Disclaimer: Don't own. Please don't sue me! I'm pretty broke anyway.
A/N: Not totally sure where this comes from, but there might be some other stories following pieces of the plotline in the future!
This is a oneshot.
Also, I know that many people wish I would enable anonymous reviews. I don't much care for them, because I'd love to send a response to some of my reviewers. Mostly to explain any weird details that didn't make sense, or to let them know that I do listen to constructive criticism.
My Father's Lie
"…and once again, the authorities have been unable to capture the 'Mommy Killer' as he's struck yet another mother, leaving her young son to stare at a dead body…"
The news was blaring. Too loud, but if he turns it down, he'll never be able to figure it out. Loker stared. Another crime scene that was all too familiar.
"And another year begins," he mutteres, switching off the television. He jumps when he sees Lightman in the doorway.
"You alright?" Lightman asks.
"No, but it'll pass. It always does," damn inability to lie. Ah well. Sarcasm will have to do.
"Hey, same offer as always. If you want to take a few days off, be my guest," eyebrows slightly flattened, corners of the eyes barely squinted, corners of the mouth in a slight downward curve. Concern.
"Yeah, well, have I ever taken your offer before? Because this year isn't going to be much different. I'll keep working and the news off." Voice deepens, eyes won't meet his boss', deliberate avoidance of fidgeting.
Shame.
Tiny screams muffled by a strip of thick, grey tape. Horrible stench of blood filling the air. Nose is clogged, can't breathe, can't stop crying either. Mommy, wake up!
Nasty, wicked laugh. Why did you hurt Mommy? Bad man.
"You don't know anything. What makes you think you're going to tell anyone anything?" Hand where it shouldn't be in little boy's lap. Little boy can't stop staring. Pain. Bad man hits little boy.
Little boy can't stop crying.
"…seven, eight, nine…" whispered numbers, hoping no one notices again.
"Loker, what're you doing?"
"Counting tiles, Torres, what does it look like?"
"Why are you counting tiles?" Stance down and back, eyes looking at him from under the brow bone, brow furrowed. She's alarmed, but cautious.
"It makes me feel better in a weird way sometimes," he answers. Can't let her know how bad it used to be.
"Oookay then." She leaves. Now where was he? Shoot. Now he has to start over.
"Lightman, what's going on? Loker's acting weird," Torres says as she steps, tentatively, into her boss's office.
"It's par for course with the time of year. It's the anniversary of his mother's death. Ah, don't let it get to you. He always acts a little funny after he sees the news. It's better than it used to be. He'll probably wind up sobbing under his desk, and Foster or I'll drive him home."
"What do you mean 'better than it used to be?' Lightman, Loker's counting freakin' tiles in the hallway. He's not exactly well at the moment."
"Wait, he's counting tiles again?" Foster asks as she walks into the office. Both heads turn to look at her.
"He did this before? What aren't you guys telling me? What the hell's wrong with Loker?" Torres' brow is furrowed again, she standing tall, her hands are tense, and her voice is picking up in volume. Anger.
"That's not our place, luv," Lightman says.
"When Loker's ready, he'll let you know," Foster finishes. This answer is obviously unsatisfactory. Torres tosses one last defiant glance toward Lightman, and then storms out of the office. Foster is tight on her heels.
"Loker! Hey, Loker! What is going on?" Torres shouts at the hunched figure moving at a snail's pace through the hallway. Loker doesn't look up. He pauses, and continues counting.
"Torres! Leave him alone!"
"Loker!" Torres grabs his arm to get his attention. He jerks it away, stops, and then repeats the number he has just spoken.
"Torres, that is enough!" Foster is grabbing Torres, trying to stop her from interrogating her co-worker. Torres jerks away. She grabs Loker and spins him around, forcing him to look at her.
"Why are you doing this? It isn't right!" Loker stops, stares with his mouth gaping slightly. Eyebrows knit, recoiling a little, pupils dilated, trying not to make eye contact. Fear. He pulls away and dashes off.
"Now you've done it," Lightman says, coming up from behind her. Foster takes off after her employee.
"Bad man hurt Mommy." Little boy looks at police officer.
"What kind of bad man? What did he look like?" Police officer asks Little boy. Little boy looks down, shrugs. "Can you tell me?"
