Chapter Thirteen: The Boys Are Back In Town
As consciousness returned Amy realized how ill and embarrassed she felt. It was obvious her body had been placed on one of the hotel lobby's couches for her long legs dangled over the arm rest and her head had been placed on a too-comfortable, lush pillow.
The hotel's manager was frantic – he paced in front of Amy's blurred vision muttering whether he should call an ambulance. Lydia, the only calm individual, notified the curious crowd: "Please everyone. Just take a step back. Everything will be fine… no, an ambulance will not be necessary at the moment."
Someone noticed Amy had returned from her weak slumber – the crowd closed in again and Amy heard Lydia shout at the people: "People please! Take several steps back! We don't want to overwhelm her." Amy felt her secretary's hands enclose on hers. "Amy? Are you okay? How's your head?"
The white blur ceased and Amy clearly stared around at the hotel – at least ten of its guests surrounded her with the entire staff as an audience as well.
As her eyes came to focus, the young woman realized that most of the people in the hotel were still intently listening to the news of the possible Saints murder.
"I'm fine," Amy mumbled as her eyes caught the television screen. An old sketch of the three Saints – made from the Yakavetta shooting – had been revealed on the upper right hand corner of the news channel.
Lydia rubbed Amy's arm slowly. Amy looked up to find Lydia giving her a glass of water that a hotel waiter had given to her.
The cold liquid hit Amy's mouth hard and she struggled to keep from spitting out of the corners of her mouth. She placed a tired hand over her face and Amy shook her head. She slowly tried to sit up on the couch and touched her head.
It hurt.
"She could have a concussion ya know!" a woman from the group yelled.
Lydia rolled her eyes and stared at Amy. "How are you? You didn't hit the floor too hard – a man caught you by the waist as you went down. Would you like for me to call a paramedic for you? Or would you rather go to the hospital? Or-"
"Third option," Amy laughed. "We leave me the hell alone." She grinned at the crowd and waved her hand at them. "I'm fine, guys. Please. Go one with your day. I'm fine."
Slowly, and with Lydia's assistance, Amy got up from the couch and ignored the confused glances of the people around her.
"She must really have a thing against the Saints…" a man whispered to his wife – loud enough for Amy to hear and stare at the couple.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
Lydia handed Amy a small glass of ice water. Resting comfortably in her suite's bed, Amy rolled up the sleeves of her blue sweater and accepted the glass. She drank slowly and rubbed her temple. Amy had the tiniest bump on her head and a hotel guest, who had luckily been a nurse, had caught up with Amy and Lydia before they had made it to the elevator on their way up. "No concussion," the nurse had declared, "but get some rest. Drink a lot of water."
The worried woman – Lydia – sat down on the edge of Amy's bed. "Are you sure you're alright?" she shook her head. "I hope you're not stressing out too much-"
"I'm not," Amy said quickly in defense. "It's not stress. I'm just.." She froze on her words. I'm just concerned that two men – two men I love very much – are back in town. Why would I be concerned? It's because they are Boston's infamous "Saints" and they like to kill bad guys… "I'm just tired. I was up late. And I should probably stop drinking booze at night before bed." Amy smiled reassuringly at Lydia. "Don't be alarmed. I'm fine. Promise."
Lydia wrinkled her nose. "I know the last thing you want me to do is to contact Ansell about this… but I'm worried. You may not be stressing but maybe right now you're not at the healthiest-"
"Lydia," Amy snapped. She sat up further in bed and glared down at the small woman. "I'm fine. No need to call Ansell. Now. Take note."
Before Lydia could protest any further, she grabbed her organizer from the edge of the bed. Clicking the top of her pen, Lydia readied herself to write.
Amy: "We've done well with Boston University. They're on board. We should visit on the weekend to settle a few things properly. Now… Thompson & Falcon are still hesitant. I have a lunch meeting with George Thompson Friday afternoon. That evening I'm meeting with the board. That will basically be my final chance at winning them over. For the time being we need to figure out the right angle to get T&F to trust us." She bit her lip. "They don't like that we're from the big city. We have to assure them this isn't a hostile takeover – we just want to merge to do good things." Amy smiled. "Got it?"
Nodding slowly and writing quickly, Lydia looked back up at Amy. "I'll go ahead and prepare all final papers just in case. I'll even research T&F further to see if we can dig a little deeper into their stomachs."
"Good girl," Amy winked. "Get me papers, research, all necessary documents, and this week shouldn't be too bad. We'll be home soon."
