As Priscilla left, Lucas held up his good arm, his hand outstretched. He didn't want to be left alone; even if his only other option was a woman he didn't really care much for. She had still saved his life. But once she was gone, he couldn't stop her. Lucas huddled on the doorstep of the church. He shivered, somehow still cold even with a scarf and sweater, and mostly just scared. He jumped when the lights of the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. Instinctively, he burrowed his face into the scarf he was given.

"We found our guy; he's alone. Bringing him to the truck," One of the EMTs said into a walkie talkie as he got out and approached. "Hey buddy. What happened?" He referred the question to Lucas, who did nothing but stare at him wide eyed. The EMT approached him and pointed to his wrist. "Can I look at that?" 

Lucas hesitated, then offered up his swollen wrist. "Looks broken," The EMT said, mostly to himself and to his partner. The other one, an older woman, seemed to gather that Lucas was too nervous to follow them without some coaxing. She approached and knelt down by him. 

"Hey hun," She said softly, "We're going to take you to the hospital; you'll be safe there. Did you call PD?" She turned her head back towards the man to ask the question. The man nodded.

"They'll be waiting at the hospital."

The woman turned back to Lucas. "Come on with us, sweetheart." Lucas shakily stood, his willowy frame being held up in part by the woman taking him under his good arm. "What happened to you?" When Lucas didn't answer, she moved to pull down his scarf. Naturally, he jerked away, but the woman got her fingers under it and pulled. "Oh my god," She gasped. Her partner, who had started to head back towards the truck, turned back and stopped in his tracks. 

"Uh...hey Tuck, what exactly was this call for again?" He asked into his talkie.

"Assault, why?" The third man, still in the truck, replied. 

"I think there might be something else going on here." 

____________________________________________________

The ride to the hospital was too long and too odd. The EMTs kept giving him quick side glances. He kept his scarf on, and had done his best to re-situate it with one hand. Upon arriving at the hospital, he was quickly overwhelmed by nurses. No one had seen anything like him before. Someone just [i]born[/i] without a mouth? No scars, no burns, just the way he was born? They started asking him questions about where he was hurt, and really it was only his wrist that he cared about. Once the initial check in process was over, a police officer walked in to ask him question about who had attacked him and why. Lucas just sank further and further into the thin mattress of the stretcher. Finally, he was given a blanket to cling to and was asked for any phone numbers that they could call.

Lucas quickly wrote down Father Walter's cell phone number. He refused to let them do anything else until the priest arrived. Any time a nurse tried to come in to start and IV on him, he would grab the kit and launch it across the room. This earned him a scolding by the hospital security, who said that if he kept throwing things, they would have to restrain him. Luckily, around that time, Father Walter showed up.

His face showed deep concern. He hadn't even realized that Lucas had left the church; it wasn't like he'd let anyone know. And now, Lucas just turned up beaten? Who would do such a thing? 

"Lucas," Father Walter said in a stern voice. "Let them do what they need to do." 

The thin young man looked up, and quickly held out his good arm towards the priest. Father Walter approached and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm glad you're okay. I just got a call that you were in the emergency room; I almost had a heart attack." 

Lucas looked away from him, the guilt starting to set in. Father Walter pulled up a plastic chair and sat by the stretcher. He held onto Lucas's bony hand, which was surprisingly cold, and kept him calm while the nurses came in to finally get their job done. Father Walter answered what questions he could about Lucas's medical history, but he really didn't know a whole lot. He had found Lucas as an odd little boy, about nine years old, and took him in. Father Walter, having become a priest after his wife died, had never had children. And when he found Lucas, he knew what God needed him to do. Although his ward was could be very difficult at times, he was a gifted young man. And Father Walter had come to think of Lucas as if he were his own son. It certainly frightened him to think that Lucas was out making enemies with the types of people to do this sort of thing. 

Once his arm was re-set and placed in a cast, Lucas was sent home a bit doped up and a little more relaxed. Father Walter drove him back to the church in silence, letting him fall asleep against the door of the passenger side.