Eric belongs to Disney/Saban. I am using him without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Gaby and all other characters that appear in the story are mine.

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexual content; mature concepts.

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.

A/N: This story and 'Unreal Life' take place at the same time, and I am posting them at the same time. They are separate but related stories, and can be read together or separately.

Connections


Questions

Morning. Eric blinked against the summer sun. He hadn't gotten as much sleep as he should, between the unfamiliar room and his own thoughts. Lying awake for what had felt like hours, he had wondered if he was doing the right thing, wondered how he'd react to the truth, if it turned out to be a truth he didn't like. Or if he never found out... Gaby slept beside him, seeming as peaceful as he was not, despite her own problems. Finally he had drifted off, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. In the morning, he had awakened early and felt a moment of panic on finding himself alone in the bed, but she had been in a chair at the window, looking out through the narrow space between the curtains, her face, in that moment before she realized he was awake, showing the worry she had been hiding from him.

He closed the car door and looked across the street for another moment. He hadn't liked leaving Gaby at the local mall, but she had been right. She had said she'd be bored staying in the room. Even if Norman tracked them down, he'd have almost no chance of finding her in a crowded shopping mall. And she had the pager and the phone. He sighed and firmly put it out of his mind.

A few calls and a phone book had located the three men he wanted to question. The first one lived in the house he was looking at now, a small, run-down looking building, the home of Phillip Yamoto. The man who had worked in the Canela Beach public library thirty years ago, and had been friendly with his mother. Well, better get going. Squaring his shoulders, Eric started across the pavement.

A few minutes later, a short, stooped man with glasses and a sharp face had answered the bell. Eric stared at him for a moment, suddenly wondering whether to bother with his questions. There was absolutely no resemblance. But... how could he be sure? And this man might know something.

"Yes?" Yamoto asked.

"Sir, sorry to bother you," Eric said automatically. "I'm Eric Myers. Are you Phillip Yamoto?"

"Yes." The answer was reluctant and suspicious.

"Could I ask you some questions?"

"What's this about?"

"Well -- do you remember a woman named Pamela Ashford? She was in high school here thirty years ago. Used to come to the library where you worked."

Only a blink showed his reaction. "Pamela. Yes, I remember her. What about her?"

Eric took a breath. "I'm her son."

Sharp eyes regarded him, looking him up and down, taking his measure, perhaps judging his honesty. "Her son," Yamoto finally said. "That's right, she married some guy, still in high school. Had a baby."

"That's me."

Another shrewd scrutiny, then, "Come on in."

Another living room, nicer than he would have thought from the outside of the house. Another hallway, and a kitchen. They sat after Eric had refused the offer of a drink.

"All right, what do you want to ask?"

Eric recited his story, keeping his face blank. "My mother was white, and so was her husband. Obviously he's not my real father."

"And now you're trying to find him?"

"Right."

Yamoto smiled. "It's not me. You can see there's no resemblance."

"That's not proof."

"Do you want a DNA sample? Besides, there's another reason. I'm gay." He said it with a touch of defiance.

Eric blinked. "You still might have..."

"No. I was friendly with Pammy. Your mother. But only because I thought she had brains. Thought she could make something of herself. I was disappointed when she got pregnant and dropped out. And then when she disappeared." He paused. "How is she doing now?"

"Dead."

"Oh. Sorry to hear it. But can't say I'm surprised."

"If you're not my father, do you know who is?"

A smile, and a shake of the head. "Pammy didn't tell me those kinds of things. Believe it or not, we talked about literature." His face became wistful, his eyes drifting away from Eric and gazing into some forgotten past. "She liked Shakespeare in particular. So much fancy language, she used to say, and all they're talking about is love, sex and murder. Just like TV." His eyes focused again. "She was really very intelligent. A pleasure to talk to. I wish I could have helped her in some way."

"Maybe no one could have."

"Probably not. She was -- almost self-destructive, from what I heard. But not with me. When she came to the library, she was just a nice, smart girl who wanted to have an intelligent conversation with a guy she knew wasn't out to nail her."

Eric was silent for a few moments. "I never saw that side of her," he finally said.

"You were a child. And -- not born under the best circumstances. Is it true she abandoned you?"

"Yes, it's true."

Yamoto sighed. "It hardly seems possible. She always seemed so sweet... but life can do strange things to a person."

Eric was suddenly uncomfortable, the image of his mother as a sweet, vulnerable young girl, the thoughts of what his life might have been like if she really had been the way this man saw her...

"Are you sure you don't have any idea?" he asked.

Yamoto gave him another of those piercing looks. "I can tell you about the last time I saw her. It was about the right amount of time before you were born. Might have something to do with it."

"Go on."

