Chapter 11

He'd barely slept all night. He couldn't remember the last time tantalizing forbidden thoughts had kept him from sleep. What little sleep he was able to steal came at the cost of dreams too erotic to allow him to rest. He awoke from every dream with sweat trickling down his chest and sides soaking the bed beneath him. The sheet that covered his hips was so saturated that the evidence of his need for release taunted him mercilessly. When he could no longer stand the agony, he got up and stripped himself of the clinging black silk sleepwear. Slamming his fist into the hallway wall as he made his way purposefully to the bathroom.

The cold tile of the bathroom felt good under his feet. Reaching inside the shower he angrily twisted the blue labeled knob to the on position then stepped in shuddering violently as cold water callously cut through the unshared stifling heat of his body. A splintered agonizing gasp exploded from his lungs. Raising his arms he leaned against the wall of the shower with a deep sigh, his head absorbing the force of the spray allowing the water to run down his face in rivulets, at times blinding him. But to close his eyes... To close his eyes would again invite the haunting fiery fantasies of love with Alexis to the forefront of his mind.

The same fantasies that drove him from sleep time and again through the night would again steal their way past the glacial chill he now welcomed, rendering the effect of the cold water coating his body a lesson in futility. His fists were clenched so tightly they shook with barely contained anguish as the heat he couldn't control on his own drained down every muscular curve of his body to the floor to swirl down the dark drain along with the tainted water as though it too were waste. But how could this heat of passion ever be thought of as waste? This heat... this bonus of a man's desire for a woman... not just any woman... but her... only her... this woman who was slowly driving him mad. Waste? No! Never could this passionate heat of desire be considered waste.

Finally shivering from the icy bite of the steady spray he turned to stop the relentless assault upon his body and left the confines of the shower wrapping a soft white towel around his waist refusing to dry the remaining drops of water from his body. He needed them... needed the air-conditioned atmosphere of his apartment to maintain the chill of his skin. It was better that way... no chance for his body to betray him again. Stepping up to the mirror above his sink he reluctantly peered at himself in the mirror.

"Just another day. Right buddy?"

Opening the cabinet he pulled out his shaving mug and brush from its depth and again reaching for another blue labeled knob soaked the bristles of the brush then stirred up a healthy lather in the mug. Mechanically he began to coat his face with the menthol scented soap creating a mask of white underneath eyes that showed the signs of his restless night. With his face coated he reached down and picked up his razor and began to methodically draw it down his left cheek... always the left cheek first. The task so familiar it required little or no thought... so as routine dictated he was left with the job of collecting his thoughts for the day. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the day... There were no secrets to be revealed; no plots to undertake. No woman to start a slow smolder in his flesh. He cleared his throat and shook his head, tossing her image aside.

When his eyes once again met his reflection in the mirror... the face he expected to see suddenly seemed foreign to him. He didn't see his soapy likeness in the mirror; he saw a mask – a guise of sorts to hide behind. The razor in his hand stilled as he faced the stranger in the mirror. Faced with nothing more than a mask to cover the literal man, he was left with one defining question. Who was he? Who was the man hiding behind the mask? Deep down Ric was afraid. He knew he was still hiding from something – or maybe protecting himself from something or someone. A stark image of himself suddenly exploded into his mind. He saw a shadow of himself sitting alone in a jail cell. Hair matted and hanging down to his shoulders unkempt and dirty. A beard resembling the tangled scraggly mess matted and long enough to rest against his chest. It no longer mattered why he was imprisoned... what mattered was the mask he wore when he walked out of that prison two years before. Ric continued to stare at the ghostly image he now saw in the mirror. He wore that mask when he walked into Port Charles – pretending to be someone else. He'd lied to everyone. But that scheme was long ago exposed now. Stupid decisions. Stupid mistakes. Lessons learned. There were no more rash and outrageous schemes to take his brother down – this time Ric was operating under the shield of the law.

Was he still wearing that mask? Perhaps to hide himself... from himself! As her image once again floated across his mind he somehow felt that the questions he now faced were rooted in Alexis.

"Who are you, Ric Lansing?" he questioned aloud.

Bringing the razor back to his face he slowly began to shave again. As each stroke of the blade exposed his bare skin he wrestled with himself and the feelings that were now disturbing him.

Was his attraction to Alexis real or was he merely playing out a desire to have what his brother once held on to? Were his feelings for her real? He remembered his thoughts of a few nights previous. Was he really falling in love with her or was he just playing out another scheme against his brother... and his sudden devotion to Kristina? Was it only a means to possess a piece of Sonny's life? Was he so perverse in his need to best his brother that he had actually considered destroying their lives just to further his own?

