Time To Go II ( 6? )
Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB, please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.
Last Time: Frank Tancredi told Lincoln he had information that would clear Michael's name making it possible for him to finally come home, see his baby girl.
But to get it, see his little girl, Michael has to agree to give up Sara for good!
He's pissed.
I knew he'd be pissed, that was part of why I did what I did, but I had no idea just how pissed he'd be and...
WOW! He's REALLY pissed! "
Standing just outside the door, leaning to one side against the wall to avoid being seen if he should suddenly come to the window, I can hear him stomping around in there like a rampaging elephant.
I knew Veronica would track him down the instant I took off on her, but it didn't matter at the time.
It doesn't matter now.
I did what I did for a lot of reasons and, like it or not, he's going to hear - maybe actually listen, even understand - each and every one of them.
While he's never hit me - I really don't think he would - I wait, listening for his footsteps to move away, waiting for him to be as far away from the door as possible,
so as to avoid being pounced on when I make my move to slip inside.
While we may have not lived as father and son long, had all that much time together before all this happened, he's slipped into the protective Dad role with ease. His parental senses, especially when I'm screwing up, are keen as any I've seen.
The tiny squeak from the door hinge grabs his attention from all the way across the House - in a completely different room - and sends him thundering down the hallway toward me. " What the fuck were you thinking, LJ? "
As he just keeps on coming, full speed, I think perhaps he may actually do it this time around - kick my ass right through the door behind me. " Thinking? What the hell am I saying? You weren't thinking! Running off to Mexico to get drunk, get high with your buddies? If you had a brain in that thick skull of yours at all you'd of... GOD DAMN IT, LJ!"
He stops so close I swear I can feel the heat from his rage on my skin right through my clothes, hovering, bearing down on me switching from anger to guilt trip with ease " I've waited over three months to go looking for your Uncle Michael.You knew how frustrated I was waiting for a chance to go, but you didn't give a shit, did you? You didn't give a damn about me or your Uncle Mike. All you cared about was partying with the guys...
" Haven't you learned anything from me ... learned anything my life, LJ?"
His breath is hot against my face and I close my eyes tight, breathing deeply, certain I'll find him drunk like I can recall him being from time to time when I was just a kid, only to feel even more guilty at not finding even a hint of the scent of alcohol on his breath. " You're barely seventeen years old, LJ. Why the hell would you pull a stunt like that? I really want to know ... tell me! "
Looking up at his face, into his eyes, I find myself fighting the urge to blow him off, tell him ' forget it, you'll never understand ' - because that what guys my age say to their angry fathers at time like these - but I don't do it because I need him to understand.
I did what I did hoping, at least partially, to make him understand and there was no turning back from that now. " I may be seventeen, but I don't feel it. Everything that happened to you, to me, Mom, changed me and you just don't see it. I'm not gonna really fuck up... I've seen every imaginable result of fucking up and know better than to get anywhere near any of that. I did it because it made me feel normal."
He takes a step back, giving me space, anger fading a little in his eyes.
" I did it because I actually have a few friends now - guys that, even if they can be jackasses sometimes, seem to like me enough not to spend all their time asking what it was like to be in jail, kidnapped, to spend a week locked in a car by an escaped murder/pedophile. "
Even if deep inside I believe he won't understand no matter what I say, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, look him straight in the eye, and tell him how it really is.
" These guys thought to ask me to go to Mexico with them, stay at their parents condo, drink beer, and chase girls instead of asking if and how many times T bag bent me over a table and fucked me up the ass. It was a screw up to go, I know that, but it felt right.
"Screwing up like guys my age do ... arguing with you after the fact feels normal and you have no idea how badly I needed to feel like other guys my age."
Talking about it, saying the words causes a lump to rise up in my throat.
Holding it in, fighting back tears because I'm a man and done with that kind of thing I ask for his understanding. " You of all people should be able to understand what it's like to want to feel normal again.
" I didn't set out to worry you. I didn't do it to make you angry. I just needed this for me ... and I'm sorry." Without a word, he reaches out placing his hand on my shoulder, squeezing firmly, offering up a desperately needed nod of understanding.
Eyes closed, my head hanging low, allowing the tension to drain away, I mumble what I know he needs to hear most.
" There something else ... something you need to know. Something important."
" Important, huh? You already said you had enough sense to avoid that law in general so, either you got yourself tattooed or you knocked up some girl."
" Well, I'm pretty sure I didn't ' knock up ' anyone... "
Standing there, staring at me, he breathes a mock sigh of relief, waiting for what it is I have to tell him until it hits him. " Wait! You didn't say you didn't get a tattoo ... did you get tattooed in Mexico, LJ? "
I nod my response, waiting, watching his face carefully, having no idea how he'll react, only to see him basically shrug it off. " You got tattooed? Huh! Well, that's fairly stupid at your age, pretty painful, but ... important?"
