Justice

by Cirocco

Semi-sequel to Pretty Picture.

2. Coping Strategies

CHAPTER 2: COPING STRATEGIES

Thursday, January 22
7:34pm

"Rey?  What is it?" Deborah asked as Rey swore under his breath, shoving aside a stack of bills.

"We're over-budget again."

"Again?" she sighed.

"With the fine from my charge and the one month delay from the precinct, and the suspension...  and the stop-payment from John Jay... I don't know what we're gonna do.  We can't make rent this month.  And Flora already said if we got behind one more time..."

"I know," Deborah sighed again and pushed her hand through her hair.

"It won't be so bad next month, as soon as my pay comes in, but... for this month..."

"Is there anything we can trim?" she asked hopelessly.

"God, I don't know.  We're already... we're already at bare bones.  The only thing I can think of is my meds, and that's-"

"That's not an option," Deborah said firmly.

"We can't cut yours or Tania's."

"Or yours.  It's not a luxury, Rey.  You need them more than ever now."

"It wouldn't help us make rent anyway, it's not that much money," he said glumly.

"You know, I know where to get more money..." Serena suggested.

"Sweetie, don't worry about it, we'll figure something out," he told her in a distracted tone of voice, rubbing the back of his neck and preparing to go over their figures again.

"But Daddy, you know I can get us a lot more money.  We wouldn't have to worry about rent.  It would just be for this month."

Rey and Deborah suddenly got what she was saying and traded glances, both turning pale.  "Serena, you better not be saying what it sounds like you're saying."

"Daddy-"

"No.  You don't even joke about that.  You don't ever even think about it again, got it?  I am NOT going to prison again!!"

"But Daddy, what if we can't make rent?  We'll get evicted-"

"Then we'll go to a fucking homeless shelter!!" he shouted at her.  She gaped at him, scared, as all activity in their home came to a frozen stop.  He suddenly stood and pulled her by the arm to her room, almost throwing her into the room and slamming the door behind them.

"Sit!" he commanded her, pointing to her bed. He sat down on Olivia's bed, trying with everything he had to keep control despite his growing panic and anger.  "OK.  Listen up.  You are never, ever, going to deal again.  You got that?  I don't care if we go to a shelter, I don't care if we're eating at soup kitchens every day, I don't care if we're so poor we have to break up this family and have you all in foster care again, you are never, ever, ever going to deal again.  Understand?"

"Yes," she said, her voice very small.

"Serena..." he rubbed his face, completely at a loss over how to reach her and make sure the idea never crossed her mind again..  "Look, you know I went to prison for you, and I don't - I don't want you to ever feel guilty about that... but you can't ever, EVER break the law again.  Understand?  You can't.  If you do, and you're caught, you'll go to juvie and I went through hell to make sure you wouldn't have to.  Don't make that a waste!"   He put his head in his hands for a moment, trying to calm himself down.

This was awful.  She was only a child, too little to have to think about any of this.  Kids her age shouldn't even know that there was such a thing as drugs.  They definitely shouldn't be deciding whether to sell them or not.

Abruptly he came to a decision.  He sat down on Serena's bed next to her and quickly peeled his bandages off.  "Take a look.  Take a really close look.  That's twelve stitches on this one," he traced the forearm cut, "and five on this one, and six on this one," he traced the ones on his wrists.  "That's twenty-three stitches.  This one was from a guy who was trying to rape me," her eyes widened. "He wasn't just trying to beat me up.  And these ones, I made, because it was the only way I could get sent to the hospital to get away from him.  That's what I have all those nightmares about.  OK?  That could happen to you too."

Serena paled, staring at his cuts in shock.  She brought her hands up to her mouth, looked up at him in horror.

"That's what happened to you?"

He nodded silently.

"Did... did he-"

"He didn't, he just tried.  But he was going to when I made the cuts."

"What happened?"

"The guards came and took me to the infirmary, then I got put under and put on suicide watch.  They didn't know I'd just done it to get away, they thought I was trying to kill myself."

"Did you tell them?"

"No.  I was only there a couple days before Jack got the judge to set me free."

"You... you cut yourself?  You cut yourself with a knife?"

He nodded, holding her gaze.  "It was the only way I could get away from him.  That's what happens in prison.  It's a horrible place to be.  I was in for less than a week, and what happened to me there is gonna be with me for a long, long time.  And if you go to prison, the same thing could happen to you, or worse."

"But... why didn't you just tell them what he was trying to do?"

"Inmates don't matter in prison.  Nobody cares about your safety in there, nobody cares about making sure that you're OK.  As long as you're not dead, anything else that happens to you in there doesn't matter."

"Even - even rape?"

"Even rape.  While I was in the infirmary another inmate was brought in who'd been raped by a bunch of guys, and nobody cared.  They joked about it.  They just said he better find himself somebody to protect him, 'cause they weren't going to."

"But who was supposed to protect him?"

"If you're weak or you're a target, like if you're a snitch or an ex-cop or something, you have to find an inmate who'll protect you from the other inmates.  And you pay them, with money or drugs or by letting them have sex with you."  He paused.  "The guy that was attacking me?  I was told I should be grateful because he was offering to protect me from everybody else."

