Sorry for the delay - a busy time at work and mild writer's block. I'm aiming to get back to posting once a week.
Not my favourite chapter, I have to admit. But sometimes you just need to move the story forward!
Robert came down the next morning as Robin, Patrick, and Emma were having their breakfast. Patrick's eye had turned a deep shade of blue/black. Anna's fist had landed accurately and effectively.
"Robert," Patrick said and nodded greeting. "Coffee's on in the kitchen. Help yourself."
"How's Mom, Dad?" Robin asked, anxious.
"Fine," Robert responded, and tried to smile reassuringly. "Embarrassed. She didn't want to come down. Maybe you could go up later . . . ?"
Robin put down her own coffee and stood. She squeezed Robert's arm as she passed him on the way upstairs.
Robert went into the kitchen, poured himself coffee, came back out, and sat down opposite Patrick. He tried to think how to break the ice. "So," he began, "what's your story going to be? To explain the shiner?"
Patrick put down his piece of toast. "Not sure yet. A bar room brawl? A mugging? Considering the family I married into, a foiled world domination attempt?"
"You could always stick to the tried-and-true 'I walked into a door.'"
Patrick shook his head. "Then they'll all think I'm the victim of spousal abuse. No, I need a story that's really fantastic. It'll be more believable."
Robert sipped his coffee. "She's really sorry, you know. She didn't have any idea what she was doing."
Patrick sighed. "I know. But she still packed a wallop. She's so petite, you'd never suspect the power behind those fists."
Robert smiled. "Believe me, I know. She hauled off and slugged me once. I flew across the room. Mind you, I was staggering drunk. Anyway, I'm lucky I didn't lose a couple of teeth."
Patrick smiled back. "Did you deserve it?"
Robert put down his coffee cup. "To be honest, I barely remember the incident. As I mentioned, alcohol was involved. The one thing I can say for certain is that I deserved what I got, and much worse. It was not my proudest moment." Robert vaguely remembered publicly accusing Anna of cheating on him with Faison. He remembered better the shock of her blow.
Patrick brought Robert back from the past to the present. "Do you think," he asked, "that she was dreaming about you when she clocked me?"
Robert shook his head. "No. If she'd been dreaming about me, she would have hit a lot harder. And a lot lower."
Robin knocked on the guest room door. A small voice answered. "Come in."
Robin opened the door, smiled at her mother who was seated on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. "Robin," Anna half sobbed and then caught her breath, controlled her emotion. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened last night. Please forgive me."
Robin shut the door behind her and walked over to sit beside her mother on the bed. She took Anna's hands. "Mom, it's okay. Don't be sorry. Patrick and I are just worried about you. What's the matter? What were you dreaming last night? You were frantic. Can you remember?"
Anna shook her head. She didn't want Robin to worry, or to think that she might be the source of Anna's anxieties. "It was just a nightmare. I don't remember what it was about. And it doesn't matter. I have no excuse for how I acted. Please apologize to Patrick for me." Anna hesitated. "Robert told me I gave him a black eye."
Robin leaned into her mother affectionately. "Don't worry about Patrick. He's a big boy. I think more than anything he's just astounded at how strong you are. His eye may be black, but what's mainly bruised is his macho pride. And I think that kind of injury is rarely fatal."
Anna gave a small smile. "A repeatedly bruised machismo never killed your father."
Robin laughed. "You see? If it would have killed anyone, it would be Dad. So Patrick will be fine."
Fifteen minutes later, Robert appeared with a breakfast tray for Anna. Robin looked at her watch.
"Oh – I've got to go get Emma ready for school. Mom, Patrick will be leaving for work shortly. If you want to avoid him for now, just wait twenty minutes and then you can have run of the house. I'll be leaving around the same time, and after I drop off Emma I have an appointment with the hospital psychologist. One more step to getting reinstated at GH." Robin leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. Then she looked at her father. "You take care of her."
Robert smiled. "No problem. Don't worry. Now you just go pretend to be normal and get your job back."