"I was having dinner, alone, at Sammy Chong's place. Just finishing up when Pammy came in with some of her friends..."

He watched as they walked in and took a table. Laughing too loud, eyes too bright. She was drunk, or high. He frowned. There were rumors about Pammy, he'd seen the high school boys whispering and grinning when they saw her in the library. Gotten angry at the remarks from the kids who saw him talking to her. He didn't like seeing the evidence that it was true.

They sat, laughing, talking too loud. Pammy was with that Lee kid who always followed her around like a puppy dog. The other two were another boy and girl from the school, a couple, at least for the night, judging from how they were groping all over each other.

He watched them for another few minutes, Pammy trying to flirt with a group of Japanese men at a table in the corner, then calling Sammy Chong over and saying something that sent him away with a look of disgust on his face..."

"Then what happened?"

"Then I paid the check and left."

"That's all? Are you sure you didn't see anything more?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Sorry."

They paused at the door to shake hands. Yamoto smiled up at him. "I imagine your memories of your mother are very different from mine. I knew one side of her. You knew another. Maybe both of them were really her, or maybe neither. Perhaps she never showed her true self to anyone."

"Not to me, anyway. Thanks." Eric smiled stiffly and left, walking back to his car as quickly as possible. He got in, hands clenching on the wheel. Another blind alley, and some of the answers he was getting were harder to take than he had thought. But he wasn't about to quit.


An apartment building this time, not big by the standards of Silver Hills, just three floors, doors opening on outside walkways. Several buildings, separated by lawn and small gardens. Quite nice. Eric let himself appreciate it as he looked around for the address he wanted, partially to take his mind off his task.

This time the door was opened by a pretty Asian woman, perhaps a few years older than he was. She smiled and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes. Does Sam Chong live here?"

"That's my father." She turned away from him and yelled, "Dad! Someone to see you!"

A man walked out, replaced his daughter at the door, and looked Eric up and down, his mouth tightening. "Yes?" he asked, frowning.

Eric returned the inspection, he hoped a little more subtly. Sammy Chong was heavyset, but mostly muscle, a couple of inches shorter than Eric, with a hard face and a harsh expression that deepened as Eric looked him over.

"Sir, I'd like to talk to you," Eric said. "In private, if possible."

"Who are you? What's this about?"

Another deep breath to steady himself. "My name is Eric Myers. My mother was Pamela Ashford. She was in high school here thirty years ago, and she used to go to your restaurant." He waited a second or two while Chong continued to stare at him. "Do you remember her?" he asked.

Chong straightened. "Yes, I know who your mother was. Be right with you." He turned inside long enough to tell his daughter he would be back soon. In another minute he and Eric were on a walkway between the buildings. They stopped in a small park-like square lined with benches and sat down.

For a moment both of them watched the breeze rippling the grass and stirring the branches of the trees surrounding them. A moment of peace, Eric thought, before the hard part begins. He had seen a reaction in Chong's eyes, when he announced who he was. Guilt? Or only memory? Or had he imagined it? Had he seen something familiar in Chong's face, something he saw in the mirror every day? Or was he simply looking too hard? Up to him to find out.

"What do you want to know?" The question was abrupt, as if it had been forced out.

"You remember my mother. Do you remember me?"

"Yes. It was quite a scandal when you were born. I heard all about it."

"Then you must know Dennis Myers isn't my real father."

"Obviously."

"I want to know who my real father is."

"Your biological father. Not your real father."

Eric shot him a sharp look. "Whatever. Do you know anything that could help me?"

"Maybe." Chong gave him another of those measuring looks. "You must know what your mother was like."

Eric shrugged. "She ran around."

Chong snorted. "That's putting it mildly. "She went with any guy who wanted her. And there were plenty." He paused, looking at Eric's face again, then went on, his voice with a bitter edge. "I know she's your mother. I'm sorry to have to say these things. But she was a tramp. Your father could have been anyone."

Eric looked away, determined not to show the spark of anger that had flared inside him. "I know what she was. But he must have been Asian. So he couldn't have been anyone." He glanced back at the other man's face, seeing a slight, ironic smile.

"I suppose you're wondering if I'm your father."

"Yes."

"I was a happily married man at the time. With a three-year-old baby. Why would I fool around with a teenaged girl?"

Eric gave a small huff of laughter. "Why? Does that really need an answer?" He stared at Chong's face. "I heard there was one night in particular, when she was in your restaurant, with Russell Lee and another couple."

The other man took a few moments, looking out over the lawn, his face grim. "I remember. It's... You may not like it."

"I don't like any of this. Just tell me."

"It was thirty years ago, but I remember. Pam -- your mother -- came to my restaurant, for dinner. Like you said, she came with some of her friends. That kid, Russell Lee, was with them."

