Lots of things to celebrate recently: President's Day, Valentine's Day - the fact that we didn't play pool with an asteroid : )
Forewarning, however, this chapter's not exactly of a celebratory nature. It gets a little...intense…
####
Dealing with the undead could kill you, but who would've thought it worked up such a sweat?
Brooke had just barely outpaced an especially spirited pursuer when she looked up from her new exercise app to find something infinitely more frightening: Erica Kane - hair back, somehow not breaking a single sweat - easily jogging on the neighboring treadmill.
And staring directly at her with one sculpted eyebrow lifted.
Sighing, she pulled the earplugs off and waited. One thing she would not do, however, was break her pace. After a prolonged silence filled with the continuous beats of wretched techno music, Brooke was ready to brave even the perils of Erica. "Go ahead," she said.
Her impromptu exercise partner simply raised the other eyebrow: an effect that would create at least one visible wrinkle in most foreheads. Not in Ms. Kane's, however. Perish the thought. "What?"
"Go ahead and do what I know you've been dying to do since the moment you came in here. Remark on my running attire, or perhaps my tragic treadmill technique"
Those eyes widened just a fraction more. "Why, Brooke, what kind of person do you take me for? I'm simply following my doctor's advice and developing a routine exercise schedule. Although I would advise giving your hair a small brush-up, unless that's your natural look, of course." The little insertion only came with the slightest of smirks. "Since you're here, though, I would like to keep our appointment. You must have forgotten, because I could not possibly think of another reason why you would skip out meeting." She pushed the button that raised her speed and subsequently pushed Brooke's own buttons without missing a beat.
"If by appointment, you are referring to that phone call in which you demanded that I sit in my office all day waiting for you to grace me with your presence, then no, I did not forget. I happened to be busy with the business of attending a court -"
She tried to cut off the statement, but no such luck. If one thing could be said about Erica, it was her almost innate ability to leverage an opening.
The perspiration creeping into every pore and the uptick in her heartbeat….and likely blood pressure….Erica seemed to possess 'that' gift, too.
"Oh, I heard about that." This time, there was no attempt to hide the smirk. "My daughter made quite the character witness. And the glorious part was, she didn't have to tell a single lie."
Although sparring with her might be the one thing that invigorated Erica right now, Brooke wouldn't take the bait. Maybe, for once, they could find a better way.
"Erica, if you want to talk about Bianca – if that's what this is about – then just say so. I am fine with it."
"It's always just so wonderful to know what you are fine with, Brooke. Thank you for your permission to talk about my own daughter."
It was the first crack in that polished veneer, and the emphasis on a certain word did not go unnoticed.
"She's really good, Erica. She's got a natural gift for this. That's the only reason –"
"Of course she's good," Erica snapped. "She's been a writer since the day she could pick up a pencil. Do you think I don't know that about my own daughter?' That particular choice of words stamped the air again. Erica's pace now matched the energy in her words. Brooke wanted to tell her to slow down, but thought better of it.
"Bianca loves you. I know that. Everybody knows that." Except, apparently, for the one person who should know it best. She had never skirted around Erica Kane in her life, and she wouldn't start now. Direct approach. "I'm not trying to steal your daughter, Erica."
"As if you could."
The look-away only lasted an instant, but Brooke knew its toll.
"Do you think just because you share things in common with her, just because you perch yourself up on this pillar of do-gooder morality, do you think just because she – turns to you when…" She did collect a breath this time. "Do you think any of it could ever change things between me and my daughter?"
"No, I don't." The words were simple, but they seemed to settle something in Erica. "Believe me, I know better than anyone that bond : it's something nobody can ever break. No matter what. And you talk about all the things Bianca and I might have in common, but her best asset – her strength – it's all you."
Quickly filling the silence, lest anyone think they were having a 'moment,' Erica spoke up again. "I…I didn't come her to talk about Bianca, anyway. I need your -I need Tempo's assistance with something important."
This time, it was Brooke's turn to partake in the eyebrow lift. Just as Erica's tone partook in all the verve and venom that she could muster earlier, it took a decidedly softer tone now.
