"What's wrong, son?" Dominic Santini regarded the younger man solemnly.
They were sitting on the deck out back of the Santini's beautiful Malibu home, which overlooked a considerable stretch of golden beach, and the vast expanse of the beautiful blue Pacific Ocean, beyond their boundary fence.
Both men were enjoying the warmth of the midday sun, and sipping iced tea from tall frosted glasses. From somewhere in the house, muted by the closed glass patio door behind them, they could hear the soft cry of the Santini's new baby daughter, Constance Maria, as she exercised her lungs.
Dominic Santini knew that his son should be on top of the world right now.
Back in his own home for almost three weeks now, the place he had always claimed to love, and which soothed his soul, close to his beloved beach and the foaming surf, with his lovely wife and family around him, and surrounded by memories and mementoes of his life.
The things they had rescued from the burned out shell of the cabin, like the faded and wrinkled old family photos of Steven and Connie Hawke, in the heat twisted silver frame.
The photo of the three Hawke children, fishing on the shores of the lake, in the happy summer days, before their parent's deaths.
The few precious pieces of artwork that his grandfather had collected for his grandmother, and which had survived the inferno that had claimed the young man's birth parents.
And more recent photographs, of Dominic and Maria Santini, Skyler and Mat and their two kids, and a huge group photo of Helen and String with Dom Junior, Christopher and Lucy grinning happily back at him from a guilt frame, over an ornamental fireplace.
On the desk in his study were smaller portraits of each of the kids, and a particularly good one of Helen, smiling happily at him, along with some messy, childish, scribblings, of the kids, and on the walls, framed and given pride of place were Stringfellow's college diploma and graduation pictures and a picture of the young newlyweds, smiling radiantly.
String should have been at his most content, but he was not.
There was something troubling him.
His father had seen it in those beautiful deep blue eyes of his.
Now that they were back in town, he seemed restless.
Ill at ease.
Distracted.
Out of place.
Even Helen had noticed it, despite being busy with getting the children settled back into their old home and routines once more, and looking after their new baby.
"C'mon, son. Get it off your chest," Dominic Santini invited with a heavy sigh, and this drew String's gaze back from the rolling, foaming ocean surf. "I know there's something bugging you," Santini growled. "So just spit it out, and let's deal with it."
"I'm all right," String assured, but he could see that Santini was not convinced, and the words sounded hollow, lacking in conviction, even to his own ears.
"In a pig's eye!" Santini snapped.
This drew a scowl from the younger man.
"Don't pull that with me son, I know you too well, and don't give me the eye either. It won't wash," Santini warned. "I'm not going back to Elkington until you get it off your chest, so you might as well just spill …."
Originally, Dominic Santini had only planned on staying for a few days. A week at most, but the long drive had taken a lot out of him, and he had so enjoyed catching up with old buddies and visiting old haunts, and his son and daughter in law had made him so welcome, if truth be told, he wasn't looking forward to the long, lonely drive back to Elkington.
String took a sip of his iced tea and let out a soft sigh.
Dominic was right.
There was something on his mind.
There were things that he needed to do.
Things that he knew that he just had to do, before he could completely accept that this was his life,
That he was this man.
Stringfellow Santini.
Things that he needed to do to resolve his feelings of uncertainty.
And move on.
There was something that he had been dying to ask Dominic Santini since they had gotten back to the city, but he had been reluctant to speak up, knowing that it would worry those people closest to him, those who loved him, unconditionally and deeply.
He did not want to hurt them.
Dominic Santini watched the play of emotions as they crossed his son's dear face, and knew at once what was bothering him.
"You still don't believe it, do you?" he asked in a soft voice, and String closed his eyes as he could not fail to hear the disappointment and hurt in Dominic Santini's voice.
"I thought," Santini faltered then. "Look, son, I know you still can't remember, but, well, I thought you were at least beginning to believe your own eyes."
"I'm trying, Dom …. Dad," String caught himself and threw Santini an apologetic look, wondering when it would get easier to remember to call the older man Dad.
When it would feel right.
Natural.
He had started to do it because he knew it was what Dominic Santini wanted and needed to hear from him.
But, it didn't mean that it felt any more comfortable to him today than it had the first time he had said it.
"But?" Santini probed now. "I know there's a 'but' in there, son, I can hear it in your voice," Santini sighed deeply once more.
"I need you to do something for me …."
"Anything son, all you have to do is ask."
"Take me up to Eagle Lake. The cabin."
"Oh, String …."
"I want to see it, for myself. The cabin. Their graves. Please, Dad. I need to see it for myself. Then maybe I can move on," String explained, willing Dominic Santini to understand this desperate need that he had.
"I'd like to put some flowers on their graves. Say one last goodbye. See the old place, one last time. Make my peace with it."
