After The Storm

by Sugarbear1975

This is a follow-up to my first story, "Stormy Weather". Mark learns more about his family as he attempts to hide a painful secret from Hardcastle and Sonny. Will he overcome the past or will he let it destroy him?

"After the Storm"

This story is a follow-up to my first story "Stormy Weather" in which I explored the turbulent relationship between Mark, the Judge and Sonny. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews of "Stormy Weather" because it gave me the confidence to write more. If you haven't read "Stormy Weather", it would help to read it before reading this story. The thoughts of the characters are in italics unless otherwise specified. I do not own the characters Mark McCormick, Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, Frank Harper or Sonny Daye. However, Emily and Mrs. Hinckley are my original characters. Unfortunately, David McCormick is my brainchild, too. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. I do not intend to make a dime from this story.

"This is ridiculous, Judge", whined McCormick as he sat at the table on patio in front of a two-foot high stack of flapjacks, bacon, sausage and a greenish-grey concoction that Judge Hardcastle mixed up in the blender. He wasn't sure but he thought he saw that very same goo floating in the pool just last month when the filter conked out. "Judge, this is too much food, even for me! Even Paul Bunyan wouldn't be able to tackle this much food! And another thing: I am NOT drinking that…that slimy stuff!" He picked up the glass and took a cautious whiff as he gagged at the aroma, which reminded him of the inside of his old high school gym locker.

"Nonsense, McCormick," the Judge replied. "I told ya', we've gotta put some meat on those bones! The doctor said that you need to gain at least 20 pounds and I'm gonna see to it that you do!"

Even though McCormick had been home from the hospital for a few days, he still looked tired and pale. He had come dangerously close to succumbing to appendicitis and it was obvious that his journey to wellness had just started. A t-shirt, pajama bottoms and faithful blue bathroom had been his uniform since his release from St. Mary's hospital five days ago. For Mark, the worst part of this latest hospital stay was the stupid weigh-ins and the dietician giving him a stern lecture about not eating properly. "She has some nerve telling me about my diet when it looks like she hasn't eaten since the Nixon Administration, the old bat!" Mark thought. Much to his chagrin, Hardcastle took that advice to heart and was focusing all his efforts on turning him into a mass of muscles come Hell or high water. I'll have to find a way to repay her for planting this seed into Hardcastle's brain. A bouquet of poison ivy, perhaps…

"Judge, I appreciate all your help, really I do, but this is crazy! Ok, maybe I am on the skinny side but you're trying to make me gain it all in one sitting!"

"Quit your whining, McCormick, and chow down! Oh, I almost forgot the piéce de résistance!"

"Piéce de résistance, huh? What would that be, pray tell?" McCormick groaned.

""Eggs Milton", my good man! I'll be right back!" The Judge clapped his hands together and hustled to the kitchen.

Mark waited until Hardcastle was out of sight and surreptitiously looked around to make sure the coast was clear as he dumped the toxic brew in his glass into the nearby grass. For a minute there, he could have sworn that he saw smoke coming up from the area where he ditched the evidence. He shook his head and smiled to himself as he thought about how determined that old donkey was to fatten him up.

Hardcastle returned with a huge platter of eggs and big grin on his face as he saw that the glass before McCormick was empty. "Ah, I see you finished your protein drink! Guaranteed to put some meat on those bones and hair on your chest!"

"More like hair on my tongue, Hardcase!"

"Well, since you downed that one so fast, I'll whip up another one for ya'! I'll be back in a jiffy!"

"NO Judge, that's not necessary! Really I couldn't!" Mark pleaded.

"Nonsense! It'll only take a couple minutes. Just sit tight, McCormick. Just sit tight."

Mark sat back with an exasperated sigh. If ever there was a time for an unexpected visitor, you know a crazed ex-con with an ax to grind against the Judge, an eccentric relative or even a letter bomb, anything that would keep Hardcastle out of the kitchen and out of my hair that would be great! As if called, he heard a car pull into the driveway in front of the house. "Thank you, God," he breathed as he looked toward Heaven.

Mark listened for Hardcastle's footfalls as he wondered whom he had to thank for saving him from more of whatever culinary delights Hardcastle had in store. However, his answered prayer was indeed an eccentric relative: his beloved father, Sonny Daye/Tommy Ray/Tommy Knight/Mickey Thompson! He laughed to himself when he saw him and slowly rose to greet him. Sonny had been a frequent visitor ever since he got out of the hospital a few days ago. In fact, he supposed he owed him a debt of gratitude because Sonny had helped save his life. For most families, that wouldn't be such a shock but Mark's family was far from ordinary. Hell, most people didn't refer to their fathers using an alias for that matter, but most people didn't have a father like Sonny Daye either. Sonny had always been a tumbleweed of sorts; never staying in one place too long. Having a son never made a difference before which is why his constant presence was so remarkable now.

"Hey, son! How are you feeling? Is old Hardcastle getting you back in shape?" Sonny asked as he gave his son a quick embrace. Sonny could tell that Mark still had some ground to cover before he could say his son was well again. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his face and the ribs he felt when he hugged him all served as reminders of what almost happened nearly two weeks ago.

"Hey, Sonny...er, Dad! I'm okay I guess. Here, have a seat. The Judge just served up breakfast." Mark replied as he grabbed a plate and handed it to Sonny.

"Thanks, son, but I ate before I got here. I just came by to see how you were doing. You gave us quite a scare, you know." Sonny nervously patted his right foot as he sat at the table.

"Yeah, I was kinda scared myself." Mark paused as if to gather the courage to say what he felt Sonny deserved to hear and what he never imagined in a million years he would ever say. "I owe you one, Dad. You helped save my life and I don't know how I can ever repay you." The lump in Mark's throat was so big; he had to look down to will away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"Son, you have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that. Lord knows I've never given you a reason to say it before. Even with what went down in Atlantic City. I guess Hardcastle told you about that, though."

"That's ancient history, Sonny. We can't change the past. All we can do is try to make a fresh start," Mark said with a smile, echoing the words that Sonny had said when he was unconscious in the hospital.

"I'd like that, son," Sonny replied with a grin and a sincere look in his eye.

Hardcastle stood in the doorway as he watched the exchange between Sonny and McCormick. He hoped that this time would be different from all the other times when Sonny breezed into town, tore Mark inside out and left him to pick up the pieces as he absconded like the proverbial thief in the night. For the kid's sake, he decided to give him benefit of the doubt, for now.

Putting on his biggest grin over gritted teeth, he approached the two men. "Good to see you again, Sonny. I thought I told you to eat up, McCormick! After breakfast you've got weight training!"

"Weight training? You can't be serious, Hardcase!" Mark whined.

"I am indeed, McCormick. How else do you expect to get back in shape? Yes sir, exercise and weights! Go get dressed so we can start training!" Mark acquiesced and trudged toward the gatehouse to prepare for charging San Juan Hill or whatever the hell the Judge had in mind for him.

"Don't you think it's a little soon for him to be going for the gusto here, Judge?" Sonny asked cautiously.

"Not at all! Look, Sonny, I know what's best for the kid and what he needs is to chow down and bulk up! I think I know a little more about him than you, Sonny!" Anger flashed across the Judge's face, his countenance resembling a grizzly bear ready to attack.