Serena stared at him, horrified

"It happens in women's prisons and in juvie too.  You'd be a target because you testified against Tammy Morisen.  Tammy Morisen would kill you unless you found somebody to protect you."

"I wouldn't let anybody do anything like that to me," she said defiantly.

"You think I wanted to let anything happen to me?  You wouldn't have a choice.  You can't fight against a whole bunch of people.  You'd just get killed."

"I'd rather die."

"Then you would die.  Either Tammy or somebody else would kill you for not cooperating or you might be able to find a knife and do yourself in, unless the guards found out and put you on suicide watch.  And that's no picnic either."

"Why?"

"They locked me to the bed and put a guard next to me, then they drugged me.  I spent most of my time so doped up I couldn't even move.  One guard was nice, he talked to me for a while and told me I was gonna be OK.  The rest of them either treated me like a piece of furniture or swore at me and told me I was worthless."  Serena swallowed hard.

"That's what prison is like.  People trying to hurt you.  Guards telling you you're nothing.  You're locked up most of them time.  You have to get permission to do everything.  Remember when you came to see me in Sing Sing?"

"Yeah."

"How would you like to be like that?  Handcuffed and locked to a chain?  How would you like to be treated like you're nothing?  How would you like to have Tammy telling you she's gonna hurt you and there's nothing you can do about it?"

She hesitantly touched one of the stitches and he twitched involuntarily, then held very still.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," she whispered.

He hugged her close.  "This was not your fault.  Do you understand that?  It's not your fault."

"But you went because of me."

"I went because you're my daughter and I love you.  That's what a father's supposed to do.  If I had to go back in time, I would do it again." He tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes seriously.  "I'm not telling you any of this to make you feel guilty.  I'm telling you so that you don't ever get yourself in a position like that."

Serena held his gaze, then hesitantly asked, "Did - for real, did you try to kill yourself?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

Yes.  The last day he'd wished he could and he would have if he hadn't been restrained and watched.  But she didn't need to know that.  He tried to think of what to say.  "Sweetie... you don't know what it was like in there.  And I don't want you to ever find out."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you.  I only told you because of what you said about helping out."  He paused, holding her tight.  "Please, I know this is a lot to ask, but please don't talk to your sisters or anybody else about this, OK?  If you need to talk, come talk to me or Mom or Father Morelli.  There's no need to scare your sisters.  I didn't want any of you to know about this, but it scares me too much that you might do something that'll get you into a place like that."

"OK."

He let her go and she left the bedroom, shaken.  He put his head in his hands.  Damn it.  Damn it, damn it.  He'd scared the hell out of her.  No child should have to see those cuts, hear what had caused them.  He should be shielding her from things like that, not rubbing her face in them.  But he didn't know how else to prevent her from making decisions that would land her in the exact same place.  Better to hear a horrible story than live it.

===

Saturday, January 24
1:03am

No, no, please, no, he wants to scream but his voice is barely a whisper.  Struggling with all his strength but barely moving.  Rico's friends holding him down so tightly it hurts.

Fuck!  He's awake - put him down again

Relax, it's gonna be OK

Rico's friends holding him down, Rico's voice, Relax, baby, I'm gonna enjoy this, No, no - stop!  STOP!!  he hears himself gasp in pain, no, no, please no, he can't get away, bright lights, so many eyes watching, faces grinning, it's just a show to them, pain so agonizing he'd rather die than endure it one more second, No, stop, get off of me, stop touching me, stop, God please, stop him, please make him stop, God, please

You almost done?

Mother Mary, please, make him stop, no, stop, stop, no, so much blood everywhere, wrists gushing red, droplets of blood across Rico's cheek, his life draining out of him, blood in his eyes-

Wouldja put him down, please, before he hurts himself?

No, please no, please stop, please Almighty God, help me, make him stop, make him stop, make him stop

Deborah woke up.  She blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out why she was awake.

"Stop... please, no..." she heard Rey's voice.  Rey lay on his side, asleep, brow furrowed, head moving back and forth on the pillow.

"Rey?"

"No - please, don't.  Please..." he whispered.

Deborah shivered.  Whatever Rey was dreaming about, it had to stop.  But she was a little scared to wake him up.

"Rey!"  She reached out and shook his shoulder and he flinched, drawing away.

"Deborah - please help me," he whispered.  He hugged himself tightly, shaking.

"Rey, wake up!!  Rey!" she shook him, hard, and he finally woke up, scrambling away from her as if her touch burned him.  Then he got up without a word and left the apartment.  Again.

She sighed, wishing he could talk to her, talk to somebody.  Anybody.  Hopefully things would improve once he was able to see the shrink.  Unfortunately, he was on a waiting list a mile long.  And the pressure from the nightmares and the suspension and their financial situation were really taking their toll.

Outside, Rey ran, taking comfort in the physical exercise, in the fact that he wasn't confined any more.  In Sing Sing, there had been nowhere to run.  Now he could at least get away.

He finally stopped, winded, and found a park to rest in before heading back home.  He looked up at the sky - nice night.  Clear, almost full moon.  The city was still active, even late at night.

