On the Edge of Wakefulness

Chapter 21

"Leave me alone," Todd said blankly as he shrunk back into his bed, seeing the last footfall of Téa out the bedroom door. Flip-flop, flip-flop. He rolled onto his side, giving his back to the doctor. He checked the ceiling to see if the bugs returned. Finding nothing, he focused on the light permeating the room, the blackness surrounding the light.

They always leave. Flip-flop, their shoes say as they hit the floor, fading with every step into the distance.

"That was pretty intense with Téa," Tim said, sitting on the chair next to Todd's bed, where Viki had been sitting. Todd didn't respond so the doctor decided to wait him out. He pulled out his cell phone and reviewed email.

As Todd lay unmoving, he felt like he was floating above himself, observing, being a voyeur to his own pathetic life. He watched, like he had watched Blair with Patrick, like he watched Téa sleep, like he often spied on people who didn't know he was there. The only difference between now and then was he didn't really feel much about what he saw. There was only emptiness, blank space. He could see himself lying on his side wearing those mismatched socks. A real mess he was with an unshaven face, tangled hair, and wrinkled clothes. Oh yeah, the busted fist, too. The socks made him think of how mismatched he was: wrong adoptive parents, wrong wives, wrong friends – wrong life. He was always the odd one out, always apart. Stained.

Still observing, he took in the penthouse bedroom: one drawer hanging open, a closet door ajar. The bathroom light was on with its door wide open. His bed was a mess. A chair was pulled up by the bed and the night-table had a crumpled towel on it next to a bowl of water. There were a couple of half-filled glasses. The place reeked sickness, reminding him of his cut-open, cut-apart, chopped up history. He had been bleeding the truth for days now and, well, he was tired of it.

Tim was sitting on the edge of the bed, worrying over him in that special doctor way. Cool, composed, concerned. He had those California clothes of his and Birkenstock sandals with socks. His heavy presence was admittedly comforting. Felt kinda safe around him. He then almost laughed at the doctor trying so hard to help. Doesn't he understand the fruitlessness of his efforts?

You can't reanimate the dead, Doc. That's fantasy, Doc. Hocus-pocus shit. No matter how much I might wanna be alive again, no matter how much I wanna be part of life again, part of… her, I'm still that hanged dead man, Doc, buried under tons of dirt, tons of black, choking, suffocating dirt.

Such deadness.

He had watched himself with Téa earlier, grabbing her, touching her. Vaguely he could remember the sensation of her silky skin under his hands. He just wanted to feel something; wanted to wrap himself up inside of her, be a part of her energy, of her love, whatever that was. He wanted to feel her aliveness. Show me. Then he saw himself take her hand to masturbate him in order to further arouse some connection with the real world, with his being alive. He got hard but the feel didn't work, his heart didn't work. He was as dead as ever.

He eyed the dresser, where the drugs had been. He fought a momentary craving of them. They would jettison him into a jaw-gripping bundle of sensation if he ingested them. He'd be high a while. Thought of the little package that Jedediah took from him. Thought of the other stuff that Paulie had offered. That would make him feel something. Anything. But yeah, the stuff was gone. No access at the moment.

He shook his head like a dog and lay flat on his back, arm and legs out. Got Tim's attention. Todd gazed at him a moment, licking his lips. Saw Tim's own mouth move, saying words. No sound though. Drifted back to the ceiling.

Poor Téa, he thought, she really was his latest victim. She had tried, been trying so hard; they all do. Oh, yeah, he noticed her tough front, a weak cover to her shaky voice and body. She was scared shitless. He didn't mean to scare her.

So sorry.

His thoughts drifted to his mother, to her seeing Peter abusing him. To her throwing-up. To her repeat rejection of him when he had run away to see her at her husband's cabin once she had already left the family. He had been ten years old attending summer camp. The best six days of my life, he would often say. He'd felt safe, he could sleep, and not be afraid. He loved her so much then – even in the face of her abandonment.

"You're so handsome, Todd! Look at you! How big you are!"

"I can run the fastest in my class, Mama!"

"I bet you can – so fast that no one can catch you."

She was so proud of him.

I lied, Mama. I lied. I couldn't get away. I couldn't run fast enough.

