Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.
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 (as always), but please try not to include spoilers about who the killer is.

Sins of the Fathers


Betrayal

"Is this all?" Jen lifted a brow at Jimmy. They were still at work, into what should have been dinnertime, after their day should have been over, going over the evidence, still looking for that one vital clue that could tell them the truth. So far it had eluded them.

"Buttons from Pamela's blouse. Fingerprints, blood samples from the rug and the dresser, photographs. That's from Dennis Myers' room. From the murder room... Pamela's clothes. Tissue and blood from under her nails, more blood from the carpet, more photos, more fingerprints. Prints from the pay phone and coin. Interviews with various hotel employees." Jen sighed and leafed through the papers again. "This isn't telling us anything new."

"There's something there. I have a feeling."

"Your detective instinct?" She smiled at him.

"I guess."

A shadow of nostalgia passed over Jen. "An old friend of mine had feelings like that."

"One of the Rangers?"

Jen looked up. Jimmy was one of the few people with whom she had discussed her past as the Pink Ranger. "Yes. His name's Trip."

"And were his feelings right?"

"Most of the time."

Jimmy smiled. "Wish mine were." After a moment he went on. "Must be a jolt for you. First you're a Power Ranger. Famous. A big hero, after those mutant attacks. Now -- you're a plain old cop. Kind of a letdown, I guess."

"Actually, no. I like this work. It's just as important, just as much of a challenge. In some ways it's harder."

"How?"

"We used to always know who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. With the possible exception of Eric, for a little while. Now -- most of my job is trying to figure out who's done what. Who the good guys and bad guys are. Sometimes the difference between them isn't very clear."

"Yeah. And sometimes we never know for sure."

"I hope this won't be one of those times."

Jimmy smiled. "Well, in that case we should get back to work."

Jen flipped through her sheaf of papers again. "You know, I did notice something strange. But it probably doesn't mean anything."

"Let's hear it."

"In the list of excluded fingerprints." Jen studied the papers again. The fingerprints of the police and Guardians on the scene were on file, and were automatically excluded as suspects, but the list was still included in the evidence. "Frank's name shows up."

"Strange. He's not usually careless enough to leave his prints at a crime scene."

"I know. There's a print in the other room, where she was hit. I don't remember him even being in that room before it was fingerprinted. And there's a thumbprint on the victim's belt. I remember watching Frank. He had gloves on. He warned Eric not to touch the body. Why would he have touched her himself?"

Jimmy stared at her somberly. "Do you know what you're suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. The evidence is."

"You think a Silver Hills police detective could have been involved in this? I've known Frank for years!"

"You're the one who lectured me about keeping an open mind. Not letting personal involvement influence my judgment."

"Yeah, but -- to accuse a cop..."

"I'm not making any accusations. But we need to know what those prints are doing there." She watched him steadily.

There was anger in Jimmy's face, but also uncertainty. "All right. Check it out, if it'll make you happy. But I hope to God you're wrong."


Eric gripped the wheel a little tighter. Dinner had been depressing. His fault. He had been unable to relax, his mind returning to the images he kept trying to pretend didn't mean anything; his father's face, sometimes angry, sometimes frightened, his voice, pleading for help, answering questions, telling lies. His mother lying on that bloody carpet, and later, in the morgue. Mr. Collins' face, pale and shocked in the hotel room and in the hospital, and Wes's, the way it had looked listening to the interrogation, the accusations against his father. Gaby, too, her face when he had shouted at her...

He shook himself mentally, trying to force them away, long enough to get through the night. But they kept coming back, and all the memories of twenty years ago were there too, drifting through his mind. At work it was easier, but tonight, with Gaby watching him, looking for signs that he was losing it again, all of it was there, making a queasy knot tighten in his stomach. When this was over, maybe those feelings would go away... but maybe they wouldn't. Maybe he'd never be able to put them back in their corner, back where he could control them.

"Eric, are you listening?" Gaby's voice jolted him.

"What? Sorry."

"I just asked you what you thought of the restaurant."

"The restaurant. It was okay."

"You're awfully quiet tonight."

"Got things on my mind."

She was silent for a few seconds before asking, "Can't you stop thinking about it, just for a few hours?"

"You don't understand."

"So tell me about it."

"I don't feel like talking."

"But..."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine."

"Right, fine. You've hardly said a word all night. But you're fine."


Wes watched his father from the doorway, seeing him at the desk in his study, working late. It was a sight he was used to. Memories came back, of a childhood spent watching his father work, of spending most of his time with servants, and later, at boarding schools, including the prep school where he had met Eric.

