Devil's Dozen

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize as belonging to Days of Our Lives belongs to Ken Corday, Sony, and NBC. The story itself belongs to me.

Rating: PG-13

Note: A devil's dozen, like a baker's dozen, is thirteen.

This story was written in 2009 but veers away from the Days timeline in 2007 after Lucas goes to prison for shooting EJ at Sami's wedding. It flashes forward thirteen years, meaning that many Days developments are ignored; perhaps most notably, Will is written as heterosexual because at the time on the show he was dating girls and giving no sign that he was not attracted to them. That's a problem for you? Don't read.

Warning: For child abuse/molestation. Not graphic, but present.


Dr. Will Horton removed the envelope from the inside of his lab coat and settled himself at a table to read. Salem University Hospital's cafeteria was mostly empty at this time of day, which was for the best. Will didn't want to be interrupted. And he didn't want to explain to anyone, no matter how-well meaning, why the letter was affecting him as he knew it would.

But the letter hadn't arrived at his house until seconds before he ran out the door on his way to yet another double shift. His only choices were to bring the letter to work, or to wait until he got home to read it.

Waiting until he got home wasn't going to happen.

Nearly shaking with anticipation, he weighed the letter in his hand. It was more than a page long; but then, they usually were. He drew in a deep breath. Over the course of thirteen long years, never had one of these letters failed to make his day. But with luck, this would be the last one.

At last, having properly savored and loathed the experience, Will opened the letter and began to read.

October 10, 2020

Dear Will,

It feels strange to know that this will be my last letter to you.

Will smiled. They'd been kept separate for all of his adult life, but they were in agreement about that.

Of course I'm looking forward to being able to see you in person and talk to you on the phone when your schedule allows for it.

The smile didn't fade, but didn't stop him from rolling his eyes. As if he wouldn't make certain that his schedule allowed for it.

I understand that you aren't the teenager I left behind who always had time for his parents, at least when we weren't causing too much trouble. That wasn't often enough, I know. For all my faults, you and I were very close at one time. Your mother used to say I didn't understand that you were my son and not my friend. She may have been right. It was an easy mistake for me to make, what with you being wiser, more mature, and more practical than either one of your parents could have hoped to be. But it wasn't fair to you.

A lot of decisions that your mother and I made fell on you and your brother and sister. I don't know where Johnny and Allie are, so I can't apologize to them. But I will apologize to you.

I'm sorry, Will.

I won't say it again, because you'd get tired of hearing it, tired of trying to put me at ease, tired of trying to absolve me of my guilt. Or even if you didn't tire of it, it would be one more burden on you that never should have been yours to carry. But here and now, while I'm a captive and you're my captive audience, I've said it. I hope you'll always remember it.

I also hope you'll always remember how very proud I am of you. I couldn't be prouder. In fact, I'm prouder of you than any parent has ever been of any child. You could say that I haven't met every parent who ever lived, so I couldn't possibly know that I'm the proudest. But you'd be wrong. I can't tell you how I know, but I can tell you in all honesty that I do.

You were given a raw deal. Life handed you two teenaged parents who didn't have a clue. By the time we got around to straightening things out, you were half-grown, and then E.J. DiMera was in the picture. And before we knew it, you were left with a father in prison and a mother who wasn't in your life either.

Most people would have taken this as an excuse to fail. I might have in your place. But you came through it better and stronger. You stayed in school and went through some of the hardest professional training there is. I used to get tired just reading about your anatomy and organic chemistry classes. Now you spend every day helping people who can't always help themselves.

Like I told you, I couldn't be prouder and I couldn't love you more.

I've spent thirteen years in prison for shooting the man who raped my wife and threatened to murder my children. (Maybe he has murdered Allie and Johnny by now, for all any of us know.) The life I've led and the life I thought I would have when I married your mother and found out she was pregnant with the twins couldn't be more different. But I still know that the world can't be a complete loss while it has you in it. I don't feel that my life has been wasted, and that's because I contributed something to you.

If you get this before my release date, I want to remind you that you are not obligated to come and escort me out. In fact, I'd rather you didn't. Let Philip's lawyers spring me—he pays them well enough, I'm sure. This isn't a nice place and I don't want it anywhere near you. The air here isn't good enough for you to breathe. The ground here isn't good enough for you to touch. The walls aren't good enough for your eyes to see.

