Chapter Twelve: The Old Man and the Demons He Commands

The wall to Edward's room had a long window in it. Simon stood next to Tracy as they gazed in on The Old Man, although he found himself watching her more than Edward. Her eyes were lost, somewhere between here and a million years ago, soft, very focused, but not on anything he himself could see.

She looked maybe ten years old in this light, all her power and poise and composure gone as she watched the red-haired nurse taking "Daddy's" vitals.

The family was in some sort of meeting. She'd been expressly not invited; it was ELQ business, Alan had said curtly as they departed. Someone named Justus would be handling things.

Tracy hadn't seemed to care at all as they left en masse. She was staring at the man in the bed.

Daddy.

Simon turned to study this man who commanded the lives of so many people. Old. Round-faced. Of course, he wouldn't seem like much now--post-op heart patients usually weren't all that impressive.

But he could tell a lot about Edward Quartermaine from his family, from their expressions when they spoke of him. There was respect there, yes, but it was thick with fear. This was not a man who commanded through generosity; even his adult son seemed to shrink when he spoke of his father.

And Tracy…

She was watching him with such sadness in her eyes, so much pain. Simon had no idea what to believe. Ned had accused her of attempted murder, and he suspected it had something to do with "Daddy" in there. But everything he knew about Tracy, everything he admired in her and respected about her told him they were mistaken. Or that at least, they weren't telling him all of the story.

Maybe at some point in her life, Tracy Quartermaine had been capable of such an act. But Tracy Walker, the woman he called friend, could not do anything like attempted murder.

And then there was Lila. The woman did not show any symptoms of dementia or memory loss. She was physically weak, but mentally alert and aware. And Lila had certainly not treated Tracy like she suspected her daughter of attempted patricide.

There was a movement in the room, and Simon snapped his eyes away from Tracy to see the nurse coming to the door. Tracy moved quickly to intercept her. The woman sighed when she saw Tracy. "He needs his rest, Tracy," she said.

"I won't wake him."

She shook her head. "I'm sure you have the best intentions." Her tone indicated that the nurse most definitely did not believe Tracy had any good intentions at all, much less 'the best.' "But he's too weak now for any excitement." Of which, she implied but didn't say aloud, you couldn't help but provide.

The nurse moved to pass her, but Tracy held out her hand, taking the woman's shoulder gently. "Bobbie…" Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "I know you have no reason to trust me. But he's my father. I haven't seen him in twenty years, and..." Her voice cracked. "I just want a moment, before my family gets back and shuts me out." She caught Bobbie's eyes, holding her gaze for a long time. "If you want me to beg, I'll beg. I need to…I need him." The last words were almost inaudible, and Simon could see that Bobbie was struggling with her decision. "Please, Bobbie…"

"Oh, god, Tracy," she sighed. "Look, if you do anything to upset him, I will personally have your hide." She looked down the corridor, then nodded towards the door. "Five minutes. Don't wake him, and don't cause any trouble."

"Thank you," Tracy whispered, grasping Bobbie's hands in hers before turning toward the door.

"I'll be at the nurses' station. If I hear anything…" But she didn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to; they both seemed to agree that Tracy was here on the nurse's sufferance, and that alone was enough to ensure her promised good behavior.

It said a lot about Tracy's state of mind that she barely noticed Simon as she entered the room, didn't notice that he followed her in, staying just inside the door. She was focused only on the man in the bed, the center of her universe.

Edward Quartermaine.

She moved to his bedside, gazing on him as he slept, reaching forward to place a feather-light touch against his forehead. She watched. She paced. She watched some more. And when she started talking, it was in a soft, almost childlike voice, a voice she no doubt never intended Simon to hear. A voice that held all the broken pieces that remained of Tracy Quartermaine.

"Should I adjust your pillow, Daddy?" She leaned forward, just barely touching his pillow, obviously afraid of disturbing him. "Is that better? What about the light in here? Is it -- is it hurting your eyes?" Tracy paced, never taking her eyes off of Edward, even as she seemed to search for ways of making him more comfortable. "Daddy, what do I do? What do you want? I'm so bad at this. I love you."