Not that it had been a bad childhood. The servants had spoiled him, and so had his father, when they had been together. He had always known his father had loved him, had spent enough time with him to love him, too. While he wished he had known his mother, he had been so young when she died that he had never really missed her. Sometimes he had felt resentful, but things could have been so much worse...

His father looked up, saw him, and smiled. "Wes. What's up?"

"I need to talk to you, Dad."

"Sure." Collins' face became serious, in response, Wes knew, to his own expression.

Wes came to the desk and sat down. "I just got a call from Jen."

"How's she doing?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Maybe now that I'm not the main suspect, she can move back in."

"I think she doesn't want to until the case is closed. I haven't asked her." Wes stared at the floor for a moment, trying not to let his unhappiness show. "I'm sorry for the way she's acted."

"Wes, she's doing her job. Don't blame her. I don't."

"But you got her that job..."

"She wouldn't deserve it if she let loyalty to us interfere with a murder case. She has to do what she thinks is right."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Don't you think I'm innocent?"

"Of course!"

Collins sighed and spoke slowly, choosing his words. "Jen has done nothing but try to find the truth. That can only benefit me. I don't want her -- or you -- to protect me, or take it easy on me. I want her to find out who killed that woman, so we can all put this behind us."

Wes looked away, then back at his father's face. "That's what she wanted to talk to me about. They found some prints in the hotel rooms." He paused for a few moments. "I need to ask if you have any connection to Frank Kelly."

"The detective who's assisting Jen and Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"Is that whose prints they found? But -- he was there. Wouldn't you expect to find his prints?"

"Jen's just checking something out. Do you know him?"

"No. Never met him."

"That's right, he didn't come with Jen and Jimmy when they questioned you." Wes frowned. He had thought that was surprising at the time. "Are you sure there's no connection? Maybe Bio-Lab did business with him at some time? Or with a member of his family?"

"No." He hesitated. "I knew a John Kelly, years ago. He was an early partner in Bio-Lab."

"And? Any reason he'd have a grudge against you?"

"I'm afraid so." He frowned. "He's dead now. But I remember he had a son. He'd be a few years older than you."

Wes got up, his heart sinking. "I think I'd better call Jen."


"Why does everyone think something's wrong with me?" Eric snapped.

"Because… how could there not be something wrong with you? Your mother's dead. Your father's a suspect now. You won't talk about it, you've been avoiding me, you're shutting everyone out…"

"Women always think you have to talk everything to death!" He calmed himself with an effort. "I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to say."

"I think it would help. You're keeping everything inside. It's not healthy."

"All right. If that's what you want." There was a sharp edge of anger in his voice; he felt it all boil up again, hot and cold at the same time, twisting his insides. "Where should I start?"

"Wherever you like. Whatever is bothering you."

He spoke harshly. "You want to know what was the worst thing? Not my father hitting me, and calling me names. Not even the fact that both of them never wanted me. Not all the men my mother brought home, and her drinking."

Gaby's voice was hesitant now. "What, then?"

"She left me... just dumped me like a piece of garbage. She didn't even care what happened to me..." He tried again to calm down, but the memory was coming back, taking him twenty years into the past, turning him into that nine-year-old boy again, watching his mother getting ready to leave.

"She said we were leaving, moving to another city. She said we'd start all over again, everything would be better."

He had watched her pack, watched her get dressed. She had said there was no room for everything, he was taking only one small bag of his own things, not that he had enough to fill much more. She was nervous, he could tell, and it was making him nervous too.

"Why do we have to go, Mom?"

"You know we don't have any money, since your father left and Grandma died. We can't pay for this house anymore."

"But I like this house. I wanna stay."

"Can't always have what you want." Her voice was both curt and resigned. "Hurry up and put on your jacket."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you. Los Angeles."

"What's it like there?"

"It's big. Come on, we have to get going."

"All right. What about my toys?"

She looked at him, a hint of unaccustomed softness in her face. "We don't have room for much that won't fit in your bag. Pick out your favorite, and take that."

It was a tough choice, but he finally picked up a large toy airplane. "Okay."

"Come on."

They went out to the car. It was early, still morning, a nip of chill still in the air. His mother's things were already packed in the trunk. Eric carried his bag and the toy into the front seat with him. She got in next to him, and sat for a moment, clutching the steering wheel, her head bowed.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"What? Yes."

"You look sad."

She raised her head and looked at him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. He assumed it was regret at leaving the house they had lived in all his life. He felt sad, too, as he looked at it. It was ugly, and had an uncared-for look, and he had rarely been happy there, but it was all he knew. The thought of giving up this familiar place, leaving his home, his school, and his few friends to face the unknown was frightening.

"I'm fine," she said. She smiled, a little, and started the car.