"Go on."

"She was carrying on, as usual. Drunk already. Making noise and fooling around..."

"Hey, Sammy!" He turned, and reluctantly went to the table. "Who are those guys over there?" she asked, her pretty face flushed, with booze, he was sure.

"Customers."

She glanced at them again, a group of four Japanese men in business suits. "They're cute. Where are they staying?"

"How should I know?" he said sharply.

"Well, where are they from?"

"They're from Tokyo, here for a business meeting."

"I've never had Japanese before..." She grinned up as he scowled at her. "Maybe I can get some tonight. Four courses. Mmmm."

He knew she was deliberately trying to shock him. He turned and walked away, to take his seat at the front of the restaurant, where he liked to greet customers as they entered. He watched her and her friends as they joked and laughed, as she stared at the group of men in the corner, managing to catch their attention. One of them raised a glass to her. She waved, giggling.

Much more and he'd have to toss her out, couldn't have her annoying the customers. But he had to admit they didn't look annoyed. They were all smiling, watching her, whispering to each other...

"When they left, she went with them. Russell Lee went running after them. The other two kids stayed. And that's it."

"You didn't see her again that night? How about the businessmen, or Lee?"

"None of them." His lips lifted again. "You're a cop or something, aren't you?"

"Or something."

"I recognize the style. You don't live here anymore."

"No. Silver Hills."

"Good job? Married? Kids?"

Surprised, Eric glanced sharply at his face before answering. "Yes. No, and no."

Again he gave Eric a long look, an indefinable expression on his face. "I guess you've had a hard time. But you look like you turned out okay, in spite of your parents."

"I've done all right." Eric stood up, impatient and uncomfortable again. "I'd better get going. Looks like I need to talk to Russell Lee."

"Well..." Chong stood and held out his hand. "Good luck." He seemed to be avoiding Eric's eyes.

"Thanks. And thanks for talking to me." A quick handshake and he was headed in the direction of his car. As he reached the street, he glanced back, seeing Chong still standing in the same place, watching him.


"He just stood there and watched you?"

"Yeah. Why, you think it means anything?" Eric rolled on his side and propped his head on his hand to look at Gaby's face. They were back in their room after dinner, in bed, the television on. After an evening during which they had both avoided the subject, she had asked what had happened, and he had found himself willing, even eager to talk about it, to his own surprise.

"I don't know. Maybe he was just curious." She looked into his face. "Did you believe both of them? What they told you?"

"No reason not to, at this point."

"I guess." She paused, watching him. "How do you feel about it?"

He turned his eyes away from hers. "About what?"

"Well -- hearing all that. About how your mother acted that night."

"Only what I expected." He turned his face away from her to look at the television.

"It could have been one of those businessmen, couldn't it?" she asked quietly.

"I guess." Suddenly disturbed, he sat up and stared at the screen blindly. "Grown men. Adults. What kind of an asshole sleeps with a young girl like that, and doesn't care about what happens to her?"

"Maybe an asshole, maybe just weak. People make mistakes, both men and women."

"Yeah, a mistake."

"Eric..." Whatever she was going to say, she changed her mind. "Do you think you could track them down?"

"I don't know." His voice had taken on a sharp edge.

"Eric -- if you're going to -- to keep on with this..." She hesitated again.

"Go on."

"Well, you have to face it. If it's one of those men, you may never find him. How are you going to feel about that?"

He sighed, his back still turned to her. "That's not what bothers me."

"What, then?"

It came bursting out, what had been in his mind since he had first heard the four Japanese businessmen mentioned. "I could be the result of a drunken gang-bang with four guys who couldn't have cared less about my mother. No affection, no feelings at all involved, not any feelings above the waist, anyway..."

He felt the bed shift slightly as she sat up and leaned against his back, a hand sliding over his shoulder. "It shouldn't matter," she said. "You're still the same person. But I understand how you feel."

He reached up to touch her fingers on his shoulder. "I guess I wanted it to mean something. Maybe it would make me mean something, you know?"

"I know. But you mean plenty. What's important is who cares about you now, and who you care about, not what happened in the past." She looped her arms around him and squeezed. "Whatever happened when you were conceived, it means a lot, because it made you."

After a moment he turned, smiled at her, and lay back down on the bed, draping an arm over her as she settled back beside him. He moved closer and kissed her gently, fingers tracing the line of her cheek and jaw, gliding over neck and shoulder. He nuzzled her neck, and moved down to kiss soft flesh. Turning his face, he rested his head on her chest.

"Sometimes you can be pretty nice," he murmured, eyes closing as he found a few moments of peace and comfort in the circle of her arms, the warm scent of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.


TBC...