Shit, that had been a pretty bad one.  His nightmares were pretty horrific most of the time, since they tended to be jumbles of images and emotions from those six days in Sing Sing, but he really hated the ones where he didn't get away from Rico.  Like what happened wasn't bad enough, he'd dreamed a few times that the guard didn't come in time to save him.  And then everything became a jumble of nightmarish pain and his wrists were bleeding again.  He absently scratched at a cut.

He breathed in deeply.  There wasn't much he could do about the nightmares.  But he could at least do something about some of the pressure he was under.  He resolved to see Father Morelli the next day.

===

Saturday, January 24
11:09am

"Father, you know that offer of financial aid from the Church?"

"Yes?"

"Now would be a really good time."

"Of course. How much do you need?"

"We... we can't make rent this month.  We're already a month behind.  The landlady said she'll evict us at the end of the month if we don't pay up for last and this month.  We're good for it, I've been reinstated, but the Department pays one month behind, so..."

"All right, no problem, let's just pay it all off and you'll pay us back later.  I'll get Sister Ellen at the convent to go over your finances if you want, she can probably work out something.  She's very good at finding ways around bureaucratic idiocy.  Maybe Deborah can get disability for the month you weren't paid."

"Thanks, Father," Rey let out his breath in relief.  It rankled to have to rely on charity like this, but he'd had to swallow his pride about far worse.  He rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit of his tension subsiding.  OK.  No eviction, at least not this month.  He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable around Father Morelli now that they were done talking about his finances.  He hadn't had a chance to talk to Morelli since he'd gotten out, since Morelli had been on some kind of retreat, and he really didn't know what to say to him.

"How are you doing, Rey?" Morelli asked hesitantly.  Rey shrugged and looked away.

"OK," he lied and changed the subject.  "How are you doing, Father?"

"Good, thanks."

"What did your superiors say about you revealing my mother's confession to the judge?"

"Everything's fine.  I spent some time explaining the situation to them.  I've been asked to resign my post as senior priest here, which I think is only fair."

"I meant what I said, Father.  I'll speak on your behalf if you want me to."

"Thanks.  I don't think it'll be necessary."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."  They both stared at the floor for a moment, then Morelli said, "Rey, I have to get back to-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Father, I didn't mean to take up your time-"

"No, no, it's OK.  I'll send Sister Ellen over tomorrow.  We'll work something out."

Morelli watched Rey leave and leaned against the door, brooding.  He hadn't told Rey - he hadn't told anybody - but he hadn't been at a retreat.  He'd been at the Archdiocese, catching Hell, to use a rather profane expression, for his actions during the whole Curtis family debacle.

His superiors had been upset, far more upset than he'd let Rey know, and although they had only requested that he resign his position as senior priest at St. Ignacio's, he was thinking of doing a whole lot more.  He was thinking of leaving the priesthood.  Not just because of the confession, but because of how he'd failed Rey and his mother.  Because of how he'd dealt with Rey during the last few years.

Morelli went back into his office, remembering one confession of Rey's that stood out from the last year.  One confession that he'd thought about a great deal as he'd agonized over what to do to help Rey get out of prison, and later thought about his own role in having landed him there.

It had been the last Saturday of the month, a few months before Estela Curtis' death, and Morelli had woken up hoping against hope that Rey wouldn't be there.  He found these sessions so frustrating.  Rey, a man who used to be a pillar of the community, who used to be arrogant and confident, who used to be a friend, confessing over and over again to infidelity, drug use... sad, subdued, ashamed.  It made Morelli want to shake him back into shape, slap him for being such an idiot.  It also made him unutterably sad.  He'd opened up the back door and looked out into the garden, where Rey was sitting at the picnic table, head pillowed on his crossed arms, gazing out at the flowers.  He'd come and sat down in front of Rey.  Rey didn't look at him as they sat in silence for a moment.  Finally he'd said,

"I'm sorry, Father."

Morelli sighed.  "Come inside, Rey." He suddenly decided the morning was too nice to be indoors and corrected himself.  "Actually, don't.  Let's just stay out here."  Rey slowly sat up and crossed himself.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned.  It's been a week since my last confession."

"What happened?"

He shrugged.  Father Morelli knew what had happened.

"Rey... how can you do this to your family, time after time?  How can you betray your wife like this?"

"I'm sorry, Father."

"You took vows.  Don't they mean anything to you?"

"Yes, Father."

"What do they mean?  How can you break them over and over again?"

"I don't know."

"What's going through your head when you do this?"

"I - I don't know.  Not very much."

"Did you drink?"  That was a non-question.  Rey's pallor and unsteadiness was pretty indicative that this was a 'morning after the night before'.

"Five beers."

"Did you do drugs again?"

Heavy sigh.  "Yes, Father."

"How much?"

Shrug, eyes downcast.  "Couple joints."

"Rey.  You're a police officer.  You're supposed to uphold the law, not break it."

"I know."

"Why do you allow yourself to do this?  Were you drugging your guilt away again?"

"Yes, Father."

"Why don't you listen to your guilt instead?"

"I don't know."

"Listen to it, avoid temptation.  If something feels that bad, then you shouldn't be doing it."