Sonny lifted his hands as if to placate Hardcastle and said, "Touché, Judge. I'm not disputing that but with all due respect, Your Honor, I am still his father! Now, I didn't say anything while Mark was sick but I think it's time that you and I have a talk." Sonny's reply was so self-assured, so fearless that he surprised himself as he stood toe-to-toe with Judge Hardcastle: a man that could rip me from stem to stern if he wanted to, then turn around, and challenge a man half his age to a game of one-on-one gorilla ball! Nice going, Sonny. Now I'm gonna get tossed out of here with Mark along with me! Well, at least we'll be together …sleeping under the I-5 overpass! Sonny swallowed his heart that he was sure had leapt into his mouth and waited for the bludgeoning that was pretty much a guarantee.

Hardcastle could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the man before him. He looked like the old Sonny Daye he met a couple years ago, down to his shiny polyester suit and capped teeth. He even smelled like Sonny Daye, the distinct and dreadful scent of Old Spice and Hai Karate combined but there was something about this new Sonny Daye that threw him for a loop. He scrunched his face as he puzzled until he could put his finger on it. He looked him up and down and then it dawned on him: He has a backbone! That's what's different about him! I'm not sure I can get used to this new and improved Sonny. He was so much easier to deal with when he was just a plain old weasel!

The two men glared at each other until Sonny saw Mark coming toward them out of the corner of his eye.

"Am I interrupting something?" Mark asked as he returned from changing his clothes. He could sense the tension in the atmosphere as he strode back to the patio. The scene before him had all the earmarks of a showdown. He ought to know…he'd seen it so many times before in all those John Wayne movies.

"No, McCormick. Your father and I were just discussing how to get you back in the saddle, kid."

"Yeah, that's it, son."

"I see. Well does "The Kid" have any say so in this discussion?"

"Of course, McCormick. You're a grown man, speak up."

"Thank you. You both are driving me crazy!" Turning his attention toward the Judge, he continued. "You with the protein drinks and the calisthenics! You've morphed into some weird cross between Jack LaLane and Richard Simmons! Come on, Judge! I can't eat all that food! I'm just going to end up puking it up anyway! And you, Sonny, what the hell is going on with you? I don't need you defending me from the "Big Bad Wolf", in this case, the wolf happens to be a crazy old donkey, but that's beside the point! Both of you are driving me nuts and it has got to stop right here and now! Duke it out, take ten paces and draw your weapons. Do whatever you have to do but I want an end to this for once and for all!" Mark sat back at the table, nodded his head with a definitive "I guess I told them" jerk, and folded his arms as he waited for the rest of hell to break loose.

"The kid's got a point, you know. We've both been playing some kind of tug-of-war and using Mark as the rope. I'm sorry, son. I guess I was so busy trying to make up for all the times I wasn't there for you, I got carried away."

Damn it, I hate it when the kid is right. Hardcastle cleared his throat as he tried not to choke on the apology that he knew McCormick was due. He shoved his hands in his pockets, kicked the ground and muttered, "Sorry, kiddo."

"Why Judge, was that an apology I just heard from you? Judge Milton C. Hardcastle apologizing to lil' ole me?" Mark could tell by the maroon shade that washed over Hardcastle's face that he was on thin ice but he figured a potential pummeling was well worth seeing him squirm.

"Listen, McCormick, don't press your luck here! You're still in a weakened state and there's more seaweed and tincture of pine in the cupboard! I could concoct a potion that'll make you sing soprano if you keep it up, Wise guy!"

Mark couldn't help but laugh. That was the Hardcase he knew: tough as nails and ready to knock him on his keister, if necessary.

"Listen, Mark, I'm going to take off but I'll be back later this evening. Get some rest and mind the Judge, all right?" Sonny couldn't help himself; he just had to ruffle those crazy curls.

"All right", Mark grumbled, not resisting the gesture.

The two men watched Sonny make his exit with Mark wearing a look of astonishment at Sonny's continued concern for his well-being.

"I wonder what's gotten into him." Mark wondered aloud.

"You scared the hell out of him, that's what", Hardcastle stated matter-of-factly as he dug into his plate of food.

"Hmmph. I never thought I'd see the day when Sonny Daye would truly give a damn about me."

"People change, McCormick. Sometimes for the worse… sometimes for the better."

Mark ran his fingers through his unruly curls. "I guess. It's just all so weird! It's gonna take some time to get used to all this concern."

The judge put down his fork before he spoke. "You didn't see how scared he was when you were lying on the floor unconscious a couple weeks ago. That's enough to take ten years off anybody's life!" Hardcastle shuttered at the thought himself. "Now come on, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" starts in fifteen minutes! Let's get you settled in the house."

Heeding Sonny's admonishment to "mind the Judge", he slowly rose to his feet and shuffled into the main house and stretched out on the leather sofa in the den. His mind, however, wasn't on the movie. Rather, his thoughts kept drifting back to Sonny and it suddenly dawned on him how little he knew about him. Sure, he knew about his criminal record, his ill-fated singing career and run-ins with the mob but those were just sketchy facts that painted the picture of Sonny in his mind. He wanted to know more about his childhood: was he an only child, too? What were his mom and dad like? Hell, I don't even know if he has a favorite color, for God's sake!

Hardcastle glanced over at McCormick, as he lay stretched on the sofa. What's he thinking about? I can tell something's bothering him. He always gets that serious look on his face and that crease in the middle of his forehead when something's on his mind. Drat! Just when they we're getting to the good part, too!

"Is everything all right?" Hardcastle asked as he split his attention between the movie and the brooding figure across the room.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Just thinking."

"I know. I can hear the hamster turning that little wheel inside your head and I can see the smoke coming from your ears." Hardcastle joked, trying to lighten McCormick's spirits.

"Very funny. I was just thinking about what you said about Sonny earlier and it made me realize that even though he's been around more in the past couple years than he has in the last 25, I still don't know a thing about him." Mark looked down suddenly becoming quite interested in the floral pattern in the quilt that covered him, too ashamed to look Hardcastle in the eye now.

"You know he's your father, right? You know you two share a common trait besides great hair…isn't that enough?"

Mark's head sprang up. "No, Judge. That's not enough and you know it! For instance, what was your dad's favorite color?"

"Favorite color? Oh, how the hell should I know a thing like that? In my day, we didn't sit around discussing things like that! There were fields to plow, pigs to slop, corn to-"

"Shuck. Just like you're shucking and jiving me right now. Look, I know you're just trying to make me feel better, Judge, and I appreciate it but, be honest, there are basic things that you know about your dad that I don't know about mine." Mark grew even more melancholy and sighed. "I'm just a little afraid that someday I'm gonna regret not getting to know my father a little better, that's all."

"Well, why don't you just ask him what his favorite color is, for Pete's sake!" Hardcastle hadn't wanted this conversation to take a stroll down "Mushy Lane" but he couldn't enjoy the movie until he knew the kid was ok. Now he was sorry he asked.

Mark shook his head. Sometimes there's just no getting through to that Arkansas mule. However, one thing was clear: he needed to talk to Sonny and find out more about him. You know, basic things like where did he go to school? How did he and Mom meet? What's his real name? Ah yes, I can see it now: Father and son having a chat by the fire in the study. An English, no Irish Setter at his feet. Dad wearing a smoking jacket, holding a pipe and me saying, "So dad, how old were you when you hot-wired your first Studebaker?" The thought of that scenario made Mark burst out laughing while simultaneously dragging Hardcastle's attention from a particularly violent scene in the movie to conduct a quick sanity check of his young friend.