"Don't know. I don't know anything." Little boy can't cry. Daddy is talking to another police officer. "Want Daddy."
"Do you want me to go get Daddy?" Police officer asks Little boy. Little boy nods. Police officer goes away. Little boy watches the bed with the black bag roll out of the house. Can't hear Daddy tell Police officer he can't – or won't – see Little boy right now. Too busy listening to the bed.
Can't stop counting. Really want to stop counting.
"Loker? Eli, sweetie, are you in here?" Voice soft. Pitch raises at the end of sentences. Worry.
"I'm right here." Under the desk again. Same as always. Foster sits down next to him.
"I thought we were done with this stuff, Eli." Pitch drops at the end of the sentence. The word "done" is emphasized. Disappointment? Maybe frustration.
"It helps."
"Eli, the obsessive behavior doesn't help anything. We've been over this before." Definitely frustration.
"Sure. I think I'm going to go home."
"Okay. Do you want a ride?" He can't answer her. Can't cry. Can't let them know why he still counts.
"Yeah. That'd be good."
"Home" isn't much better. Lonely apartment. Lonely occupant. Lonely rooms filled with no one and not much. Just Eli. Not sure if it's "Big Boy" Eli or "Little Boy" Eli right now. Both of them are fighting for control.
"Little Boy" Eli seems to be winning. Whimper from the person on the sofa. Why? Why did he have to let Torres know? It's easiest to hide it. Now she'll look at him weird.
Phone rings. No plans to check it. Old, decrepit answering machine picks up: "It's me. Leave a message. I'll try to get back to you." Voice he doesn't want to hear. Voice that didn't want him then, and wants him badly now. Emphasis on the "bad."
"Eli, it's Dad. I know you're there. Pick up. I want to talk to you. (pause, sigh) Okay, don't pick up. Call me. Please. Call me this time!" Like that's going to happen. Loker could call the police, but he won't. Restraining orders are there for a reason.
"Daddy, why can't I go outside?"
"Because the neighbors will see you."
"But they're nice 'n I wanna play…"
"No."
"Can I go to school then? Tomorrow? We already sat Shiva. Rabbi said so."
"No. I have a new school for you. No more hanging out with those street kids. You're too good for that."
Muffled bump. The bed's occupant sits up.
"Eli."
"Go away, Jacob, or I'll call the cops," Loker says with as much authority as he can muster.
"I'm still your father, you will call me 'Dad.'"
"Not after New York. Now get out or I'll call the police. You're in violation of your restraining order."
"That's going to be difficult. I already cut your phone lines, and this," Jacob Loker held up a small device "will keep you from using your cell phone. Blocks cell transmissions. It's just you and me. Now get up and get dressed." Clock on the table reads 2 am. It's early, and Little Boy Eli is scared.
"Dad, it's been forever! Please, I'm tired and hungry… can I please stop studying?"
"Not until you answer the questions. Now, the equation for momentum is - ?"
"Mass times velocity. I have rights, you know."
"You're twelve. You don't have rights until I say you do. Define 'Terminal Velocity.'"
"The speed at which a falling item cannot go any faster. Well, shouldn't I at least start studying for my Bar Mitzvah? I'll be thirteen next month."
"No. That's for someone ready to become an adult. I don't think you're ready yet. How do you calculate a vector?"
"Not until you let me out."
"Answer the question, Eli."
"At least unchain me." Eli rattled the chain around his right ankle. "It's starting to hurt." His father had backhanded him before he knew what was happening. There was a hand on his throat and another gripping his thin wrist.
"Don't you ever question me again. I have my reasons. Now finish studying." Eli's neck was released. He painfully pulled himself back into his chair to finish his physics homework.
"Where are we going?" Loker asks. The city is receding into the distance as father and son drive away.
"That's none of your concern." Loker pulls at the cuff around his wrist. It's attached to a chain, which is attached to the underside of the passenger seat. He's tired, hungry, and starting to get very scared.
"Stop pulling at the cuff."
"Sorry, sir."
"And don't try anything, or you'll be in the trunk. Sitting in the front is a privilege, you know."
"As is food and being untied." Loker mutters. He's startled by the punch.
"You want to lose your front seat privileges? I'll make very sure you do."