He regarded the older man with steady, deep blue eyes, and watched the emotions that crossed his wrinkled, beloved, old face now.
Hurt.
Disappointment.
And then ….
Acceptance.
"Please, Dad?" String reached out across the table and took the older man's gnarled, cool hand in his own. "You could fly us up there. It wouldn't take long."
"Son, it ain't that easy," Santini sighed deeply. "I can't get my hands on a chopper that easily, and you can't fly. You're still grounded, remember?"
"Of course, I remember," String sighed heavily now. "You still have friends in the aviation business. You could call in a favour …."
"Son, I ain't been at the controls of a chopper in more than eight years!" Santini protested.
"It's like riding a bike, Dad, you never forget."
"That's as maybe, I been flying so many years, I can do it in my sleep …. But, I don't have my licence anymore, kid. I'm retired ! I don't even fly for fun no more. I'm an old man, and my reflexes are shot to hell. What do I need with a pilot's licence? I wish I could help you, son …."
"Then I'll fly us. You get the chopper, I'll take the controls …."
"Didn't I just get through reminding you you're grounded!"
"Since when did that ever stop us?"
"Son …."
"Dad …. Please …. I can handle it. I promise."
"I wish I understood …."
"So do I, Dad. I just know I have to do this. I have to. If, I'm to have any chance of moving on, and having a good, meaningful life. I owe it to myself, to Helen and the kids …. And to you too. Maybe while I'm there, things will start to make more sense? Maybe it's the one thing that will put all of this in to some kind of perspective for me?"
Was that a note of desperation creeping into his voice now?
"It's the only way you'll believe they're really gone? Even St John?" Dominic Santini sighed sorrowfully. "You really believe it's the only way? The only thing that will help to convince you?"
"Yes, Dad. I really believe," String squeezed his father's hand gently. "Please Dad. Will you help me?"
"I must be loco!" Santini muttered, rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "And if Helen ever finds out, she'll have both our heads on a platter, for Thanks Giving," he growled. "But, we need to resolve this thing, once and for all. If going up to Eagle Lake is the only way to do that …."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Don't thank me just yet son. I haven't got us a ride. You sure you're up to it?"
"I'm sure."
"Ok."
"It'll be all right, Dad. Just you wait and see."
"Promise me something, son. If, we do this, when we do this …. When it's done, no matter what the outcome …. You'll let it rest. You'll accept that this is just the way things are, and try to make a go of it …."
"Ok, Dad. I promise."
String pledged, knowing that if he didn't find what he was looking for up at the lake, then he would have no other choice but to accept that this was reality, and the other life was just a dream.
He wouldn't fight it any more.
He would embrace his family, and all the love they gave to him so freely, and find a way to make it work.
For all of them.
"Gee, Dad," String eyed the helicopter parked on the forecourt of Elliot De Sousa's hangar, on Van Nuys airfield, borrowed for the morning for their trip up to Eagle Lake, and wrinkled his nose in disgust.
In his opinion, it was a rusted heap of junk. A relic from the Vietnam war, that probably had no right to be flown anywhere, except directly to the old aircraft graveyard out in the desert, with a preacher along to utter a prayer or two on the way, to ensure that it got there in one piece.
It also felt strange to him to be standing barely yards away from where he remembered the Santini Air hangar had been located, but now, hanging over the closed hangar doors, was a sign for an air freight outfit that had recently gone out of business.
"The guy you borrowed this thing from," he sighed deeply, and glowered at Santini over the top of his mirrored flying shades. "Which of you owes the other money?" he drawled sarcastically, and Dominic Santini scowled back at him.
"Nobody owes any body anything! Elliot is my oldest buddy here at the airfield. You know that!"
"Did you say …. friend?" String emphasised the word and then gave the landing skids of the chopper a solid kick.
"Beggars can't be choosers," Santini reminded his son.
"And you were worried about my air worthiness?" String sighed deeply.
"It'll get us there and back. Assuming that is, you don't take a detour to Detroit," Santini grouched.
"We'll be lucky if this thing makes Venice Beach," String muttered and then regarded Santini over the rim of his flying shades once more. "You trying to say I don't remember how to get to Eagle Lake?" he arched an eyebrow quizzically. "I could find the place with my eyes closed."
"That's not how you intend to fly us there, is it son?"
"Funny, Dad."
"Please don't ," Santini quipped. "Let's just get on with it, ok?"
String watched Dominic Santini saunter around the chopper and could tell from his body language that something was not right.
"What's wrong with you?" String suddenly had a thought, and it stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment. "You scared to go up with me?" he grew serious now.
It was a very real possibility.
After all, hadn't he just walked away from a very serious crash?
It would only be natural for anyone to question his skills and his readiness to get back in the right seat.
"Say it, Dad. I'll understand if you don't wanna ….."
"No, son, it's nothing like that."