"You all right there, Kiddo?" Maybe I put a little too much Blessed Thistle in that protein shake.

"Yeah, I'm good, Hardcase. Just thinking about dear old dad." In his best Tonto voice, he continued. "Go back to shoot 'em up movie. Tonto take rest. Must have strength to get Lone Ranger's butt out of sling!"

That classic McCormick remark earned "Tonto" a fist full of popcorn in the face, courtesy of the long-suffering "Masked Man".

Later in the evening, Sonny returned as promised. Mark was stirring from his nap, surprised that he was actually hungry. The smell of pot roast with the little baby carrots and potatoes wafted through the air and coaxed him out of his snooze. Sonny walked over to the sofa and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Mark rubbed his eyes and stretched his long limbs. "Ooh, I've got to remember not to do that just yet," he thought to himself as he distractedly rubbed his right side. He greeted Sonny with a "hey dad," mid-yawn. Sonny smiled and gave his son a "hey yourself." I never get tired of hearing him call me "dad". I know it's not easy for him to call me that but he's coming around. Why does he have popcorn in his hair?

"What brings you here?" McCormick asked, apparently forgetting that Sonny said that he would be back later. Bits of popcorn kernels showered him as he tried to sit upright on the sofa and he absently brushed them to the floor. Maybe part of him never completely believed him when he said that. Under the circumstances, it was understandable. Anyone who chose to walk out on his "old lady" on his son's fifth birthday deserved a healthy dose of suspicion.

"I told ya I'd be back, son. It's ok. I guess you're still a little doped up from all you've been through," Sonny replied with a twinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Nah, he's always a little dopey when he wakes up from one of his afternoon naps," Hardcastle replied as he walked into the den toward the sofa. In a falsetto voice, he continued, "Isn't that right, Junior?" and pinched McCormick's cheek.

"Get outta here, you crazy old man!" McCormick shot back while trying to suppress a laugh.

The Judge sat down behind his mahogany desk and perched his feet atop its semi-cluttered surface. "Dinner's almost ready. Sonny called while you were enjoying your beauty sleep and he brought dessert."

"Did you get my favorite: devil's food cake, Sonny?"

"No, he got my favorite: pecan pie! It will go nicely with the vanilla ice cream in the freezer. You know how it is, kid, the chef picks the dessert."

Mark stuck his tongue out at Hardcastle when he wasn't looking; after all, he was no fool. However, Sonny saw it and chuckled silently but gave Mark a conspiratorial wink.

"Devil's food's your favorite huh, kid? Mine, too!" Sonny responded with a grin. It's nice to know we have more in common than great hair and prison records. "My mom, your Grandma Emily, made the best devil's food cake in the world!"

Mark thought for a moment before he responded. My grandmother's name is Emily? The PI didn't go back that far. "Mama made a great devil's food cake, too," he replied in a tone slightly above a whisper.

Sonny shifted uncomfortably where he was still standing in the den and finally spoke with caution. "Yes she did, son. Yes she did."

Hardcastle cleared his throat as he rose from his chair to avert a potentially awkward moment and said, "That pot roast should be just about ready. Come and get it!"

Sonny was about to follow the Judge to the dining room until he turned around and saw Mark struggling to get up from the sofa.

"You all right, son? Here, let me help you." He took Mark by the elbow and helped him steady himself.

"Yeah. It's just that I got a little stiff from lying down too long, thanks, dad." McCormick grunted as he straightened his lean body to adjust to being vertical again.

"No problem!" He called me "dad" again!

Sonny moved his grip from Mark's elbow and placed his hand on his shoulder as he matched his slower cadence to the dining room. He could not help but feel how the bones jutted from it and silently prayed that his son would get back to his "regular" skinny self instead of the "super' skinny Mark that was before him.

Just as father and son were about to turn toward the dining room, Hardcastle announced, "Dinner will be served on the patio, gentlemen."

Both men gave each other a "who me?" look, shrugged their shoulders and continued their trek to the backyard.

After the fiasco from breakfast, dinner was much more subdued in comparison. Normal sized portions of pot roast, rolls and salad were served instead of "Vikings Returning from Pillaging"- sized, consequently creating a more relaxed atmosphere for Mark. Mark's eyes fell to a huge brown spot in the grass where he'd disposed of his "protein" drink earlier. "Uh oh! I hope Hardcastle doesn't notice it", he thought as he glanced nervously between the Judge and the grass. As he dug into his meal, his thoughts wandered back to his grandmother Emily. "I wonder if grandma ever cooked a meal like this," his thoughts manifesting themselves as mumbled words.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Kiddo."

"Huh? I didn't say anything, Hardcase!"

"Yeah, son, you did. You said something about your grandmother."

"Oh." Mark was flustered. He could have sworn he had kept that to himself. "It's nothing. Hey Hardcase, could you pass the rolls?"

Sonny decided to let it slide but he knew that someday soon, he would have to fill Mark in on the rest of his family. The kid has a right to know. Maybe after dinner, I could talk with him alone.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, just the usual banter between Mark and the Judge while Sonny looked on entertained but still awkwardly out of the loop. The witty repartee between those two often left the casual observer on the sidelines; it was just too dangerous to join in sometimes. When it was clear that McCormick was not going to eat another bite, Hardcastle stood up and began to clear the dishes from the table, however, Mark invariably resented being treated like an invalid.

"I'll help, Judge," Mark offered. Sonny and the Judge looked at him at the same time as if he had grown a second head and McCormick quickly learned that his assistance was neither expected nor welcome. "Ok. I get the hint. I'll be a good little invalid and watch you guys tackle the dishes."

"Well, that's the smartest thing I've heard you say all day, McCormick! Besides, it's time for you to take your pill, anyway."

"Aww, I'm not in any pain, Judge." Hardcastle shot an unconvinced look at McCormick. Mark backpedaled. "Well, not a whole lot, anyway. I can wait another hour or so."

"And you call me a stubborn mule! You oughta take a look in the mirror some time, Kiddo!" Hardcastle replied as he sat back down at the table. The dishes can wait 'til later. He's really starting to tick me off!

I guess now's as good a time as any…here goes nothing. "He gets it honest, Milt." Sonny laughed nervously and then continued. "My mother was maybe five-feet tall but she sure could pack a punch! She kept us kids in line, that's for sure!" Sonny rubbed his jaw as he thought about the time when he was 13 and thought that it was no big deal for him to come home at 3 a.m. via the window off the fire escape of their fifth floor walk-up.

It was Mark's turn for his face to take on a crimson hue. There's more like you somewhere out there in the world, Sonny? Maybe Sonny's the black sheep of the family. Something else we have in common, I suppose.

"Is she still alive? Your mom, I mean… my grandmother?" McCormick asked as he leaned forward in his chair eagerly awaiting an answer.

Sonny paused for a long time, staring at the pool, before he responded. "Yeah, she's about 75 now. She kinda wrote me off a long time ago. I can't say I blame her." He shook his head and for a brief moment, regret flashed across his face.

"Does...does she know about me?"

Sonny nodded his head. "I sent her your birth announcement and she has your picture from your first day of pre- school. You haven't changed all that much, except you've got all your front teeth, now."

Mark laughed as he said, "yeah, well won't if I keep hanging around old Hardcase, here!"