Rey bowed his head.

"You need to be strong.  Stronger than this.  I know it's difficult to accept your marriage the way it is, but it's not impossible.  Enforced celibacy may not be an ideal way to live your life, but it's no excuse for your conduct."

"I know."

"If you know, why don't you do something to change your behaviour?"  Rey sighed and there was a long silence.  They had spoken so many words so many times, and none of them seemed to make any difference.  Morelli pointed out what Rey was supposed to do, Rey was penitent, promised he would try harder next time... and the next month they went through the same song and dance.  Rey had sat blankly gazing out at the garden while Morelli tried to psyche himself up to go through it all again.  Then Rey had looked up at Morelli and started to speak hesitantly.

"Father... don't you ever feel - ever feel like you need somebody to touch you?  Like you need to touch another human being?"  Morelli gazed at him impassively and Rey had chewed his lip, trying to find words to express himself.  He continued slowly.  "I... I have these dreams all the time, about Deborah, about, about being with her.  They're so vivid.  And, and then I wake up in the morning and I feel like, like I don't know what, just... devastated, because it was just a dream."  His words had stumbled to a stop as he glanced around the garden, arms crossed defensively, trying to explain something that couldn't be easily put into words.

"I - I need her, Father.  I need somebody," he said, his voice low.

"You want her," Morelli had replied gently.  "Want and need are two different things."  He sympathized with the difficulty of Rey's situation, and he felt a pang of sorrow for the pain that Rey felt, being cut off from his wife, but Rey needed to look at this objectively.  "She's still your wife, still the mother of your children.  She's still alive.  What you need is to be content with what you have and not dissatisfied because you don't have more."

"I know."

"What goes through your mind when you go to those bars?  What are you thinking when you betray your wife?"

"I'm not thinking much.  I don't let myself think," Rey had answered softly.  He tentatively offered, "But, but I feel... I feel like... sometimes I feel like I'd give anything, anything at all, to touch a woman.  To have a woman touch me."

"You need to pray."

"Father, prayer doesn't do a lot in this department."

"You aren't praying hard enough.  You need to pray to be delivered from this attachment to physical things."

Rey looked up, despairing, and for once he tried to defend himself, his dark eyes pleading for understanding.  "Father... it's once, it's once a month."  Morelli had frowned, not liking the tone of that.  Rey had looked away from his silent disapproval.  "I, I know it's wrong, but... but it's once a month that I get to feel like a regular person and not go crazy wishing for something I can't have.  I - I don't tell Deborah about it, I take care of her and I don't let myself get attached to any woman who might tempt me to leave her, and, and I know that's wrong too," he said quickly before Morelli could berate him for it, "I shouldn't use a woman like that, but, but..." he'd drawn in a shaking breath, words coming more quickly as he tried to express himself.  "God, I can't, I can't live my whole life never being touched.  I can't.  Some days I crave it so much it's like, like... like I feel like I'm starving," he'd paused, trembling, his voice unsteady, and tried to retain his composure.  "I don't know how you do it, but it drives me crazy.  I feel like I'm dying."

"You're not.  Nobody ever died of celibacy."

He shook his head.  That wasn't what he meant.  "You, you chose to be celibate, I didn't.  I, I married Deborah, for god's sake, I mean, she was, she was - she made me feel like, like... I need that back, I don't, I can't live without ever feeling that again.  I can't."

"Yes you can.  Stop being dramatic.  People live without sex."

He shook his head and persisted doggedly.  "It's not just sex, it's, it's - I, I can get relief any time, it's not just that, it's, it's being close to another person, it's feeling close to somebody...anybody..." he spread his hands, helpless to explain but trying.  "It's, it's having somebody want me, need me, I mean, Deborah, she, she doesn't - I don't even exist for her that way any more, I, I-"

"You're making excuses.  You're justifying your sin," Morelli said sternly.

"No, no I'm not - I'm not saying it's justified, I-"

"Yes, you are."

"No, I... I'm not, I know it's wrong, it's not an excuse, Father, it's..."

"That's what it sounds like to me.  Like you're trying to say that because you want to sin, that makes it all right."

Rey had accepted the rebuke but tried one last time, his eyes pleading.  "No, no, I... Father, I don't... I don't have anything else to look forward to.  I don't have anything else in my life that... that feels good.  I-"

"It feels good to betray your family?"

"No, no, that's not what-"

"You don't have anything else in your life?  What about the four children that God gave to you, they don't mean anything to you?"

Silence.  The light in Rey's eyes died as he gave in and stopped trying to explain himself, just accepted Morelli's judgment.

"Well?"

Rey had bowed his head in defeat.  "I'm sorry, Father."

"It doesn't matter whether Deborah knows or not.  It doesn't matter that you only do this once a month.  It's wrong.  It's betrayal and sin.  Deborah deserves better than this from you."

"I know," he'd whispered.

"Your children deserve better than this from you.  You deserve better than this from yourself."

Rey had put his head in his hands.