" It's not the tattoo. It's the ' getting it ' part that's important."
He looks at me, uncertain, downright confused, and the entire argument - everything bad - is washed away with the realization of how much it means to me to be able to tell him, to give him something he needs so badly.
" Getting the tattoo led to something else...Dad, I found Uncle Michael."
He takes another step back, reaching out, placing his hand flat against the wall, steadying himself as if he may topple over from shock without realizing he's doing it. " Michael? Is that a joke? What do you mean you found Michael?"
" Just what I said... I found him." The moment I say the words, finally get it off my chest, exhaustion hits hard causing me to lean hard on the door at my back. " I meant just what I said. I know where he is. I'll tell you where to find him. I'm beat, Dad, sick of standing here arguing at the door. If we could just go in there, sit, I'll tell you everything you need to know."
Without answering, he turns and makes his way quickly into the living room, glancing cautiously over his shoulder to be sure I'm there following behind as he goes.
I keep waiting for him to say something, anything at all, but he doesn't say a word as he takes a seat in the armchair watching my every move, waiting to hear what I have to say. " Salagua, on the Pacific coast. That's where he is."
He nods his head and I can see him carefully committing my words to memory as if they might somehow slip his mind and he'd lose him all over again if he didn't.
" Ryan's dad's condo is on the ocean in Manzanillo. We were there a few days before we got the bright idea to get tattooed. I didn't give it - him - too much thought until we were actually there getting it done. The guy was working on me, it hurt more than I expected, so I distracted myself by thinking about the few times I saw Uncle Mike's tattoo. As the guy worked - his English was pretty good - we talked a lot and I mentioned I knew someone who'd had their upper body fully tattooed. Told him I was considering doing the same. Asked him how long it would take ... had he ever done it for anyone ... then out of the blue he told me while he'd never done it himself, he knew a man in his village who'd had it done."
Looking over at my father, seeing emotions playing across his face, the kinds -
raw, real - he's never allowed me to see, I can't get the rest of the story out of me fast enough. " He told me the guy was young, alone, that he'd come to Salagua after losing his family in California just over a year ago. I tried to get more information, letting him believe my interest was in the tattoos alone, but he didn't know all that much. He said the man kept to his self. That he'd hardly seen the tattoos at all and never up close. That this man happened to lived by the river where he fished in the evenings. That he'd only seen glimpses of them when the man would sit shirtless on the hilltop enjoying the ocean breeze while watching them fishing below."
He leans forward in his seat challenging me with his words. " What makes you think it's Michael? That man could be anyone, LJ."
" I just knew it was him. I could just feel it somehow. But I knew that wasn't enough, so as soon as I was done I took the car and went there to see for myself.
It was him ... it is him, Dad. I went there, waited, and saw him for myself."
" You saw, Michael?
" Yeah."
" You're positive it's him? "
" Positive. "
" What did he say, LJ? "
Getting to my feet, crossing to him slowly, I dig the tightly folded piece of paper from my pants pocket, handing it to him while I speak. " I didn't talk to him. He never saw me. I was afraid if he did he'd run and you'd lose him again because of me. I made sure it was him and came home as fast as I could. Everything you need to find him is on that paper."
Standing there in front him, wanting nothing more than to please him, win his approval, he takes the paper from me with his left as his right hand moves up to pull the sleeve of my t-shirt up and over my shoulder, tracing the outline of the heart - dagger through the center of it - on my arm with the tip of his finger. " So this is it, eh? Is that your mom's initials on the handle? "
I nod, drawing back a little at the sensation of his finger pressing against the tender flesh.
" It's pretty red, LJ. Did you put anything on it? "
Having not looked at it or given it a second thought in days, I turn my head to the side looking carefully at it as I pull the material of my shirt higher over my shoulder to gain a better look. " No... I... I haven't even looked at it. As soon as the guy was done I took off to find Uncle Mike and never gave it another thought. "
Patting my arm firmly, making me wince with pain, while stuffing the paper into his pocket, he moves away fast, snagging his keys from the nearby table, slipping bare feet into his shoes as he goes. " The fridge is full. Still stocked from when Veronica was gonna stay with you. Relax, get yourself something to eat and I'll be back in a little bit."
" Yeah, all right... Where are you going?"
He looks over at me, spinning the keys on the ring around his index finger,
smiling a smile more real that I can recall seeing on his face in many, many years. " I'm gonna go get you some antibiotic ointment. You wanted a tattoo. Went right out there and got yourself one.. now you gotta take of it. "
" What about Uncle Mike?
" Uncle Mike? " He spins the ring of keys off his finger high into the air, catching them in his fist with a swipe of his hand before they can hit the floor.
" I'll get you, that new tattoo of yours, all situated here and then I'll go get your Uncle Michael and bring him back home where he belongs."
TBC...
Next week: Lincoln and Michael see one another for the first time since Michael walked out, down the beach toward Mexico, just over one year ago.