Robin rolled her eyes and left the room.
Robert set the breakfast tray down on the bed. "Eat and drink up. It'll make you feel better."
At that moment, Anna's phone rang. She made a move to get it; Robert blocked her, reached the phone first. He answered, grimaced.
"Baldwin. Commissioner Devane isn't feeling well at the moment, I'm afraid." A pause. "She had almost no sleep last night." Another pause. "I don't know, maybe food poisoning. Anyway, she'll be in later. When you see her, you'll know I'm telling the truth. She looks like hell."
Anna frowned at Robert, took a tentative bite of toast.
"Yeah. Well, she'll be expecting you then. Sure. Goodbye." Robert ended the call and looked hard at Anna.
"What?" she asked.
"Baldwin will be coming to see you this afternoon. Three o'clock. He'll want an update."
Anna threw her toast to the plate and slumped.
"And I'd like us to have a serious conversation right now." Robert sat down onto the bed next to her. "Are you going to be honest with me about these dreams? What are they about, Anna? Why do they upset you so much? And are they getting worse?"
Anna looked back at Robert. "Are you going to be honest with me about your appointment last night? Who did you meet, Robert? Did it have something to do with the Thompson case? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Robert stared at Anna. "I met Elizabeth Beaty. She said she had information for me but it turned out to be nothing. Not a big deal."
"You need to watch her," Anna told him. "That woman is dangerous."
"I'm not unaware of the fact. But now it's your turn. I don't believe that you don't remember your dreams, Anna. What are they about? Why won't you tell me?"
Anna stared at Robert. "Last night I dreamt that someone took Robin away. I was fighting to get her back. I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me why I might have dreamt that my daughter was being taken from me."
For a moment they looked at each other, neither fully believing what the other had said. Then Anna looked down, picked up her coffee, and sipped, avoiding Robert's eyes.
After dropping Anna off at the station, Robert spent the morning pretending to read a newspaper in the lobby of the Metro Court Hotel. At 11:00, Elizabeth emerged from the elevator, a picture of easy elegance, relaxed openness, and ready awareness: all studied, all imitated, all false. She flashed one of the bellboys a heart-stopping smile – Anna's smile, generous, genuine. The young bellboy smiled back, half-bowed and half-tripped over himself as he passed her. What was he responding to, Robert wondered: Elizabeth's almost unnatural beauty or Anna's kind and inviting manner? The two in combination, likely. A deadly combination, Robert thought.
And this made him remember something Stephen had said months earlier: that Carolyn Thompson had been an incredibly kind and generous person, that she'd had an amazing ability to connect with other people. That everyone loved her. Robert thought of Anna, although not so much the woman she was today, slightly brittle, much more guarded, but still compassionate and caring. He thought more of the Anna he'd been drawn to again after their estrangement. Despite, or because, of her accident and Robert's abandonment, she'd become very loving, almost desperate for human connection, and refused to judge others for their mistakes, forgiving to a fault. Everyone she'd met in Port Charles, even those who'd wanted desperately to hate her, had come to love her, had become fiercely loyal to her. Robert himself had been at the top of that list.
Robert wondered if Elizabeth had ever patterned herself on Carolyn. He made a mental note to phone Stephen after he searched Elizabeth's penthouse suite. He stood and headed for the elevator.
There was a tap at Anna's office door. "Come in," she called.
A smartly dressed woman of about thirty-five stepped into the office. Her black hair was cut in a chin-length bob; her glasses were dark rimmed, angular and bold. Bright red lipstick competed with her eyeglasses for attention. "Commissioner Devane. Rubin told me you wanted to see me. If it's about the Peters case, I haven't had a chance to interview the young man yet. I can't really say what his state of mind was on the night in question. I'm having difficulty persuading his parents that a psychiatric assessment could actually benefit his defense."
Anna stood, shook her head. "No, Dr. McLean. This isn't about the Peters case. Please come in and sit down."
Anna waited for the doctor to take a seat and then sat down again herself. "Actually, I'm hoping you can give me a bit of advice off the record. I hope you don't mind."