Growing serious for a moment, Sonny continued, "She knows about what I did to you and your mom. I…I think that's the real reason why she cut me out of her life."

Hardcastle sat and listened as he watched McCormick's expressions change from fear and shame to cautious optimism. He knew that as close as he and Mark were, the kid never felt whole. Mark envied his having a brother and no matter how useless he was, he was still family, according to McCormick, anyway. Hardcastle also knew that all of this had to be overwhelming for Mark.

Mark broke his silence and asked, "Do you think she would want to have anything to do with me? I don't know. I would love to meet her but what would I say, "Hi, I'm Mark, your long-lost grandson! Did you make any cookies?" Mark looked down, folding his hands in his lap.

"I know she would, son." Sonny said as he lifted his son's chin to look him in the eye. For a split second, he caught a glimpse of the five-year old child with the mound of sandy blond curls and big blue eyes he left behind in Jersey in what seemed like a lifetime ago. The curls were darker now but the same innocence was there.

"Don't be an idiot, McCormick! You could start out with a phone call. I won't even charge you: this time!" Hardcastle blustered. He knew that this was something McCormick had always dreamed of hearing but he also knew his fear of rejection was paralyzing him and that the wisecracks were just his way of avoiding inevitable hurt.

"I don't think I'm ready, yet, Judge." Mark's face took on a child-like expression once again. "This is all gonna take some getting used to. I think I'm gonna lie down for a while. I'm… kinda tired. Goodnight, Judge. Goodnight, Sonny."

Sonny and Hardcastle watched as McCormick dragged himself out of the chair and back to the main house. "Well, the kid wanted to know about his family, now he knows," Hardcastle mused to himself. Sonny addressing the Judge with, "Well, I guess I'll be going", punctuated the abrupt end to the evening. "Thanks for dinner."

"Yeah, no problem, Sonny. Listen: how long are you going to be in town this time? You have to know that you can't cut out and leave him like this, right?" Sonny shrugged his shoulders and feigned a look of innocence. Counting to ten, Hardcastle continued. "Sonny, I don't care much for you and I haven't exactly made that a secret. I also haven't made it a secret that that boy means a lot to me and I'm not just going to stand by and watch you drop a building on him and ride out of town!" The veins in Hardcastle's neck bulged as he mentally calculated how many years he would get for killing a man with his bare hands.

"I wouldn't do that to him! I swear, I really meant it when I said I wanted a fresh start with him!" Sonny replied, resentment coloring his words. "Believe it or, not, Hardcastle, I love my son and I want to make things right. I cheated him out of a normal life and I just wanted him to know that he does have a family that loves him."

"That's sweet, Sonny," Hardcastle replied with a sardonic smile that morphed into an angry scowl, "but where the hell was this loving family when he was getting the crap kicked out of him by his loving uncle, huh? You heard what he said when he was half out of his mind with fever! I haven't forgotten and he sure as hell hasn't either! I meant it when I said I was going to find his Uncle Dave: even if I have to follow him to Hell!" Hardcastle paced back and forth on the patio in a desperate attempt to gain control of his emotions and his blood pressure.

Mark watched from the second story window as he saw Sonny and the Judge in the midst of yet another tug-of-war. He sighed and scuffed his way back to the bed he was currently occupying and perched himself on the edge of it. He'd always known about his mother's mother; he couldn't bring himself to call her his "grandmother" but to find out that he had another grandmother that may actually care to know that he was still alive? It was hard to fathom and more than a little unsettling. He rubbed his side and carefully stretched out on the bed as he contemplated calling her. So consumed by his thoughts he didn't hear the knock on the bedroom door about twenty minutes later. "Hey Kiddo, are you all right in there?" he heard the Judge inquire as the knocks grew louder and more frequent.

"I'm coming, Judge! I forgot that I locked the door." Mark slowly rolled onto his left side and took his time walking across the room.

Hardcastle gave Mark an appraising look, just to make sure he wasn't experiencing a physical setback of some kind. He still looked like death warmed over but that was ironically, a marked improvement over the last few days.

"How're ya feeling, Sport?"

"Great! I should back on my feet in no time, Judge. You know, I noticed that there's a huge brown spot in the back lawn. I wonder if they're having a sale on grass seed at the nursery. Mrs. Hinckley said that we should be using Kentucky bluegrass—"

Hardcastle interrupted McCormick's nervous patter. "Slow down, kid. I asked you how the weather was and you're reciting the Farmer's Almanac! Sit down." McCormick, with an uncharacteristic obedience, sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "Now, for the record, I don't give a damn about the lawn right now, ok?" Mark nodded in understanding and began, "Judge-"

"I'm not finished, McCormick. Listen, I know you wanted to know more about your family but Sonny dropped one helluva whopper on you back there. I just wanted to let you know that if there's anything you want to talk about, I'm here, all right?"

"Thanks, Judge, but I'm ok, really," Mark replied but the words sounded almost robotic; as though he really wasn't there; as though he was in two places at once. There was so much that he wanted to say but chastised himself for being tempted to unburden himself to Hardcastle. It was bad enough that he hadn't left his side since his latest hospital stay, although there wasn't so much as a hint of weariness from Hardcastle filling the role of the dutiful, longsuffering caregiver. It was just too much to ask of the man to watch him as he slowly fell apart. No, some things should remain buried, like his hellish childhood spent at the hands of his Uncle Dave. Why am I thinking of him now? I haven't thought about that sick bastard in twenty years! Mark reached for the silver chain and St. Jude medal that never left his neck and rubbed it with his thumb as if to invoke the power to help him overcome what was to him, a desperate situation, indeed.

Not at all convinced, Hardcastle bid him goodnight and left the room. He stood outside the door for at least five minutes as he contemplated his next step. Slowly plodding to the basement, he opened the file cabinet marked "Lo-Mi" and flipped through the file tabs until he spied the folder he was looking for. He paused before reading the contents, already extremely familiar with the subject of his inquiry. He had used his substantial judiciary influence to obtain a copy of his sidekick's "sealed" juvenile record when he first considered him for the job but never had a concrete reason to review it beyond a cursory glossing over: until now. He thumped the folder and eased himself down into one of the dusty folding chairs that cluttered the basement. The answer he sought was right there in black and white: "McCormick, Mark David, d.o.b: 9/16/54" with one of many mug shot photos attached. One such photo could have just as easily been cut right from a high school yearbook, except for the placard emblazoned with a booking number that the kid held in his hands. There were also several handwritten notes from various social workers and counselors and words such as "depressed", "suicidal" and "anti-social" seemed to be the consensus to describe the young man. It struck Hardcastle as odd that he hadn't noticed that before. He continued his research, a quest to find the address for his last known guardian: David McCormick. He was named after that lowlife. The snatches of the nightmarish childhood that Mark endured slipped out while he was in the throes of a raging fever, but Hardcastle was determined to uncover the ugly truth. The line between revenge and justice at this point was nearly invisible. Records from County Hospital in New Jersey revealed that emergency room physicians had treated McCormick for various injuries at least half a dozen times from the age of 12 to 15. No wonder he hates hospitals… McCormick's last known address in the file was 7374 Clinton Avenue, Newark, NJ and Hardcastle's anger boiled as he wondered if the kid's uncle still lived there. With a heavy heart, Hardcastle stood up still gripping the folder in his hands and retired for the night.

