AUTHOR'S NOTE: I got this idea for Nick and Neal while trying to think up a story for My Mother Elizabeth and started playing around with it. It's not complete but (hopefully) each 'episode' can stand alone, with an umbrella story (hopefully) bringing it all together towards the end. And the idea is, as I get a chance to write more, I can add additional episodes – Well, that's the grand plan anyway.
Warning: Contains spanking of a child, repeated use of bad language by a child and deals with death. If you find cursing offensive, please don't read any further.
NICK AND NEAL
Episode 1: Seems Like Yesterday
For what seemed like the hundredth time, I rubbed my hands along the length of my suit pants, removing the sweat that continued to build up through nerves. I could have kicked myself for not taking something to suppress my anxiety. El had offered but I didn't want to appear less than perfect, so unfortunately I turned down what was probably a very sensible course of action. Neal, who was standing a couple of feet in front, glanced back over his shoulder and gave me an endearing smile, almost as though he could read my thoughts and I found myself slightly calmed by his intoxicating charm. Nick, standing beside his brother, must have sensed the interaction because he also looked back tossing his patent cheeky grin my way. I winked at both my sons, hoping it would reassure them I was fine and found myself beginning to relax. Before long, my thoughts drifted back to a time when they were so much younger and my head began to fill with recollections of their antics, some good, some bad, but always and forever memorable...
I remember the day we brought Nick and Neal home from the hospital like it was yesterday, although it also seems like a lifetime ago now, two young boys in need of so much. At the time, I frequently asked myself if I had what it took to raise them properly, and to this day, I'm still not confident in answering that question. Not that there ever was a question of choice. Their father Nicco, my best friend and a distinguished member of the NYPD, was killed in a motorcycle crash in the line of duty when the little tykes were barely two years old. Sadly, Nicco's death sent their mother Kate into a downward spiral of despair and depression over the subsequent decade, culminating in her taking her own life one month shy of the boys' twelfth birthday. It would be difficult to say who struggled more, the boys or El and I. I guess the only true certainty being, it turned all our worlds upside down.
Not that we didn't have any parenting experience mind you, El and I had cared for the youngsters on numerous occasions. During the years that Kate struggled with drugs, the boys were frequently under our care, but the stays were short lived and always had an expiration date. Kate would clean up her act and Nick and Neal would head home. It wasn't a perfect solution, fully aware that Kate was certain to relapse. With, that knowledge we endeavored to do everything within our powers to support her, forever conscious of the fact that not only had Kate's drug dependency been a direct result of Nicco being killed, but also I knew with complete conviction that Nicco would have done everything possible to support Elizabeth if the situation had been reversed.
So it was without a second's hesitation that we wrapped two distraught little boys in our arms at the hospital where their mother was pronounced dead - unfortunately they had been the ones who'd found Kate unconscious on the living room floor one Saturday afternoon after hanging out all day at the park with friends – and bundled up their worldly possessions and brought them back to our Brooklyn townhouse. From that day on, it was their permanent address and El and I were no longer a childless couple, we were an instant family of four.
Nick and Neal. Two boys, twins born minutes apart with the same black wavy hair, the same fine features and the same amazingly brilliant blue eyes – they'd got those eyes from Kate. I'd never seen two individuals look so much alike, in fact I didn't think it was possible. I'd always heard that with identical twins, the parents could easily tell them apart, even from across the room, but these two boys, they should have come with permanent name tags because there wasn't a single identifying characteristic that could distinguish one from the other. Their parents had left the hospital ID tags firmly secured around their ankles until the boys grew out of them and even then, they continued to secure new anklet ID's after every growth spurt. I'm almost certain the boys wore those ID's until they knew their own names, somewhere around eighteen months of age. But their uncanny similarity was where it all ended for their personalities were as different as their appearances were alike. Their temperament, nature, behavior and disposition were polar opposites, so at the end of the day, it was their individuality that differentiated Nick from Neal and not their physical appearance.