Dr. McLean pushed her glasses up further on the bridge of her nose and smiled. "I'm happy to be of assistance if I can. What do you need advice about?"
Anna sat back in her chair. "Do you have any experience with memory loss due to brain injury?"
Dr. McLean sat up straighter. "I'm afraid I deal more with mental illness and psychiatric problems, some caused by identifiable organic disease but most just caused by chronic and acute psychological trauma. I know a bit about brain injury, but it really isn't my specialty. Why do you ask?"
Anna was silent for a moment. Then she added cautiously, "Off the record and between the two of us?"
Dr. McLean looked surprised and nodded her head. "Of course."
Anna crossed her arms. "How much do you know about my past, Dr. McLean? I assume you've heard whispers around the water cooler. Are you aware that I suffered a significant brain injury over twenty years ago?"
Dr. McLean hesitated and then nodded again. "I've heard something about your past, Commissioner. And I'm sure you understand, given the type of work I do, I found it very interesting. But those whispers, I have to say, were ridiculously fantastic. I promise you, I didn't believe everything I was told."
Anna pursed her lips. Her left shoulder tensed; she stretched it down and back. "I'm afraid the truth about my past is ridiculously fantastic. I sometimes have trouble believing it myself. Because, you see, I don't remember much from immediately before or after my accident. For years I experienced total memory loss – I didn't remember who I was, where I was from, my family members, my friends. I couldn't remember my husband or my child."
Dr. McLean sat forward in her chair. "Your initial memory loss could have been due to injury. But the extended loss seems more of a block to me: you didn't want to remember your husband, your child. The memory loss was protective in some way."
Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes, well, I'd watched my husband die, or so I thought, and blamed myself for his death, I'm sure. When I finally remembered him, years later, I suffered terribly. I don't know why I blocked the memory of my daughter, though. She was – is – very much alive."
Dr. McLean shook her head. "Perhaps some related trauma. Or perhaps a belief that you caused her harm in some way, or could cause her harm. That she was better off without you."
Anna looked away from the doctor, down into the corner of the room. "Most of my memories returned years ago, when I was reunited with her. The thing is, since that time, I've had flashes of what I think might be additional memories, of the months before my accident, and maybe of the months after. But right now they're just images, feelings. They might be fantasies – or nightmares. I don't know how to categorize them. And I'm not even sure it's possible that I could be recovering memories after all of these years."
Dr. McLean was obviously fascinated. She pushed her glasses up again; the frames were too large for her face. "It is possible, certainly. Especially if the memories are particularly distressing. You described the images as nightmares. What exactly are you seeing, Commissioner?"
Anna met the doctor's gaze, shook her head. "I can't tell you that. I don't feel able to say."
Dr. McLean uncrossed her legs and leaned even further forward. "Can you point to particular events that might have triggered these memories? What happened right before you began 'remembering'?"
Anna bit her lip, then cleared her throat. "I found out my husband was alive and was reunited with him, briefly. And more recently I resumed a relationship with my – with him."
Dr. McLean was thoughtful. "And these possible memories relate to him in some way? To your relationship?"
Anna nodded. "Yes. Or they could be figments of my imagination. Phantasms. The vapours of an injured mind. I don't trust what I'm seeing, Siobhain. Not at all."
McLean considered. Then she asked, "Do you want to remember, Anna? Or do you want to forget again? You're obviously distressed."
Anna gripped the armrests of her chair. "What I want is irrelevant. I need to deal with what's inside my head. Is there any way finally to resolve whether I'm remembering or fabricating?"
Siobhain McLean leaned back in her chair. "In the past, hypnosis was thought to be helpful in cases like this . . ."
Anna shook her head. "No. No hypnosis. Absolutely not." Cesar Faison had been a master hypnotist. Anna didn't know what might emerge if she was put under again.