It was a quiet drive, Eric asking a few questions, his mother replying briefly. They went through downtown, toward the bus station. He could still remember that drive, and what the station looked like as they pulled up, that stark old building in a run-down part of town. In the parking lot, his mother sat again for a moment, her posture tense, before opening her door.

"You have your bag and your toy? Come on." She started for the station.

"What about your stuff?"

"I'll get it in a minute. Come on."

They went inside. She found them seats in the waiting room, and sat next to him, twisting her hands together on the strap of her purse. He looked around. The room was dirty and depressing. There were only a few people besides them.

"You have the money I gave you?" she asked.

"Yes. Right here." He pulled it out of his pocket to show her.

"Good. Just keep it in your pocket." She went into her purse and gave him a handful of quarters. "Here's some change for the vending machines, too."

"Thanks!"

"You see that window? That's the ticket agent. If anything happens, you just ask him to help."

"What's going to happen?" Her nervousness was starting to scare him a little again.

"Nothing." She sat silently for a few more seconds, looking at him. "Eric... I know I haven't been a good mother." She paused again as he stared at her. "I can't take care of you like I should. Just remember..."

"Remember what, Mom?" he prompted when she stopped.

"Nothing."

To his surprise, she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and squeezed his shoulders for a moment. It was the first time -- the only time -- he could remember her embracing him with real affection. Then the moment was over, and she stood up.

"I'm going to get my bags. Be good while I'm gone." She hesitated, looking at him, her lips starting to tremble, then turned away and hurried out, almost running.

Twenty years later, Eric sat in his car, parked in front of Gaby's building, staring blindly down at his clenched fists, hardly conscious of Gaby sitting next to him. They were both silent for a few moments.

"She never came back," he said dully.

Gaby was quiet for a few seconds. Her voice trembled slightly when she answered. "It sounds like she did care about you. She didn't want to leave you."

"She left. Who cares if she wanted to or not?"

"Maybe she really thought you'd be better off. She said she couldn't take care of you. And I guess she was right."

The anger surged back, sharper than ever. "Don't make excuses for her. She didn't want to be bothered with me. Didn't even want to try."

"I'm just saying maybe she did love you..."

"That bitch never loved anyone!" Suddenly he was shouting, turning on Gaby, seeing her shrink back. He clamped down on the anger, forcing it back, barely able to control it, or the pain that was behind it. He turned to face front again, staring out at the street. "Sorry. Look, it's late. You'd better go."

"Aren't you coming in?"

"No." He glanced at her face, seeing hurt and worry there. "I just can't handle this tonight."

"You're doing it again. Shutting me out."

His hands tightened on the wheel. "I can't handle any of this! Just... get out. Go home. Leave me alone!"

Her eyes were bright with tears now. "I can't take this anymore either!"

"That's it then! It's over!"

She didn't answer, only stared at him for a few heartbeats, her face stricken, and then pushed the door open and climbed out, slamming it behind her, running recklessly across the street and disappearing into the building. Eric watched her go, fists clenching again, half-hoping she would come back. But she didn't. He told himself to go after her, but all he did was start the car, and head for home, alone.


Wes watched his father's face as Jen handed him the photograph of Frank Kelly, watched his expression of surprise and recognition.

"He looks like John... Frank Kelly is his son?"

"Frank's father is dead," Jimmy said. He had arrived with Jen, a few minutes before. They were all sitting in the living room. "Frank never talks about him."

"It fits. John Kelly died years ago."

"Dad? What happened to him? What's his connection with you?"

Collins sighed heavily. "He was one of my original partners in Bio-Lab."

"I don't remember hearing his name."

"No. It didn't last long. John... John was a fool. He had inherited money -- he put most of it into starting up Bio-Lab, and expected to take a part in running it. I tried to keep him out of management, but he insisted on making decisions, important ones, and as long as he was a partner, I couldn't stop him. Lost us a lot of money over the first couple of years, but he didn't learn.

"Then he made a large investment in buying out a company that turned out to be worthless. One of his friends had recommended it, and he didn't bother to check it out. It was a major loss, we came close to losing everything, because he didn't want to do his homework."

He sighed again. "I forced him out. Had to do it, had to get him out and keep the money he had put in. I saved Bio-Lab. But John went broke. Everything he had was in this company." He looked up at them, his face unhappy. "His wife left him. He had nothing left. A year later he committed suicide."

After a few moments Jen spoke softly. "I'd say his son might want revenge."

"I didn't want to do it," Collins said, his eyes on Wes. "I had no choice. John would have taken Bio-Lab down with him if I had let him stay."

"Not your fault, Dad." But Wes avoided his eyes. There was silence.

"I think it's time for another talk with Dennis Myers," Jimmy said.