(Chapter 18. Malibu beach house, Gorini's warehouse. March 21-22.)
"Ok, son," Mark said as Liv pulled back the covers and helped Steve into bed. "I'm just going to go find some of your latest motorcycle magazines and maybe that novel you were reading while you get settled. It will give you something to occupy your thoughts for a while."
"You don't." Mark was already gone. ".have to, Dad," Steve finished deflatedly. Liv was plumping his pillow for him and he had to bite his tongue to avoid a cutting remark. They were both hovering, and already they were making him so tense he was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off staying in the hospital.
"Liv, please!" he griped, then gasped as he felt his stomach start to burn. Taking a deep breath he said, "Just sit down and talk to me. I'd much rather enjoy your company that.submit to.your ministrations."
"Oh, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm getting on your nerves, aren't I?"
He forced a smile and said, "You, no. What you're doing, yes. Just have a seat and.entertain me."
She folded her arms and gave him a sly look. "You know," she said suggestively, "that opens up a world of possibilities."
"Liv." he said in a warning tone.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Steve! I'm kidding."
"So," Liv said settling on the edge of the bed beside him, "how's life been treating you these past thirty years?"
Just as Steve opened his mouth to answer, Mark came tottering in, his reading glasses precariously balanced on the end of his nose. "Ok, son," he said, "these are all the issues I could find for the past three months. I don't know which ones you've read and.ahhh!" As he read the dates on magazines, Mark hadn't been watching where he was going, so, halfway into the room, he tripped over the edge of a decorator rug Maribeth had placed on the floor.
The magazines went flying, landing on the floor, the bed, and several of them striking Liv and Steve. Mark managed to stumble across the room to land softly on the foot of the bed where, after taking a moment to recover, he turned to look at Liv and Steve who were gathering the magazines that had rained down on them.
"Oh, gee, guys," he said, "I'm sorry. I'll just gather up the ones on the floor."
"It's all right, Mark," Olivia interrupted as she stood and started collecting the several issues that hadn't made it to the bed. "I've got them."
"Well, I'll just help," Mark insisted.
"It's ok, Mark. I've got them. You just have a seat and take it easy."
Mark looked at her crossly and said in his best old coot voice, "Young lady, I may be old, but I am not decrepit."
Liv chuckled and said, "No, you're certainly not that, but you are clumsy."
"Clumsy!" He shouted still using the put-on voice. "Clumsy? I'll have you know I am quite graceful."
"Of course you are," Liv placated, "and you fell beautifully, but see now, I have all the magazines, so you can just relax."
In a mock pout, Mark pointed at Steve and said, "That's what he's supposed to be doing."
"Yes," Steve snapped, "and the two of you are making it very difficult!"
As Mark and Liv just gaped at him in surprise, Steve drew a deep breath to calm himself and let it out slowly. When that didn't work, he tried another. After several seconds, he finally looked at them and said, "Dad, Liv, I'm sorry."
Mark, who was still sitting at the end of the bed patted his foot and said, "That's ok, son. I know how you hate to be sick."
"No, it's not, Dad. I know the two of you are only trying to.make me comfortable, and I know I have no choice in the matter right now, but I don't *want* to be comfortable. I want to get back to work."
"But, Steve."
"Liv, I know I can't," he interrupted her. "I know I'm on medical leave, I know I'm ill, and I know I'm stuck here for now, but I really want to go back to work. It's just so damned frustrating with everything that's going on right now."
At that moment, Mark's watch alarm beeped. He looked at it and frowned.
"Something wrong, Dad?"
"It's time for your next meal and medication, son."
"Oh, wonderful," Steve's voice was dripping with sarcasm. When he looked at his dad, though, and saw how torn he was, he softened his tone. "I'll be ok, Dad. Go on and get it. I know it has to be on a schedule. Liv'll sit with me." Looking at Olivia, he asked, "Won't you?"
Liv smiled. "Sure. It will give us a chance to talk."
Marked looked from his son to his friend. They were clearly comfortable with each other. With a nod, he headed off to the kitchen to prepare Steve's nutrition shake and measure out his medication dosage.
"So," Liv said with a smile, settling beside him again, "how *has* life been treating you?" Tapping his right shin gently, she asked, "How's the leg?"
Steve went wide-eye and said, "You're not gonna believe this." He pulled the covers back and rolled up the leg of his pajamas to reveal unmarked skin where thirty years ago a bullet wound and surgery to save his leg had left their mark.
"Oh, wow," Liv gasped as she stroked the restored limb. "Your dad mentioned that the stem-cell treatment for your heart attack had repaired old injuries, but I had no idea it had gone this far. Steve, I have heard of several cases like this, but yours is the first I've seen. This is simply amazing. I never took the time to read the research. Tell me, what was it like? Did it hurt? How long did it take?"
Steve was pleased to answer her questions, and he could tell she was really happy for him.
"Well, at first, it felt like my leg had gone to sleep. I had pins and needles all the time so bad I couldn't rest. Jess thought I might have developed a blood clot, so he did some tests, and instead of the blood supply being blocked off to the area, it was actually increasing. Then the sensation started spreading to my pelvis, too. For a couple weeks, it was so bad Jesse kept me sedated most of the time."
"Sounds dreadful," Liv commented.
"Oh, God, Liv, it was. It was worse than the first time around. After the pins and needles finally subsided, I started getting muscle spasms, not just in my calf like before, but through my pelvis and in my thigh as well. Jess gave me Darvocet and a muscle relaxant but it didn't help much."
"Oh, Steve, I am so sorry you had to go through that."
He shook his head. "Don't be. It was worth it. After about a month, the pain went away. Then a couple weeks later, the edges of my scars started to itch and get red and puffy. I was miserable again, but an anesthetic lotion helped a lot. Within a week, I noticed the red outlines around my scars were getting smaller and smaller, and the skin outside of them was normal. That's when we all realized the stem-cells were repairing my old injuries."
Liv shook her head in wonder. "That's amazing, Steve, but I notice you still have scars on your chest."
He nodded. "Dad and Jess went back through my medical records and did a timeline of all the old injuries that had healed themselves. Most of the injuries I sustained when Caitlin Sweeney blew up the hospital were gone, but little scratches and bumps from just a few months before that are still there. It seems there's a limit on how old an injury can be for the stem- cells to work on it."
"I see, and, I don't know if you have an answer to this, Steve, if not I can ask Mark. The cells in the areas that have been . regenerated . are they the same biological age as the rest of you?"
Steve frowned in thought and said, "I think I understand what you're asking. The way Dad explained it, at first, it was all new, like a baby, and you could tell that just by looking. The skin was smooth and pale and hairless, which was really strange. But then, as those cells died off and were replaced by my body's natural repair functions, it aged to catch up with the rest of me. By now, I suppose all my bits and parts are somewhere in their seventies, but without about thirty years of wear and tear."
"So," Liv tried to wrap things up, "biologically, you're about seventy merrr," she garbled the word to protect his vanity and he just laughed, "but physically, you're in your mid- to late forties?"
"That's the way dad explained it."
"That's fascinating. I do need to do a thorough study of the research. Did Jess or your dad publish anything?"
Steve's eyes widened, "I hope not."
Liv smiled. "They probably knew you'd feel that way, Steve. I doubt they did. You know, I once mentioned to Keith the possibility of using stem cells to regenerate severed limbs, and he said it gave him the creeps. He also said he'd rather have his hair back."
Steve laughed aloud at that. "I remember him commenting on that a couple times."
"He likes to joke about it," Liv said, "but I think seeing your father at over 100 years old still with a head full of thick white hair really did disturb him for a while."
"You know," Steve told her, "he shouldn't worry about it. He must have something else very special to still be with a woman like you."
Liv looked at him strangely and said, "Thanks, I think."
"I said that badly, didn't I?"
Smiling devilishly, she said, "That depends on what you meant to say."
Steve didn't bother to clarify. He knew she understood that he meant she was extraordinary and Keith had to be a remarkable guy to be good enough for her.
After a thoughtful pause, Liv asked half playfully, "Mark didn't by any chance have any kind of stem cell injections, did he?"
Steve laughed. "No, Dad's longevity is purely natural. My grandmother was in her late nineties when she finally passed away, and Uncle Stacey and Aunt Dora are both going strong. Stacey still runs his original malt shop, but Aunt Dora has retired now. She still travels a lot, but does so for pleasure, not business."
"No kidding? That's fantastic.Is your aunt still bossy?"
"No," Steve said. "Some years ago she *finally* met a man who could stand up to her, and she mellowed out considerably after that. He charmed her so much they were married within the year. He's about thirty years her junior, but she still keeps him busy. They're really good for each other."
"Who's that?" Mark asked as he came in with a glass of slimy white stuff and a dosage cup of clear fluid.
"Ben and Aunt Dora," Steve told him.
"Oh, yes, they are quite the couple," Mark agreed. Looking at Liv, he said, "I couldn't believe it when I met him. My bossy big sister was being demure and polite and willing to compromise. She was acting like a teenager in love. It was."
"Wonderful?" Liv supplied when Mark seemed stuck for a word.
"Unnatural," Mark corrected her with a naughty grin. "But I got used to it, and it is wonderful, too." He handed Steve the glass of goo and said, give it back to me when half of it's still left, and I'll mix in your medication."
Steve gagged down some of the thick drink and handed the glass back to his dad.
"It wouldn't be so bad if." he couldn't think of anything that would redeem the nasty mixture, so he finished lamely, saying, ".I didn't have to drink it."
"I know, son," Mark said sympathetically, "but you have to give the tear in your esophagus time to heal. It should only be a few more days until we can start giving you real foods."
"Like what?" Steve asked bitterly, "Applesauce and tapioca pudding?" He brightened then, and said, "Hey, couldn't I be eating that now, instead of this glop?"
Mark shook his head. "No, son, I'm sorry. Your meals need to be nutritionally balanced. It will help you get better faster."
Steve made a face at the sludge in his glass, and said, "Oh, well, I guess I can survive three more days of this." He downed the drink in one shot and handed the empty glass back to Mark.
"Ok, Steve," Liv said to him. "You're probably going to start getting sleepy really soon, so your dad and I are just going to leave you to get some rest." She kissed her index finger and pressed it to his cheek. "Holler if you need anything. I'll be around all day."
Steve nodded. "Thanks, Liv, Dad. Sorry I was such a grouch."
Mark shook his head. "Don't be. Anyone who knows you knows what to expect."
Steve made a face, and his dad laughed. Then he and Liv left Steve alone with his thoughts.
Steve settled comfortably back into his bed. *His* bed. The thought made him grin. Though he was confined to bed for the next three days and officially on medical leave for another five weeks after that, he was still delighted to be home. Maribeth, Steven, and Jesse had made a small allowance for some light exercise, and, surprisingly, Maribeth had suggested that he resume practicing yoga (which he had only let off because he had gotten so busy when Emily went underground with Moretti) with Liv to keep from getting stiff from the forced inactivity.
Of course, he realized the only reason he was home was that he simply couldn't handle the NG-tube. What was supposed to have lasted a week had amounted to barely four days before he was quite literally begging to have it removed, a procedure which had proven infinitely worse than having it inserted. The anesthetic throat spray and nose drops Liv had prescribed couldn't override the soreness anymore, and his throat and nose had become so raw and inflamed from the constant irritation that when Liv finally did pull the damned thing out it had felt like scalding water rushing up through him and had left him groaning aloud in pain. Tears of agony had sprung to his eyes and quite inexplicably, his nose had begun to run. He had fought the gag reflex as hard as he could, but at the last moment had deposited his stomach contents neatly in the emesis basin Jesse held for him. For several anguished minutes afterward, the fiery burn of stomach acid on delicate tissues had left him cursing, moaning, and gasping for breath. Finally, the nurse Liv had called brought him some liquid antacid, and though it took a great effort of will, he had managed to choke it down and it had soothed him somewhat.
Since Jesse had observed no blood in his vomit, the decision had been made to send him home. Besides the bed rest, at least eighteen hours a day Maribeth had informed him, he was also on a restricted liquid diet. For the next three days, he would be drinking his meals up to six times a day, and a mild liquid tranquilizer would be mixed with his food to help him sleep. Then he would go back to the hospital for another gastroscopy. If the tear in his esophagus was looking better, he could eat real food again and would start a course of antibiotics and antacids intended to cure his ulcer. At that point, the dosage of the tranquilizer would be gradually reduced. He knew he would not be permitted to return to work until long after Moretti testified, and he knew that would irritate him a lot more later, but for now, Emmy was ok, the bad guys were in jail, and it was so good to be home, he just couldn't bring himself to care too much.
With a contented smile, he drifted off to sleep.
"Steve!" Mark called softly to his son. "Steve, wake up, son, time for you to eat again."
Steve snorted and grunted and rolled over.
With a grin, Mark shook him gently by the shoulder and called, "Steven Michael Sloan, if you don't get out of bed this minute, you'll be late for school!"
"Huh-Wahhhh!" Steve yelled as he sat bolt upright.
Mark burst out laughing and said, "Sorry to startle you, son, but you weren't waking up."
Steve blinked owlishly and said, "It's ok, Dad." Stretching and yawning, he asked, "How long have I been out?"
Consulting his watch, Mark said, "Oh, about three and a half hours I guess."
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Steve said, "Really? That long? I shouldn't be so tired, should I? All I did was ride home in the car and come straight to bed."