He had continued to harangue Rey, pointing out all the ways in which Rey could have avoided sinning the night before, all the ways in which he had failed.  His wife, his children, himself, the Church, and God.  Rey had taken it, silently, his brief attempt at communication, at reaching out for help and understanding, crushed under the weight of guilt that Morelli had piled on him mercilessly.

"You need to acknowledge your sin, not try to explain it away.  Acknowledge the gravity of your sin, admit that you are a sinner, that you have failed.  Admit your unworthiness, humbly beg God to forgive you and cleanse you of your sin."

"Again," Rey had pointed out hopelessly.

"Again," Morelli had agreed.  "Bare your soul to God.  Ask Him for help."

"Father... I feel like I can't even do that any more.  Forgiveness requires that you resolve you won't sin again.  I know I'm not strong enough not to.  How can God forgive that?"

"God can forgive anything, you know that, as long as you sincerely repent."

"I... I do."  Rey had sighed and hidden his face in his hands.  "I do repent.  I feel guilt, I feel, I feel like I'm less than nothing after one of these nights, I just, I just don't see how God can remove that."

"Then you're not letting go.  Do your penance, resolve to not sin again, and God will take your sin from you.  He accepts you, no matter what you've done."

"How can He?" Rey had asked, his voice muffled.

Morelli had placed a hand on Rey's shoulder, sighing.  "Rey, I can't explain it either.  I know I don't feel terribly charitable towards you, and you probably don't feel much sympathy for yourself either, but we're human.  God is better than both of us."  He'd paused for a moment, and added gently, "You are still a child of God.  Your sins hurt Him, but He still loves you as much as He ever has.  Trust Him.  God is still with you.  He hasn't forsaken you, and He never will."

He had allowed Rey time to regain his composure, sensing that Rey was near tears.  Rey had kept his hands over his face, his breathing slowly calming as he brought himself back from the edge.  When he felt Rey had himself sufficiently under control again, he had said gently, "You need to make an Act of Contrition."  Rey had sighed, crossed himself, and said the words he'd said so many times before, his voice low and resigned.  The beginning of yet another long period of prayer, Hail Mary's, Our Father's, self-recrimination, that always left him penitent but no more able to resist temptation than before.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all," his voice had caught and he'd paused for a moment before continuing, "Most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love.  I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin."

Now Morelli remembered that conversation and felt overwhelming remorse.  Rey had tried so hard to reach him, had needed somebody to listen to him so much... and he'd punished him for it.  Punished him for daring to try to explain his pain, for daring to hope for anything other than condemnation from him.  Morelli had known that Rey was isolated and overburdened, but had refused to let himself see just how desperate his situation was, how cut off he was from everything and everyone.  Refused to let himself see that Rey had nowhere else to turn, that there was nobody else who could help Rey - just him.

Instead of helping, he'd hurt.  He'd hurt someone who trusted him and needed him.  It was unforgivable.

It wasn't like he didn't have experience dealing with people who sinned repeatedly in the same way.  His parish included alcoholics, abusers, drug users, compulsive gamblers and philanderers, and somehow he was able to listen to them and comfort them as he helped them to deal with their problems.  For some reason, he'd been unable to do that for Rey.  He had failed Rey.

The prosecutor in Rey's case had said that Rey angered Morelli because he was so similar to Morelli himself.  Because if Rey could fail, so could Morelli.  Morelli wasn't sure he agreed with that particular analysis, but he did know that he had never been as harsh with other parishioners as he had been with Rey.  Instead of seeing Rey's constant infidelities as a sign of misery, as a deeply lonely man reaching out to another human being for contact, however fleeting and illicit, he'd just seen it as sin.  He'd condemned without even trying to understand.

He'd taken refuge in inflexible adherence to formula: help the sinner's guilt over his sin guide him to avoid sin the next time.  Despite a year's worth of evidence that Rey's guilt merely made him slide farther and farther down into despondency and self-hatred, without anything positive coming from it, because Rey was too exhausted and lonely to be able to cope in any other way.

He'd even been blind to the fact that Rey had fallen so far into a depression that he was thinking of ending his own life.  He'd missed that completely.  Rey's mother had seen it.  Why hadn't he?  And how could he have dismissed her concerns for him, her fear over her deteriorating health and its effect on him, to the point where she confessed that she was thinking of suicide too and he just told her to stop thinking about it?

What Estela Curtis had needed was for somebody, anybody, to help her son.  What Rey had needed was for somebody to see that he was breaking under the strain.  That he was doing his best but needed help and support, needed to not feel so alone.

He had needed Morelli to see that his conduct didn't have much to do with sin or weakness or lack of love for his wife and children.  It had to do with grief at watching his wife slowly die, despair at the distance between them and the hopelessness of their situation, and an instinctive need to feel alive.

Rey had been right.  He was dying.  His spirit was, anyway.  Not from lack of sex, but from lack of sustenance in the form of affection, companionship, hope, self-worth... anything positive.  And Morelli hadn't seen, hadn't wanted to see, had convinced himself and Rey that the only reason Rey wasn't doing well was that he didn't have enough faith.

Which now seemed like sheer lunacy.  How could working full-time, taking care of three healthy children and two invalids, with medical bills and debts piled to the sky, and marital troubles on top of everything else, be manageable with just a little prayer?

