Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine.
Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution.
Feedback is always appreciated, please review.
Wes looked up at the sky as he got out of the limo. He saw clear blue laced with fluffy clouds over the Collins house, the breeze carrying scent from the flower garden. It was another beautiful day, just like yesterday morning, and yet nothing was the same. He turned to take his father's arm, helping him step out of the car.
"You don't have to help me, I'm not an invalid," Collins said grumpily.
"Now you know how I felt the times you brought me home from the hospital, and you and Philips fussed over me."
"And this is revenge?"
Wes grinned. "Something like that."
On the other side of the car, Eric got out and waited for them silently. Wes gave him an uncomfortable glance. He had been distant and withdrawn all morning, not that anyone could blame him. He followed them as they entered the house.
"Wes," Collins said quietly as they walked through the foyer. "Did you get that file I asked for?"
"Yes. It's in your study." Wes resisted the impulse to look at Eric again.
"Eric, would you mind waiting for us in the living room?" Collins said. "I want to talk to you, but I need to check something first."
"Okay." There was a sharp edge of curiosity, or perhaps suspicion, in Eric's eyes, but he didn't protest.
In the study, Collins sank into his chair with a sigh of relief and a smile. "Good to be home," he said, then sat up, his face becoming serious. "Where is it?"
"In your desk. I thought it should be locked up." In another few seconds, the large desk was unlocked, a file folder found and its contents spread out, several typewritten pages and a few photographs.
"Wes, did you read this?"
"No. I don't like the idea of looking at it now."
"Very ethical of you." He looked slightly amused. "But… there's something in here I have to see."
"You still haven't told me what this is all about. Why you need to see Eric's file." Wes frowned. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the knowledge that his father had had Eric investigated two years before, although he knew it had been a practical precaution at the time. Command of the Silver Guardians was an important position, and Eric had been new to Bio-Lab. A background check had been inevitable and necessary.
"Does Eric know you did this?" Wes asked.
"The people I used are very discreet, and they did an excellent job. But Eric's not a fool. He probably suspects." Collins shuffled through the papers. "They really got into this case..." He looked up at Wes. "How much did Eric tell you about his childhood?"
Wes shrugged uncomfortably. "His father used to hit him. Then he took off. Mother abandoned him. After that he grew up in foster homes and orphanages."
"That's the basics, I guess. My people tracked the parents down. They were both in San Francisco, as of two years ago. Divorced, not living together, but associating. The father had been in and out of jail a few times for various things. The mother was running a -- well -- an 'escort' service."
"You didn't tell Eric?"
Collins sighed. "No. He seemed to have put the past behind him, and I didn't want to stir anything up. If he really wanted to find them, he probably could have done it himself."
"So... why are we looking at this now?"
His father looked down. He had pulled two photographs from the papers. "The man I met at the hotel. I thought there was something familiar about him. When you told me about Eric's mother..."
He pushed them over. One Wes recognized as the dead woman, but with dark hair and a smile that made her quite beautiful. The other was a picture of a middle-aged man. He would have been good-looking if not for an angry expression that looked permanent, and the signs of poor health. His hair was light brown, his eyes pale blue.
"Eric's parents?" Wes asked.
"Yes." Collins smiled without warmth. "Obviously, the father wasn't Eric's biological father."
"I know." Both of the people in the pictures were white, while Eric was part Asian.
"This is the man from the hotel. The man who called me, and met me at the bar. Dennis Myers. Eric's father."
"Shit! Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"Damn." Wes turned away, taking a moment to think. Unfortunately, it didn't help. He faced his father again. "They must have been working together -- but why? What did they want? What happened? How did she end up dead?"
"I wish I knew."
"Dad -- do you have any idea at all?"
"No."
"If you're holding anything back... this is no time to hide things."
"Wes, I have a lot at stake here. And I don't like seeing Eric get hurt any more than you do. I'm not hiding anything, believe me."
Wes stared at him for a few seconds, seeing his eyes steady, his face sincere. While he knew his father was a hard-headed, practical man, not above shading his ethics when necessary, he was also basically honest, and definitely not the type to be mixed up in anything really wrong. "Sorry, Dad. I had to ask."
Collins smiled. "I know. Now -- the question is, do we tell Eric?"
"I don't think we have a choice. We have to tell the police, and he'll find out sooner or later."
"Yes. Better he hears it from us."