Despite their having very little in common with each other, the boys got along surprisingly well. As likely resulting from what life had put them through as from the fact that they we created by the same egg, Nick and Neal had an iron clad bond that went far beyond simple sibling loyalty. Unfortunately for El and I that usually meant, if one boy got himself in trouble, the other was undoubtedly his co-pilot for the misadventure. Of course, that's not to say the boys didn't have their share of fights and disagreements and we were realistic enough to understand that the first couple of weeks after Kate's death would be the most trying for all of us. That being said, I had hoped to make it past the day of their mother's funeral before having to break up their first ever fist fight!
We'd arrived home from Kate's sister's house where the wake was being held, having only kept the boys there for a minimal time before heading home. Knowing that they were both emotionally drained and having to field questions and responses to relatives and friends of their mom's they'd never met would only put them in a more negative state of mind.
El and I were standing in the kitchen, wrapped in each other's arms, too exhausted and emotionally drained ourselves to even consider pouring a coffee long after the jug had boiled, when we heard shouting from the backyard…...
###
…... "Hey!" Peter shouted at the two youngsters wrestling on the back lawn, one straddling the other, pounding his fist into his opponent's face. As the boy lifted his arm for a third strike, he found it restricted by a much larger, far stronger hand. "What's going on!" Peter shouted angrily as he pulled on the boy's arm and yanked him clear onto his feet.
Once he was able, the one sprawled out on the lawn wasted no time in rolling onto his knees and clambering to his feet. As he righted himself he shouted angrily, "Stay the fuck out of this Peter!"
Because they had both being dressed in the same navy suits with identical dress shirts for the funeral, Peter hadn't a hope of knowing which boy was which, however, he'd just assumed that Nick, the far more aggressive of the two, had been the one doing the punching. Neal never, ever swore, but then again, he would never hit someone either. Peter was confused. Turning to the kid whose arm he still held, he took a guess, "Neal… why were you punching your brother?"
The boy looked up with wide, hurt and watery eyes filled with anger but didn't open his mouth. Instead, he tried, without success, to reef his arm from the hold Peter continued to maintain.
Satisfied that he had the correct boy, Peter tried again, "Neal, why were you-"
"This is between me and Neal, Peter, it has fu-"
"One more curse word out of your mouth Nick and I will turn you over my knee right here in the backyard!" Peter's firm admonishment had its desired effect. The boy clamped his mouth shut. "Now Neal, for the last time, why were you hitting Nick?"
The boy gave up all fight and dropped his head, shaking it slightly from side to side. Peter released his arm, accepting he was getting nowhere and turned to address his brother.
"Nick, can you explain to me please why Neal was hitting you."
"Yeah, I can," his tone was challenging and insolent and Peter was a few short threads away from making good on his earlier threat. "The little bast, the uh, the kid was upset cause I told him the truth."
"Which was?" Peter was almost frightened to ask.
"That it was his fault Mom was dead!"
The confession shocked Peter so much it took him a moment or two to compose a reply. "Neal, go in the house please." El, who'd been standing on the porch the whole time listening, waved the boy over.
Satisfied that at least one problem was taken care of, Peter turned to the other. "Nick, why would you say that to your brother?"
"Cause it's fucking tr...owwww!" Nick rubbed frantically at the spot on his butt where Peter had just landed two particularly stinging swats.
"No, it's not true Nick, so why would you say it?" Peter was hoping to get a clue to the boy's line of thinking before the whole incident turned into a full on cursing tirade.
Letting go of his butt, the youngster directed an angry glare at the agent before reaching down to pick up a stray stick lying at his feet.
For a split second, Peter wondered if the kid was about to initiate a physical onslaught of sorts, but instead, Nick turned to some poor innocent sapling tree and whacked it right out of the ground. El wouldn't be happy; Peter considered but didn't voice his concern. The kid had enough going on in his head.
"Of course you're right Peter," Nick took his stick to the row of hedge plants on the property boundary and began swinging wildly, whacking the shrubs with all his might. "It's not Neal's fault."
"Nick…" Peter approached cautiously, not wanting to get an errant stick in his eye.
"What Peter! You want the truth?" He lifted his weapon and hurled it with considerable force across the yard where it collided with a resounding thud into the garden shed.
Peter cringed hoping not too many neighbors were home on this particular mid-week afternoon.