"No, sir. Sorry, sir."
Hours later Eli sees an unwelcome sight.
"Welcome home, son," his father says, warmly.
It's cold out here, and his thin clothing doesn't keep him warm. He's hungry. There's a man walking down the street with a woman and a little girl. He's got a sack, and it smells amazing. Eli looks up at the sky. He says a quick prayer for forgiveness. Quick as lightning, he snatches the bag from the man.
"Oy, you! Get back here!" The man yells in a distinctly British accent. Eli bolts, but hunger, sleeplessness, cold and general poor health mean that he's nowhere near fast enough. The man grabs his arm. Eli quickly holds out the good-smelling bag.
"Sorry, sir."
"You hungry?" He asks Eli.
"Yes, sir." Eli looks at the ground.
"Well, all you had to do was ask." The man puts his arm around Eli's thin shoulders, and guides him out of the alley. "I'm Cal Lightman. What's your name?"
The familiar room is strangely comforting, considering how miserable he'd been in it. His ankle was chained again. Loker looked at the old blackboard, that last English lesson still on it. The room was completely unchanged.
Same concrete floor, same concrete, windowless walls, same bare light bulb, same industrial metal desk, still bolted into the floor, same metal chair, same toilet sitting in the corner, same dirty mattress on the floor with its little pillow and thin blanket.
It was easy to lose track of time in here if his father forgot to manage the light bulb. Turn it on, new day, start studying until it turned off. Then go to sleep. Light turns on, start over, food or no food.
His father had dragged him in, chained him up, and left instructions to finish diagramming those sentences.
Loker sighed, and picked up the chalk.
"How old are you, Eli?" Zoe Lightman asks.
"Fourteen, ma'am."
"You're old!" The little girl cries with a laugh. Eli smiles at her. He quietly picks up another French fry.
"What're you doin' out on the street then?" Dr. Lightman asks him. Eli shrugs, and can't meet his gaze. "What about your parents? Your mum must be worried."
"My mother's dead." Everyone at the table goes silent.
"But who tucks you in at night and reads you stories?" Emily asks, not as worried about tact.
"Just me. My dad has to work nights," Eli lies. Dr. Lightman sighs and stares out the restaurant window.
"Last month had to be a little scary. Were you nearby when that happened?" Dr. Lightman asks, gesturing out at the wreckage that used to be the World Trade Center.
"Yeah. I was sleeping by the vent near the second tower. I heard a really loud noise and ran. That's when I saw the airplane." Zoe has her hands over her mouth.
Sentences are diagramed. Nothing left to do but sit and study more. Textbooks are still sitting on the desk, dusty and left the same way they had been all those years ago. Loker opens the history book. More on the Byzantine world. He studies for what seems like days.
Light goes off. Time to sleep. He curls up on his dirty mattress. He tries not to think about what could be living in it. Has anyone noticed he's gone, yet? What time is it? What about that case? Will they think he's just taking another day off because he's upset?
The questions keep spinning around his head. They stop when he thinks about a face. A warm, caring face he hasn't seen since he was Little Boy.
"Momma, I miss you," Eli Loker whispers as he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
Hospital room. Dr. Lightman is looking at him.
"Do I have to go back to my father?" Can't tell him about why.
"ACS makes that decision, mate."
"I don't want to go back."
"I'll put in a good word for you, but unless you've got other family, there isn't much anyone can do."
"My grandparents wouldn't mind me staying with them."
"Yeah, well, that's up to the courts, unfortunately. I'm sure your grandparents would love to have you, but if they can't take care of you properly…" Dr. Lightman trails off.
Eli looks down at the blankets. He thinks a moment before saying anything. "My dad hasn't been the same since Momma died," he says quietly.
"Yeah? Why do you think that is?" Dr. Lightman asks, seeming somewhat distracted.
"Because Momma was killed by a bad man."
Dr. Lightman's head whips around to look at the small boy in the bed. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and holds the little boy until he stops crying.
Loker sits up. The light is still off, but there's a bump outside the door. Who's coming? Is someone coming in?
"Oi, in here!" That sounds an awful lot like Lightman.
"Hello, sir. It's been a while," the tall, twenty-two-year-old says, standing in front of Dr. Lightman's desk.
