I miscounted people in the last chapter. It's been fixed though. Also, this is another long chapter. That is all.
I own nothing except the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.
The three cars parked in front of a stunningly large house. No one spoke as they exited the cars. The nine of them stared at the house in awe. After the initial shock of the greatness of the house wore off, they made their way to the porch. Ed rang the doorbell and nothing happened for about two minutes. He then knocked on the door and it slowly opened, revealing a little girl no older than six. She stared up at the nine strangers. Ed knelt in front of her so he was her height.
"Hi there," he said pleasantly.
"Hi," the child replied.
"Is your mommy here?" The girl nodded and walked away. Ed stood up when she returned to the door, holding her mother's hand. "Helen Adams?"
"Yes?" Helen replied.
"We're with the NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions." Helen's eyes widened and she looked down at her daughter.
"You go finish watching the movie with Daddy, okay?" she said. The little girl nodded and scurried away. Helen stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. "You're all with the NYPD?"
"No, only myself and Detective Green," Baker said. "I'm Detective Baker."
"And the rest of you are . . .?"
"They will be more affected by your answers to our questions than we will."
"Can I ask what this about? Have I broken a law?"
"We're not here to arrest you, Mrs. Adams," Ed assured her. "We just need to ask you about a house you sold."
"I've sold many houses, Detective. You'll have to be more specific." Arthur stepped toward Helen and took his wallet out of his back pocket. Out of the wallet he took a picture of Connor. He gave it to Helen, who studied it.
"I don't know when, but at some point you sold a house to that boy," Arthur said. "He's my nephew and he just recently turned eighteen."
"Meaning he would have been a minor when you sold him the house," Baker added. "Do you remember him?"
"Of course I do," Helen answered, handing the picture back to Arthur. "He's the only person who's ever threatened me if I didn't sell."
"'Threatened you?'" Ed replied.
"That can't be right," Arthur said. "Connor is a sweet boy. He would never threaten or hurt anyone. He just doesn't have it in him."
"Wait . . . his name's Connor?"
"Why do you sound so surprised?" Baker asked.
"It's just . . . after he threatened me he said, 'Connor needs this house.' I assumed he was trying to purchase it for someone named Connor."
"He was referring to himself in the third person?" Helen nodded and Baker turned to Arthur. "Does that happen often?"
"No, I've never witnessed him do that," Arthur replied.
"How long ago did you sell Connor the house, Mrs. Adams?" Ed asked. Helen thought for a short while.
"Four years, I believe," she said. "He signed paperwork and everything." Ed made a motion to Mark, who stepped forward with the magazine. He turned to the page the circled house was on and held the magazine out to Helen.
"Is that the house you sold him?"
"Yes, it is."
"What part of you thought it was right to sell a house to a fourteen-year-old?" Baker asked.
"I already told you, he threatened me and I was pregnant at the time. I wasn't about to take any chances."
"Did you go to the police?" Helen shook her head. "And why not?"
"I didn't hear from the kid again after that, so I just dropped it. I had more important things on my mind. Is he in trouble or something?" Ed and Baker glanced at each other.
"Thank you for cooperating, Mrs. Adams," Baker told the realtor.
"Have a good night," Ed added. He and Baker then walked down the porch steps with the seven others not far behind them. When they reached the cars, Ed did a quick head count before turning his attention to Mark. "There's an address for the house in that magazine, right?"
"Yes," the filmmaker replied.
"Then we'll drop you all off at your respective homes and-"
"No," Angel interrupted. "I'm going with you. I have to know Collins is okay."
"Angel, I know you want to see him, but you should really try to get some sleep," Baker told her.
"That's not going to happen. I know I'll be up all night worrying. I want to go with you."
"We all want to go," Maureen stated, speaking for the bohemians and Arthur. "You might as well agree because you're never going to be able to stop us." Both detectives sighed heavily.
"Fine," Ed said. "You can come, but do not get in the way. It could get dangerous and I don't want anybody getting hurt on my watch, got it?" Everyone answered affirmatively and began piling into the cars.
"I'll swing by the station, get Sanders, and then I'll be right behind you," Baker informed Ed.
"I'll ride with you," Angel said to Baker. "You know what I'm going through right now." Baker nodded and smiled a little. Mimi followed Angel and got into the car Baker was driving. Ed and Joanne were going to drive the others.
"Call me when you've got Sanders and I'll give you the address," Ed told his fellow detective. Baker nodded and pulled off.