Eric stared at the picture, hardly hearing what Wes and Mr. Collins were saying. The face was older, the hair graying, but it was him, the man who had terrorized him for years, the face he still saw occasionally in his dreams. He felt the old fear again, as if it had been minutes, instead of twenty years, as if he was still a child facing a monster, afraid for his life...
It had been a beautiful day, just like today. Eric had been banished outside, after his attempts to fly like an airplane -- with the necessary running around at top speed -- had knocked a glass off the kitchen table and broken it. He ignored the sting of the slap his father had given him; he was used to it, and had already learned to put the scared, angry feelings away in a corner.
It was more fun outside, anyway, more room to run in the overgrown grass, and he didn't have to be so careful to stay out of the way and not make noise. In the small, cluttered back yard he could climb on the old dining room chair that had been left outside, and from there onto the tree that stood in the middle, with a branch that stuck out almost horizontally several feet above the ground. It was a small branch, but perfect for sitting, and even better for jumping as far as he could, pretending he was Superman for those few moments before he hit the ground.
Eric soared, fell, hit, and rolled to his feet, running in a circle around the yard, gleefully jumping over the occasional discarded tire, plank of wood, or piece of furniture. The junk lying around only made it more fun, it was like an obstacle course. He was an unusually athletic and energetic child, which made it all the more difficult for him to avoid annoying his parents.
It happened the fifth time he climbed out on the tree limb. Maybe he went too far from the trunk, maybe he moved too fast, or bounced, or maybe the branch was already weakening. There was a loud crack, it fell away under him, and he tumbled to the ground, landing painfully, flat on his back. He lay, stunned, for a few seconds before struggling to a sitting position.
"What the hell did you do now?" Eric froze at the shout, and looked up to see his father in the doorway, already headed his way, looking even angrier than usual.
"It broke, Daddy!"
"I can see that! What did you do to it?"
"Nothing! It was an accident!"
"You were climbing on it again, weren't you? After I told you not to!"
"Yes..." He could feel the tears coming, and tried to stop them. Dad didn't like crying.
"You little bastard! Can't you go five minutes without breaking something?" A hand grabbed Eric's arm, hurting, and yanked him up, almost off his feet. "Now that bastard landlord is probably going to charge me for this! Already costs me a fortune to feed you, you little piece of shit!" A slap struck his face, then another and another, the hand clamping on his arm, twisting it until the pain brought tears to his eyes. Myers' face glared down, terrifying him with the intensity of rage and hatred blazing from it.
"No! Let go!" With desperate strength, Eric tried to twist free, then turned his head and bit his father's fingers. He fell to the ground as Myers let go with a cry of pain and fury. The next moment he was looking up, seeing his father bend to pick up the broken branch and lift it over his head, pure murder in his face...
"Eric? Are you all right?"
Eric blinked, his mind returning abruptly to Alan Collins' quiet, comfortable study, in the suburbs of Silver Hills, miles and years from that ugly, dismal back yard. He put the photograph down and looked away.
"Sure. I'm fine." But he wasn't. His heart was pounding, almost as hard as it had when he thought his father was going to kill him. Myers had raised the branch, had seemed about to bring it down, but Eric's scream of terror had seemed to stop him, and he had dropped it and walked away without a word. When Eric had dared to go in again, hours later when it got dark, and he got hungry, he had gotten a glare of smoldering anger, but no more violence. His arm had been bruised and painful for weeks. That had been far from the only time his father had hurt him, but it had been the worst, the most frightening.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Yeah. My father is the man you met at the hotel. The one who told you some story about a problem with Atkinson. You had a cup of coffee with him. He probably drugged you." He raised his eyes to look out the window, avoiding their concerned faces.
"Yes. Eric, I hope you're not angry that I had you investigated."
"No. I expected it. I would have done the same thing."
"And that I didn't tell you I knew where your parents were."
"No. Why should I have cared?"
There was silence. Eric looked at them again. They were both staring at him with sympathy, with pity, the kind of expression that only reminded him of the things he had worked so hard to forget. He felt a surge of irrational anger and clamped it down.
"If you don't need me here, I'm heading back to work," he muttered, and started for the door, not even waiting for a response.
Bio-Lab. He walked toward his office, the same hallways he walked almost every day. Today it looked different somehow, the lights too harsh, the sounds too loud, the voices too cheerful. It felt unreal, like another world, one he didn't belong in. He took a deep breath. Keep it away, keep it away. Don't let it get to you...