"Eli Loker! I haven't seen you in ages!" Lightman exclaims as he embraces the bald young man. "What happened to your hair? You had a pretty full head of it last time I saw you. Did you go and shave it off or something?" Eli shakes his head.
"Cancer, sir. It's in remission, now, but I wasn't able to finish college. I was too sick. I heard you had an opening for a research assistant, and I'm kinda tired of working in the basement for Prof. Langly's crazy stuff. I'm pretty sure UFOs never landed, and I'm definitely sure that Elvis is dead." Dr. Lightman laughs.
"Well, you have a place here, then. Don't expect me to be a nice employer, though. I'll show you your desk. Are your grandparents well?"
"Loker?" Dr. Lightman is silhouetted in the doorway.
"Lightman? What are you doing here?"
"You've been missing for two days. We started looking for you yesterday when we found out your phone lines were disconnected. Here, let's get you unchained."
Work at the Lightman Group isn't bad, and he's getting paid. Even better, no one asks him questions, and his hair has grown back into something stubbly.
Eli walks the halls, carefully counting tiles so his father won't come. It doesn't work today.
"Eli."
"Oh, god." Strong hand grips his arm and starts pulling. He can't bear to look.
"Oi! Where're you goin' with my employee?" Lightman is barreling down the hall.
"Your employee? You mean my son!" Lightman has reached ramming speed. He pulls Eli away from the man.
"So you're his father. Funny how he didn't want to go back to you after we found him. What did you want out of him?" Eli doesn't hear anymore of Lightman's questions. He's in the corner.
He doesn't notice the police taking his father. He barely notices Dr. Foster holding him and rocking him until he's ready to come away.
The main hall is an interesting sight with his father being taken away in handcuffs. Loker is supported by Lightman and Foster, and Torres is looking on, confused and unsure.
"My son is unstable, and I was trying to keep him safe! Ever since his mother was murdered, and since the murderer was never caught, he's been irrational and – "
"Liar!" Loker screams.
"What now?" Lightman asks, stepping into Loker's line of sight. "What are you talking about?"
"You killed her!" Eli Loker points an accusing finger at his father. "She wanted me to go to school, and you were furious! Then you grabbed me and tied me to that chair and killed Momma!" Loker sinks to his knees. Lightman tries to keep him calm. "Then you started killing other women! You'd bring in pictures for me to look at! Then you took me to one. You wouldn't let me have a Bar Mitzvah like I was supposed to, you'd kept me chained up in a room for eight years!
"So you said I'd get my Bar Mitzvah and go to school if I helped you! You tied up her little boy just like you'd tied me up and did horrible things to that poor woman! Then you gave me the knife… I couldn't do it. She looked so much like Momma… So I ran away. I ran far away so you could never find me! Do you know what I had to do? Do you know how I survived? Because I'm still not sure! And it was all because of you! You killed my mother!" Eli had collapsed into a huddled mass of sobbing child.
Lightman held him as he cried, and watched as a murderer was taken away.
Loker stood over the grave marker with his bouquet of flowers.
"I'm sorry I haven't been here in so long. I needed to work some things out. And there was the whole issue of the guilt. I'm actually kinda glad I had that brain tumor in college. I can't lie to myself or anyone anymore. Well, okay, at least not convincingly.
"I've missed you, Momma. I've missed you a lot. I wish – I wish I'd had the strength to tell someone before. But I haven't. I've been scared and lonely for a long time. But I'm not anymore. I finally figured out what was wrong for so long.
"See, I've been looking for my family. I've been looking for someone – anyone – to show me what to do, and I lost sight of what I was supposed to do, does that make sense? I was supposed to find my real family. I was supposed to figure out how to stand on my own and not be so afraid of the world. Because in case you haven't noticed, the world is a scary place to try and get around without someone standing next to you, and for the longest time I didn't think I had that.
"But I do, now, Momma. I have a real family. I miss you, and I know we'll be in heaven or wherever we wind up when we die, but here on earth, I've got a family now. I love you. I'll see you soon, too." Loker carefully placed the sunflowers on the grave.
Then he turned around and walked back to the waiting car where his family waited. His grandparents, Dr. Foster, Ria Torres, Emily Lightman, and Dr. Lightman.