Sitting on the bed beside his son as Steve moved over to make room, Mark reminded him, "You are still not well, you are still taking a tranquilizer, and until you collapsed, you'd been driving yourself far too hard. Thirty or forty years ago, you could have gotten away with that, Steve, but there comes a point when the body decides it's had enough and demands to be taken care of properly. I thought you'd have learned that when you had your heart attack."
Steve looked down at his hands and said, "I really was going to have Jesse check me out as soon as Emily came in, but I just got too sick too fast."
Mark put a hand on his son's shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "I realize that son, and I'm not going to lecture any more. I'm just here to make sure you eat.well, drink up."
Steve made a face at the glass of viscous liquid his dad offered him but made no effort to take it.
Giving a stern but sympathetic look, Mark said, "Son, don't make this a battle of wills. I'm too old and too worried about you to fight it. I'll just call Steven and Maribeth and have them take you back to the hospital."
With a sigh, Steve accepted the nasty beverage. He held it for a moment, and, looking up at his dad, said, "You're going to watch and make sure I drink it all, aren't you?"
Mark nodded. "And I'm going to put your medicine in it when it's halfway gone."
Steve didn't fuss or argue, he was just too tired. He drank down the thick fluid as quickly as he could and when he was about half done, offered the glass to his dad to have his medicine mixed in. Then he accepted the remainder of his 'meal', finished it off, and snuggled down in the bed for some more rest. He knew the tranquilizer was making him tired, but besides that, he was feeling so damned defeated. He felt like his life was going on without him.
Cheryl had taken over the search for Em and Moretti. Liv and Keith were helping with that. Ron and Dion had six mobsters and two dirty cops to question and investigate as well as looking into the activities of the three who had died in the first sting operation. Leigh Ann was still on the prowl because no one had given up her name as an accomplice, Roger Gorini had mysteriously gone missing about the time Joey Russo had fingered him as the one out to get Moretti, and the rest of the taskforce was following up other leads Joey had given them.
He still didn't know if Emmy was his daughter, and wasn't sure how to ask if she was. If the answer was yes, he didn't know how he would tell his wife, and he wasn't sure if he *could* tell his son, though he knew someone would have to. Steve hadn't had much chance to talk with Steven about Emily, but in the few exchanges they'd had, he'd realized the young man had become completely lost in her. He thought his son and Liv's daughter would make a great couple if only.
He winced slightly as his stomach started to burn, and rolling over, asked Mark, "Dad, do you think we could maybe start cutting back on the tranquilizer tomorrow. I really hate being stoned all the time."
Mark was surprised when Steve rolled over and asked him to adjust his medication. He thought his son was asleep already and had been watching him with some concern.
"I'll talk to Maribeth and Jesse about it, son."
"Ok, thanks."
Mark remained seated on the edge of the bed and watched as Steve drifted off to sleep. He was deeply concerned about his son. Steve had been unusually cooperative the past couple days, and Mark thought it had to do with more than just the effects of the medication. He didn't particularly enjoy Steve's ornery moods, but not long after his heart attack, Steve had fallen into a deep depression, and it had started with precisely the same unnatural submissiveness. That time, the depression had snuck up on all of them without anyone noticing, and it had taken a lot of hard work from all of them to pull him out of it.
The poor kid.(Mark grinned. Steve hadn't been a kid for almost fifty years.) .was probably feeling left out. Life, especially his life and the search for Emily, was going on without him. People were working and carrying on while he slept the days away, and finding out that he was *not* indispensable was probably getting him down.
Last time, the depression had caught them all unawares. This time, Mark saw it coming and was determined to do something about it.
"Ok, thanks, Davis," Liv said. Turning to Mark, she said, "The glove has been redesigned for Steve, and Davis FedExed it this afternoon. We should have it tomorrow morning."
"Do you really think it will do any good?" Mark asked.
Olivia pursed her lips narrowed her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "You know, Mark, I find it very disheartening that a doctor who used to lecture his students on the benefits of Native American traditional healing methods would remain a skeptic about a time-proven method such as biofeedback. Why is it so hard for the medical profession to accept that we do have control over the functions of our own bodies even at the most basic levels, *if* we choose to learn how to take that control?"
"Oh, I believe it can work for some people, Liv. I know it worked for you years ago, but Steve has always been so restless, I doubt he's capable of the kind of focus necessary for it to be truly effective."
Taking a seat on the hearth in front of the big open fireplace in what used to be Steve's apartment, she said brusquely, "Well, I happen to believe he is."
"Good," Mark said cheerfully, "I hope you're right."
"So do I," she snapped.
There was a moment of silence in which a scowling Olivia faced off with a benignly smiling Mark. Then Olivia hung her head and covered her face.
Rubbing her temples, she said, "Listen to me. Mark, I am so sorry. I guess I just get defensive when I think someone is questioning something I believe in."
"It's ok, sweetheart," Mark said in a fatherly tone. "Seems to me the last time we disagreed about my son's recuperative powers you were right, and I didn't object to it then, either." Olivia shot him a questioning look, and he said, "Your being right, I mean. Maybe our little spat is a good sign."
As Mark crossed the room and began rummaging in the closet, Liv threw up her hands and rolled her eyes to heaven. "He doesn't believe in biofeedback," she muttered, "but he believes in signs."
His voice muffled as he searched in the closet, Mark said, "Besides, I suspect you're yelling at me because you're more worried about Emily than you are willing to admit, and *she's* not here for you to yell at."
In his sleep, Steve felt the tickle of a butterfly lighting on his temple. He reached up to brush it away, and it went, but it was back moments later, this time, on his jaw. He swiped at it, and the persistent little critter came back again, to tease him right between the eyes. He was about to flick it away when he smelled orange blossoms and antiseptic and realized the pesky insect was no bug at all, but his lovely wife come to see him.
He opened his eyes and smiled and said, "Hey, gorgeous."
Maribeth smiled down at him and said, "Hey, gorgeous, to you, too."
"Uh-oh."
"What uh-oh?"
"Mar, when you flatter me like that it means I'm not going to like what comes next. What's up?"
"Y'know," she said with a sigh, leaning back to sit on the edge of the bed, "you're too perceptive. It's annoying."
Steve shrugged and said, "Occupational hazard. Now, what is it that I am not going to like?"
"Dinnertime."
Steve looked to the glass of gloppy 'food' on the nightstand beside him and asked, "Is it drugged?"
Maribeth pulled a face and told him, "Dad said you'd asked about that."
His mood shifted rapidly, and he felt his stomach start to burn again. "You didn't answer me," he snapped.
"It will be, when it's about half gone."
"Why do you always wait until I've finished half of it?"
"So the whole thing doesn't taste like medicine," Maribeth explained as patiently as she could.
Steve grabbed the glass off the nightstand and gulped down half the slop. Handing his wife the glass, he said, "Doesn't matter. It's still gross."
As she mixed the liquid sedative into Steve's drink, she said, "You know, babe," she began counting off on her fingers, "Dad and Steven and CJ and Jesse and Liv and I are just trying to help you get better as fast as possible. If you tried a little harder to remember that, little things like taking your meds and drinking your meals might not seem so bad."
Steve chugged the remainder of the nutrition shake, handed the empty glass to Maribeth, and said, "Yeah, Mar, whatever." He made a great show of yawning and stretching and rolled over, turning his back to her. "If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling rather tired and need to get some sleep."
Maribeth had to bite her tongue to avoid a comeback. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze before she left.
Maribeth went into the kitchen and put Steve's glass in the sink. Then she went downstairs to Mark's apartment. Taking a seat beside Olivia on the hearth before the fireplace she said, "I see what you mean, Dad. He's getting depressed and slipping fast. He's gone from unusually cooperative to downright pissy in the three hours since you last spoke to him."
"Well, what are we going to do?" Liv asked.
Mark was rummaging about in the closet so his answer was muffled.
"Mmmpf," he grunted as an old blanket fell down in his face. He cast it aside and said, "Well, I've been .ah.ah.ah-choo!" An old hatbox slipped off the shelf and thumped him on the head. "Huh! I didn't know I still had that old thing," he muttered as the box fell open to reveal an old derby hat that used to be part of his costume on some of the occasions when his barbershop quartet performed. He picked up the box, tried on the hat, put the hat back in the box, closed the box, and put it on top of the old blanket.
Emily and Maribeth exchanged amused glances and waited patiently as Mark paused in thought. He turned back to the closet again and said, "I've been thinking, maybe we need to give him something to distract him for a while."
"Well, sure, Dad," Maribeth agreed, "but one can only watch so much television and read so many novels before one gets bored silly."
"AH-HAH!!!" Mark crowed triumphantly, then "OUCH!" as his old movie screen fell over and banged him on the elbow. Clutching a large notebook to his chest, he wrestled the screen back in place. Then he bent over and picked up the hatbox and was trying to maneuver it back into place one-handed when Liv came over and gently guided him away from the closet.
"I'll put things back, Mark, you tell us your plan."
"Ok. Thanks, Liv." He walked over to the couch and sat with the notebook on his lap.
"Maribeth," he said, "the main reason people get so bored eventually with TV and movies and books is that they're fiction."
"Ok, annnnnd what, Dad?"
Liv shut the closet door and settled on the couch beside Mark.
"Well, I really hope you both agree to this, because I think it would really help Steve if we gave him something more personal to distract his mind from his predicament."
"Mark," Olivia pleaded, "don't tease. What do you have in mind?"
He thumped the notebook with his hand and said, "In here, and in another notebook on my desk, I have every letter you have sent me in the past thirty years, Olivia."
Olivia's eyes popped open wide and her jaw dropped.
"Letter writing is becoming a lost art, Liv," he explained. "It started dying with the Internet and thanks to instant messaging, cell phones, voice mail, and wireless technology it is nearly gone today. In fact, you're the only person I know who still sends honest to God letters with any regularity at all. I kept your letters all these years because, well, partly because I wanted to preserve that lost art, but mostly because you were a big part of a very difficult, very wonderful part of my son's life, and I thought one day he might wonder what became of you."
Mark had opened the notebook, and Liv ran a finger lightly over the surface of a yellowing page covered in her own neat, clear handwriting. It was dated July 4, 2003. Emily was ten months old, then. It was the first letter she had written.
"So many memories," she said softly, then, "You kept all of them?"
Mark beamed. "Every single one."
She smiled. "Mark, my whole life is in those letters."
"I know." He looked at Maribeth, who seemed a bit concerned. "Sweetie, I won't do this if you don't want me to, but in every letter, while it's clear she loves Steve, it's even clearer that Keith and Emily are her world."
Maribeth's face rumpled in thought. "You want him to read the letters, don't you?"
Mark nodded. "I figure we'll wait and see how he does with the biofeedback device before we give him the letters, but eventually, he is going to need something else to help keep him from dwelling on his situation."
Maribeth turned to Olivia, "Liv, is there anything in there you wouldn't have me read?"
Olivia thought for a bit. "Some things in those letters are very personal. I'd never want to talk about them with anyone. That's why I wrote them down and sent them to Mark."
Tears were coming to Liv's eyes, and she wasn't sure why. "There's nothing in them for you to worry about, Maribeth, but I can understand why you might want to see that for yourself."
She thought a bit more and said, "You can read them, Maribeth, but I don't ever want to know what you've read, and I don't ever want you to discuss them with anyone else."
Maribeth nodded. Looking at Mark, she said, "Ok, Dad. If you think it will help him, you can give Steve Liv's letters, and tell him it's all right with Olivia and me."
Steve felt a gentle hand shaking him awake. He rolled over to see Maribeth smiling down at him and said, "Let me guess, chow time."
With an apologetic look she said, "I'm afraid so."
Steve reached out for the glass and quickly choked down about half its contents and handed it back. While Maribeth mixed in the tranquilizer, he said, "You know, you never did tell me what you intended to do about my medication. I really don't want to spend the next three days drugged into unconsciousness."
"I wanted to tell you earlier what I had in mind, but you were too busy tearing my head off."
Shamefaced, he lowered his eyes and said, "I know. I'm sorry."
Maribeth mussed his hair for him, leaned forward, and kissed him on the temple. "I'll let it slide this time, Sloan. I know how you hate to be sick." Then she tucked a finger under his chin and forced him to look up at her. "You do understand, though, that the tranquilizer is to keep you calm so your stomach produces less acid and gives your ulcers a chance to heal, right?"
"But, Mar," Steve was on the verge of whining, and cringed at the sound of his own voice. Pausing and making a conscious effort to change his tone, he continued, "It doesn't just calm me. It makes me so tired. I have been sleeping all day. What time is it?"
He took the glass back from her and finished off its vile contents.
Maribeth didn't need to consult her watch as Steve was on a rather strict feeding schedule. They needed to keep his meals fairly small to avoid too much stress on his digestion, and his medication doses had been calculated to function within his meal schedule.
"It's about nine o'clock, babe."
"So, I have slept about twelve hours today, and I'm going to sleep through the night on the meds you just gave me, right?"
"Yes. Dad says you nodded off about as soon as he got you to bed, and you will sleep soundly through the night."
"That's not normal, Mar. Are you going to adjust the dosage?"
"Well, I've been talking to Olivia." At Steve's look of wide-eyed horror she had to chuckle and say, "Don't worry. She and Keith have been staying here since she wigged out--her words, not mine," Maribeth said as Steve's expression changed as if he'd been offended by what she said.
"Anyway," she continued, "Liv and I have gotten to know one another rather well. She is smart, funny, incredibly loyal, and a lot of fun to be around. Seeing her with Keith has also made me feel a lot more secure about you and me, too, because no woman that in love with her husband could ever be interested in another man."
Steve smiled, genuinely happy for the first time since.he couldn't remember when, and asked, "So, you two get along ok?"