Simon's eye caught motion in the outer hallway, and he turned to see Alan, Ned, and a good-looking young black man just outside the window. Alan and the young man were talking, but Ned had come to the window and was watching the scene between his mother and grandfather intently. Simon pushed back against the door, trying to make himself invisible.

"I missed you, Daddy," Tracy continued, oblivious to her growing audience. "I suppose you're surprised to hear me say that, but -- you know, the whole time that I was away, there was a part of me that kept planning how I was going to come home someday and take over E.L.Q." She laughed softly, as if this were some sort of game between them. "I was going to steal it right out from under your nose so you'd be proud of me. Do you remember when I was a little girl and any time I would beat you at anything -- tennis, bridge, even tic-tac-toe -- you'd say 'Good for you, Tracy. You beat me at my own game, and I'm proud of you.'"

Simon felt his stomach clench. Her voice was breaking, her heart was breaking, and Simon knew there was nothing he could do to protect her from this. Nothing he could do to protect her from her viperous family and especially from this chief snake she so obviously worshipped.

The old man stirred in his bed, moaning slightly as he struggled towards consciousness. His eyes fluttered open and for a moment, he seemed confused. Then he focused on the woman at his side, face contorting as he struggled to focus, a frown forming on his lips.

When Simon heard Tracy's voice, it was the sound of crumbling glass to him, the sound of utter and absolute loss. She sounded so happy, and he knew instinctively what a fall she was setting herself up for.

"Hi, Daddy," she said, with all the guilelessness of a pre-adolescent girl.

Edward Quartermaine blinked twice, frowned, and responded in a hoarse, gravelly voice, "Dear lord. I've died and gone to Hell."

Anyone who didn't know her well might have missed the flinch. Anyone who didn't know her well might have missed the tightness in her smile.

But Simon had studied this woman for more than two decades, knew her like he knew the periodic table, like he knew his social security number, like he knew the taste of a first kiss on a summer night. And he knew, in his soul, that her smile was too broad, that her humor too forced.

He knew without a doubt that Edward had cut her straight to the bone, and had done it intentionally.

"No, Daddy," she responded. "You're still among the living, though you gave us all quite a scare."

The old devil nodded his head. "So you figured you'd hurry in and finish the job you left undone twenty years ago?"

Tracy forced a smile, made hollow and pathetic by the fact that it fell on the gaze of a man who obviously despised her. "Daddy, don't talk like that. I just wanted to see you."

"You are not welcome here, Tracy."

"Don't upset yourself, Daddy," she said quickly, moving forward to adjust his blanket. He snapped away from her like she was some sort of monster. "Please, Daddy…I just…."

"You heard The Old Man was down, and thought you'd come back to try to weasel your way back into my will before it was too late," he said, his sour voice laced with venom. "Well, it won't work. You are no longer a member of this family, Tracy, and you won't get a penny of my money."

"I don't want your money," she snapped. It was the first time Simon had heard any emotion in her voice other than fear since they'd arrived, other than the obvious love she'd just expressed to her father. "I have my own money," she added.

"That's never stopped you before. You're a greedy, self-serving witch, and you will stop at nothing to get yourself back into the family fortune." His voice was rising, and Simon could see Tracy's fear growing. The last thing they needed was for the old man to work himself into another heart attack while talking to his daughter.

"Daddy, please calm down. You just had heart surgery; you don't want to stress yourself."

"Like you care? The last time you saw me like this, you left me on the floor to fend for myself. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?"

"You were faking!" This time, there was no mistaking the anger in her voice. "You set me up--"

"You showed your true colors that day, Tracy. A snake may change his skin, but not his nature." He grinned at her, a vicious, terrifying sight Simon hoped to never see again. "Get out of my sight," he added, before slamming his hand down on the nurse's call button.