"Well, something is eating at you," String sighed deeply once more.
"Well, it don't have nothing to do with your flying ability," his father assured softly. "But," he then let out a deep sigh. "I guess my conscience is troubling me. I hated lying to Helen," Santini confessed a little shamefaced now.
"Me, too." String admitted. "But, we couldn't tell her the truth now, could we? She would have had a fit!"
"With good reason," Santini grinned sheepishly then. "So what are we still standing around gassing for?"
"I'm trying to work out where the starting handle is to crank this thing up," String teased now, relieved to hear from Santini that he still trusted his flying skills. "How old is this thing, anyway?"
"About near as old as you, sonny, and a damned sight more reliable!" Santini snarled playfully. "C'mon will ya, Christmas is comin', and I ain't getting any younger."
"That's for sure."
"You, neither, sonny!"
"Ok."
"C'mon, before Elliot decides to charge us by the hour …."
"He's actually making you part with money for this crate?" String asked incredulously. "We only wanted to borrow it, not buy it! You'd better tell me how much, so I can cover it," he offered, not wanting the older man to be out of pocket because of his whims.
"It's nothing."
"Dad?"
"Beer money, is all," Santini shrugged.
"Geez, the way that guy drinks, the price of oil oughta work out about 100 dollars a barrel!" String chuckled now, knowing that the last time the two old timers had been out on a bender, Dominic Santini had been sick as a dog for a week, and vowed that he would never try to match Elliot in a drinking competition again.
Then he recalled that that had been Stringfellow Hawke's Dominic Santini, and also recalled that it had been years since this Dominic had even seen Elliot De Sousa.
"Will you just get in, and get this thing in the air!"
"You were robbed, Dad."
"Yeah, yeah. Whose fool idea is this anyway?"
"Ok, Dad, keep your shirt on."
Both men climbed into the ancient Hughes helicopter and String busied himself with familiarising himself with the controls, while Dominic Santini slipped on his seat belt and head set, and then watched with pride and satisfaction as his son went through the pre-flight checklist diligently.
Soon they were in the air, and once they had left the congestion of the city behind them, Dominic Santini began to frown, realising that something didn't feel right.
"Hey, I thought you said you knew the way!"
"I do."
"Like hell! I know I'm just an old geezer, but even if I didn't remember that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, I can still read a damned compass!"
"We're going the wrong way?" String feigned surprise, wrestling to hide a smile from the indignant older man.
"Clown! I take it you know exactly where we're going?"
"Correct."
"So?" Santini prompted. "Care to fill an old geezer in?"
"Look, Dad, I know what I said, about finding my way to the lake, but, since we're here, and we might not get another chance …. There are a couple of other things I need to check out," String told Santini somewhat sheepishly.
"What other things?" Santini demanded.
"Nothing for you to worry about," String assured, but Santini gave him a sideways look that told him all too clearly that he was not convinced. "Just some stuff …."
"Oh no, String, don't tell me you got some morbid need to see the crash site?"
"What?"
"The place in the desert, where you set down that jetliner?"
String had to admit to himself that he had not thought about that, but now that Dominic had raised the subject ….
It was another clue to check out.
Something else that would tie him to this life, indelibly.
"Oh no, son," Santini grumbled.
"Do you know where it happened, Dad?"
"No son, I don't , and believe me, I have no desire to see the place where you almost died!"
"All right, Dad," String could see the pain on Santini's face and knew that he meant it. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.
"This stuff? Would it be, Stringfellow Hawke stuff?" Santini asked now.
"Yeah." String sighed softly.
"Wanna tell me about it?"
"No." String replied succinctly.
"Oh. Ok. Gee, son, I just love it when we communicate so well," Santini grumbled, letting out a deep sigh and the sarcasm was not lost on his son.
"Look, Dad, there are a couple of things I remember, from Hawke's life, that I really need to check out. I really need to know, for sure. It might make a difference. Affect the future."
"Trouble?"
"No."
"String?"
"Hawke was involved in some pretty …. dark stuff. Covert stuff. For the government." String confided for the first time.
"You just said it! Hawke, was involved, not you," Santini reminded him softly. "Dammit boy, you still think you're him?"
"It's a loose end, Dad, and I need to check it out. For my peace of mind."
"What is it you're looking for?"
"Hawke had something that the government wanted back. I just need to be sure that I don't have it. That it isn't suddenly going to come back and haunt me."
"I don't have a clue what you are talking about, son."
"Good."
"What did he have that the government wanted so badly?"
"Well, if its where he …. Er, I …. he …. Left it, you'll soon see for yourself, and if it's not. Then it doesn't really matter."
"So where are we heading?"
"The desert. The Valley of The Gods."
"Pretty place."
"Yeah, but it's not the scenery I'm interested in."
"This guy Hawke, kind of a shady fella."
