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.
Please review, you know the drill by now.
Eric saw him even before he moved. A man, standing hidden in the evening shadows under the trees beside his house, obviously waiting for him. He kept walking, quickly crossing the last few yards to his door, then flattened against the wall and drew his Guardian blaster. A second later, a shadowy figure was slipping around the corner of the house, then stopping abruptly when he found himself facing the weapon. In the fading light Eric saw a middle-aged man, average height, average build, ordinary looking, but the sight of that face made his heart pound. They stared at each other for a few frozen moments.
"Eric?" the man finally said.
"Dad." Eric blinked at him, lightheaded for a moment, his stomach lurching. He looked smaller and infinitely less intimidating than he remembered, but it was the same face, older, worn down, but the same face he had seen in bad dreams for years.
"Can I come in?"
The request sounded so ordinary that for an insane moment, Eric almost laughed. "Sure. Why not?" Myers stepped onto the porch, eyeing him cautiously. "Hold it," Eric said, raising his blaster again. "Put your hands up." He frisked the other man quickly and efficiently, raising a brow as he lifted a small revolver from his jacket pocket. Without comment he slipped it into his own jacket.
In another few minutes Myers was sitting on his couch. Eric stood a few feet away, taking a moment to look at him more closely in the light, seeing a man who looked tired, anxious, older than his years, and with an expression of tension and suppressed anger and frustration that looked permanent.
"It's been a long time, Eric. How have you been?" Myers gave him a wary smile.
"Just great, Dad."
"I guess you're surprised to see me."
"A little." Eric grinned savagely. "We should drop by the morgue and see Mom. Have a fucking family reunion."
"I didn't kill her."
"No? But I'm pretty sure Alan Collins didn't kill her either. And I know you were there. Why the hell should I believe you?"
"Look, son…"
"Don't call me 'son'! You're not my father." Anger washed over him. "Why not stick to what you always called me? Little bastard, or goddamn brat!"
"There's no reason to take that tone."
"You march in here after twenty years and expect me to welcome you? After the way you treated me?"
"I supported you! Took care of you! I gave you everything you had!"
"You never gave me anything but the back of your hand! And your name, but you never stopped reminding me that it didn't really belong to me!"
Myers sprang to his feet, but something in Eric's eyes must have warned him to back down. He sat again, trying to smile once more.
"Can I call you Eric, then?"
He sighed. "What do you want?"
"I… I need your help."
Again the urge to laugh almost overcame Eric. "My help. Why the hell should I help you with anything?"
Myers bent his head and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that was disturbingly familiar. Then he looked up again. "I know I wasn't the best father. But I think you owe me something."
"You weren't any father at all."
Myers gave him a look that was probably meant to be sincere. "I was young then -- I guess I didn't handle things too well. But I've changed."
"You were mean and vicious then. Why should I think you're not exactly the same now?" When there was no response he went on. "I'm curious. What do you want help with?"
"I didn't kill your mother. But I'm being framed."
"By whom?"
Myers' eyes shifted. "I can't tell you. He'd kill me."
"You can't tell me? But you expect me to believe you?"
"It's the truth."
"Assuming I care if you live or die, what do you expect me to do about it?"
"I need to get out of town. I need money."
This time the laughter won. "Money! I should have known. You actually figured you could con money out of me?"
"I have no one else to go to."
Eric stepped forward again. "Yes, you do. We're both going to the police."
"No. No way, not the cops." After a look at Eric's face, Myers was up and headed for the door. "This was a mistake, I'm getting out of here."
Eric grabbed his arm, pulling him back and stepping face to face. "You're not going anywhere, except to jail."
"Let go!"
"What the hell did you think I was going to do, just let you walk out? When I know you're involved with Mom's murder?"
"Get out of my way!"
"I'm not a kid you can slap around any more," Eric snarled.
Myers backed off again, stark fear in his face. "You can't do this," he said, voice starting to tremble. "You can't turn me in!"
"Just watch me."
"Eric, please… we're family."
"Family?" Eric grabbed his arm again, hard. "Tell me something, Dad, did you ever wonder what happened to us after you left? Did it even cross your mind?"
"I knew your grandmother would help out…"
"Yeah, she helped. But not for long." Eric glared at him, trying to let hatred and anger keep the memory away, but it came anyway. Things had been good for a while. There had been enough money to get by, and best of all, his grandmother's smiles and affection had been there for him every day. He had started to feel like they were a real family, a normal family. They had been almost happy for a couple of months, before it happened. He tried, but it came back anyway, the way her face had looked that morning...