Until he was in a car being driven away from the cottage, Collins had no idea it was on a hill. There was a pathway to get to and from the cottage easily. Had he known that, his earlier attempt at escaping wouldn't have failed. He watched Connor as he drove. The boy had a tight grip on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead as if he was afraid to look anywhere else. It was completely silent and seemed like it was midnight rather than nine o' clock. There weren't very many streetlights on the road. Collins thought of being in the woods alone and unconsciously began humming.
The twenty minute drive to Lavender Meadows Mental Hospital felt like an hour. Connor pulled into the parking lot and stopped right in front of the doors. He sat there in silence for a moment before looking at Collins.
"I'll let you out here, so you don't have to walk as much," he said. Collins nodded, opened the door, and, putting his crutches on the ground first, got out of the car. He shut the door and hobbled into the hospital. The main lobby was stunningly clean. Upon seeing the crippled professor, the female receptionist behind the information desk stopped sorting the papers that were in her hands and watched him approach her.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm here to see Carrie Bennett," Collins replied. The receptionist's mouth dropped open and Collins waited for her to say something.
"Are you . . . sure about that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, Carrie . . . she doesn't get visitors. Ever."
"You're kidding."
"It's true. She used to get letters a while ago, but they just stopped coming one day. Are you an old friend of Carrie's?"
"No, I'm one of her son's college professors." The receptionist covered her mouth and squealed. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Her son? You know her son?"
"He's here with me. He's parking the car right now." The receptionist put the papers down on the desk and came from behind it.
"Follow me." Collins decided it was better not to ask questions and followed her. "I should tell you no one is allowed to visit past ten."
"That shouldn't be a problem." The receptionist walked at a brisk pace and constantly had to slow down once she remembered that Collins was on crutches. She led him to a large room. There were quite a few people sitting around. Collins assumed some of them were patients and some were visitors.
"There she is," the receptionist said, pointing at a woman who was sitting on a couch alone. She was looking down at something. "Would you like me to come with you?"
"No, it's fine," Collins told her. "Her son should be coming in the building soon. Could you bring him here when he does? His name is Connor."
"Of course I can do that." The receptionist quickly left the room. Collins stared at Connor's mother for a moment before making his way toward the chairs that were in front of the couch she was sitting on. He saw that she was looking at a small photo album. He stood there for a while before deciding he should speak.
"Um . . . Carrie Bennett?" he said. Carrie slowly looked up at him. "You are Carrie Bennett, aren't you?"
"I am," Carrie replied. She had a bit of southern drawl. Collins carefully sat down and propped his crutches on the side of the chair.
"Mrs. Bennett-"
"Miss Bennett," Carrie interrupted. "I'm divorced."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm happily divorced." Carrie smiled at Collins, letting him know he could relax. He smiled back. "Well, you know who I am, but who might you be?"
"My name is Thomas Collins. I'm here to talk to you about your son." Carrie closed her photo album and eyed Collins suspiciously. "You see, he-"
"Where are you from?" Carrie interrupted.
"New York."
"Well, I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing, Mr. Collins."
"What does that mean?"
"My son . . . is dead." Collins' eyes widened. "He died five years ago."
"No," Collins said. "No, he didn't. Why would you think that?"
"My little boy was taken from me by my sister and my brother-in-law started sending me letters after I was admitted here. He wrote about so much abuse, I knew my baby wouldn't survive for very long. I wrote in one of my letters that if he died, I didn't want to be notified by mail. A little while after his thirteenth birthday, the letters stopped. My son is dead, Mr. Collins. It was hard to accept, but I did it."
"Miss Bennett, listen to me," Collins pleaded. "I know your son. I know him. I'm one of his college professors. He's a very sweet and intelligent boy. He came here with me because he wants to know who you are." As he spoke, Collins saw that Connor had finally entered the building and the receptionist was pointing at his mother. He walked very slowly toward the couch, stopping about two feet away from it. "He was punished for asking about you, but that didn't stop him. He's determined to know who his mother is."
"He . . . he's alive?"
"He is. And he really wants to meet you."
"Where is he right now?"Carrie's eyes were full of hope. In contrast, Connor's eyes reflected fear. What if his mother didn't want him?
"He's behind you."
Collins' words echoed in Carrie's ears as she turned to look behind her, making eye contact with Connor. She quickly stood up as he walked toward her. Tears filled her eyes as she brought her hands to her mouth. Connor, too, had tears in his eyes. The two of them just stared at each other.
"Connor . . ." Carrie said after a while, taking her hands away from her mouth.
"Hi, Mom . . ." Connor replied. Carrie wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as humanly possible. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder. The boy began sobbing and his mother held him tighter.
