LONDON RAIN, Part 26

And if these wounds
They are self-inflicted
I don't really know
How my poor heart could have protected me
But if I have to carry this pain
If you will not share the blame
I deserve to see your face again

The solitary silence of the hotel suite was unbearable. All around the dark, empty room, J.R. could see his son … his wife. Their presence was still so strong.

His eyes closed tight, trying unsuccessfully to blot out the images. After so much time away from them, he had come so close to having them as his family again. How had it all gone to hell so fast?

The few inches of bourbon left in bottle he was holding beckoned. He wanted to be numb, was waiting for it to happen. Anything to make the feelings of sorrow and guilt and years of regrets go away. He looked away from the bottle to his other hand and contemplated the crystal glass, suddenly fascinated by the pattern, disappointed it was empty.

He poured more bourbon into it, his unsteady hand spilling some on his clothes. It went unnoticed as he bolted the shot. Funny how it didn't burn as it went down anymore.

He silently prayed he would pass out. Then there would be no more memories of John Ross and Sue Ellen. His smile … her voice … his laughter … her touch. The touch he craved. Just the thought of it made his entire body tense. Nothing short of unconsciousness would erase the need for her.

He poured another drink and considered the past few hours as he swallowed. There had been several phone calls to Ratagan and his contacts in London. They were all scrambling to figure out what went wrong. They knew Lockwood had indeed found the money and paid off the loan but where he had gotten the money from was still a mystery.

It had to somehow involve Sue Ellen and that made J.R. uneasy. Was Lockwood stealing from her? Embezzling from the company? How else could he raise that kind of cash? Ratagan had found out years ago, back in Dallas, that Lockwood was broke and had no family. Hell, his wife had died, probably just to get away from him. So where did the money come from?

Having no answers infuriated J.R. and he cursed out loud. He was tired of thinking of Lockwood. He wanted the little loser out of his mind. But one unrelenting thought that involved him wouldn't go away. How could Sue Ellen have chosen to believe Lockwood over him?

J.R. rationalized that he had been honest with Sue Ellen since they met in Harrods. He had explained he wanted nothing more than just to be with her and their son. He thought they had reached an understanding. He felt as if they had regained some of the closeness they had lost so long ago. Yet she chose Lockwood.

Another shot of bourbon was sloshed into the glass and angrily bolted down. Lockwood was going to pay for coming between him and his family. So would Sue Ellen. He wanted her to feel as much pain as he felt right now. Yes, that was cruel, but he no longer cared. Then he stopped. That was a lie.

His eyes closed and he slowly shook his head. As much as he wanted to hate her, he couldn't. He loved her. He was in love with her. They shared too many memories, too much history he couldn't deny. The past few days had only reinforced that. Plus there was John Ross. The link that kept them connected when all else was gone.

It was almost eerie how history repeated itself. He had experienced the same kind of emotions that last night at Southfork. He had even contemplated ending it all right then and there. He could still feel the gun against his head, feel his finger on the trigger. But all he could see that night was John Ross. Just like now.

No. Killing himself wasn't the answer then and it sure as hell wasn't now. Instead, he would strike back. The plan was already in motion to regain his son.

J.R. tried to recall the conversation he had had earlier with Harve Smithfield, the Ewing lawyer back in Dallas. He had ordered Harve to get him a London solicitor and work on getting custody of John Ross. J.R. wanted the boy as far away from the Lockwoods and London as possible. Cost didn't matter. Neither did Harve's warning that the chances of winning were slim since he had signed custody over to Sue Ellen before she left for London. But he would win, J.R. vowed to himself. He had to. Then Sue Ellen could experience the desolation of John Ross being gone.

The delicious sense of revenge quickly faded at one fatal realization. Even if Sue Ellen lost John Ross, she would still have Lockwood. She would still be married to him. Share his life. Share his bed.

That cut like a dagger being driven deep into his chest.

J.R. unknowingly gripped the glass so tightly it broke under the pressure, the razor-like shards slicing his palm.

"Damn!" He cried out as he dropped the remaining pieces.

His senses dulled from the alcohol, he looked down, watched the blood pool in his hand and was surprised he couldn't feel it. He remotely knew he should wrap it up but he didn't care. Then his fist closed tightly over the wound and he looked away.

How could she do it? How could Sue Ellen be in love with a man who was so far beneath her? Everything about Lockwood was so boring it bordered on tacky. He was certainly no match for the former Miss Texas. So what the hell did she ever see in the sawed-off, stupid son-of-a-bitch?

There was a dull pounding in J.R's hand that felt like an echo in his head and heart. How could a woman he had gotten rid of still hurt him so bad? Or was it she who had gotten rid of him?

It didn't matter. She was about to find out how wrong she was. He would have his revenge. But now came the thing he hated worst when a deal was about to go down … the waiting. The tomblike quiet of the hotel room only amplified it.

He had tried to leave, get as far away from London as possible. He had tried to get on the next plane back to Paris and get the hell out of there. But the fog had shut down the airports.

He looked over at the dark window. The fog. It was suffocating the city. Suffocating him. He had no choice but to wait. Wait until morning. Then he would be gone, come hell or high water. Thank God. How he hated London, hated everything about it. It was too full of memories now. Too full of things he wanted to forget.

He drank straight out of the bottle. All he had left was the bourbon.

Then finally it happened. Coherent thought deserted him as his body relaxed out of his control. With an unsteady smile, J.R. closed his eyes, grateful the alcohol had finally seeped in and taken control of his system. The endlessly repeating thoughts and memories grew distant, muted as he slipped into the semi-conscious world of oblivion. He sighed in relief as the blurred darkness took over and the numbness dulled the pain.

The empty bottle dropped to the floor and rolled away.