Whatever happens from here on out—I know that you may find you like me better as a prison pen pal than someone you see every day.

Will shook his head vehemently as much to clear his suddenly tear-blurred vision as in reaction to his father's words.

I appreciate the support and love you have shown me. It has been a privilege to take part in your life vicariously. It has been an honor to know you made the time to write to me. You've been busy with school and your career and your life, but you've written enough letters to fill up all the books in the library here. (It's not a big library, as you might imagine, but you're only one person.)

You are brave, generous, intelligent, loving, and wise. All that concerns me is that sometimes you forget it. Stop that.

Love,

Dad

Will slipped into a reverie as he stared at the letter long after he'd finished reading it. He jumped, startled, when a hand slapped itself across his shoulders in what it seemed to think was an affectionate way. Will jumped hard enough bang his knees on the table and send it skittering. It would have toppled over had his assailant not grabbed it.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"No problem." It was a problem, really. He'd wanted to be left alone to relish and mourn his father's letter. But Dr. Craig Wesley was the Chief of Staff at University Hospital, and that made him Will's boss. Or, more accurately, Will's boss's boss's boss. Will wasn't going to get in an argument with him. Sometimes Will wasn't sure he liked Dr. Wesley, but he thought the man was a decent manager and administrator.

He folded the letter and returned it to his lab coat. Dr. Wesley had the grace not to ask about it, or maybe he just didn't care.

Will broke the silence before it could become awkward. "What can I do for you, Dr. Wesley?"

Dr. Wesley beamed. "I'm so glad you asked. We have a new group of interns coming in next week. One of them is particularly special to me."

Will nodded. The hospital's extensive gossip network had spoken of little else for the past two days. "You must be very proud of your daughter."

"Nothing could make me happier than Joy deciding to come here. She had offers from hospitals all over the country, some of the best."

Will hadn't needed the rumor mill to tell him that. Joy Wesley was a newly minted prodigy of a neurosurgeon. She had had her name attached to articles in medical journals while still in med school. There had even been an article about her that had gushed over her instincts and ability to innovate. Dr. Wesley had pinned copies of everything to the bulletin board beside his door with a sign that read "MY DAUGHTER!" beside them, as if everyone hadn't already known.

Dr. Wesley continued, oblivious to Will's inner commentary. "Joy has insisted that she wants no special treatment from me."

"I'm sure she doesn't need it," Will mumbled, dreading what he knew was coming next in spite of himself.

"She doesn't. But I'm her father, and if I had my way I'd be following her around every step of every day. Nancy had to hold me down to keep me from moving right into her dorm room when she left for college."

Will forced a laugh and tried to pretend that he was long past caring that neither one of his parents could have seen him off to college, let alone posted news of his exploits for all to see, even if they'd wanted to.

"I never get to work with the interns as much as I'd like, and I'm afraid Joy is going to be no exception. So I was wondering if, as a favor to me, you'd help look out for her."

There it was. Will had known it was coming. "I don't see the neurosurgeons that often. Not unless I've called one in to consult." Will was strictly a family medicine, primary care sort of doctor. He wasn't in this for the glory or the money. He wanted to be the sort of doctor who saw the same patients year in and year out, who caught little problems before they became big problems, and who was trusted by families to help them find the right solution when something went wrong.

"That's what I'm asking," Dr. Wesley said with the tiniest edge to his voice. "Make an effort to see Joy sometimes. This is a teaching hospital. That's why we have residents and interns and students here. I am asking you, as one of the most respected residents in this hospital, to pay special attention to one of the interns who has come here to learn. It's good experience for you if you'd like to be an attending here in the next few years, isn't it?"

"Of course," Will managed, resenting the hell out of this. "I only thought that there are more experienced physicians with specialties that have more in common with—"

"She'll sort herself out with medicine and surgery. Where she's going to struggle is with the bedside manner end of things. And there's no one, not one doctor, who has a better rapport with patients than you do. I've read your performance evaluations and I've watched you work. No matter who your patient is or what he's done to himself, you make him better and you don't judge. You treat a homeless drug addict who walked off the street and into the clinic and a member of the hospital board just the same, and each of them walks away thinking he's your favorite patient."