Then the old bastard began clutching his chest, making a huge show of being distressed and in pain. By the time Bobbie and Alan were in the room, along with a blonde Simon recognized from the family meeting as Alan's wife, Edward was playing it for all it was worth, moaning about the pain, demanding that "that woman" be removed. Simon stepped aside as Bobbie practically dragged Tracy from the room, followed by a furious Alan.

Simon was the last to leave. He turned one more time to look at Edward before following the others into the hall. Monica was reaching for her stethoscope, and Edward for a moment was out of her line of vision.

The son-of-a-bitch was chuckling, watching his daughter's trouble through the window with an almost giddy amusement.

At that moment, Simon made his choice. Even if Tracy had put a knife to his throat, Edward Quartermaine deserved whatever had been done to him.

They were railing against her when he made his way out to the hallway, Alan and Bobbie, calling her a trouble-maker, asking why she had to start things, did she not care about her own father? Ned was glowering, but didn't join in to the fray. He just seemed content to watch the two decimate his mother, unaware that his own daughter had just stepped off the elevator and was watching the scene with great interest.

"How could you be so vindictive, Tracy?" Alan was saying. "Don't you give a damn that the man just had heart surgery?"

"I warned you not to upset him," Bobbie added, her eyes flashing.

"I didn't say anything wrong." Tracy was protesting weakly, as if she knew it didn't matter. That her mere presence was evidence of wrong-doing in their eyes. "He…"

"He took one look at Mother," Ned said in a glum, laconic tone. "And practically screamed bloody murder. Who could blame him, right, Mommy?" This was directed at Tracy, who winced. "I mean, the last time you saw him, you pretty much had him in the same position, didn't you?"

"Only this time, he has medication," Alan added, twisting the knife.

"'Mommy'?" It was Brooke, who had moved closer in now and was staring at Tracy. "Did he just call you 'Mommy?' As in, are you his mother?" She turned to Ned, an expression of pure fury on her pretty young face. "Is this my grandmother?"

"Brooke Lynn, this is not the time or place…" Alan was moving toward her, his hands reaching for her shoulders to shoo her away like an unruly child, but she shook him off, turning her attention to Ned.

"Is it true, Dad? Is this your mother? You know, the one you told me was dead?"

"You told her I was dead?" There was no mistaking the hurt in Tracy's voice, although she kept her shoulders straight and her head high.

"Oh, don't you dare try to sound injured," Brooke turned to Tracy, still oozing rage out of her pores. "Nice job making a fool of me this morning in the coffee shop. You knew exactly who I was, and you let me go on thinking you were just some friend of the family." The young woman groaned, casting a disgusted expression at her father and grandmother. "I suppose lying is just another one of those Quartermaine family traits that makes me wish I was fucking adopted!" She turned on her heels, storming away from the group.

Ned let out a frustrated groan, casting an angry look in Tracy's direction before chasing after his daughter, who'd gotten on the elevator and closed it before he could enter. "Nice work, Mother," he said before running for the stairwell.

Alan turned on his sister, his wide face red with anger. "Jesus Christ, Tracy. Is it even conceivable that you can come into a room for ten seconds without all hell breaking loose?"

"Now wait a minute," Simon said. "It's not Tracy's fault Ned lied to his daughter. And as for…" He turned to the window, where Edward was basking in the attention his daughter-in-law was giving him. "Him... Tracy didn't do a damned thing to provoke him. I heard the entire conversation from the door. She was nothing but gentle and kind to him, a loving daughter, and he started in on her the moment he woke up. He wasn't in any pain--he just did it to get her out of the room."

Alan began to comment, but Tracy pushed him aside, a look of outrage on her face as she faced Simon. "You were eavesdropping on my conversation?" Her eyes flashed with fury, her hands were clenched at his side.

"Tracy, I walked into the room with you…" Simon began, but she cut him off, her instincts obviously finding a safe target for the rage she didn't want to aim at more deserving victims.