"I'm listening."
"I am certain that you know of my recent…difficulties."
Brooke had refrained from comment on the readily apparent differences in Erica's appearance. She hadn't expressed how startled, worried, and…proud she had been when Erica first unveiled her new self to the world.
Sometimes, silence was indeed golden.
"Yes." Less words, less chance for a rapid breakdown of communication.
"I have been fortunate to meet some very inspiring individuals that have helped - that have become important to me." Even now, that well-enforced wall bore its load. "Including one very special little girl."
The words…the words that always brought a thousand beautiful snapshots, concentrated in a singular, lasting image. Brooke was at full attention.
"She's…" Erica drew in another deep breath, but for once she could not control the crack. "She's going through a rough period, and with Tempo's – with your help – we can ensure that she makes it..."
Erica never allowed the admission, the possibility, to find its form.
"Through the rough period, of course."
When Brooke looked over, the clear answer to a vague plea already formed on her lips, the affirmation quickly found its contradiction.
When she saw her long-time adversary stumble and finally fall from the treadmill, Brooke whispered an emphatic "No."
####
Parks were nice. Non-threatening. Ideal for his purposes.
The boy matched the ambiance, With any luck, that would soon change.
Adam sat across from the boy in silence. Always give them the first word. Make them think they have the advantage.
"I'm here out of respect for your daughter, sir."
The word made him tense. Made him regret the decision. Only for an instant. Then the tenseness transformed into steel resolve.
"We were – maybe not best friends, exactly – but I'd like to think we understood each other in some important ways."
That would be the day. "In what way?"
The boy looked him directly in the eye, not a fidget in sight. He would have to admit surprise at that.
"Powerful, 'involved' fathers. That was more than enough."
And the fact that you wanted to get in my daughter's pants. probably on the directive of your vermin father.
Adam gave his most charming smile: the one that had earned him a few of his more flattering monikers. "Duly noted, and I actually agree with you. I would not blame you if you don't believe this, but I would have been perfectly fine –"
"Don't bother, sir, because you're correct. I don't believe you." Little Petey Cortlandt adjusted his glasses and did look away this time, toward the mutt chasing its tail. Most appropriate.
It was just as well. Adam did not want to choke out those words, and he did not want to sully his daughter's memory with such simulated nightmares.
"That's fair."
Keep it agreeable.
When the boy redirected his attention, Adam was briefly gazing directly into a very familiar set of eyes.
"Listen, Mr. Chandler. I am fairly certain I know the reason for this sudden interest. And I can tell you right now, it won't work. So please, redirect your energies to more important things, like your grandson's custody trial."
Oh, that will come soon enough.
The boy had proven that he was still exactly that.
Adam removed his jacket, folded his hands, and leaned closer. "You would be absolutely right. I won't pretend that I have altruistic motives here. I'm a selfish bastard. Ask anyone in this town. But you know what, Peter?" Formal. Respectful. And it got the boy's attention. "When it counts, I'm also an honest bastard. Especially when it comes to business. In business, you've got to cut out your heart."
An absolute, non-specific 'honest' truth, because the philosophy never just applied to business matters.
"So you should recognize that what Caleb did, it was just business," the boy noted.
"'That was anything but business. That man let useless emotion drive his every decision. This little fantasy castle he's created is built as a monument to his hatred for me. Do you think the time – the moment – he chose to swindle my company from me was coincidental, hmm? He and his little foremen built that castle on my daughter's grave."
The cool, parasite-infested air did little to steady him, but he managed to bridge the silence.
Silence, he had learned, always had its say.
"I told you I would be honest. Emotions, they're my cross to bear, too. I despise your family, and I despised your father. But I also respected that slithery old devil. Pete Cooney. got it. He cut out all the unnecessary sentimentality and he made a legacy. A damn solid one. Your legacy."
"I never wanted it."
The slightly oversized, rumpled suit said different. Still every bit the little boy modeling Daddy.