"Aren't you going to work, Grandma?" Eric said around a mouthful of cereal.
"No, not today. I'm not feeling too good."
Eric looked at her. She was a little pale, and looked tired. "I'm sorry," he said.
She smiled. "Not your fault. Now finish up and get to school. You don't want to be late."
A few minutes later he was at the front door, kissing her goodbye. His mother was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking in the mirror, getting ready to go out. Eric knew a day with Grandma home meant she would disappear until late that night, maybe the next morning.
"Bye, Mom. Bye, Grandma. Hope you feel better," he said. He noticed again that she didn't look right, but with the carelessness of a child, forgot about it a moment later.
He could still remember that day at school. It had been overcast and drizzling off and on. They had stayed in at recess, and Eric had gotten into a fight with a couple of the other boys after they said something about his mother. The teacher had yelled at all of them, and punished Eric, even though it wasn't his fault, just because he hit that bastard for what he said...
Then he was on the way home, coming up to the house, walking through the yard, opening the door. Something about the empty silence warned him. He looked for her, and found her in the kitchen, lying on the floor.
It got blurry after that. He remembered calling her and shaking her, calling 911, waiting for the ambulance, people swarming around her, leading him away, asking him questions. He remembered the looks on their faces when he said he didn't know where his mother was or how to reach her. He remembered the ride in the ambulance, and sitting in a chair in the hospital. Then seeing the doctor's face and knowing what he was going to say.
"I'm sorry. Your grandmother passed away. It was her heart. She's gone…"
Hours more of sitting, and crying, waiting, seeing the pity on the faces of people who went by, all of them fading together. Someone bringing him food that he had no appetite for. A few people sitting down to talk to him, their words so meaningless he forgot them as soon as they were gone.
The night passed with him huddled in that chair. It was the first time he had felt utterly and completely alone in the world, with no one to care, no one to depend on, the first time he realized he couldn't trust anyone except himself, that it didn't matter if they pretended to be nice, if they tried to help, they would only let him down sooner or later.
It was the next morning when his mother showed up, her face white and pinched. He watched her walk up, weaving a little, unsteadily. She stood and stared at him blankly.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice holding all the bitter loneliness and helplessness he had felt that night.
"Come on. We're going home." That was all she said, then she turned and walked out, not even waiting for him. Later he would realize she was in pain, too, but that was the first time he felt he could hate her.
A few more memories came, the funeral, flashes of the few mourners standing around the grave, his mother's face still with that blank look, her eyes red. Memories, still sharp as a knife, of how he had felt, how he had been sure that it was because he had been bad, that was why she was gone, why she had left him…
"Where were you when my grandmother died?" Eric demanded, pushing Myers back none too gently. "When we were broke, and going to lose the house? You never gave a shit, did you? And now you come here talking about family and expect me to help you?"
"Eric -- okay, maybe I was a lousy father. But now -- I didn't kill her. You've got to believe me."
"We'll see what the police believe."
"Wait…" Myers backed up and sat on the couch again. "Can we at least talk for a few minutes first?"
"Talk? What do we have to talk about?" Eric crossed his arms and stared.
"Well -- your job. You're a big shot now. Making lots of money. And -- and I kept seeing you on the news a couple of years ago. That whole Quantum Ranger business. You were a big hero. Very impressive."
"Gee. Thanks."
"Must be exciting, having power like that."
"Yeah. Real exciting."
"And you've got friends here. That other Ranger."
"Don't forget Alan Collins. My boss. The man you tried to set up for Mom's murder."
"I -- I didn't want to do that. Had no choice."
"I'm sure the police will be glad to hear that."
Myers licked his lips nervously. "Could I have some water?"
Eric frowned at him, impatient at his stalling. "Okay." He took a few steps into the kitchen, filled a glass, and headed back. He knew he had made a mistake as soon as he saw the empty couch.
Pain exploded in his head as something crashed into it, shattering loudly. He only vaguely felt himself go down, falling to his hands and knees. A hand reached into his jacket, and he knew it was taking the revolver, but he was too dazed to react. The next moment he heard footsteps, and saw the door open, and his father darting out into the night.
"Shit… shit!" he gasped as his vision cleared. "Idiot!" After another few seconds he staggered to his feet, raising his morpher.
"Wes! Wes, come in!"
He was stepping through the doorway when the response came. "Eric? Something wrong?"
"Yeah! Get Miller, get a squad over here. My house. Call Jen, get the cops too. I'm going after him."
"Him? Who?"
"My fucking father! He's here! Attacked me and ran. He's armed, tell them he's dangerous…"
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. Get over here." He didn't even wait for a reply before straightening and raising the morpher again.