Todd's thoughts moved to the food, to the sustenance he so wanted. Eating was fun those six days – hot dogs, barbecue chicken, and steak. His favorite foods mixed up with her attempts at jokes, with her inquiries about camp and school. Todd would make up these crazy tales of the things he would accomplish, super-hero kind of stuff. Saving people, saving children. Saving her. He ate happily with her smiling face across from him. They never talked about Peter. At night, before bed, he would hold her so tight to him that she would have to break the hug.

But despite the happiness, he had felt the doom of that glorious time like a hidden mine under his feet. He would look down, waiting for the ground to buckle and collapse into a bottomless pit. It was in those moments that he would hop and run to catch up to his mother, to get away from the weak terrain. He would hold her hand tightly in his with a sweaty, desperate grasp. She never seemed to notice.

"Todd?" Tim bent slightly to see into his patient's face, confirming the continued lack of responsiveness. Todd just kept staring, not reacting to Tim's benign touch of his shoulder. A disassociation of sorts. Not as severe as other times. Tim went back to reviewing some notes, then got up and paced a bit. He checked the time, 7:30 p.m. They had to get back to the hospital.

Todd noticed the doctor, heard him, but couldn't say anything, so entrenched he was in his memory of Barbara Manning. "You can't stay," she had said through tears when it was time to go home, time to go back to Peter. "Your father...he'll send me to jail. Or...or he'll kill us. You have to understand! I'm so sorry!

So sorry.

His mind's eye saw her tear-filled eyes, her wringing hands. He didn't cry. Ten years old and he bit down on his teeth, clenched his jaw and controlled his pain. A learned skill. If only she had known that by sending him back, she was letting go of his hand, allowing the earth to swallow him whole, allowing him to drown in that black pit to Hell. Unable to get away.

But she did know. She had seen what Peter had done to him. She knew. Why did she ever send him back? Had he felt more alive, he would be raging right now at the memory. Of course, he supposed he had already done that. Every time he raped a woman, humiliated them… he was raging against his mother's abandonment.

So sorry.

What a joke, he thought. What did "sorry" even mean? How many times had he said that to how many people? Just like Mama. Lately, people had been saying it to him again. Sam. So sorry. Viki. So sorry. Himself. So, so very sorry.

Yeah, well, fuck all of you. So sorry, my ass. Flip-flop.

"So sorry," Todd said aloud, loudly, cutting into the quiet. "So…SO…sorry."

Tim looked up in surprise to his patient's piercing gaze, his look of hate. Tim smiled slightly, trying to disarm Todd, trying to assure him that he didn't need to be on the defensive with him. "You're safe," he said. "Nobody's here except Viki downstairs." He needed to ask questions to determine whether Todd had slipped back into his previous state of delusional thinking or worse. He kept going back to the possibility of schizophrenia, but kept putting it aside. He didn't fit the usual symptomatology.

"What happened with Téa?" Tim asked.

"Nothing at all," Todd answered, his eyes moving away, moving back to the light. That same angry expression on his face. He then looked the doctor straight in the eyes, encouraging Tim.

"May I ask you some routine questions?"

"What for? It's not gonna make any difference. It's too late." Todd was emotionless. His face changed, the line between his brows disappearing, features returning to a blank slate.

"Too late for what?"

"For me. It's… too late." He whispered sharply, "I'm already dead, Doctor Graham."

Tim looked down, not liking the conviction in his voice. These statements were symptomatic of severe depression but they also supported a more serious form of mental illness. A return of the delusions. He hoped not, pushing on, asking gently, "How are you dead, kiddo? Can you explain it to me?" Tim leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees, looking directly at his patient. Todd rubbed his chest for a minute, thinking.

"Inside," he finally said. "I don't feel pain, sadness, happiness, hunger, thirst, love … not even anger. I don't feel anything."

"That's not a surprise. You've been telling me a lot of stuff about yourself. One could say you're in a state of shock. Your mind needs time to digest everything, handle it. The more you process what happened, the more you'll start to feel emotion. That's what I'm here for. To help you through those emotions. When that happens, the deadness you feel will go away. You'll start feeling alive again. I promise." Tim could see the cover Todd was putting up, the refusal to listen to this truth.

"Whatever," he said softly, one hand kneading the bedspread beneath him. He breathed deeply. His jaw flexed. Tim pushed forward on the questions, concerned that Todd was shifting again.