Lydia sighed. "It's only been like a week…" She shook her head sadly. "I miss my husband."
Amy pursed her lips. "Listen: no need to take care of me. And take an hour or so off to relax. Go call your husband. 'Kay?"
A wide smile crossed Lydia's face. She nodded thankfully and stood up. "Are you sure? I can stay and tend to you?"
"You're my secretary, not my doctor," Amy grinned. "Take care of hubby first, and then take care of my business. I'll call if I need anything else."
"Gotcha. Thanks boss," Lydia playfully saluted before exiting Amy's bedroom.
Amy shook her head as she watched her secretary leave.
There was a moment when Amy wondered if she should order room service. It was getting closer to evening-time and Amy needed to eat dinner. She hadn't eaten since before noon and her fainting spell required her to regain some lost energy.
Although she knew she had to eat, Amy found she had no appetite.
Are they back? She wondered fearfully. Killing again? But it's not like them… they kill bad guys. The priest? A bad guy?
It's not them.
It IS them!
It couldn't be… they kill bad men…
Maybe the priest did something bad.
Maybe.
Or maybe the priest was a good guy – and they're just getting their jollies killing ALL types of people-
Amy shook her head. She hated not knowing.
She hated not knowing where she stood.
For years Amy had kept up-to-date on the public's opinion of the Saints. The city of Boston was practically torn in half on whether the Saints were doing a good deed or if they were vengeful vigilantes taking the law into their own hands.
Online blogs and newspaper sites, where the public could comment, had been Amy's favorite sources of information. So many people vouched that the Saints were good men while others argued that they were merely searching for fame and glory.
Amy had never decided if they were doing the right or wrong thing. Regardless, Amy thought, it's illegal. It may not be morally wrong… but they just can't do this… I mean… think of the effect it will have on young people. If video games can cause kids to behave violently – then this sort of act of vigilantism can lead to a lot of chaos…
Is it morally right?...
Amy hated it all. She hated not knowing their true motive. She hated not understand how they involved themselves with all of this. She hated that – even as a third party objective – she couldn't make up her mind whether she was for or against the Saints.
She wondered whether she should call Doc…
Would he know? Would he know… anything?
Amy wondered what Doc thought about the Saints. Duh, he's all for them… he still loves them…
Do I?
She couldn't bear the thought of them… not even their names, their looks…
Amy, for a brief moment, thought she could smell cigarettes and alcohol…
Stop it Amy, she argued with herself. You can't think about them. You have to focus on work. Just stop it. They're gone. Just ghosts. Even IF they were back…
They'd want nothing to do with me.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
Everything was black and white…
Amy stood alone in McGinty's. She looked around and realized she was wearing her green prom dress.
The bar appeared empty. Amy called out: "Hello?"
She heard a noise behind her. Amy whirled with the train of the dress wrapping around her ankles.
Rocco.
He stood behind the bar with his hands placed firmly on the wooden counter.
She took small steps toward him. Amy's mouth parted in surprise and she felt tears burn her eyes…
"Rocco…" Amy's small voice asked.
The man before her, clad in his usual trench coat and glasses, smiled. He shrugged, causing his thick, black hair to sway, and laughed, "Must be me."
Amy placed her hands on the bar's counter. Rocco reached over and touched his fingertips to hers. As Amy struggled to understand what was happening, her old friend lifted her hands and kissed them.
"You're looking good, kid," Rocco grinned cockily.
She rolled her eyes. Amy held her hands out. "This isn't me."
"Looks like you."
"I guess." Amy shook her head in confusion. "I'm dreaming."
"Obviously."
"Because… you're dead."
Rocco pursed his lips. "Shit, huh?" He released a large laugh that filled the whole room. "You always were the smart one."
Amy stared tearfully at the dead man. "I miss you." She stared seriously at Rocco. "Every day."
"You've been doin' alright without me," Rocco noted. "What brought me here?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're dreaming about me, sweetheart, now…" Rocco leaned over the bar secretively. "Whatcha been thinkin'? Something dirty?"
Amy laughed. "No. Nothing dirty." Rocco nodded his head at her. She tilted her head to the side and said, "I guess… with the murder… I've thought about you and… and them…"
"Ah yeah. Them." Rocco ran a hand through his hair. "You know it wasn't them, kiddo."
"Do I?"
"Duh," Rocco blurted out. "The boys wouldn't do that. You know it."
"I don't think I know much about what they do."
"You'll find out," Rocco smiled slowly, "eventually."