Siobhain smiled. "You didn't let me finish. Today, memory recovery techniques like hypnosis are considered highly suspect. 'Memories' recalled under hypnosis might in fact be something else: wishes, fears, implanted suggestions from the psychotherapist. So no, no hypnosis. Absolutely not."
Anna nodded, looked relieved.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you any medication or any particular technique to recall your lost memories or to distinguish memory from fiction. You could try therapy to help remove the block. I'd be happy to try to help you. But if you feel uncomfortable sharing with me the content of your 'memories,' you could try talking to your husband."
"Ex-husband," Anna corrected, then added, "I think. We were both declared dead. I assume that renders our marriage null and void."
Siobhain smiled. "Legally, yes. But given that your possible new memories were triggered in both cases by his reappearance in your life, perhaps not in any other sense. Is this something you can discuss with him?"
Anna thought. "To be honest, I'm not sure."
"You need to talk to someone, Anna – your ex-husband, me, one of my colleagues if you feel uneasy revealing details of your past to someone you work with. I do understand." Siobhain looked at her watch. "And I'm extremely sorry: I need to leave for my next appointment." She stood; Anna stood as well. They shook hands. "If you want my help, call my office and we'll set up a time. Take care, Anna."
Dr. McLean left, and Anna considered her options.
Robert was careful to avoid the security cameras placed, as far as he could tell, almost at random throughout the Metro Court hallways. Their system was absolutely appalling, fortunately for him. He exploited gaping holes and dark spots, gained access to Elizabeth's door, and quickly bypassed the card reader. He was inside in less than a minute – not bad for an old spy, he thought. Older spy, he corrected himself.
Once inside, he moved slowly, looked for any obvious signs of surveillance equipment. He doubted Elizabeth would be paranoid enough to install nanny cams in the room; that kind of behaviour wouldn't fit her profile. She came from privilege, felt absolutely secure, felt untouchable. He had a feeling this made her slightly careless and therefore vulnerable. Slightly vulnerable, he corrected himself again.
He was hoping she was so careless that she'd hidden the missing pages of his file somewhere in the room. Maybe he'd even find a copy of Anna's dossier somewhere close at hand. Given her obsession, Robert doubted Elizabeth would be happy travelling back and forth to a safety deposit box to familiarize and re-familiarize herself with details of Anna's past.
But where to look? Robert began to search through Elizabeth's things.
Final forensic reports were now complete for all of the shootings. Anna studied them again to prepare for her meeting with Scott Baldwin. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. What could she possibly tell him that would satisfy him? Other than that she quit?
Perhaps she'd tell him everything she knew about Gino Giordano and the mysterious Ms Wu. Other cities had dedicated organized crime units; they had lawyers in the DA's office that specialized in prosecuting gangsters. Maybe Baldwin could speak to the mayor, could agitate for increased resources. Anna doubted he would, but theoretically he could choose to support her instead of repeatedly trying to take her out at the knees.
But in the end, did she really care?
Anna put down the file she was looking at, picked up the phone. She dialed.
"Hello. This is Anna Devane. I'd like to book an appointment with Dr. McLean. As soon as possible. Thank you."
He found nothing. The room was relatively empty, given the length of time Elizabeth had been staying in Port Charles. He'd found a few books, a walk-in closet full of clothes, many still with tags attached – new purchases since she'd arrived in town. In the bureau, stashed beneath Elizabeth's lingerie (none of it even remotely similar to Anna's, he noted with some relief – at least there were limits to Elizabeth's knowledge and powers of imitation), he'd found a small box of jewelry. He rifled through it quickly, but nothing seemed remarkable. Most of it seemed surprisingly inexpensive, given Elizabeth's incredible wealth. Robert wondered if she'd bought the pieces in Port Charles. Some of it looked like jewelry Anna might wear, but not all of it. He felt silly but photographed everything, just in case.
He'd search every obvious hiding place, and even, with the help of a handy gadget borrowed from and never returned to the WSB, cracked the lock of the room safe, which was empty. Elizabeth was better than he'd suspected. She'd known he could and would get in. The room seemed completely clean.