"Do you know what today's date is?"

After a moment, Todd said, "Um...November, something. October?" The fact that he didn't know the exact date wasn't a surprise to the doctor. The past weeks had been a horrible blur of memories, sharing and gut-spilling for him. Plus, he had no reason to know the actual date. He wasn't working, wasn't keeping appointments. Just getting through the days right now was his priority. Day to day. Hour to hour.

Tim continued, "Do you know where you are?"

"Penthouse...yeah. I lived here...once."

So sorry.

"Good. You have children?"

"Two..." Todd closed his eyes a moment, breathing deeply. He tightened the bed coverings again in his fist. He lifted a knee and it swayed. The children hit a nerve. Triggering something, no doubt.

"Named...?"

"Jed...and- and Starr..." Starjed. Flip-flop. I have abandoned everybody, everyone, he thought. Opening his eyes again, he looked at the light, vacantly. Starr was the light in his life, now. But she was just that: a star. Far away, untouchable. He thought of how he was always drawn to light, always trying to understand it, being that he didn't feel a part of it. He tried to associate himself with light, once, through Rebecca Lewis. Pure and shining. He could still hear her fervent prayers and hopes for him, her believing in him. He tried to pray, tried to get saved, but the darkness won out. She had been so wrong to ever believe in him. The way Téa is wrong. The way Viki is wrong.

Flip-flop. I am so very sorry.

Todd's thoughts were broken into by the doctor's voice. "A short time ago," Tim said, "you wanted me to find Peter Manning so he could...kill you. Get it over with. You still think he's alive and in the flesh?"

Todd slammed his eyes shut, his whole face twisting with unexplained emotion. He sat up in the bed and pushed himself back against the headboard. He now glared at the doctor. "Do I still believe Peter Manning's alive?"

"Yes." Tim was almost holding his breath – he found himself not wanting for this patient, the same thing that had befallen Jonathan… the same disease that afflicts so many. Please say you know he's dead, he thought.

"Of course he's alive! I told you! He walks, breathes. He laughs at me." Todd didn't shift his gaze, holding firm on the doctor. Daring him to understand.

The doctor looked down, his chest constricting now because these were not the answers he wanted. "I need to understand something. Tell me again where you saw him."

"You aren't listening, Doctor. Last night in the park he walked out of the dark…" He snorted, "Dark...park. Dark… park…" He bit down on his teeth, breathed deeply, and closed his eyes. Then he zeroed in on the doctor. "He walked to me… toward me. Laughing. He grabbed me and pulled my hair just as I got onto Jed's bike. He was there, Tim. I felt him. I smelled him."

"But you realize Peter is dead. The person you saw was not him, couldn't be him. You understand that, right? You can accept the possibility that you might have been confused?"

Todd looked away, with increasing frustration. He tightened his hands into fists, squeezed down his jaw. "Didn't I tell you already?" he grumbled. "I am not confused – I am not crazy. Whoever that was, was no stranger to me. He is Peter, has Peter's soul and his satanic heart. He wanted to take me down with him again. Do you understand? Do you...get me? Peter will never die – he's eternal. He lives like always. He's even stronger than before, stronger than me."

Todd could hear himself talk, could see his crumpled body on the bed. He felt quite bad for Tim, actually, who didn't understand him. Didn't understand the reality of what he said. He knew that person wasn't Peter Manning in the fleshy sense. He knew, however, that it was someone who had Peter Manning within him. That was a fact. So sorry.

Tim sighed and looked at his patient, leaning forward again, offering that easy voice of his, "How is he stronger than you?"

"He walks now. Before, he was just a memory. Now he walks. Breathes. He has a voice. I hear it. All the time. He's not sick, he's not broken. He will kill me. He will kill Jed and there's nothing I can do about it. Do you...get me?"

"You want to know what I think? I think you saw someone who reminded you of Peter. I think your son might confirm that."

"Poor Doctor Graham." Todd's eyes went very cold "You don't understand the power of Peter Manning. How he survived his own death, his Hell." His voice was hard, directed and accusatory.

"Yes...yes, I do."