"He wasn't …. isn't ….. a bad man, Dad, and he wasn't always proud of the things that he had to do …. But, the way he saw it, he was just doing what he had to do to get what he wanted."
"And that was?"
"Information. About St John. His brother was listed as MIA. Missing in Action, Dad. For a lot of years. It wasn't so much that he couldn't face the fact that his brother was gone. Dead. But, the uncertainty. The not knowing for sure what St John's fate was. All he really wanted was answers. About what happened to St John. Was he still alive? Did the government know, and if so, what the hell were they going to do about it? You see Dad, he was totally convinced that St John was still alive. Somewhere, and, if he'd had to sell his soul to the very Devil himself to find out, for sure, he would have."
"I know how that feels. I would have done the same thing to raise the money for the operation you needed to walk again."
String turned his head briefly and gave his father an understanding look, filled with the love and the gratitude that he felt, and the older man smiled back at him.
"You like him?"
"That's like asking, if I like myself ," String frowned then. "But, yeah, some times. I guess I admire his tenacity and his loyalty and his integrity. He wasn't always happy, but, I get the impression that he wasn't miserable either. He had made choices that he knew he had to live with, and the that way they affected his life. He did the best he could, just like all of us."
"Yeah, I thought so. You like him," Dominic Santini sighed deeply then.
"I like me, Dad. Whatever my name, I like living in this skin. I like the things I have in my life right now."
"Then why are we on this wild goose chase, son?"
"Because, I need to be sure, once and for all. So that I can accept all of the blessings in my life, and get on with enjoying them," String sighed softly. "I can't help thinking that one morning I'll wake up and this will all be gone, and I'll find out that I really am Stringfellow Hawke after all, and the thing that will hurt me more than anything, will be that I didn't do enough to find out the truth, while I had the chance …. And that I didn't make the best of the opportunity. I have a wonderful family and a beautiful wife, but I can't love them like they need to be loved, like I want to love them, if I can't get over the feeling that I'm not the man they think I am. That I am a fraud. Living a lie. Living another man's life," this drew a sharp look from Dominic Santini. "I know it's irrational, but …."
"Ok, ok, I get the picture. You gotta do, what ya gotta do, son."
"Thanks, Dad. I love you."
"Yeah, yeah,"Santini grinned smugly. "How long before we get where we're going?"
"Ten minutes, maybe less. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Dad."
True to his word, a few minutes later the horizon was filled with the monolithic formations of the stone cliffs that made up The Valley of The Gods, and String pointed the helicopter in the direction of where Stringfellow Hawke would have expected to find the lair, where he had hidden Airwolf ….
Only to find that as he brought the chopper down for a landing on the rich red desert soil, there was no sign of the familiar opening to the cave.
"Something wrong?" Dominic Santini asked when he noticed the frown pulling at his son's brow.
"Stay put. I won't be a minute," String told Santini, as he slipped out of his seat belt and pulled the headset off his head, then reached out and cracked the door.
He walked with purposeful stride toward where Stringfellow Hawke would have expected to find the mouth of the cave, but he could see nothing but solid red sandstone, cracked and pitted from years of wear by the desert wind, but there was no opening.
No cave.
The structure was solid.
No cave meant, no lair.
Which. could mean only one thing.
There was no Airwolf.
"You loose something, son?" Santini shouted in his ear over the deafening noise of the chopper, as he came to a standstill beside him.
String tried to hide his disappointment with a lopsided smile, but Santini knew that something was wrong, and reached out and squeezed his son's shoulder reassuringly.
"Maybe you'll find it up at the lake after all," he suggested and String shrugged, knowing that he would not find the unique helicopter there.
She simply did not exist.
And that must surely mean that he really was Stringfellow Santini, after all.
"C'mon son, time is moving on," Santini reminded, and his son nodded gently in understanding, turning to return to the idling helicopter without a backward glance at the stone monument.
"I guess you didn't find what you were looking for down there, huh?" Santini asked, once they were airborne once more.
"No," String let out a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry, son."
"It's ok. It's helped. A little. I know for sure that that, is a false memory."
"What's a false memory?" Santini frowned.
"The thing Hawke had hidden here."
"And that was?" His father prompted now.
"Did I ever talk to you about …. Airwolf?"
"Sure ya did."
"I did?" String gaped at his father in amazement.
"Better shut your mouth son, before you choke on a fly," Santini grinned at the expression on his son's face, and then had to fight to smother a chuckle, as the younger man clamped his gaping mouth shut once more.
"And?" String prompted through gritted teeth, when Santini continued to grin at him.
"Oh, yeah. Some whacky government project you were asked to join, but before you could tell them what to do with their offer, the government pulled the money, and it went belly up," he explained, running his chin thoughtfully. "Guess that was back in the summer of 1983, and Helen had just found out that she was expecting Lucy."