"Shh . . . it's okay," Carrie soothed, placing a hand on the back of Connor's head. Tears fell from her eyes. "I've got you . . . Mamma's here . . ." Connor lifted his head and looked into his mother's eyes as she wiped the tears from his cheeks. They held nothing but love.
"You're even more beautiful in person," Connor told her. She smiled at him and they sat down on the couch. Taking hold of her son's hand, Carrie studied him.
"My God," she said. "Look at you. You're all grown up." She looked to Collins, who was watching them with a smile on his face. "Thank you for bringing him to me."
"No problem," Collins replied. Carrie turned her attention back to Connor and wiped her tears away with her free hand.
"Connor . . . I want you to know that I would have never left you with your Aunt Anna if I hadn't been forced to. I love my sister, but she's emotionally unstable and very dangerous."
"That's what I don't get," Connor said. "I remember you telling me you loved me and then leaving me in an orphanage." Carrie shook her head.
"I left you at Anna and Arthur's house. Anna convinced you that you were left in an orphanage. You may have been a smart little boy, but you were still very impressionable."
"If you don't mind me asking, how dangerous and emotionally unstable is your sister?" Collins asked. Carrie looked to him.
"She actually killed our cat when we were in grade school after our mother bought me new shoes because my feet grew."
"She killed a cat?" Connor asked, his eyes wide.
"Set him on fire. I knew it was only a matter of time before she hurt me. Fortunately, I was wrong about that." Carrie looked back at Connor. "I don't want to talk about Anna. I want to talk about you, Connor. Do you realize what a brave boy you are?"
"I'm not really that brave." The boy was looking down at his and Carrie's joined hands. "I'm the weakest person I know."
"You are not weak. Connor, look at me." Connor slowly looked up at his mother. "Anybody who goes through what you've been through and lives to tell the tale is strong. Most definitely stronger than the person who put them through it."
"If I'm strong, shouldn't I be able to fight back?"
"It's not about fighting, it's about survival. But if you happen to need to fight in order to survive, so be it." Carrie placed a hand on the side of Connor's face. "I'm just so happy to see you."
"I'm happy to see you, too, Mom. I have so many questions. There's so much to learn about you."
"Well, ask away." Connor thought for a long moment. He was still a bit shocked that he was with his mother. He had wanted to meet her for years and now that he was, he wanted to learn all there was to know about her.
"Where are you from?" he asked. Carrie smiled at him.
"That would have been my first question, too," she said. "I was born in Augusta, Georgia and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. Hence, my accent."
"Aunt Anna's accent isn't as strong as yours."
"She's been away from New Orleans longer than I have." Connor nodded and thought of his next question.
"Do you like to read?"
"Oh, yes, I love to read. I'm very fond of the works of Shakespeare."
"So am I! What's your favorite? Mine is The Merchant of Venice."
"I like that one, but my favorite has to be Romeo and Juliet. I'm a sucker for a love story."
Collins couldn't help smiling at the two of them. He was happy that Connor was happy. The boy deserved some form of joy in his life. It suddenly occurred to him that he was in the perfect place to get information about Connor's headaches. He was convinced that there had to be something mentally wrong with his student. He stood up and put his crutches underneath his arms.
"Where are you going, Professor?" Connor asked him.
"I'm just going to find a restroom," Collins replied. Connor nodded and went back to asking Carrie questions about her life. Collins wandered around the hospital, taking time to look at the framed pictures and certificates that hung in the hallways. He was reading a degree that belonged to a Dr. Ernie Fletcher when he was approached by a man.
"Checking to make sure I'm really a doctor?" the man asked, startling Collins. The professor quickly turned to him.
"Are you Dr. Fletcher?" Collins asked.
"I am. Can I help you?"
"Yes, actually, you can." Dr. Fletcher waited for Collins to gather his thoughts and continue. "I know a kid and he gets headaches every once in a while. Sometimes they're mild and sometimes they're severe, but he gets them whenever he's afraid or upset about something. He's been checked out by a doctor at a hospital, but he didn't find anything wrong with him. It's very odd. Do you think the headaches could be caused by a mental problem?"
"That is odd. Does anything else happen when he has the headaches?"
"He doesn't remember some things."
"Care to elaborate?"
"He got a headache earlier today and then hours later he didn't remember what he did right after he got it. Also, his personality changed drastically and he called himself Albert, which isn't his name." Dr. Fletcher placed a hand on his chin.
"Has this boy suffered a traumatic experience?"
"Yes."
"Has he endured any repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse?"
"All three."
"Oh my God . . . all three?" Collins nodded. "Well, all of those symptoms point to Dissociative Identity Disorder."