Maribeth smiled back at him, glad to finally give her husband something to be happy about.
"We get along very well, honey. I can't speak for her, but I regard her as a friend, now."
Satisfied, Steve said simply, "Good."
After a quiet moment he looked at Maribeth again and said, "You were going to say something about my medicine."
"Oh, yeah. It seems Olivia is inordinately fond of gadgets."
Steve laughed and said, "Some things never change."
"I take it that's a long-standing personality trait, then?"
"Oh, yes," he told his wife, "and she just loves Velcro."
Maribeth made a face and said, "I'm not sure I want you to elaborate on that." Before Steve could reply, she continued, "As I was saying, she has a friend back east, a Dr. Davis Johnson, who is working on a biofeedback device.Steve?"
He was grinning happily. "You said Davis Johnson?"
"Yeah, why?"
"He was my physical therapist thirty years ago when I got shot. I'm just glad to know he went back and finished med school. What were you saying about him?"
"He has a biofeedback device that is supposed to help you monitor and manage your stress levels. Liv has been working on it with him, and when it arrives, she's going to teach you how to use it. We should have it tomorrow. It's sort of like a glove, fitting over the hand, wrist, and forearm. We've been waiting for it because the sensors have to be correctly placed for the individual. Liv took the necessary measurements when you were sleeping off the anesthetic after the gastroscopy, but Davis made the device for a right-handed person and we had to send it back to be refitted for a leftie."
"Ok, what does that have to do with my medication?"
"As you learn to listen to your body and control your stress, we will start reducing your meds. When we are satisfied that you are taking better care of yourself, we will take you off the tranquilizers completely."
Steve yawned and stretched as the drugs were already making him sleepy, and said, "What about tomorrow? Liv can't very well teach me anything if I can't stay awake."
Maribeth made a face at him and said, "I realize that, too. Starting tomorrow, you'll only get your meds every other meal instead of every meal."
Steve smiled. "Really? Good."
Maribeth kissed him and adjusted the covers as he settled for the night. She sat beside her husband for a long time, stroking his hair and watching him as he slept. Not for the first time, she wished he would just retire. Steve had spent over fifty years in the LAPD, and this was not the first time his work had made him ill. The two of them had some good years left, and she wanted to spend them with her husband. She made up her mind that when he had recovered enough to argue with her without the fear of getting sick, she'd tell him how she felt.
"Ok," Liv said as she attached the last of the electrodes to Steve's still well muscled chest. "We're going to do away with all this paraphernalia in a day or so," she said, indicating the leads running from Steve's scalp, neck, chest, and abdomen to the video monitor at the foot of the bed.
"Good," Steve muttered. "I already feel like a damned Christmas tree."
"Language," Olivia chided gently.
"Sorry. What happens now?"
Olivia checked to make sure everything was plugged into the machine and the machine was plugged into the wall, and she said, "Well, for the next couple of days I'll be taking readings from the monitor and using them to calibrate the glove. Also, several times a day, I am going to activate a program on the monitor to help you practice some stress-management techniques. Then, when the glove is set up properly, you'll be off the monitor and can start using the glove to help you control your stress levels."
"Alright," Steve said somewhat incredulously, "what do we do now?"
"I'm going to turn on the monitoring equipment, and you're going to do whatever you want for the next hour or so."
"I'd really rather start learning the stress-management exercises you were talking about. The sooner I can get that under control, the sooner Maribeth will take me off the medication, and the sooner I can get back to work."
Olivia had switched on the monitoring equipment and was now sitting on the edge of the bed. "Actually, Steve, right now, that, and sleeping are the two things I *don't* want you to do. I need you alert and awake for at least an hour before we can begin the exercises because I need a reliable baseline reading to set up the program."
Steve frowned, thought a minute, and said, "Will you keep me company? Talk to me about something? We haven't had a chance to just talk the whole time you've been here. I.I've missed you."
With a bit of surprise, Steve realized he *had* missed Liv. A lot. He'd missed her friendship.
Liv smiled. "I can do that. Let's see, what do you want to talk about?"
Steve blew out a gusty sigh and asked, "How are you and Keith holding up?"
"Can't start with an easy question, can you, Deputy Chief Sloan?"
Steve looked down and said, "I'm sorry, Liv. If you'd rather not."
"No, it's ok.We're doing a lot better, Steve, since Maribeth invited us to stay here. She was right about the task force. It created too much pressure at Em's house. I still worry a lot, and her situation is always in the back of my mind, but at least here, I can do everyday things like fixing lunch or reading a magazine without 'Fredo and Donovan muttering in the background or Cheryl, Ron, Dion, and Al meeting in the den or at the table."
"I'm sorry we took over the place like that. I never thought about how it would affect you and Keith."
Liv shook her head. "It's all right, Steve. Given the problem of not knowing who was with us and who was against us, it made sense to get the taskforce out of the precinct. It let you control who had access to what information."
Steve snorted, "For all the good it did us. We had no idea who the leak was until Emmy told me."
"You don't know that it *didn't* help," Liv pointed out. "If you'd have been at the station, who's to say Leigh Ann or one of the others might not have cottoned on to the sting operation and ruined it for you. Working out of Emily's house was the only thing that made sense."
Steve smiled at her and said, "Most people would be furious at having their lives taken over like that. You're too forgiving. Thank you."
"Forgiving, nothing. I'm glad you guys were there. It's my daughter's life and future at stake here, and I appreciated being included in the goings on. I needed to know what was happening. Unfortunately, I suffered a bit of information overload and let my imagination take me on a nightmare trip through the worst possibilities, but Keith managed to save me from that."
Steve wondered for a moment if Liv had even known he was there when she had withdrawn inside herself, but he decided not to ask, saying instead, "How is Keith? Is he doing ok?"
Liv nodded. "He's doing well. He's at Em's house about eight to ten hours a day. He may have retired twenty years ago, but his cop instincts are still good, and he's putting them to use with the taskforce. He wants his baby back safely, and he's pushing them to make sure they get it done. Every night, he gives me an update and tells me what they did during the day. Then he goes for a run on the beach if he feels up to it."
At Steve's questioning look, she laughed and said, "You can't begin to imagine the advances that have been made in the past 30 years in prosthetic technology." She leaned over and whispered playfully in his ear, "I can tickle his feet, now!"
Steve grinned, then burst out laughing as he realized it was the first time since he'd called her in Pennsylvania that he'd seen any spark of her old playfulness. It was a relief to him to know that staying at the beach house had brought out her sense of humor again. It was a sure sign that she was coping better.
"So," she said, still smiling, "tell me what's been going on with you for the past thirty years."
Steve happily chattered away about Maribeth and their twenty-fifth anniversary party, which was several years ago, and a huge surprise. He told her all about Steven's accomplishments and his father's 100th birthday. Then, he talked about Jesse and Amanda's families, how proud he was of CJ and Dion and his goddaughters, Hannah and Lauren. He marveled at (and moaned about) the fact that Amanda and Ron still didn't look old enough to be grandparents and told Liv about all the mischief Dion and Charisse's three children got into.
Before they knew it, an hour had passed.
Leigh Ann let herself into the warehouse. She knew where to find what she was looking for, but she idled along the way, recalling the first time Mr. Gorini had brought her here.
********** "Sir, this place is filthy!"
"Shh! Relax, sweetheart. Wait 'til we get to my offices in the back. Then you'll know why we're here."
He grasped her hand firmly and guided her through the dark warehouse, weaving in and out around shipping crates and boxes of stuff. Roger had spent years building his import business as a sideline to his journalism, and now, it was a thriving operation. This place was normally a hive of activity around the clock, but, as it was Memorial Day and a time for cookouts and family celebrations, he had given all of his employees the day off. Leigh Ann knew not all of Roger's business was legitimate, but he was a very generous boss, and his employees were fiercely loyal.
Her husband, on the other hand, was a slave driver and a workaholic. Rick was honest to a fault and a good provider, but Leigh Ann had never loved him, not like she loved Roger. Rick was out of town on business today, leaving her with three whining brats to care for because he had given the nanny the day off. That was ok with her, though, for she had made plans, and no trouble-making rug rats were going to spoil them for her. She knew as she dropped the little monsters off with Rick's parents, claiming she needed to care for a sick friend, that today, Roger Gorini would get whatever he wanted from her.
They finally entered the office, and Roger flipped the light switch. The whole room was done in honey-colored wood and navy leather. A brass banker's lamp with a blue glass shade sat on the massive oak desk. Two oak- and-leather wing chairs faced the desk, and a larger chair sat behind it. The left wall was all windows, and Leigh Ann could see fireworks out over the harbor. An oak file cabinet sat behind the chair to the left of the window, and an enormous, overstuffed bookcase wrapped itself around the right half of the back wall and most of the right wall.
Playing the naïve innocent, Leigh Ann walked over to the windows and gasped, "Oh, Mr. Gorini, what a lovely view of the fireworks."
She felt the heat of Roger's body as he moved close to her.
"I hadn't noticed," he breathed in her ear.
She turned to face him.
Smiling, he said, "I brought you here to make some fireworks, not to watch them." Taking her hand, he added, "Close your eyes and follow me, sweetheart."
He led her through a hidden door in the corner of the office and when he told her to open her eyes, she found herself in what amounted to a studio apartment dominated by a large wrought iron bed.
"Oooh, Sir."
********** Leigh Ann smiled as she remembered. Her first time with Roger Gorini had been the best sex of her life to that point, and it had kept getting better after that. She laughed to herself, 'And he thought he needed to blackmail me to get me to help him.'
They had met as the LAPD-Mob investigations were winding down, and because the Valley Bureau had been found completely free of mafia influence, Roger had decided to do a story on the man in charge, Deputy Chief of Police Steve Sloan. By then, the Chief was involved in a battle with the police commissioners. He was fighting to keep his bureau intact. Somehow, the commissioners had gotten the bright idea that gutting the one remaining trustworthy bureau in the city of its personnel to staff the other bureaus would help rebuild the citizen's trust in the LAPD. In the end, Steve had convinced them to spread the transfers out over three years, and, insisting that he needed to have men and women he could trust, he had won the right to have final approval over all personnel hired to replace the ones who had been transferred out.
Since he was too busy to 'waste time chatting with the press' he had assigned Leigh Ann to help Roger with all the background information. As she answered Roger's multitude of questions, giving him information about everything from her boss's education to his family to his restaurant to his years of experience with the LAPD, she began to sense a kindred spirit. This reporter's questions went beyond the scope of 'being thorough'. This man was up to something.
She'd been working for Chief Sloan for several months and had yet to discover a way to hurt him, so, when Roger asked her to lunch, she had accepted, hoping she could find out more about his machinations if they met away from the police station. Though she had gotten no inkling of what the newsman had planned for the Chief, lunch had been an enjoyable diversion, and when Roger had suggested they do it again, she had agreed. Soon they were seeing each other often for lunch, or, when Rick was out of town, dinner and a movie.
Then Roger had asked her to spend the night with him.
********** Leigh Ann drifted gently back to wakefulness to find Roger sitting at the foot of the bed, turning a videotape over and over in his hands. He was magnificent in his nakedness, with a broad chest and trim waist. He carried not an ounce of extra fat, and he had an all-over tan that spoke of frequent naked sessions in the tanning booth or on a private beach. He clearly took good care of himself, and he was a welcome change from her pasty, flabby Rick.
He smiled benignly down at her and said, "Good, you're awake."
She smiled back and, pointing at the tape, she asked, "What's that?"
He grinned broadly and said, "Something I want you to see."
He crossed the room and popped the tape in the VCR. On the big-screen TV, she soon saw a larger-than-life image of herself writhing in the throes of passion. Roger had ridden her hard, and like the wanton woman she was, she had cried out for more even as he was pounding into her with all he had. As she watched the tape, she felt herself becoming aroused, but Roger must have mistaken it for fear.
He clicked the tape off and she jumped.
"Now, my dear, you are probably wondering what I want in exchange for that video tape."
She played along. Her mother had taught her to give men what they wanted until they got used to it. Then, when you held out, they were desperate to surrender to your whims just to get more of what you offered. "Y-Yes, tell me, p-please."
Studying his fingernails as if trying to remember when he was due for his next manicure, he said, "You work for Deputy Chief Sloan, correct?"
"Y-yes."
"You will be my mole in his office. When I need information, you will get it for me. When something interesting happens, you will tell me immediately, or."
"Or what, sir?"
"Or your husband will see that tape and your marriage will be over."
She laughed aloud, knowing that she had caught him in his own trap.
"It was a marriage of convenience, sir, the honeymoon was over before it ever started. He was rich, and I wanted a rich husband."
She grinned as Roger started to panic.
"You.you'll lose your children."
She shook her head. "I never wanted a bunch of snotty-nosed brats to begin with, Mr. Gorini. I just had 'em to keep Rick happy. Sex with the Pillsbury Doughboy, some stretch marks, and labor pains seemed a small price to pay for a seven million dollar mansion in the Hollywood Hills, a yacht, and a membership at the country club. The nanny did all the work after they were born."
"If he divorces you, you'll be out of that mansion in a heartbeat."
"No, sir, I won't. It was a wedding present from my husband. The prenuptial agreement requires him to pay for maintenance and upkeep as well as the domestic staff and child support for as long as I live there, or at least until I remarry. Then he still pays for the kids."
Roger had gone pale under his tan. He was a man who planned things carefully, and he had never planned for this.