"Oh."
"This Airwolf project?" Santini prompted again now, curious to know why his son had raised the subject. "What made you ask me about it now? You never did find out what your Airwolf project was about. Lots of cloak and dagger stuff that drove you crazy. Anyway, you were chief pilot with the airline by then, and you were happy with that," Santini explained and regarded his son with open curiosity.
"Hawke's Airwolf was a Mach 1 Super Helicopter."
"So what made you think you might find out something about this Airwolf here?"
"Because Hawke hid it here."
"Why?"
"He stole it."
"Nice," Santini whistled through his teeth and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"He was asked to get it back, for the government, when the man who developed it stole it, and took it to Libya."
"Wow. Back up a bit, I thought you said, Hawke, stole the chopper?" Santini frowned in confusion.
"He did, but Moffett, that's the guy who designed it, stole it first. The government asked Hawke to get it back for them, but once he did, he stole her, hid her back there, and told the government that he wouldn't give her back, until they could give him something solid on the fate of his brother, St John."
"And they let him get away with it?" Santini asked incredulously.
"Yeah." String confirmed.
"Cute."
"There would have been a lot of explaining to do, when other government agencies found out that they had been developing this weapon. So, in exchange for using the chopper to help the government out from time to time, on official business, the boss man helped Hawke to keep the chopper, and promised to try to find out what had happened to St John."
"Like I said, this Hawke fella sounds like a real shady character."
String tried hard not to smile at the dour look on his father's beloved face, as he wondered how he would react if he told him that Stringfellow Hawke's Dominic Santini had been in it with him, up to his pretty grey temples.
"What? What?" Santini demanded.
"Nothing," String grinned, then suddenly grew thoughtful for a moment.
If there had been an Airwolf project in this existence, even though it never got off the ground, maybe there was a government agency called The Firm?
And ….
String turned slightly to look at Dominic Santini now.
"Dad, did I ever mention someone called, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III?"
"Mike?" Dominic Santini sighed deeply. "I wondered …." he faltered just for a moment, and this drew a frown from his son. "I wondered if you would ever get around to asking about him," Santini added at last.
"Then I did know a man called Michael?" String asked in incredulity.
"Call sign, Archangel."
"Yeah. Archangel," String could not hide the surprise in his voice then. "How did I know him?"
"He was a rival of yours for a while. Another test pilot, older than you, lot older, and had been around a lot longer. For a long time, the two of you were chasing the same jobs. Coming up against each other. Eventually, you became friends. Real good friends. I often used to think that Mike was as important to you as St John had been."
"So where is he now?"
"He's dead, son," Santini let out a regretful sigh. "Crashed, on the test range, testing out something for NASA, in the spring of 1976. You took it hard, son. Real hard. You'd seen a lot of men die that way. I guess, Mike was just one friend too many that you lost to that way of life. I always thought it was his dying like that, that finally made you up and quit. You didn't want to end up like him. Made you realise that no matter how good you were, eventually, one day, your luck was gonna run out," He sighed again. "And you had Helen then, of course. Two of you were getting real close. Couple of months after Mike died, you and Helen tied the knot, and you signed up with the airline as a junior pilot."
String nodded in understanding, finally seeing what Helen had meant when she had told him back there in the hospital, that he had finally had enough of being an adrenalin junkie, and had then become impatient to rush her down the aisle.
"Hawke's Archangel was the boss man, on the Airwolf project. The one who he did the deal with, to hide the bird."
"It don't mean nothing, String."
"I know."
"Just names, is all."
"Yeah. I guess. But, its funny, how they just keep coming up."
"Did you call your sister yet?"
Santini changed the subject then, not liking the direction the conversation was taking, but could tell from the expression on the younger man's face that he wasn't going to like his answer.
"Why not?"
"I don't know what to say to her …."
"How about, "hi, its your brother, back from the dead, howya doin' sis?"
"I will call her, Dad …. But, just not yet."
"You won't get to remembering her if you keep putting it off. You can only make the time difference an excuse for so long, son. She's gonna start to think that you don't love her anymore."
String wanted to say that he didn't know her.
That he had no memory of her at all, and simply could not find a place to fit her into his life as Stringfellow anything.
He had no memories of having a sister, and simply did not know how to relate to her.
But, he knew that if he said all that, it would only hurt Dominic Santini more.
"Ok. Enough already, I'll call her tonight," he let out a deep sigh of exasperation and resignation.
"You make sure you do," Dominic Santini chided, then turned his head away slightly so that his son could not see the smile on his face, knowing that so long as String made the effort to pick up the phone, and call her, Skyler would be the one to do all the talking.
Talk the hind legs off of a donkey, that one! Santini continued to grin to himself.
Both men were silent for several minutes as they continued on their journey towards Eagle Lake, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence, as each man enjoyed the experience of being airborne once again, and took in the beauty of the scenery below them.