"That's my job," said Will, now a little embarrassed. He did get good performance evaluations, but the people who evaluated him never got worked up about it like this.

"Yes," said Dr. Wesley, like a man who knew he had just gotten his way. "It's your job, and soon it will be Joy's job. So you will help Joy learn how to do her job."

"It would be my pleasure."

"I thought it would be. And it might be for the best if you didn't repeat this conversation to her."

"Right." Will had figured that part out himself. Joy wasn't going to hold anything against her doting father who just happened to be the most powerful person in the hospital. But she might very well be willing to be angry with the resident who'd gotten roped into helping her with what someone had the gall to perceive as her weaknesses.

Will had read the interview Dr. Wesley had posted on the bulletin board. In it, Joy had actually said that she didn't think she had any weaknesses. For all he prided himself on treating everyone fairly and not judging anyone for his choices, he couldn't help but dread the day he had to try to work with a braggart like Joy Wesley.

Dr. Wesley grinned again and turned to leave. "The interns will be getting their tour on the seventeenth. Join us."

Will cringed. The seventeenth. Any day but the seventeenth. "I have a prior commitment," he said firmly.

"Change it."

"I can't."

"I think you'll find that you can."

With that, Dr. Wesley was gone, pausing only to drop a flier with the schedule of intern orientation on the table in front of Will.

Will scowled as he felt the letter brush his hand. Now he had two reasons to dislike Joy Wesley, and he hadn't even met her yet.

He eyed the flier warily. The conflict wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but the situation wasn't good, either. He pulled out his cell phone and scanned through the list of names until he reached "Philip—work."

"Mr. Kiriakis' office," the secretary intoned threateningly.

"May I speak to Mr. Kiriakis, please?" Will asked, unconsciously mimicking her officious tone.

"He's not in today. May I take a message?"

"That's funny. He told me he'd be in all week. This is his nephew, Will Horton."

The shift in tone was dramatic. "Of course, Dr. Horton. I didn't recognize your voice. I'll put you right through."

She was as good as her word. "Kiriakis," Philip answered with perfect Greek pronunciation. He hadn't been told Will was on the phone, or he wouldn't have bothered to make an attempt at intimidation.

Make an attempt? He succeeded. If Will hadn't known Philip all his life, he would have been terrified. "Philip, it's Will."

Like the receptionist, Philip instantly adjusted his attitude. "Hey, Will. We're getting close to the big day, huh?"

"That's what I'm calling about. Dr. Wesley wants me working on the seventeenth. It's orientation for the interns and he didn't want to hear it when I said no."

Philip scoffed. "Sounds like someone needs a reminder that your uncle is on the Board. Not to mention your grandmother—Belle votes her proxy half the time, I'll have her meet me there—"

"No!" Will objected quickly. "I don't want special treatment." That was exactly his problem with Joy Wesley. Well, one of his many problems with Joy Wesley.

"Your father," said Philip dangerously, "has been in prison for thirteen years when he should have been given a medal for what he did. He is being released on the seventeenth. I will be there, and you will be there."

"He said you should just send the lawyers. I got a letter from him today."

"The attorneys will come along to make sure no one tries anything," Philip confirmed. "Are you seriously telling me you don't want to be there? You'd rather work? You work all the time, Will."

"That's rich, coming from you," Will shot back. Six days a week, Philip was the biggest workaholic in Salem. Saturday was for Claire and Tyler, and every other day was for Titan Industries.

"If I was going to see someone I loved for the first time since iPhones and Wiis were in, I'd take the day off. In fact, I have."

"I can still make it to the prison. I'm just not sure about dinner. If I have to go AWOL from work, I will. But I don't want you to throw your weight around."

"You're sure? It's fun watching Craig Wesley squirm." Philip did sound as if he particularly relished the thought. Their history went back to when Philip had been a teenager dating Dr. Wesley's older daughter.

"I'm sure," Will confirmed.

"Offer still stands if he tries to make anything of it when you end up no-showing, then. You're meeting me at Titan in three days?"

Will closed his eyes. Three days sounded imminent. "I'll be there."

"Good. See you then. Call if you change your mind."

The phone clicked off in Will's ear before he could even say goodbye.

It didn't matter. He had a patient waiting for him upstairs by now.

TBC