She stood up and moved close to him, tracing a finger down his chest and over his rippling abs, she said, "Don't look so upset, sir." She gently wrapped her hand around his now-limp penis and, as she felt him respond to her touch, she said, "You still have something to bargain with."
With a growl, Roger picked her up and threw her onto the bed with such force it knocked the wind out of her. To her delight, he climbed up beside her quickly. With one hand, he made himself hard while he used the other to keep her wet, not even giving her time to catch her breath. She nearly fainted for lack of air as he took her roughly, both of them sweating and grunting and moaning until they came together in a screaming climax.
After what seemed like hours, Roger had rolled off her and asked, "You're going to do what I want, aren't you?"
"Of course, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I want to have a powerful man."
"Your husband is a powerful man," he said.
Leigh Ann laughed aloud. "Rick is a rich man, but he is still a slave to money, family, and business. He's hardworking, responsible, safe, and wealthy, but he is not powerful."
"You don't mind betraying your boss?"
She smiled, her eyes alight, and said, "I've always wanted to destroy Steve Sloan. I just wasn't sure how to go about it. If you have a plan, sir, I'll do whatever I can to help you."
"Why?"
She told him her reasons for wanting to ruin the Deputy Chief, and he shared his with her. They reached an agreement and sealed the deal with another coupling. As they drifted back to earth for the third time that night, he said, "Leigh Ann."
"Hmmm?"
"You can call me Roger."
"I'd rather not, sir." At his questioning look, she explained. "It's just a mild kink, sir, but Rick doesn't get it. He never understood power games. He wanted me to be his equal in the bedroom, but without knowing it, the fool became my slave. He's far too solicitous and accommodating. It's just no fun. I much prefer to think of myself as your servant instead of your lover, if you don't mind, sir."
Roger had leered at her, shoved her head down between his legs, and said, "Well, then, woman, serve me well!"
********** In the wee hours of the morning, they got up to shower together. Roger had to be at the station for the six a.m. broadcast, and Leigh Ann had to pick up her children. More importantly, Roger's employees would start arriving within the hour, and they couldn't really afford to be seen together.
Leigh Ann had never been able to sing well, but she liked to whistle, and she could do that well, so, when Roger started humming a popular tune in the shower, she began to accompany him. Even when he stopped, she continued, not softly, either, but with a loud, glorious trill. She was quite proud of her peculiar ability and when she slipped easily from pop tunes to the "Spring" movement of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, she was profoundly delighted to see him watching her with rapt pleasure.
He smiled and said, "You sound just like a little bird, maybe better."
She broke off just long enough to smile, kiss his nose, and say, "Then I shall be *your* little bird, sir, and I shall tell you everything you wish to know."
********** Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what she expected to find behind the office door, Leigh Ann turned the knob and walked in. The room stank of decomposition and flies buzzed ceaselessly about her. Roger had given his employees a week off for Easter, so the body had not yet been discovered. Roger himself wasn't a religious man, but some of his employees were, and he knew the value of keeping them happy. As she walked to the hidden door and slipped into Roger's apartment, Leigh Ann did not look at the body. The police would find it and dispose of it soon enough.
In his last phone call, Roger had told her what was about to happen to him and where to find the items she needed and what to do with them. They had said their goodbyes as Gaudino's limousine pulled up outside the warehouse, and Roger had promised to see her in hell if she failed. His threat did not frighten her. Even if she believed in hell, she did not intend to let him down. She wanted to see Steve Sloan crushed as much as he ever had, and she would do what was necessary to accomplish that.
She found the catalog in the safe and located the numbers identifying the tape she wanted. Leaving the record book open on the bed, a goldmine of information to keep the cops busy for weeks, she went to the far wall of the apartment and slid a panel aside. She took only one copy of the tape she needed. The other would worry Chief Sloan sick, and the rest of the tapes would serve nicely with the directory to give the police more leads than they really wanted to investigate. Then she went to the tape recorder and played back the cassette that was in there.
She heard a gunshot, a gasp, and a gagging sound. Then she heard Vinnie Gaudino's voice saying, "Rogelio, you were a good boy. It's a shame you couldn't get rid of Moretti for me."
She smiled sadly, sorry to lose Roger, but pleased to know that even in his last hours he had planned a way for her to continue to serve him. She also felt hopeful that she would see him again soon.
Finally, she went to the nightstand and got the gun he'd had made especially for her. It was constructed of a high impact, shatter resistant ceramic polymer and would not set off the metal detector at the federal courthouse. It would fold up to fit neatly in her purse, and in the x-ray machine, it would look like the small plastic case she used to carry her feminine hygiene items. The bullets were made of a different sort of compound that would fragment when they hit a bone inside a body and tear the surrounding soft tissue to shreds. She had four of them, and they were easily concealed inside a lipstick tube.
She would get to the trial early. She wanted to see it all. Then, after Moretti had testified, and Gaudino was convicted, she would kill the Chief.
"All right," Olivia said as she finished setting up the stress control exercise on the monitors at the foot of Steve's bed. "This is sort of like a video game, Steve. You gain or lose points depending on your performance. You'll start out with zero points, and you can go into the negative range."
Steve nodded to indicate his comprehension so far, and Liv continued.
Switching on the first monitor. A thin green line traced across the lowed third of the screen. "This isn't really part of the exercise," Liv said, "but it will help you monitor your stress as you get started. Right now, it is all in the green, which is good. When it moves to yellow, that's not so good, but still ok. Red is bad. Later, we'll switch it off and see how you do with just the video game."
"Ok," Steve said, "Can we get started now?"
"In a minute," Liv told him.
The line on the active monitor crept into the yellow.
Liv arched an eyebrow at him and said, "Impatient, are we?"
Steve didn't answer, but his response was plain as the line soared suddenly into the red.
"Steve, listen to me," Olivia said, her voice low and calm. "You have to get a grip. I'm sorry if you didn't appreciate the joke, but you simply can't let every little thing set you off."
The line was still climbing. "Well, tell me what to do, then, Liv!" Steve's voice was tinged with anger and frustration, but also a little fear. It was one thing for him to be in a mood and know it was getting worse, but it quite disturbed him to see evidence of it on a computer screen, and somehow, the red line made him worry all the more about his health. His stomach started to burn, and it shot straight up to the edge of the screen.
"Ok, Steve," Liv said in an even voice. "Think about it. What is your goal here? What are you trying to do?"
"Calm down."
"Right. And what's upsetting you?"
"I-I don't know."
"I think you do, but I'll tell you just to save time. You don't like seeing that line in the red, do you?" By now, the readout had leveled off at a high plateau in the red.
"No, I guess not."
"Then start by shutting your eyes."
Steve did as he was told, and immediately the line dropped to the low part of the red range.
"Good," Liv crooned. "Now, take a few deep breaths.That's it. Unclench your fists.Good."
The line moved slowly through the yellow and then down to the middle of the green range. Just where it should be for someone who was awake and alert but calm. Liv waited several minutes to see if it would stay there. It did.
"How do you feel?"
Steve thought a moment. "Better."
"How much better? Where do you think the line is?"
"I don't know."
The line moved up a little, but not much.
"Listen to your body," Liv encouraged him. "How fast is your heart beating? What is your breathing like? Are you tense or relaxed?"
After a moment, Steve said, "I feel good. I think it's green again."
"Open your eyes and see for yourself."
Steve opened his eyes and looked at the monitor. Then he looked at Liv and smiled. "That wasn't so bad."
Liv gave him a grin and said, "It gets tougher."
The line moved up slightly, but it was still well in the green.
"Now, I'm going to start the stress management exercise," Liv said. "I'll show you how it works, reset it, then leave you to practice with it for a while, ok?"
"All right," Steve agreed. He was much more confident now, knowing how easily he had been able to bring the line back into the green.
Liv tapped a few commands on the keyboard and a cigar shaped yellow object popped onto the second monitor screen. Moments later, some old, familiar music started playing. 'In the town where I was born lived a man who sailed to sea.'
Steve looked at Olivia and laughed. "It's been years since I've heard that song," he said.
'So we sailed up to the sun 'til we found the sea of green.'
"Ok, so, I had an attack of nostalgia when we were putting this thing together. It's a shame most of the people who use it probably won't recognize the tune."
'We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine.'
Liv and Steve listened to the whole song, Liv singing along, and Steve just bobbing his head, knowing it really wasn't a good idea for him to sing. When the song ended, they looked at each other and laughed. To Steve it seemed ages since he had enjoyed anything. It was nice to have Liv around again because she never let him take anything too seriously.
"Liv."
"Yeah?" Her eyes were still bright with laughter.
"I.I'm glad you're here." It sounded lame, even to him, but it was sincere.
She smiled softly at him and said, "I'm glad to be here."
They shared a quiet moment. Briefly, Steve sensed that something was growing in the silence, something old and comfortable, but when Liv spoke again, it was gone as if it had never been there.
She settled beside him and handed him a game controller. The little plastic device was lost in his huge hands and Liv made a mental note to tell Davis he needed them in more than one size. After all, the equipment should be easy for the user to handle; the game itself was challenging enough. "The green button starts the game and the red one pauses. Hit the red one twice to quit altogether." Indicating the directional keys she explained, "You have left, right, forward, back, and, because this is a submarine underwater, you also have up and down." She pointed to a blue button in the lower right labeled UP and said, "This is Up Periscope. Sometimes, you catch a break and you have enough time to look ahead. The periscope will stay up as long as you hold the button. Let it go, and the periscope comes down."
"So, I'm the captain, am I?"
"No, Steve, you're the pilot. The captain gives the orders. The pilot steers the sub."
"I see. Where's the speed control?"
Pointing to the monitor that showed Steve's stress levels still comfortably in the green, she said, "Right there. The more agitated you get, the faster the sub goes. You can never completely stop, but there is a little lag time between the change in stress and the change in speed. If something startles you and the chart shoots up into the red, if you bring it down in just a few seconds, it won't affect your sub. Your going to be traveling through a minefield, and you need to remain calm to navigate safely. Think of the mines as the normal stresses of daily life.running out of your favorite cereal, getting stuck in the slow lane on the freeway. Little things."
Steve laughed at the analogy, "Ok, sounds easy enough to deal with."
"Oh, it gets harder," she gave him a wicked grin. "First the number of mines increases. Sometimes there will be so many so close together that you can't go around them. What will you do about that?"
Steve blinked, knowing it was a trick question, but not knowing the answer. "Uh, blow up?"
"Look at the control pad and guess again."
"Oh! Duh! Go over them or dive under them."
"Good. Occasionally, you will face a major crisis like a sea monster, a giant squid, or a really irritated whale. *Don't run*."
"Well, what do I do, then?"
"Try to avoid it. If it catches you, stay calm, and just concentrate on dealing with the mines. You'll have to react to them a little sooner, but you can sail around them with the squid or whatever hanging on to you."
"All right, so the secret is to stay cool. Anything else?"
"One last thing. If you panic and your stress levels go too high, the sub makes more noise as it runs faster. If the enemy hears you, he'll start chasing you and you'll be dodging torpedoes from behind as well."
"Ok, can I start now?"
"Sure, but whenever it asks you if you want to save your score, click yes. The game and the stress chart are both time indexed and synchronized through the computer, and saving your score saves that data for me. It's one more tool to help me calibrate the glove."
"Ok."
Steve hit start, and immediately found his little yellow submarine facing a mine. He swerved to the left and immediately found himself facing two more. Going around them to the right, he suddenly saw a vast array of mines with various creatures floating through it, and he felt his heart rate jump. How in the world was he ever to get through that? The sub speeded up then, and his heart pounded more.
"Take one obstacle at a time, Steve," came Liv's soothing voice. "You don't have to face them all at once."
Nodding, he took a deep breath, then another.
"That's it, focus on your breathing."
The sub slowed down and he navigated the next several obstacles easily. Then he faced a wall of mines five wide and three to five high. He felt his pulse accelerate, and soon the sub was sailing forward too fast. Remembering what he did last time, he took a few deep breaths. The sub slowed down, he hit the reverse button to back himself up, then he made the sub dive.
Just as he was confident that he would safely pass the wall of mines, a tentacle covered with suckers swept across the bottom of his field of view.
"Oh shit!" He yelled, and panicking, he slammed the back an up buttons together. Several seconds later, the computer picked up the increase in his stress levels and slammed the sub up and back into the mines he had almost succeeded in avoiding. An explosion sounded, the screen went white, then black, then back to the ocean blue with mines and creatures dotting the expanse, and yellow letters flashed, 'You died! Save score?'
"Son of a."
"Steve."
"Sorry."
Following Liv's instructions, he clicked, 'Yes,' then whacked the start button again.
"Pause it."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
He slapped the pause button then looked at her sullenly.
"Look at the stress monitor."
He did. It was in the red.
"What about it?"
"What's the point of this game, again?"
Sighing, he said, "To lower my stress levels."
"Not quite. You're learning to control them. Now, knowing how high stress affects the game, does it make sense to start a new round when you're this agitated?"
He pouted a bit, but not seriously. "No."
"So, give yourself a chance to settle down."
Steve nodded, put the controller down, stretched, closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and relaxed for a few moments. When he opened his eyes, he saw the monitor well within the green again. Looking to Liv, he asked, "May I start now, please."
Smiling, she waved toward the screen and said, "Be my guest."
Liv sat with Steve for several more rounds until she was satisfied that he fully had the hang of it. Then, squeezing his shoulder gently, she said, "Keep working with it. I'll see you later."
Steve just nodded, fully focused on navigating through the minefield.
In no time at all, it seemed, Liv returned with a glass of goop saying, "Ok, shut the game off. Time for you to eat and take your medicine."