As he ascended the stairs to second floor, he heard what sounded like whimpering coming from Mark's temporary bedroom. He quickened his footsteps and charged in the room without knocking. The whimpering had turned to him shouting the words, "NO! PLEASE STOP!" Just as Hardcastle was about to shake him awake, McCormick bolted upright, breathing heavily and shaking with a wild-eyed look, almost as if he didn't know where he was, uncertain whether who or what was terrorizing him in his dream was still lurking around somewhere.

"You ok, kiddo?" the startled older man asked as Mark struggled to gain control of his breathing. It seemed that he had been asking him that question all too often as of late.

It felt like an eternity before Mark replied, "Umm. I'm fine. Sorry if I woke you up. Go on back to bed, Judge, thanks."

"Not so fast, hotshot. You're not getting off that easy. I want you to level with me here, kid. You had a nightmare about your Uncle Dave, didn't you?"

Mark felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. He couldn't imagine how in the world Hardcastle always managed to zero in on what was troubling with such accuracy. He had never mentioned a thing about what he endured from his Uncle Dave to him, ever, had he? He stared down at his still shaking hands while desperately trying to sidestep the question. He settled for simply lying and whispered, "No", hoping that Hardcastle would let it go.

His hopes were dashed when the judge uttered the words, "I don't believe you and I'm gonna tell you why." Hardcastle paused to find the right words. "Do you remember everything from when you were sick a couple weeks ago?" Mark furrowed his brow as if he was trying to capture some tiny, fleeting thought that eluded him. With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head in the negative. Hardcastle continued. "You weren't completely there", as he pointed to his own head to indicate his meaning. "When you were on the sofa in the gatehouse, you weren't making a whole lot sense and at one point you cried out. You…you were begging your uncle to stop…to stop hitting you." The disgust on Hardcastle's face countered a look of humiliation and horror on Mark's. The Judge relived the moment in his own mind when he heard McCormick's unanswered pleas for mercy.

He knew that he should say something but he didn't know where to begin. He closed his eyes, relieved somehow, that at least the ugly, painful secret was out there in the open. He no longer needed to hide it or hide from it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to put his thoughts to words. A wave of dread overcame him as he asked, "Was Sonny there, too?" God I hope not. I don't know if I could face him, if he was.

Hardcastle nodded and patted Mark's leg. "If you ever want to you know, talk, I'm here for you, kiddo, ok?"

The shame of the abuse had taken hold of him all over again and had rendered him speechless. He recalled the hot summer days in Newark when all of the other neighborhood kids were playing in the open fire hydrant on the corner of his street or swimming in the pool. All except him because it would have meant taking off his shirt and no longer hiding the scars and bruises that covered his chest, back and arms and having to explain how they got there. He shook his head to bring him back to the present and forgot that Hardcastle was still there waiting for a reply. A weak "Thanks" was the best that McCormick could offer. Hardcastle patted Mark's shoulder and once again bid him goodnight.

Morning dawned at Gulls Way, but neither resident made an appearance at the breakfast table. Hardcastle, still troubled by what he read in the kid's file the night before, dressed early and headed downtown his visit his old friend Lieutenant Frank Harper to discuss his next move in person. He couldn't run the risk of McCormick overhearing a phone conversation with Harper. Mark, on the other hand, did not want to face the Judge after the previous night's ordeal so he lingered in the spare bedroom until he heard the roar of Hardcastle's truck engine and watched out the window as he drove away from the estate. Figuring the coast was clear, McCormick threw on some sweatpants and carefully maneuvered down the stairs and headed out the front door, walking toward the gatehouse. Once he arrived at his destination, he had a renewed sense of determination as he looked for the items that he had stashed away in the bureau drawer: a pack of Kools and a book of matches. He struck the match, touched it to the tip of the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled as if to expel the nightmare from his memory that had overtaken him the night before. It had been months since he had last smoked, mostly because one of his girlfriends complained that his hair smelled like tobacco. This time, there was nothing stopping him, as he was presently single. The first puff of the cigarette made him feel light headed and he sat down heavily in one of the armchairs in the living room. Meanwhile, Sonny chose that exact moment to walk into the gatehouse. Stunned to see the kid smoking, he remarked, "I don't think that's on Hardcastle's list of things to get you back on your feet, kid."

Mark shrugged his shoulders, hung his head and simply said, "Hey Sonny" and then took another drag of the cigarette with his back to Sonny. He was not in the mood for any lectures about the evils of smoking from him or anyone else, for that matter.

"What's going, on?" Sonny gestured toward the smoke that filled the room.

"Nothing. Just felt like taking a smoke, that's all. If it's bothering you, I'll put it out."

"No, go ahead, smoke away. You're a grown man." He couldn't quite gauge the kid's state of mind but tried to keep the conversation going. "So, how're ya feeling?"

"Fine. You?" "Mark the Robot" made a return appearance, this time for his old man.

Sonny stretched, sniffed and sucked in his gut as he spoke. "Great, just great. Did you eat yet? I figured we could grab a bite to eat since Hardcastle's not here."

"I'm not hungry."

"Son, you gotta eat! You're as thin as a rail! Besides, I can't let old Hardcase think I'm neglecting you." Sonny said with a nervous chuckle as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

You've done that enough as it is. "I said I'm not hungry… Dad!" Immediately regretting snapping at the man, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sonny."

"It's ok kid. It takes a lot more than that to scare your old man here, especially when it's coming from a skinny stick like you!" Sonny quipped.

Mark snickered as he snuffed out his cigarette. "Let me take a quick shower and we'll grab something." Sonny's face brightened as he watched Mark disappear into the tiny bathroom. A few minutes later, a dripping wet Mark emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, which gave Sonny the opportunity to see first-hand, just how much his son had wasted away. He could count the kid's ribs, as they seemed to threaten to burst from his skin. He sighed, as Mark took longer than usual to climb the stairs to the loft.

While father and son dined in a little eatery near the beach, Hardcastle paced back and forth in Frank Harper's office. "Milt, will you please sit down! You're making me dizzy here pacing like some caged animal! I'm just telling you not to get your hopes up about laying into that bum. You know the law as well as I do. Hell, you know more than me!"

Hardcastle stopped dead in his tracks. "So you're saying I should just forget about it and pretend it never happened?" He placed his fists on Frank's desk and leaned his muscular frame forward to look him in the eye.

Frank ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. Why do I always find myself in these situations? He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as if he was looking for some kind of divine intervention. "No, Milt, that's not what I'm saying at all and you know it! I just wanted to lay out the legalese so that we're clear. Newark P.D. may not even give a damn about this after all these years!" Hardcastle opened his mouth to speak but Harper held up a hand to fend off the tirade. "However, it's not up to them. It's up to the D.A.'s office and we have to convince them to press charges but if the star witness won't talk, we don't have a case! It's as simple and as complicated as that, Milt. I'm sorry. I wish I had a better answer for you." Harper leaned back in his chair as he plopped the pen in his hand on the desk and watched Milt's face fall in resignation.

"Can you at least run a check to see if that piece of scum still lives at this address?" Hardcastle demanded in the form of a question through clenched jaws.

"I already told you that I would make a couple calls and see what I come up with, Milt. Now go on home and I'll call you if I hear anything!"

The Judge slammed his Yankees baseball cap on his head and stomped toward the door but before he left the office he grunted, "Thanks, Frank."