"You ready for this, son?" Dominic Santini finally broke the silence as he recognised the scenery on the horizon, heavily wooded mountainside and sunlight reflecting off distant water, and realised that they would soon arrive at their destination.
Eagle Lake.
"Yeah," String replied in a tight voice.
He had tried to prepare himself for what he must face, as best he could, but even he did not truly know how he would react, at the sight of his parents, and St John's graves.
He just knew that it was something that he had to do.
Something, that had to be faced, before he could move on.
And he had to admit, if only to himself, that he was glad that Dominic Santini was there to share it with him.
"You?"
"Yeah. Been a long time since I last set foot up here," Santini confessed. "The day we laid St John to rest," he recalled solemnly. "I always meant to come back, to take care of their graves, but …."
"It's all right, Dad," String reassured. "Its enough that they are all here, together, in the place where they were at their happiest."
Dominic Santini turned his head slowly and gave his beloved son a gentle smile.
And saw the look of surprise and horror that suddenly crossed the younger man's face, as they made their approach to the cabin across the gently rippling waters of the lake.
Santini turned his head and followed his son's gaze, and immediately saw the reason for String's shocked expression.
The wooden jetty had half rotted away and fallen into the waters of the lake, leaving only uneven rotting stumps and posts along the shoreline, and all that remained of the cabin its self was the stone chimney, which was also falling into ruin now, chunks of stone that barely resembled the once magnificent fireplace and stone chimney that had graced the Hawke's living room.
Santini realised that his son was looking upon the whole sight with the eyes of a man who had not seen it before.
He really didn't remember it being like this.
When they had come here the last time, to lay St John's body to rest, the ruins of the cabin hadn't been quite so over grown and dilapidated.
And String had still been so traumatised and in a lot of pain.
Maybe he hadn't really taken it all in.
After all, he had been on some pretty powerful drugs, for pain relief, and to help him to sleep nights, which made him woozy and disorientated a lot of the time.
Dominic Santini knew immediately that his son had somehow been expecting to either find the shell of a burned out building ….
Or the cabin, in tact, and waiting for him to step inside, and pick up the threads of the life of Stringfellow Hawke.
Not just a pile of fallen stones.
"String?"
"Yeah. I'm ok."
String drew in a deep, ragged breath then as he began to scan the shore for a place to set down the chopper. His heart was pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking as they gripped the chopper's controls.
This was most certainly not what he had been expecting to find.
He had still had the familiar picture of the cabin in his mind. Smoke curling welcomingly up from the stone fireplace and chimney. Tet, lying in wait for him, on the jetty ….
What he saw before him tore his heart in two.
A pile of tumbled down stones and not much else.
Nature encroaching, where man no longer invaded. Claiming back, in so little time, what man had labored so long to claim from her, and maintain as his own, for over a hundred years.
Weeds and wild flowers growing in abundance, where once his mother had stood to cook their meals and wash the dishes in the small kitchen nook, and in the den, where his father had labored over the family accounts, and kept his precious stamp collection.
And as he searched for a clear patch of ground to set down the chopper, String flew over the small, weed choked, fenced off cemetery plot, at the back of where the cabin had once stood, close to the tree line, where three grave markers were quite clearly visible, and his heart came up into his mouth.
"Easy, son," Dominic reached out for the controls as he felt the chopper wobble briefly as his son's hand trembled on the stick. "I've got her," he told the younger man, who slowly released the stick and took his feet off the pedals, then sat with his shaking hands in his lap, while his father set the chopper down on solid ground a few feet away from the fenced off cemetery plot.
The chopper had barely settled on the ground, and the young man was reaching out to crack open his door. Dominic Santini quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Give yourself a minute, son," he advised, taking in the pale, shocked expression on the younger man's face, but String shrugged off his hand and reached into the seat behind him to retrieve the flowers he had bought to place on the graves of his parents and his brother ….
His brother ….
St John.
Three graves.
Steven. Constance and St John Hawke.
It was really true.
String half walked and half staggered toward the graves, tripping over twisted roots and thick clumps of weeds in his haste, finally falling to his knees before the three stone markers covered in creepers and ivy and moss, and reached out with shaking fingers to trace the names carved deep into the stone.
His parents' graves were as he remembered them, although it tore at his heart to see them so unloved and overgrown.
But, it was the sight of St John's grave marker that really broke his heart, engraved with his name and the dates of his birth and his death, followed by the words 'loving son and brother'.
Leaving the chopper idling, Dominic Santini followed his son, worried for him, as the young man lurched toward the sad, overgrown little graveyard, and fell to his knees before St John's grave, reaching out with shaking hands to trace the engraved name inscribed on the stone, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down his ashen face, and the rough sobs shaking his slender body.