Robert took one last look around, made sure everything had been returned to its original location and condition, and exited as carefully as he'd entered. Once back in the lobby, he dialed Stephen Corbett's number. "Stephen, this is Robert Scorpio. I'd like us to meet again as soon as possible. And I'll need to see those photographs you showed me again."
It was six o'clock when Robert returned to Anna's apartment. He'd arranged to get together with Corbett the following afternoon at the sports bar they'd first met in, largely because he assumed there was little chance of Elizabeth or Anna walking in on them there.
He found Anna in the living room curled in her favourite chair, a glass of red wine next to her, a book in her hand. "Hello," she told him. "Where have you been all day? You didn't pester me once at work – you didn't bother me about wearing the vest, didn't bring me lunch. Frankly, I was a little worried."
Robert walked over, leaned down, gave her a peck on the cheek. "The honeymoon's over, I guess. I must have been avoiding you. But you wore the vest, right? And how was your meeting with Baldwin? Was it a good day, bad day?"
Anna put the book down on her lap, smiled, and picked up her wine glass. "A very good day. I decided to tell our DA everything – well, not everything, but almost everything. I told him about Wu, Giordano, the conversation I had with him while we were dancing, the likelihood that Port Charles is in the middle of another mob war with new players and higher stakes. That Wu and Giordano are more like the villains we fought years ago. They aren't bipolar with complicated childhoods. They're psychopaths, pure and simple, with no redeeming qualities."
"The stuff of melodrama," Robert mumbled. "Real moustache-twirlers."
Anna laughed, not realizing Robert wasn't entirely joking.
"And how did Baldwin react?"
"Surprisingly well. You could have knocked me over with a feather."
"I can think of things I'd rather do to you with a feather."
Anna ignored the comment. "He remembers the Wu family's crimes in the Asian quarter. And he was intrigued by my theory that Giordano targeted Sonny. Really, I think he's just fantasizing about the headline: 'Evil foreign nationals nabbed by patriotic, born-in-the-USA district attorney Scott Baldwin.'"
"'For killing evil American national with stranglehold on criminal activities in seedy port city.' I suppose Baldwin would like that last bit left off."
"Well, headlines can't be over long."
"Of course they can't; you shouldn't give away all the salacious details right from the get-go, should you? You need to leave something to discuss in the article itself, just in case someone bothers to read it. For example, I'm pretty sure you didn't mention to Baldwin that Giordano owns Duke's new club."
Anna was quiet for a moment. "No I didn't. But it's no secret. Baldwin is capable of putting two and two together."
"But will he get four? I wouldn't count on it." Robert leaned in and kissed Anna again, this time on the mouth, and far less chastely.
When they broke apart, Anna wiped her lipstick from his mouth. "I missed you last night," she told him.
"From what Robin and Patrick told me," Robert joked, "it was a lucky escape. I'm an older, frailer gentleman. You might have killed me."
"You're no gentleman," Anna replied.
Robert knelt by her chair. "And that's why you love me."
"No," she shook her head. "That's why I want you. I love you for other reasons."
"Which are?" he asked.
"Damned if I know," she sighed. "But there must be some kind of twisted logic behind the feeling."
"You know why I love you?" he asked Anna. She smiled, shook her head.
"Because we tell each other everything. Because you don't keep secrets from me."
"That isn't true. And I'm not the only one with secrets. So that isn't why you love me."
"Why then?" he asked, his arms around her.
"Because I'm your other half," she explained. "Because for you there is no one else. Because I complete you, as well as your sentences. It sounds cliché, but in your case it's completely true."
"I have to admit, I hate when you finish my sentences, but I really, really like when you complete me. I enjoy joining up with my better half. Would you like to complete me before dinner?" Robert pulled Anna toward him.
And then she smiled – that smile. It was spontaneous, real, genuine. It meant something, stood for something, was unquestionably hers. Everything he loved about her concentrated in and radiated out to him in that smile.
She kissed him. He pulled her up from the chair, picked her up, and carried her down the hall.