PERCEPTIONS by BOOMERCAT RATED FRPT

Not everyone sees things the same way.

This story takes place after the events in Malfunction and Aftermath.

Dr. Wendell Carraker, 'Doc' to patients and friends alike, set the heavy text on his bedside table. He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping to ease the eyestrain that was turning into a headache. Looking at his clock radio, he sighed. It was after two in the morning and he was no closer to an answer than when he had started reading several hours ago.

Doc imagined there were some doctors who thrived on problems like the one he was facing, doctors who relished the challenge. But he wasn't one of them. He preferred to have the answers in front of him. As a flying doctor with a practice that covered several hundred square miles of the South Pacific, he simply didn't have the time to bury himself in research.

Normally, he could call on a young scientist of his acquaintance for help in his research, but under the circumstances, Brains was the last person he could involve. It didn't help that the problem at hand was one of a psychological nature.

Doc turned out his reading lamp and settled himself onto his back, hands behind his head. He remembered several years ago when the fabulously rich Jeff Tracy and his five sons had first moved to Tracy Island. They seemed a nice, normal family, not taken by the snobbery great money often brings. His trips to the Tracy compound had been very pleasant. The five young men were always respectful and attentive to what he said. Jeff was a bit overbearing, but his love and affection for his sons was apparent in every interaction. The problems he dealt with were straightforward. Flu, a case of hives. Nothing serious, nothing life threatening.

About a year and a half after the family moved in that all started to change. First there was young Gordon's accident. At the time it had seemed tragic, but aboveboard. He hadn't been much involved in the initial care. Jeff had insisted on only the best for his boy, placing him in a private hospital in the states. Doc's only treatment was the occasional prescription for pain, and gentle prodding of the young man to exercise daily.

No sooner had Gordon come home, than John suddenly disappeared. Jeff shrugged it off, saying his middle boy was working at an observatory outside of San Jose, California. It was a reasonable explanation. John was an astronomer by training. But Doc couldn't help but recall a conversation he had with John about the problem of light pollution at every site in the United States, and how much easier his observations were here on the remote island.

Then there were the injuries. Every one of Jeff Tracy's sons seemed to be accident prone. A broken rib here, a concussion there. Each time he was called out, Doc was given a plausible explanation of how the injury occurred. Each time the injury seemed accidental.

Nothing would have come of it, if his niece hadn't come for a visit several months back. Sheila was a nursing student. She had taken one look at his chaotic filing system and had set to work straightening things out. When she had finished, she made an offhand remark about the Tracy family file being twice as large as any other.

When it was pointed out to him, Doc had taken a look at the files all together, and had felt a funny twinge in his stomach. In two years time, there averaged at least one traumatic injury every other month. No family was that clumsy. He began to suspect abuse.

The obvious suspect was Jeff. In his mid-fifties, he was still physically a powerful man. Doc knew from experience that all five of his sons obeyed the man's every command. Even Scott, a powerful man in his own right, would meekly say 'yes, sir' to any order Jeff gave.

A while back, he had been called out when young Alan had 'hit his head on the diving board' for the third time in two years. Doc had taken the opportunity to corner Gordon and ask a few leading questions. Gordon had vehemently denied his father ever hit any of his brothers. The vehemence had seemed sincere and Doc had wondered if he were off base.

Gordon almost had him convinced, but then Scott had entered the room, and the look on Gordon's face told the tale. Jeff wasn't the abuser, Scott was. When Doc had returned to his office, he had again reviewed the records and wondered how he could have missed the signs.

All of Scott's injuries seemed to happen at the same time as one or another of his brothers. The explanation always seemed to be that Scott was injured trying to rescue his brothers from whatever predicaments they got themselves into. Doc now saw a more sinister explanation. Scott attacked his brothers and on rare occasions, they fought back. Especially Virgil.

As the evidence piled up, Doc had decided to take the bull by the horns. He approached Jeff Tracy with his records and his conclusions. He thought if he laid out the irrefutable proof of Scott's abuse, the elder Tracy would insist on getting his sons the help they needed. He had been shocked when Jeff's immediate reaction to the accusation was to burst out laughing. Jeff refused to even consider the possibility.