"What?"
"I'm jus' sayin' kid," Rocco replied gently, "just prepare yourself. Be open-minded. Be you."
"I don't know what you mean," Amy asked sadly. She felt lighter suddenly. Her body was slowly drifting away from the counter…
"I'll be back again darlin', don't be sad," Rocco called out.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
A gasp escaped her mouth as Amy shot up in bed. Her hair was wild around her face – the sweat dripping down her forehead and neck caused Amy's hair to stick all over.
She felt tears on her face. Amy looked down at her fingertips to eye the curious water droplets.
She hadn't cried in years. Amy shook her head angrily. Her hand went to her chest… Amy found her heart was beating faster…
The sobs were fighting their way through – but Amy kept them on lockdown. She wouldn't allow herself to cry again.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
"Are the Saints back?"… "Investigations have taken place – the FBI are back-"… "It's been eight years since the Yakavetta shooting…"… "They've been responsible for over twenty deaths-"…
Amy bypassed the hotel bar on her way to the gym. Guests of the hotel were scattered everywhere to view different TVs and channels. The news was filled with curiosity regarding whether the Saints were responsible for the death of the priest.
She ignored the final TV screen as she entered the gym. Luckily Amy found she was the gym's only occupant; the TVs in the gym were off too.
Finding a treadmill Amy began a ferocious run. Her face was turning red and she could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Her yellow T-shirt was soaking through and Amy became increasingly aware of how uncomfortable her tight running shorts were.
But nothing mattered. She ran as fast as she could; Amy continued to increase the speed and to use settings for difficult workouts.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
Lydia, with her hair pulled back and dressed in jeans and pink T-shirt, entered the gym. She clutched her organizer by her side and watched Amy running intensely on the treadmill.
"Good morning, boss," Lydia called over the noises of the machine.
Amy slowed the speed of the treadmill. Walking at a slow pace, Amy waved her hand and said, "Happy Tuesday."
Her forehead wrinkled as Lydia stared cautiously at Amy. "Should you really be running, Amy?" Lydia asked softly. "You fainted yesterday. You should take it easy."
"I'm fine Lydia," Amy promised. She stopped the treadmill and hopped off. Amy raised her arms in the air and stretched. "I just need to lay off the late-night booze and remember to eat all three meals in the day." She laughed. "So what's on the agenda?"
Lydia: "Well I'm going to head over to BU to have them sign a few papers. I'm bringing along your letter of thanks, too. Then I have to make a few calls and settle some arrangements and meetings coming up in the next several months. Got an email from Roderick last night saying we got a few more accounts to settle now…"
Amy: "So it's just Thompson & Falcon we're worried about now, right?"
Lydia: "Yup. If you could give me some future dates that you would like to go ahead and save as non-work days I can-"
Amy: "'Haven't gone on vacation in years. I don't have anything important coming up. Just schedule my year for me."
Lydia eyed the ring on Amy's right hand. She half-smiled and asked, "Are you sure? I mean… if there's an important date…like a very important day… that you would like to have saved-off…"
Amy cocked her head and laughed. She winked at her secretary wryly and Amy said, "Just make the necessary arrangements."
Lydia bowed playfully. "And what will you be doing today?"
Amy and Lydia began to walk out of the gym together. Wiping away the sweat from her face on her T-shirt's sleeve, Amy said, "I have some final drafts of papers to overlook. Send a few e-mails. Make a lot of calls. And tonight I'm going out."
"Where?"
"A bar. To visit an old friend."
"Sounds like fun."
"I highly doubt it will be."
"Why do you say that?"
"The main topic of discussion will be… unpleasant… for me."
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
She stood in front of the vanity half-naked. Amy stared at her reflection blankly: she wore black hot pants and matching black bra. In one hand was a pair of jeans while a pair of gray slacks rested in the other. Casual or business? Amy thought.
Her hair was wet from the recent shower and the wet strands dangled against her face.
Amy thought about her dream from the previous night: the green prom dress…
She had worn the same dress to senior prom. Eric Beacon had been Amy's prom date – as promised – despite the fact that they had broken up before then.
It had been eight years since she had worn that dress. Amy couldn't remember what had happened to it. To dream about it made Amy feel uneasy.
And Rocco…
Amy felt a great weight on her chest and she realized her body was reacting emotionally and physically to the thought of her dead friend.
I miss them… I hate them… I hate what they've done… I hate that they're gone…
"Damn them," Amy said aloud. Her own voice scared her.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
It was close to one in the morning when Amy stared at the small round clock on the center table. She relaxed in the hotel suite's couch with an empty glass beside her.