"You're not gonna like it though," the youngster screamed. "It's your fucking fault Peter our Mom is dead. She'd still be fucking alive if it wasn't for you!" The boy took a swing at Peter, only to have it easily blocked. "It's your fucking fault you ass," Nick swung wildly at the agent again with clenched fists, some of the blows successfully reaching their target and striking Peter's chest. "You were supposed to take care of her. You are always telling us everything will be okay so it's your fucking fault!" Nick's emotional outburst ran out of steam fast and the boy collapsed into Peter's arms as his angry screaming turned to pitiful sobs in a matter of seconds. Peter dropped to his knees and pulled the child into a tight, secure hug. "It's okay Nicky. It's okay. I got you." He rubbed tender circles on the boy's back as the weeping continued.
Between the tears, Nick confessed, "It's m-my fault P-Peter. M-mom's d-dead because of m-me."
Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat feeling totally helpless. He noted with grim acceptance that the situation was going from bad to worse. The sobbing from his young charge was on the increase and he had no earthly idea how to fix the mess that was weeping uncontrollably against his chest. He doubted for the longest moment that he had done the right thing in believing he could care for these two needy boys. Perhaps he should have considered more carefully if there were other appropriate candidates to care for the twins. The ink wasn't even dry on the guardianship papers and here he was, already floundering. Peter wanted to cry himself. He wanted to cry for Nick and his brother Neal. He wanted to cry for Kate, sweet Kate who got so lost after losing Nicco. For sure he wanted to cry for his best buddy Nicco whom he'd shared so many adventures with and who was so cruelly taken away before anyone was ready. He wanted to cry for El and himself, mostly himself because he had no idea what to do and he knew the boy curled up against him, soaking his dress shirt in tears and mucus, was counting on him, was trusting him to make everything right again - something Peter felt at this point in time was an impossible ask. Peter brushed away a lone tear on his own cheek and lifted the boy as he stood, trying not to winch at the sharp pain coursing through his knees as a result of having been kneeling against the ground for way too long. He carried the weeping child over to the back porch and dropped himself into one of the patio chairs, cradling Nick against his body as he maneuvered them both into a more comfortable position.
Peter sat with the youngster on his lap long after the sobbing subsided. When he considered the child had calmed enough, he dared to ask, "Nicky, tell me why you think it's your fault?"
"Cause it is." Nick blew his nose on the blanket now resting between Peter's wet shirt and his face. El had snuck out the blanket, along with an ice-pack for the boy's face, soon after Peter moved them onto the patio.
"How could it be kiddo? I've explained to you how your mom passed away. I told you what the doctors said."
"They don't know what happened at home."
Being news to him, Peter raised his brows and considered the comment. Not wanting to go another emotional round with the youngster, he proceeded with caution, "How about this kiddo, you tell me what happened at home and I'll tell you if I think it's your fault or not."
The boy made a halfhearted attempt to climb off Peter's lap but soon realized he wasn't going anywhere fast. "Peter," he moaned instead. "I need to go the bathroom."
"Then quickly tell me why you think it's your fault and as soon as you have, you can race off to the bathroom before you wet your pants."
"Peeeeeter!" The kid wined while slapping him playfully across his arm.
"Why Nick?" The agent was unwilling to let the issue slide, knowing it was unlikely the kid was ever to be as forthcoming as he was now in his semi-vulnerable state.
Nick huffed before finally leaning back into Peter's shoulder. "Promise me you won't get mad."
Despite the situation, the agent grinned. Any confession by one of the boys that began, 'Don't get mad', always spelt trouble. "I won't Nicky, I promise."
"The morning Mom died, I was supposed to be at home. Mom had grounded me for…" The boy glanced up at Peter, clearly uncomfortable about continuing.
"It doesn't matter why you were grounded. So…you were supposed to be at home…"
"Yeah, it was last Saturday morning and Neal was going to the park to meet with some of our friends."
Peter couldn't help but ask, "Why was Neal going to the park?" It was highly unlikely the kid would be there to participate in any physical activity.
"We have a regular Saturday game of basketball with some of the local kids. I organize the teams and Neal..." Nick paused, "Is Neal going to be in trouble for this?"
"No buddy, this one time, full immunity for any confession or any details you divulge related to either you or Neal."
"You promise?"
"Yeah buddy, I promise."