"Ok, son," Mark said as Liv pulled back the covers and helped Steve into bed. "I'm just going to go find some of your latest motorcycle magazines and maybe that novel you were reading while you get settled. It will give you something to occupy your thoughts for a while."
"You don't." Mark was already gone. ".have to, Dad," Steve finished deflatedly. Liv was plumping his pillow for him and he had to bite his tongue to avoid a cutting remark. They were both hovering, and already they were making him so tense he was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off staying in the hospital.
"Liv, please!" he griped, then gasped as he felt his stomach start to burn. Taking a deep breath he said, "Just sit down and talk to me. I'd much rather enjoy your company that.submit to.your ministrations."
"Oh, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm getting on your nerves, aren't I?"
He forced a smile and said, "You, no. What you're doing, yes. Just have a seat and.entertain me."
She folded her arms and gave him a sly look. "You know," she said suggestively, "that opens up a world of possibilities."
"Liv." he said in a warning tone.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Steve! I'm kidding."
"So," Liv said settling on the edge of the bed beside him, "how's life been treating you these past thirty years?"
Just as Steve opened his mouth to answer, Mark came tottering in, his reading glasses precariously balanced on the end of his nose. "Ok, son," he said, "these are all the issues I could find for the past three months. I don't know which ones you've read and.ahhh!" As he read the dates on magazines, Mark hadn't been watching where he was going, so, halfway into the room, he tripped over the edge of a decorator rug Maribeth had placed on the floor.
The magazines went flying, landing on the floor, the bed, and several of them striking Liv and Steve. Mark managed to stumble across the room to land softly on the foot of the bed where, after taking a moment to recover, he turned to look at Liv and Steve who were gathering the magazines that had rained down on them.
"Oh, gee, guys," he said, "I'm sorry. I'll just gather up the ones on the floor."
"It's all right, Mark," Olivia interrupted as she stood and started collecting the several issues that hadn't made it to the bed. "I've got them."
"Well, I'll just help," Mark insisted.
"It's ok, Mark. I've got them. You just have a seat and take it easy."
Mark looked at her crossly and said in his best old coot voice, "Young lady, I may be old, but I am not decrepit."
Liv chuckled and said, "No, you're certainly not that, but you are clumsy."
"Clumsy!" He shouted still using the put-on voice. "Clumsy? I'll have you know I am quite graceful."
"Of course you are," Liv placated, "and you fell beautifully, but see now, I have all the magazines, so you can just relax."
In a mock pout, Mark pointed at Steve and said, "That's what he's supposed to be doing."
"Yes," Steve snapped, "and the two of you are making it very difficult!"
As Mark and Liv just gaped at him in surprise, Steve drew a deep breath to calm himself and let it out slowly. When that didn't work, he tried another. After several seconds, he finally looked at them and said, "Dad, Liv, I'm sorry."
Mark, who was still sitting at the end of the bed patted his foot and said, "That's ok, son. I know how you hate to be sick."
"No, it's not, Dad. I know the two of you are only trying to.make me comfortable, and I know I have no choice in the matter right now, but I don't *want* to be comfortable. I want to get back to work."
"But, Steve."
"Liv, I know I can't," he interrupted her. "I know I'm on medical leave, I know I'm ill, and I know I'm stuck here for now, but I really want to go back to work. It's just so damned frustrating with everything that's going on right now."
At that moment, Mark's watch alarm beeped. He looked at it and frowned.
"Something wrong, Dad?"
"It's time for your next meal and medication, son."
"Oh, wonderful," Steve's voice was dripping with sarcasm. When he looked at his dad, though, and saw how torn he was, he softened his tone. "I'll be ok, Dad. Go on and get it. I know it has to be on a schedule. Liv'll sit with me." Looking at Olivia, he asked, "Won't you?"
Liv smiled. "Sure. It will give us a chance to talk."
Marked looked from his son to his friend. They were clearly comfortable with each other. With a nod, he headed off to the kitchen to prepare Steve's nutrition shake and measure out his medication dosage.
"So," Liv said with a smile, settling beside him again, "how *has* life been treating you?" Tapping his right shin gently, she asked, "How's the leg?"
Steve went wide-eye and said, "You're not gonna believe this." He pulled the covers back and rolled up the leg of his pajamas to reveal unmarked skin where thirty years ago a bullet wound and surgery to save his leg had left their mark.
"Oh, wow," Liv gasped as she stroked the restored limb. "Your dad mentioned that the stem-cell treatment for your heart attack had repaired old injuries, but I had no idea it had gone this far. Steve, I have heard of several cases like this, but yours is the first I've seen. This is simply amazing. I never took the time to read the research. Tell me, what was it like? Did it hurt? How long did it take?"
Steve was pleased to answer her questions, and he could tell she was really happy for him.
"Well, at first, it felt like my leg had gone to sleep. I had pins and needles all the time so bad I couldn't rest. Jess thought I might have developed a blood clot, so he did some tests, and instead of the blood supply being blocked off to the area, it was actually increasing. Then the sensation started spreading to my pelvis, too. For a couple weeks, it was so bad Jesse kept me sedated most of the time."
"Sounds dreadful," Liv commented.
"Oh, God, Liv, it was. It was worse than the first time around. After the pins and needles finally subsided, I started getting muscle spasms, not just in my calf like before, but through my pelvis and in my thigh as well. Jess gave me Darvocet and a muscle relaxant but it didn't help much."
"Oh, Steve, I am so sorry you had to go through that."
He shook his head. "Don't be. It was worth it. After about a month, the pain went away. Then a couple weeks later, the edges of my scars started to itch and get red and puffy. I was miserable again, but an anesthetic lotion helped a lot. Within a week, I noticed the red outlines around my scars were getting smaller and smaller, and the skin outside of them was normal. That's when we all realized the stem-cells were repairing my old injuries."
Liv shook her head in wonder. "That's amazing, Steve, but I notice you still have scars on your chest."
He nodded. "Dad and Jess went back through my medical records and did a timeline of all the old injuries that had healed themselves. Most of the injuries I sustained when Caitlin Sweeney blew up the hospital were gone, but little scratches and bumps from just a few months before that are still there. It seems there's a limit on how old an injury can be for the stem- cells to work on it."
"I see, and, I don't know if you have an answer to this, Steve, if not I can ask Mark. The cells in the areas that have been . regenerated . are they the same biological age as the rest of you?"
Steve frowned in thought and said, "I think I understand what you're asking. The way Dad explained it, at first, it was all new, like a baby, and you could tell that just by looking. The skin was smooth and pale and hairless, which was really strange. But then, as those cells died off and were replaced by my body's natural repair functions, it aged to catch up with the rest of me. By now, I suppose all my bits and parts are somewhere in their seventies, but without about thirty years of wear and tear."
"So," Liv tried to wrap things up, "biologically, you're about seventy merrr," she garbled the word to protect his vanity and he just laughed, "but physically, you're in your mid- to late forties?"
"That's the way dad explained it."
"That's fascinating. I do need to do a thorough study of the research. Did Jess or your dad publish anything?"
Steve's eyes widened, "I hope not."
Liv smiled. "They probably knew you'd feel that way, Steve. I doubt they did. You know, I once mentioned to Keith the possibility of using stem cells to regenerate severed limbs, and he said it gave him the creeps. He also said he'd rather have his hair back."
Steve laughed aloud at that. "I remember him commenting on that a couple times."
"He likes to joke about it," Liv said, "but I think seeing your father at over 100 years old still with a head full of thick white hair really did disturb him for a while."
"You know," Steve told her, "he shouldn't worry about it. He must have something else very special to still be with a woman like you."
Liv looked at him strangely and said, "Thanks, I think."
"I said that badly, didn't I?"
Smiling devilishly, she said, "That depends on what you meant to say."
Steve didn't bother to clarify. He knew she understood that he meant she was extraordinary and Keith had to be a remarkable guy to be good enough for her.
After a thoughtful pause, Liv asked half playfully, "Mark didn't by any chance have any kind of stem cell injections, did he?"
Steve laughed. "No, Dad's longevity is purely natural. My grandmother was in her late nineties when she finally passed away, and Uncle Stacey and Aunt Dora are both going strong. Stacey still runs his original malt shop, but Aunt Dora has retired now. She still travels a lot, but does so for pleasure, not business."
"No kidding? That's fantastic.Is your aunt still bossy?"
"No," Steve said. "Some years ago she *finally* met a man who could stand up to her, and she mellowed out considerably after that. He charmed her so much they were married within the year. He's about thirty years her junior, but she still keeps him busy. They're really good for each other."
"Who's that?" Mark asked as he came in with a glass of slimy white stuff and a dosage cup of clear fluid.
"Ben and Aunt Dora," Steve told him.
"Oh, yes, they are quite the couple," Mark agreed. Looking at Liv, he said, "I couldn't believe it when I met him. My bossy big sister was being demure and polite and willing to compromise. She was acting like a teenager in love. It was."
"Wonderful?" Liv supplied when Mark seemed stuck for a word.
"Unnatural," Mark corrected her with a naughty grin. "But I got used to it, and it is wonderful, too." He handed Steve the glass of goo and said, give it back to me when half of it's still left, and I'll mix in your medication."
Steve gagged down some of the thick drink and handed the glass back to his dad.
"It wouldn't be so bad if." he couldn't think of anything that would redeem the nasty mixture, so he finished lamely, saying, ".I didn't have to drink it."
"I know, son," Mark said sympathetically, "but you have to give the tear in your esophagus time to heal. It should only be a few more days until we can start giving you real foods."
"Like what?" Steve asked bitterly, "Applesauce and tapioca pudding?" He brightened then, and said, "Hey, couldn't I be eating that now, instead of this glop?"
Mark shook his head. "No, son, I'm sorry. Your meals need to be nutritionally balanced. It will help you get better faster."
Steve made a face at the sludge in his glass, and said, "Oh, well, I guess I can survive three more days of this." He downed the drink in one shot and handed the empty glass back to Mark.
"Ok, Steve," Liv said to him. "You're probably going to start getting sleepy really soon, so your dad and I are just going to leave you to get some rest." She kissed her index finger and pressed it to his cheek. "Holler if you need anything. I'll be around all day."
Steve nodded. "Thanks, Liv, Dad. Sorry I was such a grouch."
Mark shook his head. "Don't be. Anyone who knows you knows what to expect."
Steve made a face, and his dad laughed. Then he and Liv left Steve alone with his thoughts.
Steve settled comfortably back into his bed. *His* bed. The thought made him grin. Though he was confined to bed for the next three days and officially on medical leave for another five weeks after that, he was still delighted to be home. Maribeth, Steven, and Jesse had made a small allowance for some light exercise, and, surprisingly, Maribeth had suggested that he resume practicing yoga (which he had only let off because he had gotten so busy when Emily went underground with Moretti) with Liv to keep from getting stiff from the forced inactivity.
Of course, he realized the only reason he was home was that he simply couldn't handle the NG-tube. What was supposed to have lasted a week had amounted to barely four days before he was quite literally begging to have it removed, a procedure which had proven infinitely worse than having it inserted. The anesthetic throat spray and nose drops Liv had prescribed couldn't override the soreness anymore, and his throat and nose had become so raw and inflamed from the constant irritation that when Liv finally did pull the damned thing out it had felt like scalding water rushing up through him and had left him groaning aloud in pain. Tears of agony had sprung to his eyes and quite inexplicably, his nose had begun to run. He had fought the gag reflex as hard as he could, but at the last moment had deposited his stomach contents neatly in the emesis basin Jesse held for him. For several anguished minutes afterward, the fiery burn of stomach acid on delicate tissues had left him cursing, moaning, and gasping for breath. Finally, the nurse Liv had called brought him some liquid antacid, and though it took a great effort of will, he had managed to choke it down and it had soothed him somewhat.
Since Jesse had observed no blood in his vomit, the decision had been made to send him home. Besides the bed rest, at least eighteen hours a day Maribeth had informed him, he was also on a restricted liquid diet. For the next three days, he would be drinking his meals up to six times a day, and a mild liquid tranquilizer would be mixed with his food to help him sleep. Then he would go back to the hospital for another gastroscopy. If the tear in his esophagus was looking better, he could eat real food again and would start a course of antibiotics and antacids intended to cure his ulcer. At that point, the dosage of the tranquilizer would be gradually reduced. He knew he would not be permitted to return to work until long after Moretti testified, and he knew that would irritate him a lot more later, but for now, Emmy was ok, the bad guys were in jail, and it was so good to be home, he just couldn't bring himself to care too much.
With a contented smile, he drifted off to sleep.
"Steve!" Mark called softly to his son. "Steve, wake up, son, time for you to eat again."
Steve snorted and grunted and rolled over.
With a grin, Mark shook him gently by the shoulder and called, "Steven Michael Sloan, if you don't get out of bed this minute, you'll be late for school!"
"Huh-Wahhhh!" Steve yelled as he sat bolt upright.
Mark burst out laughing and said, "Sorry to startle you, son, but you weren't waking up."
Steve blinked owlishly and said, "It's ok, Dad." Stretching and yawning, he asked, "How long have I been out?"
Consulting his watch, Mark said, "Oh, about three and a half hours I guess."
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Steve said, "Really? That long? I shouldn't be so tired, should I? All I did was ride home in the car and come straight to bed."
Sitting on the bed beside his son as Steve moved over to make room, Mark reminded him, "You are still not well, you are still taking a tranquilizer, and until you collapsed, you'd been driving yourself far too hard. Thirty or forty years ago, you could have gotten away with that, Steve, but there comes a point when the body decides it's had enough and demands to be taken care of properly. I thought you'd have learned that when you had your heart attack."