He stopped in front of Gaby's office door. He almost always stopped here, to look in on her and say hello, make plans for the next time they would get together. And today was just another day, except for Mr. Collins' situation. He felt the urge to follow his normal routine, to cling to it, it made it easier to convince himself nothing was wrong.
After a light tap, he opened the door. For a moment he just looked as she glanced up and smiled, his heart constricting unexpectedly at the sight of her face, the warmth in her eyes. Suddenly, in his mind, she seemed to be part of that different reality, the world of normal people, the one Wes and Mr. Collins lived in, a world he was forever shut out of.
"Eric? Why don't you come in?" She was staring at him, smile fading, starting to look puzzled.
He stepped in and came closer to the desk. "Just came by to say hello."
"Hello." She smiled again before her expression became serious. "I heard about Mr. Collins on the news, being found with that dead woman. It's terrible."
"Yeah."
"Poor Wes. He must feel awful."
"Yeah. He does."
"And you must be worried."
"Yeah."
She examined his face. "You look really upset."
"I'm fine."
"Well... if you've got time, do you want to come over tonight? Or I can come to your house. Whatever you want."
He turned his eyes from her anxious gaze. "I can pick you up for dinner. Come back to your place."
"Good." There was a pause. "Is something wrong? Something else?"
He looked back at her face. He had to tell her, before she heard about it from someone else. And it wasn't as if he cared about it, not really. The concern in her face was vaguely irritating, but it also warmed him in some basic way.
"That woman who was found dead with Mr. Collins. She was my mother. My father's in town, too. Or he was. He's involved in her death, somehow." He stopped as she stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
"Oh God, Eric... your mother?"
He stared at the floor, silently.
"I can't believe it..." she went on. "I'm so sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about. It's got nothing to do with me."
"Nothing to do with you..." she said faintly, after a moment. "But..."
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, cutting her off. "Look, I'll see you tonight, okay? I -- I have to go." He closed the door behind him, before she could say anything more, before he had to look at the shock and sympathy in her face any longer.
Jen crossed her arms and frowned. She was in the stationhouse, in Lieutenant Quinn's office, discussing her 'situation'. In reality, discussing whether she would be allowed to continue on the Collins murder case. She stared at Quinn, a deceptively mild-looking middle-aged man who had his usual bland smile on his face. Unfortunately, she knew the friendly expression masked a no-nonsense attitude and a will of iron.
"Jen, you're lucky to be here at all," he said. "I don't like the fact that you're so close to the Collins family. It's bound to affect you."
"I want to work this case. It won't be a problem."
"I think it is." He hesitated. "I think you need to do something about it, if you're serious about staying on the case."
"What do you mean? What can I do?"
Another hesitation. "I think you should distance yourself from them."
"Distance myself? How?"
"It would help if you move out for the duration."
Jen stared at him. "Move out. How's that going to change anything?"
"I think it would make things look better to the public for one thing, show that you're aware of the problem, and trying to do something about it. Show that you're not financially dependant on them." He watched her for a moment. "Think how it looks. Alan Collins is rich and probably the most powerful man in Silver Hills. Now he's suspected of murdering a prostitute, and who do we have working the case? A woman who lives in his house, is involved with his son, and owes her job to him."
Jen avoided his gaze uncomfortably. "And you think my moving out would help?"
"Yes, I do. And it could make things easier for you. You wouldn't have to talk to them every day, watch them trying to deal with this. Have Wes trying to convince you of his father's innocence."
She frowned. "He wouldn't try to convince me. Wes is too professional for that."
"No one's that professional when it comes to family."
"I don't know. I don't like the idea of leaving Wes when he needs me."
"That's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about. We need you to do your job. Your loyalty to the Collins's can only interfere. You're going to have to make a choice."
Jen sighed, feeling a moment of uncertainty and depression. "I guess I know what you mean. But... I don't know. Do I have to decide right now?"
There was genuine compassion in his smile now. "Not right now. But think about it. And think hard."
"Okay. I will."
A few minutes later she was at Jimmy's desk, listening to him discuss the case with Frank Kelly. Frank was assisting, in fact he had asked to be involved. It was a high-profile case, one that the big shots wanted resolved as soon as possible, and they could use the help. And yet, she felt what she recognized as resentment, especially as it occurred to her that Frank might be taking her place soon, not just assisting. Firmly suppressing her feelings, she smiled as he returned her gaze.