"And I bet you are so sorry. 'Cause he was such a… bad… man." Todd slowly shook his head back and forth as if dazed. Then, after a minute or so of looking around, he pulled off his tee-shirt, throwing it to the floor. He held out his hands in a plea of understanding, looking at Tim. "Look at me. He's all over – the cuts, the burns, the scars – it's all Peter. He's alive. Don't question me anymore. Nothing… has… changed. I can't stop this cutting, this bleeding, this dying."

Tim crinkled his face, finding he just wanted to hold this man like a father would hold a child. He tried to do it with his words. "Aww kiddo, you're hanging on. You're surviving. You've got a hard job… and you're still hanging on. Don't stop doing THAT, okay? I know it's hard, hard as fucking hell, but don't stop hanging on."

"Hanging on is not enough, Doc."

"For now it is. He was very wrong to do what he did. Pile your experiences in prison and in Ireland on top of Peter's damage and you have a whole lot of garbage to sift through. It's hard to stay and fight, I know. And yes, I am sorry he did so many things to hurt you. I'm sorry that he continues to hurt you. But every day, you move forward. Things get better, inch by inch."

"That's such bullshit. All you bastards are so full of it."

"Even Téa?"

Todd got smacked by that one. Contemplated it. His exploration ended though. He gazed blankly once again at Tim. "Téa came in here," he said. "You know, talking. Talking to me." He chuckled without effort, lazily. "Telling me she... loves me. Reminding me of how I… fell… away from her. But... she still loves me."

"I know she does. She hopes for a time when the two of you can be friends again, maybe even think about being together."

"Together? What is that? I don't understand. I'm not a human being; she can't be with me." Suddenly, he remembered Kevin at the intervention the other day, telling him that his suicide attempt was evidence of his being human. He wanted to sit him down, to explain to him that it was quite the opposite. Had he died it would have shown his humanness. However, he survived the brutal attack on himself proving he wasn't a human being. He had survived so many unlikely things in the same way. Someone down there likes me. A wave of neediness rushed through him all at once and he wanted Téa. He wanted her to come back but he pushed it away.

"You are human, Todd. She wants the two of you to love each other without constraint."

"My mother loved me. She threw-up when she saw me with my father. Doing that… thing." He paused and closed his eyes for a few long seconds. "I disgusted her, sickened her. She sent me away when I went to her, when I tried to run away from him."

"You got away?"

"Yes, I ran away to my mother, to her cabin with her new husband when I was ten. After a few days together, she sent me back to Peter. Delivered me like fucking Fedex. She claimed fear, fear of being killed or whatever."

Tim could only scream inside of him. He could not imagine such a thing. "He continued to sexually abuse you?"

Todd tilted his head, studying the doctor. "No. It all ended, remember? When she saw me, he didn't touch me anymore. Not like that."

"You're sure of that."

Silence. Tim knew there was no way the sexual abuse ended. Todd though did not have any recall and Tim could see it.

"I'm sure… just games… beatings…"

"What happened after you returned home?"

"My mother died." Todd stared at his hands a while. "But, she loved me, right? Who else? Oh yeah. Rebecca Lewis. She just fucking left. I was… too dark for her. She couldn't stand the darkness. Oh but she loved me. Then Blair ... screwing some bastard right in front of me. But she loved me. Love. Isn't it nice? Now...Téa."

"What did Téa do to you?"

Todd fingered the cuts on his arm. "She… she left like everyone else. I needed her and she left." The doctor could see the beginning of something in his face: sorrow, hurt. It was squelched quickly, though, his face becoming blank again, his eyes unfocused.

Todd felt that floating feeling again, watching himself from above. He couldn't say why he suddenly flew up that way. Reminded maybe of the flip-flop of Téa's shoes, same as so many others. Reminded of the withdrawal of her heat from him. Hands reaching for her as she faded away. Hearing her maybe vomiting at his life, at the things his father made him do, and the fact that he got hard at… at wrong things. Maybe when he forced her hand to rub him she knew he'd gotten turned on by abusing her. Yes, he had wanted to feel things… but he was engorged already when he'd stuck his hand down her shirt. He felt a stirring again down there… imagined himself on his back, getting touched, and then… and then… nothing. Nothing but blank space. Flip-flop, down the hall. Shoes on the wooden floor. He saw himself slip back down on the bed, curling onto his side. Knees up like a child, arms tucked in, hands in fists. He watched Tim rub his own face in concern and frustration. He saw himself then reach down and cup his crotch. Protecting his junk. Someone was going to come and eat him, bite shit off.