Doc wondered again if Jeff was somehow involved. In the light of the situation, it seemed strange that four of his five grown sons would choose to continue to remain in the family home. Jeff had some powerful hold over them, Doc was sure.

When he had been called out today, he had been horrified at what he found. Both Alan and Gordon had supposedly been involved in a barroom brawl that had resulted in a fractured scapula for Alan, and a contused larynx for Gordon. Gordon had finger shaped bruises on his neck, for God's sake. What more proof did Tracy need?

Doc had asked each of the young men outright if Scott had injured them. Each had denied it, but the looks they passed between themselves made it clear they had rehearsed that story. Alan had blurted out 'It wasn't Scott' before Doc had even posed the question.

When Doc had returned home, he pulled out all of his old psych texts looking for some idea how to help this family before someone wound up dead. The search had been long and for the most part fruitless. It had becoming increasingly clear that the only way things would change would be if the family wanted them to change. Closing his eyes, Doc drifted off into a restless sleep.

Doc was startled awake by the strident beeping of his vidphone. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced at the clock. Five a.m., and his day was already starting. Composing his face into a calm competence, he answered the vidphone. "This is Doc Carraker."

Doc was surprised to see the face of Jeff Tracy, looking very annoyed. "Doc, we need to talk."

Wondering if Alan or Gordon had confessed, Doc fought to keep the curiosity from his voice. "All right. How can I help you, Jeff?"

"Doc, you know my boy Gordon is a bit of a prankster."

Tracy seemed to be waiting for a response, so Doc obliged him. "Of course. But his jokes are usually pretty funny."

"Well, this one wasn't. I understand you asked him a couple of months ago if I had ever hit him?"

Hoping to finally get it out in the open, Doc looked Jeff right in the eye and replied, "Yes."

"Well, apparently my son thought it would be pretty funny to lead you to believe that his brother Scott was hitting him." Jeff shook his head. "You know, Doc, when you sprung that theory on me, I didn't really handle it very well. If you knew Scott and how he has cared for those boys since they all were kids, you would understand exactly how absurd the idea of him hurting them is. Hell, Scott won't even raise his voice to them, despite sore provocation."

"Jeff, do you realize your sons have had over 20 traumatic injuries in the last two years? The figures don't lie. There is more going on here than clumsiness."

Jeff looked wryly at the doctor. "Doc, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. My boys are energetic, active young men. Sometimes it's clumsiness, sometimes it's just plain rotten luck. But it is never, ever abuse. I promise you that."

"Jeff."

"Wait a minute, Doc." Jeff turned away to talk to someone off screen. The conversation was muffled, but Jeff's irritation was plain. After a few moments, Jeff stepped away from the video pickup and Gordon, still pale from his injury, appeared.

"Gordon! I thought I told you to stay in bed for at least two days."

"I know, Doc. I'll go right back to bed, but I just had to tell you. I was just yanking your chain. Nobody in my family has ever hit me. Not Dad, not Scott, no one."

Doc raised his eyebrows. "What about Alan?"

"No, Alan's never hit me." Gordon's remark was met with a muffled comment from off screen. The young man grimaced, then said, "I talked him into helping me with the joke. We both thought it was funny, but we can see where it might not be. I'm really sorry I got you going. It's not true, I have never been abused in any way, okay?"

Doc stared at the young man for a long time, trying to gauge his sincerity. "All right, Gordon. I'll accept your apology. Get back to bed now."

Looking somewhat relieved, Gordon responded. "Thanks, Doc."

The young man disappeared, and Jeff took his place. "I want to thank you too, Doc. For everything you've done for us over the past few years."

"Well, you're welcome."

Jeff looked around his room. "I guess I had better let you go. You look like ten miles of bad road as my mother would say."

Doc smiled. "Well, maybe I could use a few more hours sleep. I'll talk to you later, Jeff."

"All right. Sleep well. Goodbye."

"Bye." Doc disconnected the call and sat back for a moment. Yawning, he got up and padded back to his bed. Shaking his head, he wondered where he put the text on co-dependency. As he drifted off, he thought, somehow he would find a way to help those people.

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