"Said every man determined to make his own way….determined to do it all bigger and better." Adam pulled back. Gave the boy back his personal space. His thinking room. "Said it myself. But you know what? Legacies exist for a reason. You make it bigger, better, bolder, more revolutionary, but the point is that you make it. You." He could have moved closer, close enough to touch the fish on the hook, but he opted to lean back further instead. "You see, Mr. Cortlandt, we have something in common, too. A stranger stole both of our legacies." To continue handing out that rope. " I say we get them back."
Together.
He didn't say the word. He didn't need to.
Adam rose. "Say hello to Opal for me." Just one final little reminder of how deeply the rooster had invaded the henhouse.
Somewhere, the devil he'd spent a lifetime battling was either smiling, or unleashing a scream that would rattle Satan himself. Adam rather hoped for the latter.
####
The first thing he noticed after his eyes focused – aside from the dull ache behind them - was the lack of bars….and how irrelevant the absence was. An old warehouse would be his guess.
"You're not surprised."
Few things invoked that reaction. Fewer by the day.
"Can't say I am. It's kind of…inevitable, don't you think?" JR asked of his new jailer. His old debt-collector.
"Of course. I'm just honoring my half of the commitment."
The fact that she remembered did surprise him, although, really, it shouldn't. They'd made the promise before she was spirited away by her father and he by his mother - before the reality of life as a bargaining chip had secured its full hold.
It hadn't been one of those marriage covenants, and considering current circumstances, that wouldn't have worked in more ways than one.
Just a promise that in this year, at this time, if circumstances dictated – and oh, how they did - to….start anew.
With each other's help.
"You remember?"
"I never forget."
The intensity: a trait they shared still.
"Quite impressive job, by the way. Those inmates, they really earned every last dollar. And the guards on the payroll, nice touch."
He touched the bruises that had long since faded in some ways, not so much in others. He hadn't known which of his particular enemies had arranged his little prison lesson. It didn't really matter. When they had grabbed him again earlier today, he didn't put up a fight this time. A part of him could almost imagine that the injection…that it was…
The identity of his recurrent punisher had clicked as he had faded into unconsciousness. It made a kind of poetic…
Sense. "I think you're right," Bianca said. "About the inevitable part. There's always been a certain….oh, I don't know, parallelism with us, hasn't there? Shared mommy and daddy issues, shared lovers, shared children, shared…complications." She patted her wheelchair, almost a perfect match to his own, with a cold smile. "No matter how hard we try, you and I, we can't seem to stay out of each other's lives."
"Another time, another place, we could've been –"
"Don't you dare say it."
He would've smirked at her assumption, but somehow, that response didn't exactly seem like a good idea at the moment. He swallowed something bitter instead. "Best friends."
She closed her eyes, and for a crazy instant he could see that alternate reality that would never be.
"We share something else. See, I should congratulate you because you helped teach me something very important. You even helped me discover a whole new side of myself, maybe something that's been in my DNA all along, just like it's in yours. We're not made for the stable, and we're not meant for the happy ending. We're exactly where we're meant to be. Not to start, but to finish."
Bianca opened her eyes and picked up the revolver – the antique – settled on her motionless legs.
####
"If you are checking on your friend, please let us know she's all right. She refused to let any of our personnel help her."
'Friend.' It could be a strange, loaded word, especially in correlation to this particular relationship. Brooke thought of correcting the young personal trainer. Then she thought of telling the boy that he could forego the execution chamber look. Erica Kane would not come out of the dressing room door and stomp him with her high heels. Not now, at least.
Instead, she simply smiled, said "of course," and went to check on said 'friend.'
She couldn't say exactly what she was expecting to find. Maybe the mini-diva with high heel in hand, ranting about the base conditions of the dressing room. Perhaps an already-dressed, well-composed woman who would stroll by her with dinner invitation in hand and a well-placed Brooke-barb for the road.
The frail, small woman standing topless in front of the mirror, she did not expect. Brooke nearly excused herself quietly so that this sure stranger could have her privacy.
Unmistakable, yet different eyes turned to meet hers, and the fleeting illusion dissipated.