So so sorry.

"She's here, now," Tim said. "That says a lot. She's accepting you and how you are. She's offering you her hand to help pull you along your path to healthfulness. Like Viki, like myself."

Nothing. Silence. Tim went over to him and touched his shoulder slightly but got nothing. Empty stare. The doctor smoothed his patient's hair, hoping to see his eyes move, anything. But he didn't respond at all. His patient seemed to have completely disappeared. The conversation had pushed him too hard. Tim sat back and checked the time. Rested his head and sighed. "Ok," he said, more to himself than Todd. "You need to rest. Let's go back to the hospital. You'll be safe and secure there. Where Peter can't come to you."

In a soft voice, a low one, much to the surprise of the doctor, Todd said, "Peter will always come to me. Always."

So sorry, soooo fucking sorry.

Phillip Manning tapped the desktop impatiently as he waited, the telephone receiver pressed against his ear. Waited for his contact to pick up the phone. He had rented a small house on the outskirts of Llanview, biding his time. He figured the police would never search for him right at the hub of the bribery scam investigation.

"Logan, here."

"It's about damn time you picked up."

"Well, Phil, I thought you were in hiding ever since this whole thing exploded onto the newspapers. Heard about the investigation even out here in Fayetteville. Got kinda sloppy there, doncha' think?"

Phillip breathed in deeply, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "So how's the wife? The kids? How's that nice country bumpkin home of yours, located at...where is it? Ah...5389 Carnation Lane...pussy name of a street for a pussy of a cop."

Officer Logan of the Fayetteville Police Station knew exactly what Phillip Manning's implication was and immediately wanted off the telephone. He had been working with Manning and his uncle Peter for years; ever since before the cover-up of the death of Michelle Chant. In fact, he came to Fayetteville from Chicago just to continue their… relationship. He knew what the Manning family was capable of and Phillip was the cream of the crop. "What do you want?"

"That's much better. Information. Which one of you guys jumped Jedediah Chant a couple of weeks ago? I heard he was in the hospital with a...Kevin Buchanan. I was surprised you hadn't contacted me – you obviously already had him pegged."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"What do you mean 'what am I talkin' about'?! The son of a bitch was jumped and you guys didn't tell me. I want to know details!"

"We didn't jump him! Vince overheard a conversation in a diner between the Chant kid and that other guy and I let you know about it. That's all she wrote."

"Well someone decided to take Buchanan out and-"

"It wasn't us and no report was made about it at the station, either."

"Who did it then?"

"Got me. Someone wanting Buchanan's head obviously – musta been following him."

"If you say so," Phillip said. As he talked, his eyes focused on the silent television screen showing cartoons; he never tired of the sadistic games the Roadrunner played on the Coyote. Never tired of the multiple deaths the Coyote would experience. Ka...POW. He loved that shit. "I'll ask you then my usual semi-annual question: any new bodies turn up lately out your way?"

Paul's voice dropped. "Actually, now that you mention it, an unidentified skull and femur's been found by some hikers. Definitely taken by animals – not buried or anything. We're in the process of rebuildin' what the person looked like based on bone structure. They said it was male at first but just this morning the forensic pathologist said it was a female. Who knows...maybe it's your gal, Michelle."

"Good. Keep me in the loop. Maybe we can have an ending to the poor girl's unfortunate disappearance. And...uh...keep taking care of that fine garden your wife has been taking care of so…lovingly." He hung up the phone and his mind shot back to that afternoon. The afternoon when he had finally gotten Michelle where he wanted her: begging for her life, begging for him to end his torture of her. On her fucking hands and knees, backing herself up closer and closer to that ledge overlooking the New River. He could still see those reddened eyes, full of fear. Those freckles wet with her tears and her skin flushed with terror. A martyr for love, a sacrificial lamb. Poor little whore. A fresh infusion of hatred ran through him, his stomach rolling at the thought of his cousin Todd impregnating Michelle. Michelle was his. And their child was going to die. Simple math.

After a few moments he picked up the phone again. The Mole picked up on the third ring, "Yeah?"