"'Dissociative Identity Disorder?'"
"Yes, it's also known as Multiple Personality Disorder. The boy's mind probably tried to block out the memories of the abuse and that caused his brain to split into two personalities. His normal self and the 'Albert' personality."
"He's got a split personality?"
"I wouldn't know that for sure. This is just my professional opinion. I can only diagnose him properly if you get him to come see me."
Collins nodded and started heading back to the room he came from. When he reached it, he noticed Connor had left and his mother was sitting alone. He instantly became worried that something had happened. As he got closer to Carrie, he saw that she didn't look upset.
"Where did Connor go?" he asked her, sitting down in the chair he had been sitting in.
"Someone called him on his phone," Carrie explained. "He'll be back." Collins nodded and Carrie stared at him. "Can I be honest with you, Mr. Collins?"
"Sure."
"I knew who you were the second I looked up at you." Collins' eyes widened.
"How?"
"I watch the news." Collins' pulse quickened. "My son . . . didn't kidnap you, did he?"
"No, Miss Bennett, he didn't. He actually saved my life."
"How so?"
"Your sister tried to kill me. She hit me with a car."
"That explains the broken leg."
"Right. Connor saw her hit me and he came to my rescue. This kidnapping thing is a big misunderstanding." Collins saw the relief on Carrie's face as she nodded. He wasn't exactly sure if he believed his own words. Sure, Connor had saved his life, but he wouldn't let him call Angel to let her know he was all right. Before he could voice this to Carrie, Connor returned to the room. He looked troubled.
"Connor, are you okay?" Carrie asked, her voice laced with concern.
"It's a quarter until ten," the boy replied. "We have to leave now."
"Oh, now don't be sad. There's no visitation tomorrow, but you can come back on Monday. And you can come earlier, so we'll have more time together. How does that sound?"
"I'd like that." Connor smiled at his mother as she stood up to hug him. Collins could tell that the smile was forced.
"I love you, Connor," Carrie told her son. Hearing those words made Connor's heart skip a beat.
"I love you, too, Mom."
The ride back to the cottage seemed to be twice as quiet as the ride to the hospital. Collins kept stealing glances at Connor as Dr. Fletcher's words ran through his mind. He wasn't sure if he should tell him what the doctor had said. The boy was already upset enough about something. Collins decided he would wait a little while before bring it up. Connor parked the car on the side of the cottage and helped Collins out and up the porch steps. He opened the door, turned the living room lights on, let Collins get inside, and shut the door.
"I'll take you back to New York in the morning, Professor," he promised. Collins smiled a bit, but his smile faded when he noticed that Connor was on the verge of tears.
"Connor, what's bothering you?" Collins asked as his student sat down on the couch.
"The doctor called me with my results. He said he can't find any physical evidence that there's something wrong with me. He said he thinks it could be . . . psychosomatic."
"And it scares you?"
"Yes, especially now that I know my mom is . . . people already think I'm weird. They'll treat me like a nutcase if I have a mental illness."
"I won't. I'll still care about you, mental illness or not."
"Thank you, Professor." Collins smiled at his student. "Would you like some soup now?"
"No, I think I'm just going to go to bed." Connor nodded and watched Collins exit the living room.
Once he was in the guest room and lying in bed, Collins looked over at the bedside table. The medical bag was gone, but he could still see it clearly. He looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to push the thought of morphine out of his mind. He pictured the small bottle floating above him. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths and tried to convince himself that he didn't need the drug. He lied there and faded in and out of consciousness for about two hours before his urges started getting the best of him.
He sighed heavily and got out of bed, telling himself he would kick this habit before he got back to Angel. He decided to get a glass of water and then try to go to sleep again. As he made it into the hallway, he noticed the lights in the living room were still on. He headed toward the living room to check on his student. His mouth dropped open when he stepped into the room.
Connor was sitting on the floor in front of the armchair with his hands bound in front of him and duct tape over his mouth. His head was down.
"Connor!" Collins exclaimed, making his way over to the boy as fast as he could. Connor looked up. His face was tearstained. Collins leaned his crutches against the chair and took the tape off of Connor's mouth. "Who did this to you?"
"You have to get out of here, Professor," Connor told him. Collins ignored his words and began trying to untie the knot in the rope that was tied around his wrists. "Please, just go! You have to save yourself!"
"I'm not leaving you here. Who did this?" Connor fell silent and looked toward the doorway of the living room. Collins suddenly felt a gun pressed to his back.
"Step away from the boy," a female voice said.
How's that for a cliffhanger?
Review please.