The razor stilled once more as the magnitude of his thoughts hit him full force. What kind of a man was he really behind this mask he still seemed to be wearing?

He shivered as a blast of cool air from the overhead vent hit him and he again remembered the aroused state of his body when he left the twisted sheets of his bed only a short time ago. Was the desire he awoke to this morning just a mere side effect of the game he had been playing since arriving in Port Charles? And what if there were no longer a game to be played... no longer a war to win? Would he still have feelings for her? Would they be real? Would he still crave her body in reality as he did in his dreams? A pinprick of pain made him gasp and jerk the blade away from his skin.

"Damn."

A drop of blood slowly appeared mixing with the remaining residue of soap still on his skin. Ric stared mesmerized! Something of worth was suddenly appearing through the face of the mask. Dropping the razor he quickly grabbed a tissue and held it to the cut a few moments then pulled it away to find the bleeding stilled. It was just a nick, just a small imperfection that would soon disappear.

He peered intently at the tiny circle of bright red blood on the white tissue. One tiny drop that would never again pass through the corridors of his heart! Would he miss this lone isolated drop? Would it be the one that would forever tie him to the dark bitterness of his life? He fingered the drying blood with his other hand as he contemplated the implications of this one tiny drop of his blood. His heart... useless without this one substance that gave it a reason for being; one could not hide from its purpose. Blood was life... it was real... and true.

"What's in this blood of yours, Ric Lansing? Does it still carry a hopeless vendetta against the world... against your brother?"

He sharply threw the tissue toward the wastebasket and felt a prick in his heart as though the death of that one drop was grievously mourned. Choosing to ignore the pain in his heart he picked up the razor to stroke away the last bit of soap from his right cheek. He swished the razor clean in the basin and then watched the soap and tiny whiskers travel down the drain out of site just as the heat of his body had in the shower earlier. Could he take away the mask this easily? Who was the real Ric Lansing? Was it the one who stood on the balcony with Alexis the night before or was it the animal who was released two years before to end the life of a man whose blood was the same as his own?

He grabbed a towel from the silver rack and dried his face while removing the last remnants of soap as well. Placing both hands on the basin he stared intently at his reflection. He hesitated before saying the words that screamed for release recalling Alexis' previous warning regarding the power they could hold over a person. Was it even right to think this way when he was so unsure of his feelings and intentions? The question echoed in his mind, "Is it a vendetta?"

"Or is it love?" he asked himself aloud.

He turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Still clad only in a towel, the cool air in the hallway tickled his skin and goose bumps blazed a path up his arms and chest as he made his way back to the bedroom. It was much warmer there. His heated thoughts throughout the night and morning warmed the room better than any electrical appliance ever could have. He shook his head back and forth as he gazed at his bed, sheets in disarray – evidence of his restless night. Restless body in the night - restless mind at morning light, he thought.

He imagined Alexis tangled in rumpled sheets, asleep to the world. Was she restless too? Sometimes he thought so. He knew that he aroused her just as she aroused him. Her interest was very evident in the way she responded to him when he kissed her. But at the same time he knew she would fight those feelings to the very end. Was his interest in her a mistake? Was she able to see something that he couldn't? Vendetta? Or love? It was a question that he desperately needed an answer to.

Maybe if he could just see her, really look at her, into her eyes... Would he be able to uncover the real man behind the mask then? Would the clearness of her vision lead him to his answer? He shook off his thoughts and pulled running pants and a T-shirt from the shelf in the closet quickly dressing in order to escape the four walls that were suddenly closing in on him.

A red-orange sun rising from the horizon greeted him as he stepped outside. A brisk chill filled the air that suggested the need for a jacket, but he didn't have it with him. He remembered leaving it draped across Alexis' desk chair when he left her the previous evening. It didn't matter though. He wanted to feel the cold air against his skin. It would clear the cobwebs from his head and if he did get cold all he needed to do was return his thoughts to the dreams that awakened him throughout the night. They would provide enough heat if needed. But he doubted he would need them. They would only be a distraction and this morning he wanted no distractions. He needed to sort through his thoughts to discover the origin of his feelings. Which ones were true, if any, and which were manifestations of his obsession with Sonny.

The deep color of the sun penetrated through the clouds and lit up the sky like a flame. Its red hue reflected off the fallen leaves and contributed to the feeling of being surrounded and consumed by fire. An old saying from his life on the Vineyard suddenly tickled his memory, red sky in the morning - sailors take warning.

He began to run.