As he watched the scene before him, Dominic Santini felt tears prick in his own eyes, and had to swallow down hard to move the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him.
It was hard for him to watch, but he suspected that this was exactly what the young man had needed all along.
A chance to grieve properly for the brother he had lost so long ago.
The younger man had given him perfectly good reasons for wanting to come here, but his father had always suspected that there was more to it than just seeing the place one last time, and saying his final goodbyes.
Suspecting that even the young man himself did not really understand what drove him to come here.
Yet, he had been right when he had told Dominic that it was something that he needed to do.
So that he could move on, and live his life in peace.
Something, that he had had to see, for himself.
The only way that he would believe that it was true.
As he stood there, watching his son pour out his grief over his brother's grave, Dominic Santini could not help thinking that it would not do him self any harm either, to remember his old friend's Steven and Connie Hawke.
The sight of their graves had pulled at his heart too, and suddenly his mind had been filled with their familiar, smiling faces and he once again allowed himself to remember just how much he had loved them, and how much he had missed them.
And while he stood there, Dominic Santini offered up a prayer for his friends, and silently thanked them for the blessings that their untimely passing had brought into his life ….
Their three beautiful children.
Who had become his, three beautiful children.
His life.
Dominic waited until the storm of tears had passed, and then walked slowly and carefully to where String still knelt before his brother's grave, and laid a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
This automatically drew the younger man's gaze up to his father's face, and the expression that Dominic found on the younger man's face, almost broke his heart.
It told him in no uncertain terms, that this was the first time that the younger man had actually contemplated that his beloved older brother was really dead.
Really gone.
Forever.
And now he was confronted with irrefutable proof.
Poor kid. Santini thought silently to himself.
He could deny it no longer, and his grief was as fresh and powerful and overwhelming as it had been when he had first discovered that St John had been killed.
"Oh, son," Dominic Santini awkwardly lowered himself down on to his knees and pulled the younger man into his arms.
String did not resist, grateful for the strength of the older man's arms around his body. as he sank his face into his father's shoulder and gave in to the grief once more.
Dominic held onto the younger man and waited out the second storm of tears, until at last, String raised his head from his father's shoulder, and drew slightly away.
With shaking fingers, Dominic Santini reached out and wiped the tears from his son's cool, pale cheek, and then cupped his chin affectionately.
"Better?" he asked simply.
"Better." String nodded gently, then drew in a deep, ragged breath and expelled it slowly, before reaching out and giving Dominic Santini's shoulder a rough squeeze. "Thanks Dad. I'm …. I'm …." he faltered then as fresh tears sprang into his deep blue eyes.
"It's ok, son. Its way past time that you accepted that he is gone."
String nodded silently, unable to speak.
"We all know how close the two of you were, even before you went off to fight in the war together. We all know how much you loved him, would have died for him. Hell, you almost died with him …. And …. All these years, we all thought that you'd gotten over it. I'm sorry, son, sorry we didn't see just how much pain you were still in."
String knew what his father was saying, that Dominic Santini had somehow reached the conclusion that despite accepting in his mind that his brother was dead, his heart had never acknowledged it, and that he had somehow harboured a secret hope that one day ….
One day he would return from the dead.
But, String knew that that was not so.
He had been clinging to Stringfellow Hawke's belief that St John was still alive.
Not Stringfellow Santini's inexpressible grief that his brother was dead.
He had been clinging to the faint belief that he really was Stringfellow Hawke after all, despite all the evidence to the contrary that he had seen with his own eyes over the past few weeks.
Because, Stringfellow Santini's life was all that he had ever desired for himself.
He liked it.
He wanted it.
Too much.
And it just seemed too damned good to be true.
If he began to allow himself to believe it, and it turned out not to be real ….
He did not think that he would be able to face the disappointment and the emptiness, and, he couldn't allow himself to believe it, because he could not get over the feeling that he simply did not deserve all these precious things.
Stringfellow Santini probably did.
But, Stringfellow Hawke most definitely did not.
And until he knew for sure which Stringfellow he really was ….
But, finally seeing St John's grave, seeing his name carved there, the date ….
Which, was also carved into Stringfellow Hawke's heart ….
The last day that he had seen his beloved brother alive in that steaming, godforsaken jungle, in 1969 ….
Finally seeing the grave, overgrown and untended all these years, close to their parent's graves, he had finally had to accept that St John was really gone, and that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini, not Stringfellow Hawke.
It was, after all, what he had come here for.
To finally find the evidence that would put all doubts out of his mind, permanently.
Maybe now he would be able to move on.
To heal.
To accept all the blessings and bounties that made up his life.
And enjoy them as he was meant to.
Now he finally knew who he really was.
Could finally accept all the love and joy and happiness, that were his by right.
Because, he really was Stringfellow Santini.
Dominic's son.
Helen's husband.
Father to four beautiful children.