"No problem, Milt. Don't worry: if there's anything that we can do, we'll get him." Frank's statement carried the weight of a promise: a promise to do anything in his power to help his friends.

Feeling utterly defeated, Hardcastle decided to stop by "Burger Man" on his way back to the estate to grab a greasy treat for McCormick. He hoped that the kid was in a better state of mind than he was last night. If Frank can't come up with a legal way to get that dirt bag, then I'll just have to pay a visit to Newark myself! He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic light to change and decided to see what McCormick found so entertaining about "Creedence Clearwater Revival". The lyrics took his mind back to the kid as he too, wondered "Who'll Stop the Rain".

When he arrived back at Gulls Way, he called Mark's name but got no response. Ducking his head in the den, he saw no sign of the curly headed young man. Fear gripped his heart as he took the stairs two at a time see if he was still sleeping. The only thing that greeted him was the unmade bed. Where the hell are you, kiddo? His search of the main house yielded nothing so he expanded it to the gatehouse. As he entered the tiny house, he shouted "McCormick!" There was no sign of him there either and just as he was about to call Harper and have him put out an APB on him he noticed a note next to the phone. It read, "Judge, I'm taking the kid out for breakfast. Sorry we missed you. Sonny." For the first time since Sonny reappeared in McCormick's life, he was genuinely impressed with the man. He didn't have to leave me a note. McCormick is his son, not mine! Perhaps, it was time to set aside his mistrust of him. Maybe he could help him to get McCormick to talk about what his uncle had done to him. He took a whiff of the air and thought he smelled smoke. The single cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table confirmed his suspicions. I'm gonna have a talk with him as soon as he gets back!

Sonny and McCormick returned around noon and joined Hardcastle on the patio. Mark removed his sunglasses, sat down wearily, and said, "Hey Hardcase! Where'd ya go this morning? You could've joined Sonny and me for breakfast!"

Hardcastle took in the tired blue eyes and noticed McCormick lightly rubbing his side again. "Never mind that. Do you care to explain this?" He stooped over to retrieve the ashtray from under his chair and slid it across the table, ashes flying in the process.

"Umm… the Avon Lady had a nicotine fit?" Mark tried to joke but it sank like a lead balloon.

"I'm not kidding around here, McCormick. Now talk!"

"I just felt like taking a smoke, no big deal!" Mark sat up straight in his seat as he geared up for World War III.

"Listen, Mark, I'm not going to just stand by and watch you destroy yourself! This thing with your uncle is eating you alive! You hardly eat; you're having nightmares and now this! He stood up and assumed the same position he had used earlier in Frank's office. Sonny watched the exchange and interjected. "Wait a minute! What's this about Dave?" He directed his next question to Mark. "You're having nightmares? How come you didn't say anything when we were at the pier?" Sonny scratched his head and stared Mark in the eye, awaiting an explanation.

Mark did his level best to maintain his control but the valve that contained his emotions malfunctioned. "Because I'm a 32 year-old man who is too damned old to still have nightmares about things that happened 20 years ago, that's why!" His breaths became quicker and his pulse shot through the roof. "You want me to talk! Okay, I'll talk!" He snatched up his right shirtsleeve to expose a deep scar on his bicep. "You see this scar? I got this because I forgot to take out the trash after I got home from school one day! You see, in the McCormick household, an infraction like that earned me a trip down the basement stairs, courtesy of Uncle Dave's fist! I tore my arm open on a rusty nail and broke my wrist and a couple ribs!" He fingered the scar and shook his head.

The two men were at a loss for words. The sound of Mark panting almost drowned out the sound of the birds chirping in the distance. He stood up and stomped back and forth in the yard as he jerked his fingers through his hair. Sonny spoke up first: "Son, I didn't-", but Mark interrupted. "Wait, gentlemen, there's more where that came from! One day, I was sent home from school early because I had a stomachache. I guess being denied food two or three times a week does that to a body. When I got home, Uncle Dave was working on his eighth beer when he saw me walk in the house and he just knew that I got kicked out for one reason or another. He staggered over to me with his smelly beer breath and socked me right in the gut!" He paused as he tried to gather his composure to finish his description of what happened next. His emotions were so raw, the anguish so fresh, they overflowed into his words. "I…I fell to my knees… and puked on the rug, which pissed him off even more, and he then proceeded to beat the crap out of me! At least I got something to eat when I woke up in the hospital three days later!" Neither man could bear to look at him for what he said was beyond comprehension. Taking that as a cue to spare them any more sorrow he said, "Well, thanks for listening, gentlemen! I hope you found this conversation as entertaining as I have!" McCormick turned on his heels and marched toward the gatehouse but then abruptly changed course and chose to take the path toward the beach.

Hardcastle and Sonny sat there for what seemed like hours before either of them found their voices. It was Sonny's turn to pace. "I'm not gonna let that…that lowlife get away with putting my son through that bullshit! You know, I'm no straight arrow and I don't really care what happens to me," Sonny's voice took on a cold, menacing tone, "but I know people back east... they can handle Dave today: permanently!"

Hardcastle contemplated offering Sonny the use of his telephone to make it happen but instead he forced himself to snap out of the trance he was in and remember that he was an officer of the court, sworn to uphold the law. "Sonny, I would like nothing better than to give him a taste of the same torture he put the kid through but we're gonna have to let the law handle that bastard." He heard himself saying the words but his heart churned with vengeance.

"The law? Where the hell was the law when my son was getting the crap kicked out of him for having a goddamn stomachache, huh? With all due respect, Judge, I don't give a damn about the law right now! I want David McCormick's head on a platter and I'm not gonna rest until that happens!" Sonny grabbed his suit jacket and was about to storm off to his car. If Hardcastle won't do anything, then I will!

The Judge grabbed Sonny's arm with vise-like grip forcing him to stop in his tracks. "Mark needs us to keep cool heads. The last thing he needs is for one of us to end up behind bars trying to defend his honor!" Sonny was unconvinced and the expression on his face said as much but he decided to hear the man out. "That would kill him! Let's just give him some time alone so he can pull himself together and be there for him when he wants to talk. I know that kid, and even though he may be dying on the inside, the last thing he wants is for us to be hurt, too. Trust me, Sonny."

Although he hated to admit it, the Judge had a point. With a resigned sigh, Sonny draped his jacket across the back of one of the chairs on the patio and stared toward the path where he last saw his son. "I'm gonna go talk to him, Judge." Hardcastle nodded his approval and watched Sonny's retreating figure. "I hope the kid's all right," Hardcastle thought to himself. He had another horrifying thought as he recalled what he'd read in McCormick's file. "I hope he hasn't gone and done anything stupid," this time in a worried whisper.

Sonny negotiated the path and saw his son sitting on a huge boulder on the deserted beach, tossing pebbles into the ocean. He looked so lost, so utterly broken as the wind whipped through his curls. Sonny stood there staring at his boy for several minutes before he mustered the courage to approach him. "Hiya, son. Can I join you?" Mark shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the pebbles in his hand. He was just too mortified to make eye contact right now. Sonny climbed up on the boulder, wearing his trademark shirt and tie and placed a hand on Mark's back. Mark secretly relished the display of affection and did not shy away from it. Another turning point in our relationship, I guess. There were no false platitudes, this time; the comfort came from the two of them staring out on the horizon together: in silence. After several minutes, Sonny seized the opportunity to pull his son into an embrace and it took every ounce of strength for Mark not to break down and start bawling like a three-year-old. Instead, Mark whispered, "Thanks, Dad", to which Sonny replied, "Anytime, son."