His actions had pushed Rey to the edge of suicide.  Had pushed his mother over that edge.  He had been the cause of everything that Rey and his family had had to endure since Estela's death.  He didn't deserve to have Rey forgive him, or speak for him.  He wasn't fit to wear the collar.

Unfortunately, he also felt like he couldn't leave Rey and his family now.  Not when he'd heard from Father Mejia that they weren't doing well at all.  That Deborah and Lisa were worried about Rey, that he'd been suspended from work, that he wouldn't talk to them and was becoming more and more withdrawn.

Morelli sighed.  He wanted to help, wanted to make up for his negligence, but his track record with the Curtises was abysmal.  He should probably quit before he made things even worse, if such a thing was possible.

===

Saturday, January 24
6:13pm

"Daddy!  Stop scratching!"

"Shit!" Rey said under his breath, clenching his fists and trying not to, but he couldn't help it, he started to rub the right wrist against his knee.

"Stop it!"

"I can't," he muttered.  God, this itched so much.  He went to the sink, started running cold water and put his hands under the tap, and breathed a little easier.  He peered more closely at the water, running a little pink.  Damn it.  Another pulled stitch.

"Olivia, can you get me the first aid kit please?"

"Sure, Daddy."

She brought it to him and he started to try to deal with the small wound with his left hand.  She stopped him.  "Here.  Keep your left hand under the tap, I'll get it."

"Thanks."

She took his right hand and peered at the wound, then quickly and efficiently got alcohol and dabbed at the bloody spot.  He gasped and his hand twitched with no prompting from him, and Olivia held on tighter, examining to make sure no other stitches had come out.  It felt very strange, having his daughter bandaging his wrist, unemotionally checking the stitches and seeing where he'd scratched the skin around them raw, clucking at him in disapproval.  Man, that was an ugly wound.  He'd had stitches on his hand before, years ago, when he was wounded by a crazy knife-wielding girl, and didn't remember it looking so awful or itching so much, or taking so damn long to heal.  She put a dressing on it and wrapped it, then taped the bandage.

"Daddy... what happened to your wrists?" she asked softly as she finished taping.  He shook his head.  She cleared her throat and fidgeted for a moment, then blurted out, "People cut their wrists when they're trying to commit suicide."

"That's not what happened.  Nothing happened," he tried to head her off.  Here was yet another conversation he didn't want to be having in this damned house.

"It's not nothing!  You've got all these cuts and nightmares and it scares the hell out of me!  And Serena and Isabel too!" he realized that she was close to tears.  He rubbed his forehead, wishing he could reassure her, but knowing he really couldn't.

"I can't, OK?  I can't talk about this.  Not to you."  He patted her gently and went into the kitchen to start making dinner.

Olivia stayed in the washroom for a while.  Dad wasn't doing well.  She'd heard Mom waking him up last night, knew he'd gone out in the middle of the night again, knew that he was having nightmares almost every night.  And there didn't seem to be anything any of them could do about it.  He wouldn't even talk to anybody.

Well, at least there was one thing she could do, and now seemed as good a time as any to do it.  She entered the kitchen and stood for a minute, watching him cook.

"Daddy, do you really think you're not a good example for us?"

"What?" he asked distractedly, stirring the soup.

"You said you woulda liked to be a good example for us," she reminded him.

"Oh yeah."

"You think you're not?"

He glanced at her.  What a question.  "Not really," he stirred some more.

"Why not?"

He shrugged.  "I've done a lotta dumb stuff, that's all."

"You're a good example for me," she said, her voice small.

He half-smiled cynically, tasted the soup and added more pepper.  "You planning on cheating on your husband when you grow up?  Doing drugs?"

"No... but... you're a good example to me.  I look up to you."

"Olivia..." he got out bowls, realizing there weren't enough for everybody.  Started to wash two more.

"What?  You are," she said, knowing that he wasn't really listening or taking her seriously.  She stepped forward and put a piece of paper on the kitchen counter, and quickly blurted out, embarrassed, "Here.  I did this for English class.  Read it." She ducked out of the kitchen.

My Dad

I look up to my dad because he tries his best to take care of all of us.  My mom's sick and I know a lot of guys would have left their wife if she was sick, but he didn't.  He takes care of her and all of my sisters, including my little sister, Tania, who's very hard to take care of.  He's tired a lot of the time, and sometimes he does stuff that he shouldn't do because he's tired and upset.  But he never makes excuses for the things he's done wrong and he always tries to make things better afterwards if he can.  He's taught me a lot about honesty and faithfulness and responsibility and doing your best even when it's really hard to keep going.  So I look up to him a lot.

Rey put the paper down carefully and turned the burner off, stirring the soup until the tight feeling in his chest had subsided somewhat, then went to the girls' bedroom.

"Olivia?" he stood outside her door for a moment until she appeared, and without looking at her, gave her the paper back.  "Thanks, sweetie."

It was so inadequate, but there weren't any words for how he felt or what he wanted to say to her.  She took the paper, then held it back out to him.

"I already handed it in.  I got an A-.  Do you want to keep it?"

He looked at it for a moment.  "Yeah, I wouldn't mind."