She had expected her companion to make a quick move to cover herself, but Erica Kane was all about reversing expectations, if nothing else. Rather, she seated herself on the bench and offered a silent invitation, or at least a non-fight. Brooke accepted, either way.
Erica placed her elbows on her knees as she studied her hands. In all her storied history with this woman, the one thing Brooke could always count on was the perfect posture. The ready-for-the-flashbulbs Erica standard. What she saw now was…different. That reaching, but nevertheless appropriate word again.
Different, and real.
As was the tiny smile now lighting her companion's features. "Go ahead and do what I know you've been dying to do…"
Her own words used against her, and Erica seemed to find amusement in the irony.
"Oh, do forgive me, Brooke. I forget that you're too much of a proper lady to tell me how ghastly I look, so please just grace me with how very sorry you are."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Brooke asked.
Erica moved her study from her hands to her companion. "Thank you for that, at least. And yes, I do mean it. Sorry is such an irritating and perplexing word in cases such as these, don't you think?"
"And it doesn't do a damned thing to make you feel better."
Some of the Erica Kane-fire returned, raising a bemused expression on its owner. "Why, Brooke, did you just curse?"
Brooke offered a smile in return. "Ask Adam just how well I can express myself when given the proper motivation."
"Touche."
They shared the briefest of laughs before the sheer oddness of their voices mingling in something other than a high-powered verbal duel got the better of them. A silence fell over the room afterward, providing Brooke many opportunities to leave. She had done her good Samaritan duty and 'checked on' her 'friend.' She had to get back to the office. She had to meet Adam for lunch.
She had to stay.
Even as Erica absently massaged the prominent scar on her left chest. Even when the proper words of comfort wouldn't come. Especially then.
"They've postponed the reconstruction procedure."
The words were low, soft, but clear. For the first time, she believed she was hearing Erica 's real voice, and it was…nice.
"And I should be ranting at the doctors and demanding their full attention, right? I should be hiring the best plastic surgeons in the country, because I am Erica Kane., damn it!" The inflection was slight, but every bit as powerful as its more animated, TV-ready counterpart. "I'm not this…this poor, fragile person with a bald head and one breast. I'm Erica Kane and my image is my everything." Her hand had settled over the scar, where it remained, even as her words gained more force. "But I see that little girl laying in her bed, I see a Christmas tree full of children who'll never get the chance to fall in love or take the world by storm or even to see another sunrise, and I can't really bring myself to give a damn about this." Her fingers clenched, leaving an angry red rim around the barren spot on her chest.
Brooke cleared her throat. "I want to tell you two things." Her mind needed no clearance. "Yes, I will. Whatever this girl needs." She answered Erica's small nod with one of her own. The exchange was all that was necessary. "And, please, in advance, kindly forego the remarks about me trying to increase my circulation numbers on your name." This time, a mutual half-smile greeted the words. "I would also like to tell your story. I believe it can reach our readership because you can inspire a reaction – both negative and positive – more than anyone I have ever met. You can inspire."
This time. Erica cleared her throat and looked down. When she saw that her hand was now dangerously close to Brooke's, she quickly moved it away. Brooke's half-smile turned full-blown. They could have all the 'when the chips are down, frenemy' moments in the world, but the line would definitely be drawn at hand-holding.
"Brooke?"
"Yes?"
"The answer is yes for me, too."
The single drop of moisture hugging Erica's eye would've made a perfect photographic accompaniment. Her readers might have viewed it as an acquiescence to fear, sadness…an at-last moment of vulnerability from their idol of composure.
Brooke preferred to think of the tiny tear as a testament to something else.
To will. To strength.
To hope.
####
Adam's next visitor had the rumple, minus the suit. He'd known that one phone call would do the trick. This one, however, required a bit of a different approach.
"Why have Dixie and the righteous Martin clan not entered their names in the grandson sweepstakes?" he asked, arms folded.
In his experience, Martins could never resist a good, old-fashioned lecturing opportunity.
Tad lived up to his name. "Why am I not surprised you see your grandson as some prize to win? It's the Chandler way, after all."
"You didn't answer my question."