Mark knew he had been gone a long time and that Hardcastle was worried about him. He'd seen the look in his eye when he was recounting the abuse. Those were just the highlights! There's more where that came from! "We'd better get back to the house. Hardcastle will kill me if I catch a cold from sitting out here all day!" As they crawled down from the boulder, Mark saw the Judge standing at the top of the bluff that overlooked the beach but before he could say anything, he darted out of sight. Good old Hardcase, always looking out for me! Thanks, Hardcase.

The two men returned from their excursion to the beach and Mark's stomach rumbled as soon as he saw grease-soaked "Burger Man" bag sitting on the patio table.

"Sorry, kiddo. I brought this for you earlier but you weren't here. It's probably no good now so I'll just toss it," Hardcastle teased.

"Are you kidding? That makes it even better when it's been sitting around for a while! It gives the grease a chance to soak in!" Sonny and the Judge exchanged similarly repulsed looks as Mark sank his teeth into the greasy delight and uttered a "thank you" around a mouthful of burger.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, son." Sonny winked at Hardcastle as Mark looked at him with a look of exasperation. Great! Now I've got two of 'em on my case!

The phone rang and Hardcastle stumbled trying to hurry into the house to answer it. Maybe it's Frank calling with some kind of lead on the kid's uncle. Mark noticed the Judge's reaction and followed him with his eyes as he trotted into the house instead of using the phone right next to them on the table.

"Yeah, hello!" he barked into the phone's receiver.

"Well, 'yeah hello' to you, too, Milt!" Frank Harper imitated Hardcastle's irritated greeting.

"What did you find out, Frank?" Hardcastle's patience was virtually non-existent. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now!

"I was just getting to that, Milt. It appears that David McCormick still lives at the same address. I called one of my contacts in Newark and there is no statute of limitations on child abuse cases in the state of New Jersey."

Hardcastle's faith in the justice system was galvanized by Frank's last statement. "Ha ha Frank! That's good news! We're gonna get this guy! I've got the evidence to make the charges stick, too!"

"Hold on, Milt! The records from the hospital are good but…" Frank hesitated; knowing what he was going to say next was nearly asking the impossible.

"But what, Frank?" The Judge paced back and forth behind his desk, unable to contain his excitement.

"In order to make the charges stick, we're going to need Mark's statement. Those records could be construed as circumstantial, you know, simple childhood accidents. That kind of thing, Milt."

Hardcastle blew out an exasperated breath. "I know McCormick and there's no way he's gonna do that."

"Do what?" McCormick asked as he stood on the top step of the den leaning on the doorframe.

"Frank, I gotta call you back." Hardcastle slammed the phone down. "How long you been standing there, kid? I oughta put a bell around your neck!" A sudden wave of guilt washed over him as he was caught red-handed.

"Long enough to know that this sounds like something that I'm not gonna wanna to do, Hardcase." McCormick smirked as folded his arms.

"Go get Sonny. This involves him, too."

"I don't like the sound of this, Judge. Will you just tell me what's going on? You're starting to freak me out here!" McCormick didn't budge from where he stood.

"Oh! Will you just do what I ask for once in your life?" How am I going to convince that stubborn mule to press charges against his own uncle? Family means so much to him, he's never gonna do it.

Mark did as he was told for the second time in as many days and summoned Sonny to the den. "Ok, Hardcase. Now will you tell me what's going on? What does any of this have to do with Sonny? What is it that I'm not gonna do?"

Under ordinary circumstances Hardcastle would have said, "if you'd shut your fat mouth for a minute, I'll tell you!" but this was different. Mark opened his soul in a way that Hardcastle had never seen in the almost three years since he'd known him. He needed to take a different approach. "That was Frank Harper on the phone," Hardcastle stated in an effort to stall for more time.

"Yes, Judge, I figured that much out when you said, "Frank, I gotta call you back", now what's this all about?" Mark was growing more and more worried as the His Honor seemed to be beating around the bush. He told me to get Sonny because this involves him. Is he in trouble again? I knew there had to be a reason why he's been around so much lately!

"Sit down, kiddo." McCormick complied, casting his eyes toward his father hoping to gain some insight about what was going on. Sonny simply shrugged his shoulders and waited for the Judge to speak. Hardcastle waited until he had Mark's full attention before he continued. "I, umm, took another look at your files last night, specifically your juvenile records." Mark's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Is he gonna to send me up? What did I do now? Hardcastle knew he'd better get to the point or else the kid was going to faint from holding his breath. "I found your uncle's address and took your file down to Frank's office this morning." The confusion on Mark and Sonny's faces was unmistakable. "I want him to pay for what he did to you, Mark, so… I asked Frank to see what we could do to make that happen."

Mark's voice shook with anger as he growled, "you had no right to do that! Why can't we just let sleeping dogs lie"? McCormick rose to his feet and was about to stalk out of the room but Sonny intercepted his departure.

Sonny placed both his hands on Mark's shoulders and looked into his sad blue eyes. "Wait, son. I think you should think it over. Hardcastle's right: Dave needs to pay for what he did to you all those years!" Sonny lightly shook Mark's shoulders as if to shake some sense into him.

He broke from Sonny's grasp and turned his back to both men. "You two just don't get it, do you? I don't want to talk about it anymore! I'm sorry I told you anything! It's over now and I just want to forget it ever happened! Besides, it was a long time ago. I was a snot-nosed kid and maybe… I had some of that coming." The last statement was barely audible but Hardcastle caught it.

"Listen, kiddo, a 12 year-old boy does not deserve to be thrown down a flight of stairs for not taking out the garbage!" He walked over to McCormick and placed a hand on his back. "Mark, look at me." McCormick turned to face the Judge but his eyes remained on the floor. Hardcastle took Mark's face in his hands and held them there until their blue eyes met. "I know I was wrong for not talking to you first but I refuse to apologize for wanting to see this guy fry!"

"I…I don't want to deal with this, ok? Can't…can't we just leave it alone, please?" Mark pleaded as though his life depended on it.

It was Sonny's turn to speak. "Son, I can only imagine how hard this must be for you but ignoring it isn't gonna make it go away! If you don't do this, Dave wins! He gets away with destroying you and there's no way on earth I'm gonna let that happen!"

Mark was so confused: part of him wanted to make Dave pay for what he did to him but then another part of him was still a terrified little boy. The thought of facing his uncle again after all these years made him feel sick to his stomach. He suddenly bolted out of the den and stumbled toward the powder room down the hall where he violently expelled the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He slid down the far wall onto the floor, breathing heavily, his body trembling. Sonny and Hardcastle pounded on the door and called his name but he just didn't have the strength to answer. Hardcastle quickly threw courtesy out the window and forced the door open. The sight of Mark sitting on the floor with his legs curled up and his eyes closed sent a chill down his spine. He kneeled in front of him, stroked his hair and simply said "Mark?"

"Yeah, Hardcase. I'm here." Mark replied in a breathless whisper.

"Come on, I'm taking you to the hospital!"

"No! I don't want to go back to the hospital, Milt. Just help me up. I want to lie down for a while."