She felt cold and warm at the same time. Her body ached for bed but her mind would never let her sleep.
Amy wanted to get out. She wanted to go to McGinty's and confront Doc about everything.
I want to tell you how much I hated you… about how angry I was that you didn't let me come back to Boston… that you shut me out of everything… that you didn't tell me about Rocco's death until it was too late to come to a service…
Amy thought of them…
And you… I loved you both. So much. You were more than just friends to me. You were my soul mates.
You were my best friend…
And you… you were the man I loved…
And I hated you both for leaving. I hated you for…well, doing what you do…
In gray slacks, maroon heels, and a long-sleeve, black shirt, Amy grabbed her dark red leather jacket from the closet by the suite door.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
She had walked to the bar on foot. Before she could see the sign, Amy muttered to herself in drunken rants and stomped on the sidewalk harder each time.
Her wavy hair blew against the icy wind but Amy couldn't feel the temperature outside.
Amy's hands were shoved into her pockets, not to keep them warm, but to keep her balled-up fists in place.
The rage in her was all alcohol – Amy knew this, deep down, but she couldn't fight the urge to tell Doc off.
I know I'm a bit drunk… but I have to tell Doc everything. About all the horrible things I've felt – and all the things I believe he did wrongly to me…
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
She entered McGinty's.
Amy was surprised to find the door was locked but hadn't been closed all the way…
She suddenly became fearful.
The drunken rage faded and Amy was careful not to make any noise. Did someone break in?
Amy noticed that people were definitely in the bar – but they were upstairs.
She heard heavy footsteps above and music playing from the record player.
Doc okay? Amy wondered.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
Amy kept her back to the wall as she carefully went up the steps to the apartment.
Her heals were quiet against the wood and Amy bit her lip with each careful step.
The noise got louder as she got up and she heard shouting and laughing.
But soon the noise subsided and Amy could barely hear anything…
Did they hear me? Amy thought.
She was close to the top step and to the apartment door…
As Amy heard a voice start to speak again, she pressed her lips together and finished her last step loudly.
The voice was suddenly familiar…
"Would someone please get over here and-"
Doc: "FUCK!"
Voice: "-me up tha-"
Doc: "ASS!"
The heavy weight on her chest returned.
Amy swung the door open – she heard the sound of the door hitting the adjacent wall first and her eyes went immediately to Doc who was staring at her with a terrified glance.
Her eyes took in the whole picture at once: Doc standing by the pool table, an unfamiliar Hispanic with his eyes wide and mouth dropping at the sight of Amy…
And Connor. He was standing on the opposite side of the pool table with his hands pressed on the edge.
And Murphy. He was lying on the floor with his legs propped up on the pool table.
The twins had a similar expression: surprise mixed with shock, horror, and excitement.
"Amy?" Connor asked.
Murphy scrambled to stand on his feet.
"Who's the chick?" the Hispanic asked.
"Oh, Amy…" Doc muttered.
Amy's hands were glued to her sides and her eyes were wide. Her mouth parted gently and her chest appeared motionless – as if her heart had stopped beating.
Connor and Murphy approached Amy side by side.
The two eyed her carefully and Connor began to smile.
"Amy, my love, you look…" Connor said in disbelief. His eyes looked wet with tears.
Murphy looked at Amy with a grin and nodded. "Good to see you, Amy…"
Connor narrowed his eyes at Amy. She had remained still and quiet the whole time. He waved his hand in front of her face and Amy took a step back.
They were four feet away from each other and Murphy and Connor moved as if they wanted to hold her.
Amy took another step back.
"You're…" she began slowly.
"Amy, you alright?" Connor asked gently. All the man could think about was taking Amy into his arms… but she looked so fragile and afraid that Connor didn't dare touch her yet.
"You're…" Amy started again quietly.
Murphy took a step closer to Amy. His blue eyes met her brown ones. He noticed that her eyes were a difficult color. He shook his head and stared seriously at the woman again. "You alright, love?"
Amy snapped out of her catatonic state suddenly. She shook her head angrily and turned her glare from Connor to Murphy.
"You're…old," Amy snapped with a hint of disgust in her voice.
Before Connor and Murphy could laugh or say anything-
Amy fainted to the floor.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.
Author's Note: Hope you guys liked it! And I hope I didn't rush things – but I was excited to get the boys back. I will try and update ASAP! Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!