"Quantum Power!" It had been a few months. Too long. The surge of energy washed through him, blunting the pain in his head, filling him with strength, with power, with invulnerability, as the red and black Quantum Ranger suit replaced his clothing and his blaster appeared on his hip. For a moment he stood, then raised the morpher again to summon his flyer, the TF Eagle. It appeared as instantly and almost silently as always, lowering to let him leap onto a wing and then slide into the cockpit.
He looped over the treetops, gliding quietly, his eyes scanning for movement, finding it quickly. A man was running down the street on the next block. Eric followed. The man looked up as he passed overhead, Myers' face pale in the twilight, the image enhanced by the sensors in Eric's helmet.
Myers turned and ran between two houses, climbing over a fence, falling, getting up to run again. Eric followed as he fled through the yards of several more houses. He heard sirens in the distance. If he didn't act fast, there could be a gunfight. People could get hurt. He swooped lower.
As the Eagle flew over, Eric leaped out, landing lightly in his father's path and standing to confront him. Myers stopped, stared at him, and raised his gun. Eric took a step forward.
"You were so curious about the Quantum Ranger. Now's your chance to see me in action."
"Eric, I don't want to shoot you, but there's no way I'm letting you take me in. He'll kill me..."
"Go ahead, Dad. Shoot."
"I'm warning you! I mean it!"
"So do I. Shoot me."
"Stay back!" Myers retreated as Eric started for him. He hesitated, backing up a few steps. Eric followed, paused, and jumped at him. Myers fired, hitting him in the shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the bullet bounce harmlessly off the Ranger suit. Then he turned and fled.
They ran, crossing another yard as Myers headed for the street. It took only a few seconds for Eric to catch him, step in front of him and knock him down with a rough push to the chest. As he started to sit up Eric bent and took the gun. With the other hand, he grabbed his father's shirt and pulled him to his feet. Myers struggled and punched at him, with no effect.
"If you'd bothered to pay attention, Dad, you'd have known a gun wouldn't stop me. But you've proved what a murdering scumbag you are."
As he glared into that hated face again, he heard cars, and saw that the Silver Guardians had arrived, followed closely by the police. There was movement overhead, and he looked up to see a flyer pass low over them. A familiar red-suited figure sprang from it and landed a few feet away.
"Eric -- are you okay?" Wes asked.
"Fine."
Eric let go and stepped back as they were surrounded by Guardians and police. Two officers stepped up and took Myers' arms. He flinched but didn't struggle. Everyone looked up as another flyer swept over them. This one landed, and as Eric had expected, the Pink Ranger jumped out and joined them. He raised his arm and demorphed, transforming back into normal form. After a moment, Wes and Jen did the same.
"Wes, Jen, I'd like you to meet my father," Eric said, his voice bitter and sarcastic. "You should be flattered, Dad. Three Power Rangers, a squad of Guardians, and half of the SHPD. Just for you."
"You've got to help me, Eric," Myers said in a low voice. "Don't let him get me."
"Who?" Wes asked.
"You wouldn't believe me." Myers glanced around nervously.
"Try us."
"Don't bother, Wes," Eric said. "He's lying, just like he's lied his whole life."
"You were working with someone, weren't you?" Jen asked. "Who? Who else was involved?"
"I can't tell you!" Myers looked even more frightened now. "You've got to protect me!"
"You'll be safe in jail," Jen said. "We're arresting you on suspicion of murder."
"He attacked me. Broke a lamp over my head, and tried to shoot me," Eric said.
"Assault, too, then." She smiled. "We'll continue this discussion soon. Take him away."
"Wait," Myers said. Eric was turning away. He glanced back, seeing desperation, fear, and determination in his father's face, enough to make him stop and face him again. "Eric, I know you hate me. Maybe I deserve it. But I didn't kill your mother, and I won't be safe in jail. If you believe in justice -- you'll help me."
Seconds later he was being pushed into a patrol car. Eric watched as it started up and pulled out. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see Wes next to him. Jen was on his other side, giving him a smile and a pat on the arm. Impatiently, he shrugged them off.
"I'm going home," he said, and turned away, but he paused long enough to look back and say, "Thanks."
His father's words were still in his head as he stepped back into his house. Justice. He doesn't deserve it. But everyone was entitled to justice, and Alan Collins was entitled to the truth. Maybe Myers hadn't done it. Then who had? Eric threw himself on his couch, letting the reaction take over, feeling weak and shaky for a few breaths.
Justice. Yeah, I believe in it. For Mom. Even for you.