"Any progress on that art project? I'm very anxious to have it...hung on my wall..."

The Mole laughed, "Wouldn't you know it? I'm watching the subject this very evening, waiting for that right moment... when the light catches his face perfectly. Catches that saintliness."

Phillip didn't respond, only rubbed his face in irritation. He didn't trust the Mole anymore. Something about him. Didn't know what it was. "One other thing," he added. "You know who Todd Manning is?"

"You mean the newspaper publisher?"

"Yeah."

"Anyone in this area knows who he is. What about him?"

"You know where he holes up at?"

"You asking me for another locate job?"

"Uh...yeah. Locate him for me."

"That's funny."

"What so fuckin' funny?"

"Same last name. He a relative of yours? Never made the connection before."

"Just locate him," Phillip said with an edge to his voice. The Mole agreed and they hung up. Phillip sat and stewed for a while, then growled, "We're gonna talk a little, Mr. Manning, just you and me." With the remote, he turned up the sound of the Roadrunner and the Coyote beeping, roaring and crashing their way through life. The noise bounced all over the cottage.

"Now this is good shit," he grumbled.

Viki and Todd were quiet as they drove back to the hospital. She periodically glanced at him, taking in his extreme disconnect. Tim had mentioned to her his moments of disassociation as well as his manipulations, his game-playing. Now, all she saw was listlessness. She knew Tim had administered his usual medication which had tranquilizing effects on him. Dump exhaustion on top of that and she was surprised he was still awake. He stared out the window, watching the buildings pass by, the stars. A bright moon. As they drove, he would touch the seat of the car, the cold window next to him.. Viki assumed he was orienting himself. He turned in the seat and reached out, touching her arm.

"Sis'?"

"Yes?"

"You think I'm crazy?"

"No." She watched the road in front of her. "You're in a terrible lot of pain. I think you're finally dealing with what happened to you as a child, as a young man." She looked over at him and for a moment, she was taken back to an earlier time with him. A time where he was more or less predictable. When his memories hadn't fully taken hold of him. His disheveled appearance told her the truth, however.

"Why do you stick around?" He asked.

"Because I love you," she said.

He snorted softly under his breath. There she goes with that love crap. They all say they love you, then they leave. Flip-flop, flip-flop. It was only a matter of time.

At hearing his derisiveness, Viki pulled the car over, needing to explain, hoping to assure him that she indeed loved him. As she was willing to do over and over until he could feel her love for him. Until it would become real to him. He had to learn to trust her again. He had at one time, trusted her. He seemed to have forgotten how to do it.

Once the car rolled to a stop, she shut the engine off and turned around to face her brother who hadn't even batted an eye that she had stopped. She then said, "I know you may not believe that I love you and I understand that. I felt the same way when I was struggling with my own memories. I didn't believe people around me could actually love me. I mean, my God, I nearly burned down my family's home. I nearly destroyed my own company. I… I killed my father. What kind of love does a person like that deserve? What is love, anyway? I was repeatedly raped and then abandoned. That was the kind of love I knew. And I knew it well. But, guess what? That isn't love. The other stuff is. The love from your children, from your spouse. From your sister."

Todd dropped his gaze. She reached across to touch him and he moved away. She pulled her hand back into her lap. "It's hard to trust in the idea of love," she said. "Very hard. It takes time and constant reassurance. I needed to be shown real and tangible love. I had to learn that it was and is more powerful than hatred."

"But, you're good inside," he murmured. "The things you did make sense. They weren't… mirrors of what happened to you. You didn't rape anybody in return. You didn't become the monster who hurt you. I did. I am."

The lights from passing cars flickered onto his lowered face, showing hopelessness there. It tore right through Viki. She knew so well what that felt like. Like it was yesterday, she remembered those lonely months in Switzerland when she felt that death was preferable to being alive knowing what she did. Remembering. "You know Todd, I don't believe that about you," she said. "Yes, you've done some horrible things but the worst is over – I see love winning out within you. What I do see is you seeking comfort behind a monster's mask. You always use that as an explanation for people not getting close to you. It's your fear talking – you don't want them close. You are so afraid of being loved. So afraid love will turn into what Peter gave you."