"Keep it.  And don't forget, OK?" she touched his hand.  He nodded silently, folding it up and putting it in his back pocket.  He swallowed hard, wishing there was some way he could communicate with her, some way to give her something as precious as what she'd just given him, but he couldn't even make himself meet her eyes.  She slowly came closer and put her arms around him and he hugged her back, settling for that.

Honesty and faithfulness and responsibility.  The last things he thought he was teaching anyone.

===

Sunday, January 25
5:45pm

"For god's sake, Isabel, I just mended these," Rey said wearily as he entered the apartment, carrying a load of clean laundry with a torn pair of pants sitting on top.  "Can you try to be a little more careful with your clothes please?"  Isabel mumbled an apology and Rey got out the sewing supplies.  He sat down, bit off a length of thread, threaded the needle and hunted around for the tear.  He finally found it and called back over his shoulder at Olivia in the kitchen.  "Olivia, you wanna start the water boiling for the rice, please?" he started to stitch, then blanched and stopped.  Isabel frowned in puzzlement as he abruptly put the pants down.

"Rey?" Deborah asked, alarmed.

"I - I'll be back in a minute.  Make sure Tania doesn't hurt herself with the needle."  He quickly went into the washroom and leaned on the sink, willing down nausea and breathing deeply to calm himself down.  This was ridiculous.  A simple mending job - and here he was, flashing back to the doctor's needle going in and out of his forearm, his wrists, stitching him up in the prison.  Vision blurring until all he could see was that needle going in and out as he passed out, with the smell of blood and the sharp jabbing pain and the helplessness of not being able to move away, being tied down...

Don't throw up, don't throw up.  OK, that's probably not gonna work, he realized.  He knelt down by the toilet, still trying to keep control.  OK, throw up if you have to, but at least be quiet about it.

Needle going in and out, Mother Mary help me please, smell of blood...

"Daddy?" oh Isabel, please, not now...

"Isabel, leave your father alone," Lisa's voice coming from far away.  Bless her.  He stayed where he was for a few more minutes until the urge to heave had passed.  OK.  That wasn't so bad.  He stood, feeling shaky but grateful that at least this was over, for now.  His face looked awful though, almost grey, eyes pitch black.

This was really getting annoying.  It was getting to the point where he felt anxious almost all the time, never knowing what perfectly innocent comment or event would send him right back to prison, mentally and emotionally.  This was ridiculous.  It was only six days.  How could six days be taking over his life like this?

He washed his face and made himself get a grip.  OK.  He was fine.  He left the washroom.

"You OK?" Lisa asked him quietly as he entered the living room again.  He nodded quickly.  "What happened?"  He shrugged and picked up the mending again, determined to not avoid harmless things just because they reminded him of prison.  Lisa approached him and sat down, exchanging glances with Deborah.

"You sure you're OK?"  Deborah asked.  He nodded impatiently, annoyed at them now.  She sighed, then said, "Oh, I meant to tell you, Jorge said he's coming to town."

Oh, damn it.  Rey closed his eyes and suppressed a groan.  He did not need his older brother's abrasive presence in his life right now.  "When?"

Lisa and Deborah smiled at his lack of enthusiasm.  "About a week," Deborah answered.  "He's got some time off from work and I guess he finally remembered he has family here."  Rey nodded.  "Rey, you haven't seen him in two years, except for your mother's funeral.  I know you two haven't been close since you were kids, but... it may be good to spend some time with him again."

Rey smiled at her skeptical tone.  "Are you convincing yourself?"

Deborah smiled back and shook her head.  She wasn't Jorge's biggest fan either, none of them were.  But he was family.  "Well, we'll just keep thinking happy thoughts while he's here and maybe we can actually get through this visit without either of you disowning him again."

===

Sunday, January 25
8:50pm

Later, the basement, he folded more clothing, letting his mind wander.  Jorge was coming.  Great.  Just what he needed right now.  His brother was not the easiest person in the world to get along with, and they both strongly disapproved of each other's lifestyles.  Jorge lived a carefree bachelor's life, even though he had an ex-wife and two children.  Jorge had cheated on his wife years ago, and she'd filed for divorce and taken the kids.  He always paid his alimony and child support, grumbling all the way, but he didn't know a thing about his kids and didn't particularly seem to bemoan the loss.  Rey could never get his mind around that.

And Jorge could never get his mind around Rey's life either.  He had no idea why Rey had fought so hard to get back with his wife years ago, after their separation.  No idea why Rey stayed with Deborah even though she was increasingly disabled.  No idea why they hadn't chosen to abort Tania when Deborah got pregnant for the fourth time.  As far as Jorge was concerned, all of Rey's problems were due to his own stupid choices, and he wasn't shy about saying so.

Honesty and faithfulness and responsibility, he reminded himself.  Whether Olivia was right or not, at least he was doing things right in somebody's eyes.  And his daughter's approval meant a hell of a lot more than his brother's.  Too bad Jorge was so much more vocal with his opinions than Olivia was.