"Okay, so Neal runs a betting tab with the boys not playing. They wager bets on everything from which kid is going to score first to how many times a newcomer is going to get knocked to the ground."
Great! What these two junior delinquents got up to without his knowledge bothered Peter no end! "I imagine Neal makes quite a tidy sum each week?"
"Yeah, but we split the profits."
"That's fair," Peter noted with a generous serve of sarcasm, which went unnoticed by the child. "So, getting back to your story, last Saturday morning, you were supposed to be grounded…"
"Yeah, I wanted to go to the park with Neal but Mom said I couldn't and I uh," Nick lowered his voice, clearly ashamed of what he needed to say, "I yelled at her and told her there was no way I was going to stay home and watch her sit around moping feeling sorry for herself. You know she lost her job at the drycleaners the day before?"
"Yeah, she called El but…I didn't know she was depressed. I'm sorry Nick; I should have come over and checked. What was she doing?"
"Nothing too different. Just lying in bed, still in her pajamas. Wouldn't go out to get any food. We'd run out of milk and bread so Neal went to the store to fetch some for breakfast. He made her a coffee and took it in but I don't think she drank it."
"Neal normally calls El when he's worried about your mom. I wonder why he didn't this time." Peter asked himself more than the boy on his lap.
"Dunno." Nick shrugged, answering anyway. "I guess we both just expected Mom would be depressed after losing her job, she had been every other time, so maybe he thought she'd get over it in a day or two."
"Yeah, makes sense," he offered by way of support. "Nicky…" Peter adjusted the boy on his lap so he could see his face. "Your Mom took a fatal dose of sleeping tablets, along with a dangerous cocktail of other drugs. Had you been home, it wouldn't have made any difference. There wasn't anything you could have done to prevent this from happening." Peter wiped at the tears leaking from the corners of the young boy's eyes. "You understand kiddo, this was nobody's fault, not even your mom's."
Nick dropped his gaze, staring at the pattern covering the porch. Eventually he raised sad, hopeless eyes, "Peter…"
"Yeah bud?"
"You know the last thing I ever said to my Mom?"
No, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to either. "What did you say Nicky?"
"I told her she didn't even have the right to call herself a mother and I didn't want to be considered her son anymore…And then I caught up with Neal and joined him at the park and didn't even think about what might be happening at home."
"Nicky," Peter ran his hand through the boy's thick dark wavy hair. "We all say things we don't mean. Adults and kids alike. Mostly said in anger when we're not thinking straight. Your mom knew you didn't mean it, she knew you were upset about not being allowed to go to the park. She would have known you were going to tell her how sorry you were when you got home."
"And now I'll never have a chance." The tears began to flow freely once again down the boy's cheeks.
Peter thought for a moment, "Tell you what kiddo, when you get into bed tonight, you tell your mom that you were sorry for the things you said and for taking off when you were supposed to be grounded and Nicky, I can guarantee she will hear you."
"You promise?" the child looked ever so hopeful.
"Yes buddy, I promise." He leaned down and kissed the boy on his forehead. "Now, better head off to the bathroom before you know…"
"Peeeeeter!" Nick climbed off the agent's lap and disappeared inside.
Peter sighed deeply and rubbed the tops of his thighs, trying to reignite the blood flow. Pulling himself to his feet, he gingerly made his way into the house. He walked in through the living area, past El, seemingly dozing on the couch, cradling an equally unconscious twelve year old who was curled up and tucked under every part of Elizabeth's arms. A brimming cup of coffee and a full glass of juice left untouched on the side table. Peter dragged his feet up the stairs, shutting the bedroom door behind him. He stripped off his soaked shirt and the rest as he headed into the bathroom. Shutting the bathroom door behind him he turned on the faucet and stood watching the buildup of steam, mesmerized by its soothing power. Stepping in through the vapors, he let the water run over his head as he leaned against the smooth, damp tiles. If it hadn't been for the sound of his hitched breaths, he would have talked himself into the fact that he hadn't finally succumbed to all the emotions of the past week. Any evidence of his weeping could be easily disguised under the pretense of water from the facet washing over his face. Given that he had many tears to wash away, a long time must have passed because he never felt the water run cold, only the sound of El tapping on the glass panel of the shower door snapped him back to reality, "Peter…Peter….