"But it's true, isn't it? Love gets corrupted around me. It changes. It changes people. They start out good and devoted and honest. And then something happens. The people who said they loved me end up raping me." He laughed in disbelief, the smile then fading. "They rape me, Viki. Take my insides and rip them out. My heart. My trust. My belief in them. It's happened over and over again."

She knew what he said was true on some level. But that was part of life. He couldn't see the normality in regular disputes, in the normal ups and downs of relationships. How to explain? "I know that you've been hurt by Blair. I think by Rebecca as well, and even Téa. But you are focusing on circumstances and not what was in their hearts. They showed you love. They meant it. It was real. Life happens…and sometimes people change. But they didn't get corrupted by your love. And mind you…what about Starr and me? We have not left you. We have not raped you."

Todd closed his eyes and leaned his head against the glass of the passenger door. He didn't really feel much about what she said. Didn't really understand it. Or maybe he just didn't want to make the effort to understand. It all hurt too much. He looked down, beginning again to feel that floating sensation again, floating away from himself. He wanted his sister to hold him, to stay in this car, on this road. Away from everything and everybody.

Abruptly, he said, "I think I hurt Téa."

Viki looked surprised. "When?"

He shrugged his shoulder, his face and voice equally expressionless. "I scared her. I couldn't control myself – it was like it all happened from far away. I was...above it. Watching it all happen."

"She didn't say anything. I saw her when she came downstairs, flustered, but not angry. She was worried about you."

He looked at her with perplexity on his face, "About me?"

"Yes. She was so afraid that she had hurt you; that she did something wrong to make you angry at her. She loves you so much and only wants to do the right thing for you." She smiled, "You may be a challenge to work with but we're not going anywhere. You can't chase us away."

"Oh...no...I was wrong...she shouldn't- I'm not a real person." His words were taking on that slightly slurred sound again. Viki wasn't sure if it was the medication or his depression or dissociation.

"I know it feels that way."

"You don't understand – Téa's gonna get hurt and I'm not talking about my screaming at her or...grabbing her...or something like that...I'm talking about..." He seemed frustrated, halting his words. Then he said, "I don't feel right...inside...I don't feel like I'm really here. I see you... my fingers feel you. But, I think I am...not. That's it. I'm not. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home. Do you understand me? Home?" They sat gazing at each other in the dark of Viki's car, a capsule of isolation. Todd was the most lucid he had been in a long time and … he was telling her he wanted to die. No emotion, no drama. Just a fact.

Let me come back to you, Mama. I want you to hold me. I want you to love me again. I want to feel your arms around me. That rocking you would do, that singing you would do. I don't hate you, Mama. I love you. I'm sorry for the things I said. So sorry.

Viki could barely talk, only managing to say weakly, "I understand. I know what it is you want. All I can say is to give us time. A little more time. Let me try to show you what love is, let Téa try. Let yourself feel it. I'm here for you. I know what you're going through. I...understand." Her cheeks were soon wet with her tears. What could she do? "Please," she said, her voice breaking, cracking, "Give us more time."

Todd only looked at her, blankly, emptily. Dead inside. A murdered child. He took a breath and gazed out the window. Separated again from himself, above himself. He could see his sister reach over to him and hold his hand in hers. She caressed it, even the bandaged part. Even his injured knuckles. Even the ugly, healing cuts on his arm. He then saw her reach over and touch the tangled mess of hair he had, smiling sadly at him. Then, he heard her strong voice come right back at him, "You're going to be fine. You just listen to your sister. Don't give up, Todd. Don't ever give up."

He saw this all from above.

Hell.

The spirit wrapped itself around Todd, trying to protect him from Satan who had come up from the lower depths of Hell again. Stronger than ever. More powerful than ever. He had spotted an open door and had slipped inside the in-between, in this place called Grief. Peter grinned ugly, looking down at his son.

"They speak of love. They are lying to you. I am the only love you have ever had. I have never left you, not once… oh, I might have physically been away from you… but never in spirit. Your sister will walk away once you do another wrong thing, once you stop trying to be good. Your doctor will leave you when you cannot get well. Your women… they will leave you when they understand who you truly are. Your children will disown you when they learn of your past… and the crimes you have yet to commit. Love, my son… has only come from me. Complete and total love. I made you who you are… I accept who you are... YOU…. ARE ME."

Todd knew he spoke the truth and he wept.

To be continued….