Rey tried to think positively.  They would get through Jorge's visit.  After all, they were getting through far worse.  Father Morelli and Sister Ellen had been true to their word, and everybody was breathing far easier now that at least they weren't facing eviction.  He'd spent the last week trying to convince himself that he could go back to work and do OK.  He and Serena were really getting along well, she had gone back to school, and he'd been able to help her out, talking about what to do next time somebody pissed her off.  Taking mental notes on what they talked about, reminding himself that he could use those tips too.

Now if he could just stop having nightmares and flashbacks - he headed that thought off, firmly telling himself to not think about that.  There was plenty of other stuff to think about in his life.  Sing Sing was over and done.

"Rey!  Hello!"

"Hello Mrs. Peña," Rey smiled at his elderly neighbour as she puffed into the laundry room, carrying a huge basket of laundry.

"I haven't seen you since you came back.  Did everything get sorted out with your mother, dear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh good.  I'm so glad to see you all back.  Deborah's back too, is she?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Is everything all done with that, dear?"

"Yes ma'am.  The police won't be asking you about it any more," he smiled at her.

She nodded to him and went to put her clothes in the washing machine and check on some clothing in one of the dryers.  He continued to fold piles of clothing, absently pushing up his sleeves, getting into a rhythm, thinking about grocery shopping tomorrow.  Suddenly he heard Mrs. Peña gasp, and he glanced up at her.  She was staring at his arms in horror, and quickly turned away as soon as she realized she was staring.  His face burned as he hastily pulled his sleeves down.  Damn it.

Everybody's gonna be able to see it.  Your friends, your wife, the lady at the cash register at the grocery store.

Damn it.  Even when he was able to forget, other people wouldn't let him.  He was marked.  For life.  God damn it.

No.  Come on.  It was just six days.  He could get over this.  He could get over it, and he damn well would.  Somehow.

===

Monday, January 26
2:34am

You fight me and you're gonna wish you were dead before I'm done with you... Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this... You better relax, baby, or this is gonna hurt a lot... Hold him down!

You almost done?

Let's make friends...

Jesus!  GUARD!!

Bleeder!  Bad one!!

Wouldja put him down, please, before he hurts himself?

Cutter!

Woke up, Deborah crying and Lisa shaking him awake, yelling "Get out!!" at the girls.  He automatically pushed Lisa away, violently slapping at her hands where they were touching him, burning him, and hearing her voice cry out in unexpected pain.  He sat back on the bed, shaking, head buried in his arms, knees drawn up, realizing there was nowhere to go - Deborah and Lisa were in this room, the girls were in the hallway, he was being smothered by their concern and love and fear.  And all he wanted was a night away from these memories.

Lisa was still sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Nalo.  You can't go on like this."

"No.  No, I can't," he admitted quietly, head still buried in his arms, heart racing.

"You have to deal with this."

"Deal how?  If you have an idea that'll make this go away, let me know, please," he managed to say, trying to calm his breathing, trying to will his heart to slow down.

"Talk to us.  Stop running away from us!"

All of a sudden he was furious, all the shaking fear and suppressed rage inside him threatening to boil out and he was going to kill his sister, if he'd still owned a gun he would've shot every busybody interfering female in this house who crowded and smothered and pushed at him.  He raised his head and glared at Lisa.

"You want me to share?  You wanna know what's going on in my head?"  The rage came pouring out, though his voice stayed quiet.  "Fine!  I keep hearing that man's voice.  I can feel him grabbing me.  I can feel the knife he put to my throat, and I can hear the voices of the men who cheered him on, and I can feel him cutting my arm open and see my blood pouring out.  I can hear him telling me I was gonna wish I was dead before he was done with me.  I can feel him stick his fucking tongue in my mouth and I can feel those other men holding me down and him lying on top of me and undoing his pants and trying to undo mine." Lisa paled and started to stand up and he grabbed her arm.  Be careful what you ask for, he thought, you just might get it.  "I can still feel him doing all of that, I see it and I hear it and I feel it and you don't wanna be in my head while that's going on!!"

She wanted to know?  He was supposed to tell?  "I had to cut my own wrists to get away.  I had to take a deep breath and slice one open and do the other one before the pain hit from the first one," he realized he'd just mimed the cutting movements he'd made that night, but didn't pause, "and I couldn't see because my own blood was in my eyes, and I remember that every single god damn night, and that's what's waiting for me when I go to sleep," he nodded grimly at her horrified expression.  Yeah, talk to us, she'd said.  "Being tied down while they stitched me up, panicking and thinking I was gonna die and not being able to move or see anything because my own blood was blinding me, from cuts that I made.  Begging Almighty God and Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary to make it stop, only they were taking a fucking coffee break, as usual," Lisa winced and he heard Deborah sobbing and his rage boiled over as his voice got louder.  "Is that what you wanted to hear?!  I've shared, now, is EVERYTHING GONNA BE OK?!" he shoved her away and stood up, going to the closet and grabbing a pair of pants.  He put them on quickly, then opened the door and pushed past his three older daughters on his way out, grabbing his jacket and running shoes and slamming the door behind him.

He quickly put on his outdoor clothes, not letting himself speculate on how much of what he had said was overheard by his daughters.

Lisa was right.  He couldn't go on like this.