grown-ups.  There's a lot of 
things I want to be, so I talked a little bit about all of them.  
That was mama's idea.  

I want to be a policeman, just like my daddy.  Or a fireman.  
My mama's brother, Uncle Keith, he's a fireman and always has 
exciting stories to tell when I see him.  I want to fly jet 
planes in the Navy.  Daddy didn't like that so well.  Said I 
should join the good ol' USMC if I went into any branch of the 
service.  That kinda confused me.  I always thought he was a 
Marine, but I heard him telling mama that it meant "Uncle Sam's
Misguided Children".  He doesn't have an uncle named Sam, least, 
not one that I've ever met.  Sometimes, grown-ups confuse me.

But I've never been scared of one, not until now.  I realize the 
shadow in front of me is the stranger.  He's telling me to look 
at him.  I don't want to, but he says if I look up, he'll take 
the tape off my mouth. Maybe that means he's going to give me 
something to drink, or even eat.

I look up at him and he reaches down, ripping the tape from my 
face.  I can't help it, I start to cry, yelling as the last of 
the tape pulls from my skin.  That HURTS!  Looking back up at 
him, I see his hand coming towards me as he screams at me to 
shut up.  Next thing I know, his hand hits my face, and my head 
rocks back against the tree tru-


/I was a quarterback, I was a pilot, I was the captain of the 
Starship Enterprise and got all the girls.../


I'm hungry.  So hungry.  I have no idea what time it is, if 
it's day or night.  I only know that it's cold.  I'm on the 
ground somewhere, a cabin I think.  And I hurt.  My head hurts 
so bad.  Worse than the time I was playing catcher and Joey 
Lewis let the bat go and it hit me upside the head.

The stranger is standing there.  I can see his outline.  But my 
eyes are only half-open.  It hurts to open them more.  I move my 
mouth a little.  It's still untaped.  I can taste something 
strange in my mouth.  Tastes like pennies.  I must have bit my 
tongue when he hit me, because that hurts, too.

He's got something in his hands.  I hear a sound that I know 
should be familiar, but I don't realize it's the sound of that 
silvery tape being pulled off the roll until he's already 
covered my mouth with a big piece of it.

I want to fight back.  I feel like I should be fighting back.  
I'm not some wimpy little kindergartener!  But everything 
hurts so much.  I feel his hand on my face.  He pulls the tape 
off again, not quite as fast this time.  Not looking up, I wait
for my chance.  I look at the ground and when I feel his hand 
near my mouth, I turn my head and bite him, hard.

Oh, he yells so loud!  He's mad as a hornet.  Maybe I shouldn't 
have done that.  I try and curl into a ball, but freeze when I 
see him pull back his foot.  He's wearing brown hiking boots 
with red lac-


/I was the meanest sucker you ever did see.  Ol' Mike Tyson's got 
nothing on me.  I broke the jaw of Mohammed Ali as the heavyweight 
champ of the world.../


I'm really not gonna make him mad anymore.  I'm in a chair now, 
trying to sit up.  He threatened me that he'd kick me again if 
I didn't sit still like a good boy.  He told me if I was good, 
I could have water.  I was good, I tried to be good, I didn't 
fight him anymore.  And when I did get water, it was ice cold 
and I didn't get to drink it.  He dumped it over my head.  That 
was the first time I realized that I was only wearing my 
underpants.  I was very cold now.

He's coming closer to me again, and I close my eyes, taking myself 
away, far away from this bad place.  All I had wanted was to see 
my daddy before I went to school.  I didn't want this.  I feel 
his hand on my shoulder.  He's touching me very gently, and for 
some reason, this is worse than the hitting.  I move further into 
my mind-place, blanking out completely.


/I was the heavyweight champ of the world.../


When I come back, I can tell I'm dry now.  I must have been gone 
a very long time.  The stranger is walking around, back and forth
in front of me, muttering something.  I wish I could hear him.  
Or, maybe I don't.  I really wish I was at home, or even at school,
sitting next to that dumb girl who liked to pass me notes with 
little hearts and flowers on them.  Her name was Ariel, like the 
mermaid in that cartoon.  She always tells everyone that's who 
her mama and daddy named her after.  It's kinda silly to be named 
after a cartoon person.

"I'm sorry.  I thought you were the one."

I hear the stranger say it, but I don't know what he means.  
I don't see him anymore.  I think he moved behind me.  I feel 
him put something on my neck.  Something like a belt.  Yes, it 
feels like a belt.  When it starts to feel tight, I try to move 
my hands up, to make it looser, but they're still taped up.

Tighter and tighter.  I can't barely breathe at all.  I blink, 
but my eyes are not seeing things right.  I can't focus, and 
there are spots, all sorts of spots in front of me.  I try to 
talk, to tell this man that what he's doing hurts, and I can't 
breathe, but I can't.  Stupid duck tape. 

Who'd want to tape up a duck, anyway?

Everything goes black.  I close my eyes and try and escape to 
my secret hiding place.  Suddenly, the darkness is gone.  It's
very bright with light.  Oh, wow.  The light is so warm. I want 
to be warm again.  I let the light wrap around me, warm me up.  
I can't barely hear him anymore.  I feel my last breath start to 
leave my lungs.  I just wanted to see my daddy.  That's all.  All 
I wan..ted.


/I'm still the heavyweight champ of the wor-/