Little Boy Lost – sequel to Two Pink Lines by Riviera41797
A/N: okay guys – I have had a TON of requests to do a sequel to this story, which is by far my most popular. My last sequel didn't do so well, so if you don't mind, please let me know you guys are out there and reading. I appreciate it!
Doug Duncan sat alone, shrouded in darkness at his kitchen counter, perched upon on a bar stool, one hand propped up his head, the other mindlessly tracing droplets of condensation as it rolled down the bottle of beer he had been nursing for the last hour. A line of 5 empty bottles all lined up precisely together in a row stood before him, labels facing out. A silent salute to his depression, to his despair.
The night light plugged into the outlet near the kitchen sink was the only light source, but was enough for him to see enough to numb his pain.
His apartment was very quiet; the only sounds to be heard came from the outside world. Apartment sounds. A series of thumps from overhead as someone walked from one location to the other, or the sound of someone dropping something. Footsteps in the hallway, as someone was coming and going. A slam of a door. Keys in someone's hand jingling. Sounds of life. Life passing him by.
It was only 7pm, yet it may as well have been midnight in Doug's world. He felt lost in his home. No one to talk to, no hobbies, no friends, acquaintances, nothing. His spouse, his love, Trista had been locked away in Morningside Mental home for the last year, which was located just outside of Washington D.C. Doug visited her as often as he was allowed.
He'd relocated to this area during Trista's trial, and mental evaluation. It had been simply too difficult to try and commute between Minnesota and here. He was able to get a job transfer, although he was no longer in management. Now he was simply a night auditor for the same hotel chain he'd been employed with for years. A step down the corporate ladder.
Tomorrow he got to go see Trista. Her doctors had contacted him, advising that they had made an important discovery when doing a routine MRI of her brain, checking for any new abnormal brain wave activity. How this new discovery was missed previously was beyond him. Doug didn't pretend to understand medical practices or jargon.
Every evening, he sat down behind his computer and did a search on Dr. Temperance Brennan, and FBI Agent Seeley Booth. Checking to see any news of their son, Tyler. The son that should have been he and Trista's.
Looking back, he recalled her desperation at this particular child to adopt. She didn't want any other. She wanted the child of world famous, brilliant forensic anthropologist and best selling author Temperance Brennan. He smiled recalling her enthusiasm over the genetic possibilities this child could present for them, for their future. She had been so determined that this be their future child. Future son, he silently amended, as he tipped the slick bottle of amber brew, and let the contents slide down his throat.
Doug glanced over at the wedding pictures he had hung carefully over the small couch in the apartment.
Trista. She was so full of life. So strong minded. Bold. Brassy even, he thought with a smile.
He felt lost, adrift at sea. A rowboat with no oars, no sail to guide him without her there.
Finishing the last of the beer, he stood, swaying slightly at the alcohol's effects. He stumbled into the bedroom and fell asleep, fully clothed in his rumpled suit. Tie askew, hair in a complete state of disarray. The last thought that flitted across inebriated mind, was his wife.
End this chapter
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