Hardcastle grabbed Mark's wrist to check his pulse. Damn, too fast! "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you upright!" He shifted his weight so that he could place an arm around him and helped him to his feet. Mark was so weak that he leaned heavily on the Judge, barely able to place one foot in front of the other. His steps came to a sudden stop as he paused halfway through his journey to the den. "Sonny! Give me a hand with him!" Sonny hurried to Mark's side and together they managed to transfer him to the sofa.

Mark slowly opened his eyes while waiting for the room to stop spinning. He couldn't figure out why he was lying down or why Sonny and Hardcastle were hovering over him with looks of concern on their faces. "What's going, on? Did I miss something?" Mark asked as he attempted to sit up but Hardcastle pushed him back down.

"Hold on, kiddo, just lie still."

"Why? I feel fine. Let me up, Hardcase!"

"I think you should stay here, son, until you get your bearings."

Sonny then went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for Mark and encouraged him to take a sip. Mark accepted the proffered glass with shaking hands and drank cautiously. His eyes drooped as he struggled to stay awake but weariness won out. He slept fitfully for the next three hours. Although, there was no more blood-curdling screams, he still begged for the pain to stop as he tossed his head from side to side in his sleep. He finally jerked awake and really was not surprised to find that his watchers still held their posts. He had mixed feelings about confronting his uncle and all he wanted was to be alone for a while so he could think! His troubled eyes were met by two sets of empathetic ones. Feeling the need to reassure them of his well-being he spoke: "I'm sorry if I scared you guys, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go upstairs for a while" The underlying sadness in McCormick's voice was palpable.

"Wait a minute; I don't think you should be going upstairs by yourself. Here, let me help you." Sonny rose to help Mark but he held up a hand to fend off the gesture.

"Thanks, Dad, but I can do it myself." He rebuffed as he slowly rose from the sofa.

"Are you sure, son?" Sonny asked as he watched Mark with a concerned eye.

"Yeah, I kinda want to be alone right now." Mark could feel their eyes boring holes into his back as he lumbered across the room. He stood on the top step with his back to them, dropped his head and without warning turned toward the front door. He suddenly felt claustrophobic and couldn't stand to be in the same house with them for a second longer; he couldn't bear being the object of their pity. He staggered toward the gatehouse but stopped in his tracks and turned his face toward the afternoon sky as the March breeze caressed his face. The overwhelming desire to run from everything flooded his soul but he knew he wouldn't make it very far in his current state. Hell, he wasn't even up for taking a ride in the Coyote. Damn stitches. Taking the pickup truck was out of the question…old Hardcase would have me locked up before I could even get the key in the ignition...so he settled for the solitude of gatehouse. Once he reached his destination, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He hoped that everyone would understand that he just wanted some time alone to think about the situation at hand. Why am I still afraid of him after all these years? Mark's mind took him back to that tiny house in Newark. He could remember the first time he set foot in the door as if it was yesterday. He was a sullen and withdrawn 12 year-old boy still reeling from his mother's death, never stringing together more than two or three words at a time. He must have given one too many one-worded responses that first night and his uncle snapped. He grabbed him by the collar and shook him while shouting the words, "You ungrateful bastard! I take you into my home and you have the nerve to disrespect me? Maybe it's time somebody taught you some manners, since your whore of a mother didn't!" He drew his hand back and slapped Mark across the face with enough force to make blood run from his nose. Temporarily stunned, the frightened boy broke from Dave's grasp, raced up the stairs and locked the door behind him. He could hear his uncle's wife, Angela, pleading with him to stop but all that did was enrage him even more and focus his fury toward her. Mark cowered in the corner of the room and sobbed until he fell asleep.

He was brought back to the present by the pain that shot through his body as he realized that he had unconsciously assumed the same pose that he had nearly 20 years ago in that sparsely decorated bedroom. Mark felt the despair begin to permeate his heart and he was on the brink of weeping but he refused to let the tears fall. No, he had mourned enough; he mourned for his mother and for the loss of the feeling of security and unconditional love. However, it almost seemed as if Sonny and the Judge would not be satisfied until he broke down and cried but he simply refused to open that door, terrified if that he did, he would never stop.

Meanwhile, Sonny who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the drama addressed Hardcastle as they sat in the den. "Milt, you know him better than I do. Do you think he's gonna be all right?" Sonny's standard carefree façade was replaced by the look of genuine alarm.

"I wish I knew, Sonny, I really wish I knew. I've never seen him this way before. One thing I know for sure, once he digs his heels in, it's impossible to make him do anything he doesn't want to do." Hardcastle sighed and shook his head. He had worried about the kid's health on more than one occasion but this was the first time he ever feared for his sanity. Mark was in a dark place and he wasn't sure if there was any turning back.

"Yeah, I figured out that much about him. I've been on the receiving end of that Irish temper of his more than once. I guess the best thing for us to do is let him sort things out on his own." Sonny reached for his suit jacket, slung it over his shoulder and walked toward the door. "Judge, call me and let me know how he's doing, ok?"

"You can count on it, Sonny. Take care." Hardcastle comforted the man as he extended his right hand to him. Sonny accepted the hand with an expression that spoke of his undying gratitude to Hardcastle for being in his son's life.

Resisting the urge to run over to the gatehouse to check up on McCormick, the Judge settled for turning on the TV to drown out the worry that threatened to consume him. The news was just another noisy distraction as he tossed the kid's words around in his brain. He thought about all times he had seen that scar on his arm; whenever they played a game of one-on-one, or when he worked in the yard but he knew he would never see it the same way again. It would always be a reminder of the cruelty inflicted upon McCormick when he was too young or too afraid to defend himself. It never ceased to amaze him how people could shatter the trust of the innocent without an ounce of regret. He looked across the yard to the dark house and made a silent promise to the young man whose spirit he saw break before his eyes. I promise you, kid; I won't ever let that animal hurt you ever again!

The night dragged on and Hardcastle decided to try to get some sleep since it appeared that McCormick was not coming back. He reached for the phone to check on him but he thought better of it. He needed to see for himself that he was ok, if only to satisfy his mind. He made the trip across the yard and knocked on the door softly. When there was no answer, he was relieved to find that the door was unlocked: unspoken permission to venture into the house. He found McCormick peacefully sleeping on the sofa but he wanted to make sure that he was comfortable as he dared not wake him up to roust him into bed. Climbing the stairs to the loft, Hardcastle grabbed a blanket from the bed, gently covered him with it and whispered "goodnight, kiddo" as he made his exit.

The next morning, Mark was awakened by the sunlight streaming through the window. He tossed aside the blanket that he was sure Hardcastle had covered him with sometime during the night and gingerly stood to his feet, still feeling the residual effects of skipping his pain pills and having slept in one position all night long. After showering and dressing for the day, he once again attempted to bury the feelings that had bubbled to the surface in order to get things back to normal around the estate. However, it seemed that things would never be the same, not since the truth came out. The revolting fact remained that the Judge and his dad were right in their assertions that his not facing the past was allowing his abuser to defeat him. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the broken man staring back at him and resolved to crucify his demons for once and for all.

His stride was full of purpose as he walked into the main house. Hardcastle sat at the kitchen table with his back to the door, reading his morning paper and sipping his orange juice. Mark stood behind him wordlessly but the Judge sensed his presence. "Good morning, kiddo! How are you?" When he there was no reply, he turned and looked at McCormick who appeared more rested than he had in days.

Mark gave the Hardcastle a determined nod and simply said, "I'm ready."