Steve looked down at his hands and said, "I really was going to have Jesse check me out as soon as Emily came in, but I just got too sick too fast."
Mark put a hand on his son's shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "I realize that son, and I'm not going to lecture any more. I'm just here to make sure you eat.well, drink up."
Steve made a face at the glass of viscous liquid his dad offered him but made no effort to take it.
Giving a stern but sympathetic look, Mark said, "Son, don't make this a battle of wills. I'm too old and too worried about you to fight it. I'll just call Steven and Maribeth and have them take you back to the hospital."
With a sigh, Steve accepted the nasty beverage. He held it for a moment, and, looking up at his dad, said, "You're going to watch and make sure I drink it all, aren't you?"
Mark nodded. "And I'm going to put your medicine in it when it's halfway gone."
Steve didn't fuss or argue, he was just too tired. He drank down the thick fluid as quickly as he could and when he was about half done, offered the glass to his dad to have his medicine mixed in. Then he accepted the remainder of his 'meal', finished it off, and snuggled down in the bed for some more rest. He knew the tranquilizer was making him tired, but besides that, he was feeling so damned defeated. He felt like his life was going on without him.
Cheryl had taken over the search for Em and Moretti. Liv and Keith were helping with that. Ron and Dion had six mobsters and two dirty cops to question and investigate as well as looking into the activities of the three who had died in the first sting operation. Leigh Ann was still on the prowl because no one had given up her name as an accomplice, Roger Gorini had mysteriously gone missing about the time Joey Russo had fingered him as the one out to get Moretti, and the rest of the taskforce was following up other leads Joey had given them.
He still didn't know if Emmy was his daughter, and wasn't sure how to ask if she was. If the answer was yes, he didn't know how he would tell his wife, and he wasn't sure if he *could* tell his son, though he knew someone would have to. Steve hadn't had much chance to talk with Steven about Emily, but in the few exchanges they'd had, he'd realized the young man had become completely lost in her. He thought his son and Liv's daughter would make a great couple if only.
He winced slightly as his stomach started to burn, and rolling over, asked Mark, "Dad, do you think we could maybe start cutting back on the tranquilizer tomorrow. I really hate being stoned all the time."
Mark was surprised when Steve rolled over and asked him to adjust his medication. He thought his son was asleep already and had been watching him with some concern.
"I'll talk to Maribeth and Jesse about it, son."
"Ok, thanks."
Mark remained seated on the edge of the bed and watched as Steve drifted off to sleep. He was deeply concerned about his son. Steve had been unusually cooperative the past couple days, and Mark thought it had to do with more than just the effects of the medication. He didn't particularly enjoy Steve's ornery moods, but not long after his heart attack, Steve had fallen into a deep depression, and it had started with precisely the same unnatural submissiveness. That time, the depression had snuck up on all of them without anyone noticing, and it had taken a lot of hard work from all of them to pull him out of it.
The poor kid.(Mark grinned. Steve hadn't been a kid for almost fifty years.) .was probably feeling left out. Life, especially his life and the search for Emily, was going on without him. People were working and carrying on while he slept the days away, and finding out that he was *not* indispensable was probably getting him down.
Last time, the depression had caught them all unawares. This time, Mark saw it coming and was determined to do something about it.
"Ok, thanks, Davis," Liv said. Turning to Mark, she said, "The glove has been redesigned for Steve, and Davis FedExed it this afternoon. We should have it tomorrow morning."
"Do you really think it will do any good?" Mark asked.
Olivia pursed her lips narrowed her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "You know, Mark, I find it very disheartening that a doctor who used to lecture his students on the benefits of Native American traditional healing methods would remain a skeptic about a time-proven method such as biofeedback. Why is it so hard for the medical profession to accept that we do have control over the functions of our own bodies even at the most basic levels, *if* we choose to learn how to take that control?"
"Oh, I believe it can work for some people, Liv. I know it worked for you years ago, but Steve has always been so restless, I doubt he's capable of the kind of focus necessary for it to be truly effective."
Taking a seat on the hearth in front of the big open fireplace in what used to be Steve's apartment, she said brusquely, "Well, I happen to believe he is."
"Good," Mark said cheerfully, "I hope you're right."
"So do I," she snapped.
There was a moment of silence in which a scowling Olivia faced off with a benignly smiling Mark. Then Olivia hung her head and covered her face.
Rubbing her temples, she said, "Listen to me. Mark, I am so sorry. I guess I just get defensive when I think someone is questioning something I believe in."
"It's ok, sweetheart," Mark said in a fatherly tone. "Seems to me the last time we disagreed about my son's recuperative powers you were right, and I didn't object to it then, either." Olivia shot him a questioning look, and he said, "Your being right, I mean. Maybe our little spat is a good sign."
As Mark crossed the room and began rummaging in the closet, Liv threw up her hands and rolled her eyes to heaven. "He doesn't believe in biofeedback," she muttered, "but he believes in signs."
His voice muffled as he searched in the closet, Mark said, "Besides, I suspect you're yelling at me because you're more worried about Emily than you are willing to admit, and *she's* not here for you to yell at."
In his sleep, Steve felt the tickle of a butterfly lighting on his temple. He reached up to brush it away, and it went, but it was back moments later, this time, on his jaw. He swiped at it, and the persistent little critter came back again, to tease him right between the eyes. He was about to flick it away when he smelled orange blossoms and antiseptic and realized the pesky insect was no bug at all, but his lovely wife come to see him.
He opened his eyes and smiled and said, "Hey, gorgeous."
Maribeth smiled down at him and said, "Hey, gorgeous, to you, too."
"Uh-oh."
"What uh-oh?"
"Mar, when you flatter me like that it means I'm not going to like what comes next. What's up?"
"Y'know," she said with a sigh, leaning back to sit on the edge of the bed, "you're too perceptive. It's annoying."
Steve shrugged and said, "Occupational hazard. Now, what is it that I am not going to like?"
"Dinnertime."
Steve looked to the glass of gloppy 'food' on the nightstand beside him and asked, "Is it drugged?"
Maribeth pulled a face and told him, "Dad said you'd asked about that."
His mood shifted rapidly, and he felt his stomach start to burn again. "You didn't answer me," he snapped.
"It will be, when it's about half gone."
"Why do you always wait until I've finished half of it?"
"So the whole thing doesn't taste like medicine," Maribeth explained as patiently as she could.
Steve grabbed the glass off the nightstand and gulped down half the slop. Handing his wife the glass, he said, "Doesn't matter. It's still gross."
As she mixed the liquid sedative into Steve's drink, she said, "You know, babe," she began counting off on her fingers, "Dad and Steven and CJ and Jesse and Liv and I are just trying to help you get better as fast as possible. If you tried a little harder to remember that, little things like taking your meds and drinking your meals might not seem so bad."
Steve chugged the remainder of the nutrition shake, handed the empty glass to Maribeth, and said, "Yeah, Mar, whatever." He made a great show of yawning and stretching and rolled over, turning his back to her. "If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling rather tired and need to get some sleep."
Maribeth had to bite her tongue to avoid a comeback. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze before she left.
Maribeth went into the kitchen and put Steve's glass in the sink. Then she went downstairs to Mark's apartment. Taking a seat beside Olivia on the hearth before the fireplace she said, "I see what you mean, Dad. He's getting depressed and slipping fast. He's gone from unusually cooperative to downright pissy in the three hours since you last spoke to him."
"Well, what are we going to do?" Liv asked.
Mark was rummaging about in the closet so his answer was muffled.
"Mmmpf," he grunted as an old blanket fell down in his face. He cast it aside and said, "Well, I've been .ah.ah.ah-choo!" An old hatbox slipped off the shelf and thumped him on the head. "Huh! I didn't know I still had that old thing," he muttered as the box fell open to reveal an old derby hat that used to be part of his costume on some of the occasions when his barbershop quartet performed. He picked up the box, tried on the hat, put the hat back in the box, closed the box, and put it on top of the old blanket.
Emily and Maribeth exchanged amused glances and waited patiently as Mark paused in thought. He turned back to the closet again and said, "I've been thinking, maybe we need to give him something to distract him for a while."
"Well, sure, Dad," Maribeth agreed, "but one can only watch so much television and read so many novels before one gets bored silly."
"AH-HAH!!!" Mark crowed triumphantly, then "OUCH!" as his old movie screen fell over and banged him on the elbow. Clutching a large notebook to his chest, he wrestled the screen back in place. Then he bent over and picked up the hatbox and was trying to maneuver it back into place one-handed when Liv came over and gently guided him away from the closet.
"I'll put things back, Mark, you tell us your plan."
"Ok. Thanks, Liv." He walked over to the couch and sat with the notebook on his lap.
"Maribeth," he said, "the main reason people get so bored eventually with TV and movies and books is that they're fiction."
"Ok, annnnnd what, Dad?"
Liv shut the closet door and settled on the couch beside Mark.
"Well, I really hope you both agree to this, because I think it would really help Steve if we gave him something more personal to distract his mind from his predicament."
"Mark," Olivia pleaded, "don't tease. What do you have in mind?"
He thumped the notebook with his hand and said, "In here, and in another notebook on my desk, I have every letter you have sent me in the past thirty years, Olivia."
Olivia's eyes popped open wide and her jaw dropped.
"Letter writing is becoming a lost art, Liv," he explained. "It started dying with the Internet and thanks to instant messaging, cell phones, voice mail, and wireless technology it is nearly gone today. In fact, you're the only person I know who still sends honest to God letters with any regularity at all. I kept your letters all these years because, well, partly because I wanted to preserve that lost art, but mostly because you were a big part of a very difficult, very wonderful part of my son's life, and I thought one day he might wonder what became of you."
Mark had opened the notebook, and Liv ran a finger lightly over the surface of a yellowing page covered in her own neat, clear handwriting. It was dated July 4, 2003. Emily was ten months old, then. It was the first letter she had written.
"So many memories," she said softly, then, "You kept all of them?"
Mark beamed. "Every single one."
She smiled. "Mark, my whole life is in those letters."
"I know." He looked at Maribeth, who seemed a bit concerned. "Sweetie, I won't do this if you don't want me to, but in every letter, while it's clear she loves Steve, it's even clearer that Keith and Emily are her world."
Maribeth's face rumpled in thought. "You want him to read the letters, don't you?"
Mark nodded. "I figure we'll wait and see how he does with the biofeedback device before we give him the letters, but eventually, he is going to need something else to help keep him from dwelling on his situation."
Maribeth turned to Olivia, "Liv, is there anything in there you wouldn't have me read?"
Olivia thought for a bit. "Some things in those letters are very personal. I'd never want to talk about them with anyone. That's why I wrote them down and sent them to Mark."
Tears were coming to Liv's eyes, and she wasn't sure why. "There's nothing in them for you to worry about, Maribeth, but I can understand why you might want to see that for yourself."
She thought a bit more and said, "You can read them, Maribeth, but I don't ever want to know what you've read, and I don't ever want you to discuss them with anyone else."
Maribeth nodded. Looking at Mark, she said, "Ok, Dad. If you think it will help him, you can give Steve Liv's letters, and tell him it's all right with Olivia and me."
Steve felt a gentle hand shaking him awake. He rolled over to see Maribeth smiling down at him and said, "Let me guess, chow time."
With an apologetic look she said, "I'm afraid so."
Steve reached out for the glass and quickly choked down about half its contents and handed it back. While Maribeth mixed in the tranquilizer, he said, "You know, you never did tell me what you intended to do about my medication. I really don't want to spend the next three days drugged into unconsciousness."
"I wanted to tell you earlier what I had in mind, but you were too busy tearing my head off."
Shamefaced, he lowered his eyes and said, "I know. I'm sorry."
Maribeth mussed his hair for him, leaned forward, and kissed him on the temple. "I'll let it slide this time, Sloan. I know how you hate to be sick." Then she tucked a finger under his chin and forced him to look up at her. "You do understand, though, that the tranquilizer is to keep you calm so your stomach produces less acid and gives your ulcers a chance to heal, right?"
"But, Mar," Steve was on the verge of whining, and cringed at the sound of his own voice. Pausing and making a conscious effort to change his tone, he continued, "It doesn't just calm me. It makes me so tired. I have been sleeping all day. What time is it?"
He took the glass back from her and finished off its vile contents.
Maribeth didn't need to consult her watch as Steve was on a rather strict feeding schedule. They needed to keep his meals fairly small to avoid too much stress on his digestion, and his medication doses had been calculated to function within his meal schedule.
"It's about nine o'clock, babe."
"So, I have slept about twelve hours today, and I'm going to sleep through the night on the meds you just gave me, right?"
"Yes. Dad says you nodded off about as soon as he got you to bed, and you will sleep soundly through the night."
"That's not normal, Mar. Are you going to adjust the dosage?"
"Well, I've been talking to Olivia." At Steve's look of wide-eyed horror she had to chuckle and say, "Don't worry. She and Keith have been staying here since she wigged out--her words, not mine," Maribeth said as Steve's expression changed as if he'd been offended by what she said.
"Anyway," she continued, "Liv and I have gotten to know one another rather well. She is smart, funny, incredibly loyal, and a lot of fun to be around. Seeing her with Keith has also made me feel a lot more secure about you and me, too, because no woman that in love with her husband could ever be interested in another man."
Steve smiled, genuinely happy for the first time since.he couldn't remember when, and asked, "So, you two get along ok?"