And brother to Skyler.
String let out a hearty sigh and a smile began to form on his lips.
"I love you, Dad."
"Love you too, son," Dominic Santini patted the younger man's cheek affectionately once more.
"It's all going to be all right now, Dad. Really," String assured, and Santini tilted his head slightly to regard his son's face more closely, surprised to find a look of peace settling on his familiar, chiselled features.
"Yeah."
"I know who I am now, and what I have to do," at this, Santini arched an eyebrow in enquiry. "I'm Stringfellow Santini. I know it for sure now. And, I have a lovely wife and a family to love and take care of," String's smile grew wider then. "And, a cantankerous old Dad, to fuss over."
"Hey, less of the old," Santini chided with a smile. "Welcome back, son," Santini's voice cracked now.
"Let's go home, Dad."
"Yeah. Let's go home."
String helped his father to his feet and then retrieved the small bunch of brightly coloured flowers that he had brought, and which had fallen to the ground when he had fallen to his knees before St John's grave, and separating the blooms out carefully, he placed a spray of flowers on top of each grave, and silently said goodbye to the parents he had lost so early in life, and the brother he had lost to a war that was long over.
And then, with a gentle smile, he slipped his arms around Dominic Santini's waist and together they walked back to the idling helicopter, without a backward glance, for now Stringfellow Santini was sure that there was only one direction his life needed to take.
One direction, in which for him to look for happiness, and contentment and peace.
Straight ahead
To the future.
For he had finally put the past behind him, where it belonged.
"Did she go off at last?" Stringfellow Santini asked sleepily, as he welcomed his loving wife, Helen, back into their bed and into his arms, and waited for her to snuggle up close to him.
She had been attending to their very demanding new daughter, and while she had changed the baby's diaper and then rocked her gently in her arms, as she nestled against her breast, he had briefly gotten up to check on the other children, gazing down at them in silent awe as they slept peacefully.
Still hardly able to believe that he, was responsible for their existence.
Before returning to their bed, to await Helen's return.
"Sleeping like a baby," Helen mumbled against his ribs as she relaxed and snuggled in even closer, seeking the comforting warmth of his body.
"At last."
"Get used to it love. We have quite a few years of broken nights ahead of us yet," Helen warned sleepily, but he felt the smile that curved at her lips. "Love you," she pressed soft, warm lips to his chest then and let out a soft, contented little sigh.
"Love you too," String reached down and gently stroked her soft hair, and she mumbled sleepily against his ribs, making him smile broadly in the darkness.
Marvelling at how quickly he had come to accept the gesture of love and intimacy from her.
Accept it, and expect it.
He was such a lucky man.
To have this woman, as his wife.
And he was sure now, that she was his wife.
No more doubts.
No more uncertainties.
No need to feel guilty any more for having such deep feelings of love and affection for her.
Such a desire, for her, as a woman.
Such a desperate need, for her.
To feel her close to him, locked in his arms, her hot, passion flushed flesh pressed hard against his own.
He could give into these feelings now.
He could accept her advances.
And he could show her his true feelings for her in return.
She was his wife.
Not another man's, as he had secretly feared.
He could accept it now.
Along with all the love she offered to him so freely, and unconditionally.
And the warmth of her body, and her embrace.
Helen Santini had noticed the change in her husband immediately.
Had seen the peace in his beautiful blue eyes, and something else too.
The love, for her, that she remembered so well, and had missed seeing there all these weeks.
And she had known that something momentous had happened to him, while he and Dominic had been out that morning, and had waited patiently for him to tell her, in his own good time.
She knew him well enough to know that he would finally open up to her.
When, he had found the right words.
But it didn't matter, because Helen thought that she knew.
Understood.
Whatever it was that had happened, had helped him to accept that he was the man they all loved, and that he had every right to all the love and happiness given to him freely, by those people around him.
Her husband had finally come home.
The man that she loved more than life, was finally back.
After dinner, when the kids were finally settled and the house was quiet at last, they had snuggled up together on the deck, watching the moonlight dancing on the constantly moving ocean beyond their back yard, and String had told her everything.
And she had held on to him, stroking his hair, caressing his face as he talked, wiping away the few errant tears that slipped from between his lashes and down his rough cheeks, as he told her of his shock at seeing his brother's grave.
Helen had held him tightly in her arms, rocking him gently as he poured out all the fears and doubts that had kept him from accepting that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini, and then, when he was calm and at peace in her arms, she had drawn him close for a long, deep kiss ….
And, at last, they had made love. Slowly, gently, passionately and deeply with reverence and love, and hunger and need.
And it had felt so right.
So beautiful.
And now, as Helen drifted off to sleep in his arms at last, Stringfellow Santini experienced a feeling of completeness and homecoming and belonging settle over him, and he knew that he was finally at peace with who he was.