"Sorry about butting in like this, Jen," he said with an answering smile.
"We probably should be thanking you."
"Maybe. But this really sucks for you. Your first case as a detective, and you have to share."
"Not a problem, as long as we break the case."
"Good," Jimmy said, his sharp eyes on her face. After a pause he got back to business. "Here's what we have so far. No evidence of rape or any sexual contact. Preliminary blood typing from the tissue and blood from under her nails. There's a surprise. Two contributions. She scratched more than one person." His eyes met Jen's and quickly moved away. "One blood type matches Alan Collins. DNA tests will tell us if it's really his blood."
"But since his face was scratched..." Frank murmured.
"I know. It doesn't look good," Jen said.
"Do we have enough to arrest him?" Frank asked.
"Not yet," Jimmy said. "We'll need to question him." He hesitated. "My gut feeling is that something's wrong. There's something we're not seeing. And I want to find out who the other person she scratched was."
"And Collins is rich and influential. Not to mention your partner is close to him."
"That's not the reason." Jimmy gave Frank a cold look. Jen firmly kept her mouth shut.
Frank smiled cautiously. "I just meant... because of Collins' position, you know the DA won't go for an arrest warrant without airtight evidence. No offense intended."
"None taken."
Seeing motion, Jen looked up as someone approached them. She greeted Wes with a smile, seeing only a glance and a token smile in return as he grabbed a spare chair and joined them.
"Wes..." Jimmy started.
"I know, you don't want me getting involved with this. But I have something for you," he said. "My father told me why he was at the Wells hotel." Quickly he briefed them, ending with, "The man he met must be involved with the murder. And... I know who he is." He paused.
"Well?" Jen asked.
Wes pulled an envelope from his jacket. "My dad thought his face was familiar. When he found out it was Eric's mother who was killed, he remembered where he had seen it." He opened it and slid out a photograph. "He's Eric's father. Dennis Myers. Pamela Myers' former husband."
Jen stared at him, speechless for the moment, raising her eyes from the photo of a middle-aged man. She saw Jimmy looking almost as shocked. Frank's eyes widened, his face paling visibly. Wes met her eyes, his face grim and set.
Jimmy broke the silence. "Wes -- are you sure Eric isn't involved in this?"
"He hasn't seen either of his parents in twenty years." Wes frowned. "And I know him better than to think he could have any part in something like this."
"He's right," Jen broke in. "We all know Eric. I can't believe he'd do anything against Wes or his father."
"Well, at least it's a lead," Jimmy said. "Might help explain why Pamela was there. We'll follow up."
"Myers -- Dennis Myers -- has been in jail. If his fingerprints are at the crime scene, you can identify them."
"Right. And we can get his blood type." Jimmy told him about the evidence taken from Pamela's nails.
Wes stood up. "Well, I just wanted to give you this and see if anything had turned up. Thanks." They said their goodbyes, Jimmy and Frank starting to talk quietly again as Wes turned away. Jen got up also and walked out with him. They stopped at the stationhouse door.
"Are they talking about arresting Dad?"
"It came up. But it won't happen at this point. There's only circumstantial evidence."
"Good." He sighed. "They're right, that I shouldn't get involved. It's hard to even think straight about this."
She tried to smile and failed. "Does Eric know? About his father?"
"Yeah. Dad and I told him. He... took it okay, I guess." Wes paused for a moment. "He just sort of zoned out for a minute. Then he said he understood and just left."
"God. He must be going through hell."
"Yeah. You should have seen his face. Like he died for a second." Wes swallowed, his mouth tightening. "And Dad... he must be scared, but he's trying not to show it."
Jen reached to take his hands. "And you?"
"I'm okay."
"Right. Worrying about everyone except yourself, as usual." She squeezed his fingers.
Wes smiled, returning the pressure. "And it can't be easy for you. Your first case, and it's this mess..."
"That's the least of my concerns right now." She stepped closer and kissed him lightly.
He raised his hands to her shoulders and pulled her close for a moment, turning his face into her neck. "Thanks, Jen," he murmured. "Love you."
"Love you too. See you tonight." After a last exchange of smiles, she watched him trot down the steps and head for his car, those strong shoulders sagging under the weight of care, hoping she wouldn't have to add to his troubles.