"You had no right intruding on my private conversation. Do you think this--" She waved her arms around, indicating the entire situation they suddenly found themselves thrust into. "Do you think this entitles you to special privileges? Special rights?"

"Tracy, I just thought--"

"You thought you'd ride in on your white horse and protect Tracy from her crazy family. That you'd be a hero." She was fuming now. Her compact frame barely seemed able to contain the rage she was carrying. She flashed him a cruel smile, the kind he'd only seen rarely, the kind that meant she was going in for the kill. "What, Simon?" Her voice was soft, a brutal mockery of seduction. "Did you think I'd be so grateful to you that I'd finally go to bed with you? Did you think you could make everything better, maybe get a couple of rolls in the sack out of it?"

"You know that's not what this is about, Tracy," he said, his own anger rising now, although he kept his voice calm and low. Alan and Bobbie had pulled away from them. Apparently, two decades had not dulled their senses of self-preservation when it came to Tracy's temper. "You're my friend. I saw what he did, what he did to you." He turned to Alan. "The son-of-a-bitch set her up, and she's so desperate to regain his love that she's letting him."

"How dare you talk about my father that way!" Tracy gasped, as if she hadn't seen what had happened, as if she really believed she was the bad guy here. "You have no right."

Simon stared at her, wondering for the first time if there really was something wrong with Tracy. How could she look at Edward, watch how he treated her, and still defend him so fiercely? "You did nothing wrong, sweetheart," he said, lowering his voice, trying for reason--although he suspected that rationality and reason were foreign concepts in the world of the Quartermaines. "That psychotic old man is playing these people, and you're letting the bastard get away with it."

He didn't see it coming. Her open hand slammed across his face full force, sending him reeling from the shock of it.

"Don't you ever speak a word against my father again," she snarled at him, her eyes flashing as she let the full force of her words fall on him. Then, with a disgusted snort at Simon and her brother, who was staying out of it, Tracy shook her head in frustration. She pushed past Simon towards the elevator, muttering under her breath, "God, I need a drink!"

Alan and Bobbie just shrugged, saying nothing in response to this tantrum.

As if they expected it.

As if this was Tracy Quartermaine in their eyes.

Alan gave him an almost sympathetic look before going back into Edward's hospital room, and Bobbie just returned to her nurse's station without a word.

It was like they were relieved to see her go, and didn't really give a damn what her emotional state was as long as they didn't have to deal with it.

Simon stared at the empty hallway surrounding him, feeling like he'd just followed a white rabbit down its hole. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and headed to the elevator to try to find Tracy. Before he got there, though, a hand on his arm stopped him.

He looked up to see a thin man with spiky silver hair grinning at him. "A word of advice, amigo? If that fiery beauty who just stormed outta here is who I think she is---" He grinned. "And I think she definitely is who I think she is... Well, you'd be much better off if you gave her a little time to cool down before you go after her."

"Oh, let me guess--you have a twenty year old grudge against Tracy Quartermaine, too?" Simon was getting pretty fed up with all these people coming out of the woodwork to crucify Tracy as if she hadn't changed a bit in two decades.

"Actually, I have no grudge against the fair Ms. Quartermaine, although I'm sure had I had more contact with her when I knew her, we would have found something to hate about each other." He waggled his eyes. "She's always been of the tempestuous variety, although I'm beginning to think you're becoming aware of that fact."

Simon lifted a single hand to his temple, rubbing at the headache that was beginning to pound.

"Oh, yeah, you're figuring it out," the man said with a laugh. "I suppose I ought to introduce myself, since I'm the guy who's gonna be taking you down the street for the drink you so desperately need." He reached out a hand to shake. "Luke Spencer."

Simon took his hand somewhat reluctantly. "Simon Fullerton. And I don't need a drink. I need to find Tracy and straighten this out."

Luke Spencer laughed, a sound rife with experience. "Trust me, compadre. If you're going to be dealing with the Q-maines, especially Tracy…" He shook his head in sympathy. "You're gonna need a drink."

Coming in Chapter Thirteen: One Story, Two Audiences