Maribeth smiled back at him, glad to finally give her husband something to be happy about.
"We get along very well, honey. I can't speak for her, but I regard her as a friend, now."
Satisfied, Steve said simply, "Good."
After a quiet moment he looked at Maribeth again and said, "You were going to say something about my medicine."
"Oh, yeah. It seems Olivia is inordinately fond of gadgets."
Steve laughed and said, "Some things never change."
"I take it that's a long-standing personality trait, then?"
"Oh, yes," he told his wife, "and she just loves Velcro."
Maribeth made a face and said, "I'm not sure I want you to elaborate on that." Before Steve could reply, she continued, "As I was saying, she has a friend back east, a Dr. Davis Johnson, who is working on a biofeedback device.Steve?"
He was grinning happily. "You said Davis Johnson?"
"Yeah, why?"
"He was my physical therapist thirty years ago when I got shot. I'm just glad to know he went back and finished med school. What were you saying about him?"
"He has a biofeedback device that is supposed to help you monitor and manage your stress levels. Liv has been working on it with him, and when it arrives, she's going to teach you how to use it. We should have it tomorrow. It's sort of like a glove, fitting over the hand, wrist, and forearm. We've been waiting for it because the sensors have to be correctly placed for the individual. Liv took the necessary measurements when you were sleeping off the anesthetic after the gastroscopy, but Davis made the device for a right-handed person and we had to send it back to be refitted for a leftie."
"Ok, what does that have to do with my medication?"
"As you learn to listen to your body and control your stress, we will start reducing your meds. When we are satisfied that you are taking better care of yourself, we will take you off the tranquilizers completely."
Steve yawned and stretched as the drugs were already making him sleepy, and said, "What about tomorrow? Liv can't very well teach me anything if I can't stay awake."
Maribeth made a face at him and said, "I realize that, too. Starting tomorrow, you'll only get your meds every other meal instead of every meal."
Steve smiled. "Really? Good."
Maribeth kissed him and adjusted the covers as he settled for the night. She sat beside her husband for a long time, stroking his hair and watching him as he slept. Not for the first time, she wished he would just retire. Steve had spent over fifty years in the LAPD, and this was not the first time his work had made him ill. The two of them had some good years left, and she wanted to spend them with her husband. She made up her mind that when he had recovered enough to argue with her without the fear of getting sick, she'd tell him how she felt.
"Ok," Liv said as she attached the last of the electrodes to Steve's still well muscled chest. "We're going to do away with all this paraphernalia in a day or so," she said, indicating the leads running from Steve's scalp, neck, chest, and abdomen to the video monitor at the foot of the bed.
"Good," Steve muttered. "I already feel like a damned Christmas tree."
"Language," Olivia chided gently.
"Sorry. What happens now?"
Olivia checked to make sure everything was plugged into the machine and the machine was plugged into the wall, and she said, "Well, for the next couple of days I'll be taking readings from the monitor and using them to calibrate the glove. Also, several times a day, I am going to activate a program on the monitor to help you practice some stress-management techniques. Then, when the glove is set up properly, you'll be off the monitor and can start using the glove to help you control your stress levels."
"Alright," Steve said somewhat incredulously, "what do we do now?"
"I'm going to turn on the monitoring equipment, and you're going to do whatever you want for the next hour or so."
"I'd really rather start learning the stress-management exercises you were talking about. The sooner I can get that under control, the sooner Maribeth will take me off the medication, and the sooner I can get back to work."
Olivia had switched on the monitoring equipment and was now sitting on the edge of the bed. "Actually, Steve, right now, that, and sleeping are the two things I *don't* want you to do. I need you alert and awake for at least an hour before we can begin the exercises because I need a reliable baseline reading to set up the program."
Steve frowned, thought a minute, and said, "Will you keep me company? Talk to me about something? We haven't had a chance to just talk the whole time you've been here. I.I've missed you."
With a bit of surprise, Steve realized he *had* missed Liv. A lot. He'd missed her friendship.
Liv smiled. "I can do that. Let's see, what do you want to talk about?"
Steve blew out a gusty sigh and asked, "How are you and Keith holding up?"
"Can't start with an easy question, can you, Deputy Chief Sloan?"
Steve looked down and said, "I'm sorry, Liv. If you'd rather not."
"No, it's ok.We're doing a lot better, Steve, since Maribeth invited us to stay here. She was right about the task force. It created too much pressure at Em's house. I still worry a lot, and her situation is always in the back of my mind, but at least here, I can do everyday things like fixing lunch or reading a magazine without 'Fredo and Donovan muttering in the background or Cheryl, Ron, Dion, and Al meeting in the den or at the table."
"I'm sorry we took over the place like that. I never thought about how it would affect you and Keith."
Liv shook her head. "It's all right, Steve. Given the problem of not knowing who was with us and who was against us, it made sense to get the taskforce out of the precinct. It let you control who had access to what information."
Steve snorted, "For all the good it did us. We had no idea who the leak was until Emmy told me."
"You don't know that it *didn't* help," Liv pointed out. "If you'd have been at the station, who's to say Leigh Ann or one of the others might not have cottoned on to the sting operation and ruined it for you. Working out of Emily's house was the only thing that made sense."
Steve smiled at her and said, "Most people would be furious at having their lives taken over like that. You're too forgiving. Thank you."
"Forgiving, nothing. I'm glad you guys were there. It's my daughter's life and future at stake here, and I appreciated being included in the goings on. I needed to know what was happening. Unfortunately, I suffered a bit of information overload and let my imagination take me on a nightmare trip through the worst possibilities, but Keith managed to save me from that."
Steve wondered for a moment if Liv had even known he was there when she had withdrawn inside herself, but he decided not to ask, saying instead, "How is Keith? Is he doing ok?"
Liv nodded. "He's doing well. He's at Em's house about eight to ten hours a day. He may have retired twenty years ago, but his cop instincts are still good, and he's putting them to use with the taskforce. He wants his baby back safely, and he's pushing them to make sure they get it done. Every night, he gives me an update and tells me what they did during the day. Then he goes for a run on the beach if he feels up to it."
At Steve's questioning look, she laughed and said, "You can't begin to imagine the advances that have been made in the past 30 years in prosthetic technology." She leaned over and whispered playfully in his ear, "I can tickle his feet, now!"
Steve grinned, then burst out laughing as he realized it was the first time since he'd called her in Pennsylvania that he'd seen any spark of her old playfulness. It was a relief to him to know that staying at the beach house had brought out her sense of humor again. It was a sure sign that she was coping better.
"So," she said, still smiling, "tell me what's been going on with you for the past thirty years."
Steve happily chattered away about Maribeth and their twenty-fifth anniversary party, which was several years ago, and a huge surprise. He told her all about Steven's accomplishments and his father's 100th birthday. Then, he talked about Jesse and Amanda's families, how proud he was of CJ and Dion and his goddaughters, Hannah and Lauren. He marveled at (and moaned about) the fact that Amanda and Ron still didn't look old enough to be grandparents and told Liv about all the mischief Dion and Charisse's three children got into.
Before they knew it, an hour had passed.
Leigh Ann let herself into the warehouse. She knew where to find what she was looking for, but she idled along the way, recalling the first time Mr. Gorini had brought her here.
********** "Sir, this place is filthy!"
"Shh! Relax, sweetheart. Wait 'til we get to my offices in the back. Then you'll know why we're here."
He grasped her hand firmly and guided her through the dark warehouse, weaving in and out around shipping crates and boxes of stuff. Roger had spent years building his import business as a sideline to his journalism, and now, it was a thriving operation. This place was normally a hive of activity around the clock, but, as it was Memorial Day and a time for cookouts and family celebrations, he had given all of his employees the day off. Leigh Ann knew not all of Roger's business was legitimate, but he was a very generous boss, and his employees were fiercely loyal.
Her husband, on the other hand, was a slave driver and a workaholic. Rick was honest to a fault and a good provider, but Leigh Ann had never loved him, not like she loved Roger. Rick was out of town on business today, leaving her with three whining brats to care for because he had given the nanny the day off. That was ok with her, though, for she had made plans, and no trouble-making rug rats were going to spoil them for her. She knew as she dropped the little monsters off with Rick's parents, claiming she needed to care for a sick friend, that today, Roger Gorini would get whatever he wanted from her.
They finally entered the office, and Roger flipped the light switch. The whole room was done in honey-colored wood and navy leather. A brass banker's lamp with a blue glass shade sat on the massive oak desk. Two oak- and-leather wing chairs faced the desk, and a larger chair sat behind it. The left wall was all windows, and Leigh Ann could see fireworks out over the harbor. An oak file cabinet sat behind the chair to the left of the window, and an enormous, overstuffed bookcase wrapped itself around the right half of the back wall and most of the right wall.
Playing the naïve innocent, Leigh Ann walked over to the windows and gasped, "Oh, Mr. Gorini, what a lovely view of the fireworks."
She felt the heat of Roger's body as he moved close to her.
"I hadn't noticed," he breathed in her ear.
She turned to face him.
Smiling, he said, "I brought you here to make some fireworks, not to watch them." Taking her hand, he added, "Close your eyes and follow me, sweetheart."
He led her through a hidden door in the corner of the office and when he told her to open her eyes, she found herself in what amounted to a studio apartment dominated by a large wrought iron bed.
"Oooh, Sir."
********** Leigh Ann smiled as she remembered. Her first time with Roger Gorini had been the best sex of her life to that point, and it had kept getting better after that. She laughed to herself, 'And he thought he needed to blackmail me to get me to help him.'
They had met as the LAPD-Mob investigations were winding down, and because the Valley Bureau had been found completely free of mafia influence, Roger had decided to do a story on the man in charge, Deputy Chief of Police Steve Sloan. By then, the Chief was involved in a battle with the police commissioners. He was fighting to keep his bureau intact. Somehow, the commissioners had gotten the bright idea that gutting the one remaining trustworthy bureau in the city of its personnel to staff the other bureaus would help rebuild the citizen's trust in the LAPD. In the end, Steve had convinced them to spread the transfers out over three years, and, insisting that he needed to have men and women he could trust, he had won the right to have final approval over all personnel hired to replace the ones who had been transferred out.
Since he was too busy to 'waste time chatting with the press' he had assigned Leigh Ann to help Roger with all the background information. As she answered Roger's multitude of questions, giving him information about everything from her boss's education to his family to his restaurant to his years of experience with the LAPD, she began to sense a kindred spirit. This reporter's questions went beyond the scope of 'being thorough'. This man was up to something.
She'd been working for Chief Sloan for several months and had yet to discover a way to hurt him, so, when Roger asked her to lunch, she had accepted, hoping she could find out more about his machinations if they met away from the police station. Though she had gotten no inkling of what the newsman had planned for the Chief, lunch had been an enjoyable diversion, and when Roger had suggested they do it again, she had agreed. Soon they were seeing each other often for lunch, or, when Rick was out of town, dinner and a movie.
Then Roger had asked her to spend the night with him.
********** Leigh Ann drifted gently back to wakefulness to find Roger sitting at the foot of the bed, turning a videotape over and over in his hands. He was magnificent in his nakedness, with a broad chest and trim waist. He carried not an ounce of extra fat, and he had an all-over tan that spoke of frequent naked sessions in the tanning booth or on a private beach. He clearly took good care of himself, and he was a welcome change from her pasty, flabby Rick.
He smiled benignly down at her and said, "Good, you're awake."
She smiled back and, pointing at the tape, she asked, "What's that?"
He grinned broadly and said, "Something I want you to see."
He crossed the room and popped the tape in the VCR. On the big-screen TV, she soon saw a larger-than-life image of herself writhing in the throes of passion. Roger had ridden her hard, and like the wanton woman she was, she had cried out for more even as he was pounding into her with all he had. As she watched the tape, she felt herself becoming aroused, but Roger must have mistaken it for fear.
He clicked the tape off and she jumped.
"Now, my dear, you are probably wondering what I want in exchange for that video tape."
She played along. Her mother had taught her to give men what they wanted until they got used to it. Then, when you held out, they were desperate to surrender to your whims just to get more of what you offered. "Y-Yes, tell me, p-please."
Studying his fingernails as if trying to remember when he was due for his next manicure, he said, "You work for Deputy Chief Sloan, correct?"
"Y-yes."
"You will be my mole in his office. When I need information, you will get it for me. When something interesting happens, you will tell me immediately, or."
"Or what, sir?"
"Or your husband will see that tape and your marriage will be over."
She laughed aloud, knowing that she had caught him in his own trap.
"It was a marriage of convenience, sir, the honeymoon was over before it ever started. He was rich, and I wanted a rich husband."
She grinned as Roger started to panic.
"You.you'll lose your children."
She shook her head. "I never wanted a bunch of snotty-nosed brats to begin with, Mr. Gorini. I just had 'em to keep Rick happy. Sex with the Pillsbury Doughboy, some stretch marks, and labor pains seemed a small price to pay for a seven million dollar mansion in the Hollywood Hills, a yacht, and a membership at the country club. The nanny did all the work after they were born."
"If he divorces you, you'll be out of that mansion in a heartbeat."
"No, sir, I won't. It was a wedding present from my husband. The prenuptial agreement requires him to pay for maintenance and upkeep as well as the domestic staff and child support for as long as I live there, or at least until I remarry. Then he still pays for the kids."
Roger had gone pale under his tan. He was a man who planned things carefully, and he had never planned for this.
She stood up and moved close to him, tracing a finger down his chest and over his rippling abs, she said, "Don't look so upset, sir." She gently wrapped her hand around his now-limp penis and, as she felt him respond to her touch, she said, "You still have something to bargain with."
