WITH HELD

Wrong.

Ethan found himself lying on the rubber bagging sheet, it felt sticky - But the now four women around him appeared to still be able to move him without too many problems.     He'd been throughly wash, then dried.      The ladies had taken their time, and every so often would check each other's work.      Ethan couldn't say who was the boss of the group.    The "lead" person. But one lady had clearly nominated herself.

He had no real interest in any of these women, they worked effectively, clearly knew their work.    All knew to work carefully, make no mistakes.     Ethan got the impression, they were to work as a "team" - Two one side of the table, two the other.     But, every so often - The self nominated lady, would stand back (And proceed to point her fringer about, like she was directing the others/indicating an issue/something missed)

The other three would stare back at her, silent looks of annoyance (Some verbal under the breath hissing words)     But, whatever was "wrong" - Would be corrected.     Ethan stayed still (He didn't really have a choice in the matter), he listened, he watched where he could.     He mostly looked up at the ceiling.     Ethan hated to admit his thoughts kept racing to other random things.    

Thoughts of me, of Clark.     Of what he could feel happening.    Then, there were the dark thoughts.     Sitting up, slowly grabbing each lady - And ever so slowly struggling them.    Watching them fight/struggle back, go pink, red, and then purple in the face.    Watching their eyes bulge.   He'd listen to their squeals of resistance/trying to call for help.    Maybe the other women would try to rescue them?   Maybe they wouldn't (Thankful it wasn't them)

Other thoughts came to him as well, his thinking just kept getting darker.

Ethan didn't feel right about the "dark" thoughts. They weren't pleasant, or him.     Clark always called him "wicked/badly behaved/a black mark on a white sheet".    Clark had many words/sayings she'd used to describe him.    But, she would hold him tight, and whisper - "Your not him!    Your NOT him!    I won't let you become HIM!    Your my boy. Mine!"

I would just hold him close within my arms.    I sometimes cried.   He would pull back, look at me.    I'd wipe my eyes (Sniff, need to blow my nose)   Then say.."Ethan?   Tell me if I make you see the shadows.   You would, wouldn't you?    Tell me, if I make you evil.    I will stop. Tell me, okay?.."

Ethan used to chuckle. He wouldn't become his father. And, I couldn't make him do anything.

But, at this moment.    The tables were spinning!

And, he might not be able to stop the next step he took.    He was only getting small vibes at present, but something within him was readying it's self to take action.     He was being "challenged" - Only physically, for the moment.    But, something was ticking all the "challenges" off that had already been done.     In a short space of time - He'd been treated in a manner that no one should be treated in.

Some would say that was nothing much as yet.    The staring, the comments, the feelings of being exposed.    Others might egg him on, with - "But, Ethan! My good man, you have been verbally insulted!   Step up and hit back!   And, NOW!.."

Clothes had been removed. Not right, not fair.   His head had been shaved.   Not again! What do people have against a good head of hair! Aaaaahhhh!  He'd been medicated/sedated.  Did anyone catch the names on the bottles?  No?   Shit!   People had spoken around/about/over him. Never to him. And, if by chance they had - They were unkind things being said.

Those moments had given Ethan an opportunity to sum the speaker up (They hadn't summed up to much)

A light oil had been rubbed into his skin, Ethan didn't like the smell - It had an antiseptic smell.    He was turned side to side, even rolled so his back and other areas could be done. They laid him on his back again. Ethan turned his eyes slightly to the left - A bottle of formaldehyde. Did that stuff come in bottles, should the women be using that on him? Was he dead! Or was this preparation? Ethan's mind kept spinning, his body was being moved, one limb at a time.