With a growl, Roger picked her up and threw her onto the bed with such force it knocked the wind out of her. To her delight, he climbed up beside her quickly. With one hand, he made himself hard while he used the other to keep her wet, not even giving her time to catch her breath. She nearly fainted for lack of air as he took her roughly, both of them sweating and grunting and moaning until they came together in a screaming climax.
After what seemed like hours, Roger had rolled off her and asked, "You're going to do what I want, aren't you?"
"Of course, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I want to have a powerful man."
"Your husband is a powerful man," he said.
Leigh Ann laughed aloud. "Rick is a rich man, but he is still a slave to money, family, and business. He's hardworking, responsible, safe, and wealthy, but he is not powerful."
"You don't mind betraying your boss?"
She smiled, her eyes alight, and said, "I've always wanted to destroy Steve Sloan. I just wasn't sure how to go about it. If you have a plan, sir, I'll do whatever I can to help you."
"Why?"
She told him her reasons for wanting to ruin the Deputy Chief, and he shared his with her. They reached an agreement and sealed the deal with another coupling. As they drifted back to earth for the third time that night, he said, "Leigh Ann."
"Hmmm?"
"You can call me Roger."
"I'd rather not, sir." At his questioning look, she explained. "It's just a mild kink, sir, but Rick doesn't get it. He never understood power games. He wanted me to be his equal in the bedroom, but without knowing it, the fool became my slave. He's far too solicitous and accommodating. It's just no fun. I much prefer to think of myself as your servant instead of your lover, if you don't mind, sir."
Roger had leered at her, shoved her head down between his legs, and said, "Well, then, woman, serve me well!"
********** In the wee hours of the morning, they got up to shower together. Roger had to be at the station for the six a.m. broadcast, and Leigh Ann had to pick up her children. More importantly, Roger's employees would start arriving within the hour, and they couldn't really afford to be seen together.
Leigh Ann had never been able to sing well, but she liked to whistle, and she could do that well, so, when Roger started humming a popular tune in the shower, she began to accompany him. Even when he stopped, she continued, not softly, either, but with a loud, glorious trill. She was quite proud of her peculiar ability and when she slipped easily from pop tunes to the "Spring" movement of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, she was profoundly delighted to see him watching her with rapt pleasure.
He smiled and said, "You sound just like a little bird, maybe better."
She broke off just long enough to smile, kiss his nose, and say, "Then I shall be *your* little bird, sir, and I shall tell you everything you wish to know."
********** Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what she expected to find behind the office door, Leigh Ann turned the knob and walked in. The room stank of decomposition and flies buzzed ceaselessly about her. Roger had given his employees a week off for Easter, so the body had not yet been discovered. Roger himself wasn't a religious man, but some of his employees were, and he knew the value of keeping them happy. As she walked to the hidden door and slipped into Roger's apartment, Leigh Ann did not look at the body. The police would find it and dispose of it soon enough.
In his last phone call, Roger had told her what was about to happen to him and where to find the items she needed and what to do with them. They had said their goodbyes as Gaudino's limousine pulled up outside the warehouse, and Roger had promised to see her in hell if she failed. His threat did not frighten her. Even if she believed in hell, she did not intend to let him down. She wanted to see Steve Sloan crushed as much as he ever had, and she would do what was necessary to accomplish that.
She found the catalog in the safe and located the numbers identifying the tape she wanted. Leaving the record book open on the bed, a goldmine of information to keep the cops busy for weeks, she went to the far wall of the apartment and slid a panel aside. She took only one copy of the tape she needed. The other would worry Chief Sloan sick, and the rest of the tapes would serve nicely with the directory to give the police more leads than they really wanted to investigate. Then she went to the tape recorder and played back the cassette that was in there.
She heard a gunshot, a gasp, and a gagging sound. Then she heard Vinnie Gaudino's voice saying, "Rogelio, you were a good boy. It's a shame you couldn't get rid of Moretti for me."
She smiled sadly, sorry to lose Roger, but pleased to know that even in his last hours he had planned a way for her to continue to serve him. She also felt hopeful that she would see him again soon.
Finally, she went to the nightstand and got the gun he'd had made especially for her. It was constructed of a high impact, shatter resistant ceramic polymer and would not set off the metal detector at the federal courthouse. It would fold up to fit neatly in her purse, and in the x-ray machine, it would look like the small plastic case she used to carry her feminine hygiene items. The bullets were made of a different sort of compound that would fragment when they hit a bone inside a body and tear the surrounding soft tissue to shreds. She had four of them, and they were easily concealed inside a lipstick tube.
She would get to the trial early. She wanted to see it all. Then, after Moretti had testified, and Gaudino was convicted, she would kill the Chief.
"All right," Olivia said as she finished setting up the stress control exercise on the monitors at the foot of Steve's bed. "This is sort of like a video game, Steve. You gain or lose points depending on your performance. You'll start out with zero points, and you can go into the negative range."
Steve nodded to indicate his comprehension so far, and Liv continued.
Switching on the first monitor. A thin green line traced across the lowed third of the screen. "This isn't really part of the exercise," Liv said, "but it will help you monitor your stress as you get started. Right now, it is all in the green, which is good. When it moves to yellow, that's not so good, but still ok. Red is bad. Later, we'll switch it off and see how you do with just the video game."
"Ok," Steve said, "Can we get started now?"
"In a minute," Liv told him.
The line on the active monitor crept into the yellow.
Liv arched an eyebrow at him and said, "Impatient, are we?"
Steve didn't answer, but his response was plain as the line soared suddenly into the red.
"Steve, listen to me," Olivia said, her voice low and calm. "You have to get a grip. I'm sorry if you didn't appreciate the joke, but you simply can't let every little thing set you off."
The line was still climbing. "Well, tell me what to do, then, Liv!" Steve's voice was tinged with anger and frustration, but also a little fear. It was one thing for him to be in a mood and know it was getting worse, but it quite disturbed him to see evidence of it on a computer screen, and somehow, the red line made him worry all the more about his health. His stomach started to burn, and it shot straight up to the edge of the screen.
"Ok, Steve," Liv said in an even voice. "Think about it. What is your goal here? What are you trying to do?"
"Calm down."
"Right. And what's upsetting you?"
"I-I don't know."
"I think you do, but I'll tell you just to save time. You don't like seeing that line in the red, do you?" By now, the readout had leveled off at a high plateau in the red.
"No, I guess not."
"Then start by shutting your eyes."
Steve did as he was told, and immediately the line dropped to the low part of the red range.
"Good," Liv crooned. "Now, take a few deep breaths.That's it. Unclench your fists.Good."
The line moved slowly through the yellow and then down to the middle of the green range. Just where it should be for someone who was awake and alert but calm. Liv waited several minutes to see if it would stay there. It did.
"How do you feel?"
Steve thought a moment. "Better."
"How much better? Where do you think the line is?"
"I don't know."
The line moved up a little, but not much.
"Listen to your body," Liv encouraged him. "How fast is your heart beating? What is your breathing like? Are you tense or relaxed?"
After a moment, Steve said, "I feel good. I think it's green again."
"Open your eyes and see for yourself."
Steve opened his eyes and looked at the monitor. Then he looked at Liv and smiled. "That wasn't so bad."
Liv gave him a grin and said, "It gets tougher."
The line moved up slightly, but it was still well in the green.
"Now, I'm going to start the stress management exercise," Liv said. "I'll show you how it works, reset it, then leave you to practice with it for a while, ok?"
"All right," Steve agreed. He was much more confident now, knowing how easily he had been able to bring the line back into the green.
Liv tapped a few commands on the keyboard and a cigar shaped yellow object popped onto the second monitor screen. Moments later, some old, familiar music started playing. 'In the town where I was born lived a man who sailed to sea.'
Steve looked at Olivia and laughed. "It's been years since I've heard that song," he said.
'So we sailed up to the sun 'til we found the sea of green.'
"Ok, so, I had an attack of nostalgia when we were putting this thing together. It's a shame most of the people who use it probably won't recognize the tune."
'We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine.'
Liv and Steve listened to the whole song, Liv singing along, and Steve just bobbing his head, knowing it really wasn't a good idea for him to sing. When the song ended, they looked at each other and laughed. To Steve it seemed ages since he had enjoyed anything. It was nice to have Liv around again because she never let him take anything too seriously.
"Liv."
"Yeah?" Her eyes were still bright with laughter.
"I.I'm glad you're here." It sounded lame, even to him, but it was sincere.
She smiled softly at him and said, "I'm glad to be here."
They shared a quiet moment. Briefly, Steve sensed that something was growing in the silence, something old and comfortable, but when Liv spoke again, it was gone as if it had never been there.
She settled beside him and handed him a game controller. The little plastic device was lost in his huge hands and Liv made a mental note to tell Davis he needed them in more than one size. After all, the equipment should be easy for the user to handle; the game itself was challenging enough. "The green button starts the game and the red one pauses. Hit the red one twice to quit altogether." Indicating the directional keys she explained, "You have left, right, forward, back, and, because this is a submarine underwater, you also have up and down." She pointed to a blue button in the lower right labeled UP and said, "This is Up Periscope. Sometimes, you catch a break and you have enough time to look ahead. The periscope will stay up as long as you hold the button. Let it go, and the periscope comes down."
"So, I'm the captain, am I?"
"No, Steve, you're the pilot. The captain gives the orders. The pilot steers the sub."
"I see. Where's the speed control?"
Pointing to the monitor that showed Steve's stress levels still comfortably in the green, she said, "Right there. The more agitated you get, the faster the sub goes. You can never completely stop, but there is a little lag time between the change in stress and the change in speed. If something startles you and the chart shoots up into the red, if you bring it down in just a few seconds, it won't affect your sub. Your going to be traveling through a minefield, and you need to remain calm to navigate safely. Think of the mines as the normal stresses of daily life.running out of your favorite cereal, getting stuck in the slow lane on the freeway. Little things."
Steve laughed at the analogy, "Ok, sounds easy enough to deal with."
"Oh, it gets harder," she gave him a wicked grin. "First the number of mines increases. Sometimes there will be so many so close together that you can't go around them. What will you do about that?"
Steve blinked, knowing it was a trick question, but not knowing the answer. "Uh, blow up?"
"Look at the control pad and guess again."
"Oh! Duh! Go over them or dive under them."
"Good. Occasionally, you will face a major crisis like a sea monster, a giant squid, or a really irritated whale. *Don't run*."
"Well, what do I do, then?"
"Try to avoid it. If it catches you, stay calm, and just concentrate on dealing with the mines. You'll have to react to them a little sooner, but you can sail around them with the squid or whatever hanging on to you."
"All right, so the secret is to stay cool. Anything else?"
"One last thing. If you panic and your stress levels go too high, the sub makes more noise as it runs faster. If the enemy hears you, he'll start chasing you and you'll be dodging torpedoes from behind as well."
"Ok, can I start now?"
"Sure, but whenever it asks you if you want to save your score, click yes. The game and the stress chart are both time indexed and synchronized through the computer, and saving your score saves that data for me. It's one more tool to help me calibrate the glove."
"Ok."
Steve hit start, and immediately found his little yellow submarine facing a mine. He swerved to the left and immediately found himself facing two more. Going around them to the right, he suddenly saw a vast array of mines with various creatures floating through it, and he felt his heart rate jump. How in the world was he ever to get through that? The sub speeded up then, and his heart pounded more.
"Take one obstacle at a time, Steve," came Liv's soothing voice. "You don't have to face them all at once."
Nodding, he took a deep breath, then another.
"That's it, focus on your breathing."
The sub slowed down and he navigated the next several obstacles easily. Then he faced a wall of mines five wide and three to five high. He felt his pulse accelerate, and soon the sub was sailing forward too fast. Remembering what he did last time, he took a few deep breaths. The sub slowed down, he hit the reverse button to back himself up, then he made the sub dive.
Just as he was confident that he would safely pass the wall of mines, a tentacle covered with suckers swept across the bottom of his field of view.
"Oh shit!" He yelled, and panicking, he slammed the back an up buttons together. Several seconds later, the computer picked up the increase in his stress levels and slammed the sub up and back into the mines he had almost succeeded in avoiding. An explosion sounded, the screen went white, then black, then back to the ocean blue with mines and creatures dotting the expanse, and yellow letters flashed, 'You died! Save score?'
"Son of a."
"Steve."
"Sorry."
Following Liv's instructions, he clicked, 'Yes,' then whacked the start button again.
"Pause it."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
He slapped the pause button then looked at her sullenly.
"Look at the stress monitor."
He did. It was in the red.
"What about it?"
"What's the point of this game, again?"
Sighing, he said, "To lower my stress levels."
"Not quite. You're learning to control them. Now, knowing how high stress affects the game, does it make sense to start a new round when you're this agitated?"
He pouted a bit, but not seriously. "No."
"So, give yourself a chance to settle down."
Steve nodded, put the controller down, stretched, closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and relaxed for a few moments. When he opened his eyes, he saw the monitor well within the green again. Looking to Liv, he asked, "May I start now, please."
Smiling, she waved toward the screen and said, "Be my guest."
Liv sat with Steve for several more rounds until she was satisfied that he fully had the hang of it. Then, squeezing his shoulder gently, she said, "Keep working with it. I'll see you later."
Steve just nodded, fully focused on navigating through the minefield.
In no time at all, it seemed, Liv returned with a glass of goop saying, "Ok, shut the game off. Time for you to eat and take your medicine."