Martin wouldn't sit on the bench. In fact, he seemed downright - dare the word be used - nervous? "Krystal is the only constant that boy has left in his life. She's been there for him from the beginning, through everything. And he has been there for her."
"Yes, through every assorted kidnapping."
As per usual protocol, that particular little nugget of truth was promptly swept aside.
"So essentially," Adam added, "you're using my grandson as some kind of band-aid for his unstable grandmother?"
"'Our grandson," Tad emphasized. "They can help each other, more than any of us – me, Dixie, and most damn sure you – ever could. Haven's you done enough?"
The well-worn words were a tipping point. If Adam had one favored hobby in his youth, it was cow-tipping. So satisfying watching the useless lumps fall, and struggle in vain to rise again.
"Let me tell you, something, Martin. I am sick of taking responsibility for what he became. How much time did I spend with that boy in his formative years? You and his mother were too busy shuttling him back and forth between Pine Valley and Pigeon Hollow, in between your respective 'playing dead' stints, of course. You molded him into the quintessential Martin man: weak, sniveling, ready to crawl in a hole and throw pebbles at the slightest setback. Your precious daddy may have fared a little better than my daughter -" He wouldn't stop short, not now, even if it ripped him apart. "It wasn't enough for you to steal my other daughter, my Charlotte, but you killed Colby just as surely as if the gun was in your hand. And you killed – no, you murdered – my son. I'll be damned if I let you and your ilk do the same to my grandson."
Adam composed himself. "But my son is not the only man you murdered, is he?" Summoned the only old devil who could make the one prancing away down under slink away, with ponty tale firmly planted between fiery legs.
"The park is so lovely this time of year, isn't it? Ideal place to reach a little understanding. It clarifies things." He took a hearty breath of the cleanest air in town. Leaning closer and casting his eyes down, Adam whispered, "Got those walking- over-the- grave-goosebumps yet?"
Hate-filled eyes greeted him. But oh, those righteous eyes would not share his downward glance.
"You're a -"
Adam grinned and stepped back, away from the bare patch of earth. About six feet of bare earth, by his estimation. "Yes, I am. And more. One title I have never claimed, though, is that of cold-blooded murderer."
A flicker, oh a flicker from Martin he'd awaited for the last three decades. And by God, he was going to savor it.
"I took the liberty of bringing along a little afternoon reading." Adam pulled the envelope from his jacket. "Something about being under oath, isn't there? Cleansing for the soul. I'm looking forward to your testimony, Martin."
After the mandatory stand of defiance, Tad took the envelope.
Adam never lost the grin. It was, after all, his trademark. His mark. "The truth shall set us free.'"
####
"I got the phone call after I left the airport, before – Part of me was just trying to hold on…that's what I told myself in my more…aware moments. I'd seen her. I'd reached out and watched her disappear myself, but I didn't trust Hayward. He never - he would never give me that chance. So I hired the PI and then I forgot because my head got filled with all this other junk. And that night….that night he called me with a lead, just a 'maybe,' but God it was enough."
"What are you saying, JR?" He jolted at her words, but he was also thankful for them. They kept him from going back. "Is…is Babe alive?"
"I got to hold her hand." His hand threatened to fill with a maddening softness, so he ran it over his own rough face. "And she looked at me. At me, like I was some miracle delivered. I got to hold her hand, and I got to watch her die all over again."
He looked into eyes that were now swimming with confusion and questions. Why? How? Had Hayward's God elixir finally outlived its welcome? He didn't know. He didn't wonder. He only knew one thing. Too little, too late. Again. Always.
Story of his life.
"You want an explanation or a reason? Give me the heads-up when you find it. You want me to relive that night? You think I deserve that? You're absolutely right, but I can't. It's not there, and believe me: that black emptiness, it's infinitely worse. What I just told you, that's my last memory of that night, and it's what's seared on my eyes every night when I don't sleep."
He pushed forward, until their legs were touching. Neither could feel the contact. Both could feel everything else.
"Do it." He motioned to the gun. "I managed to screw it up like everything else in my life, so you finish it." Pushed further. "It's inevitable." The words - their truth - on playback.
His voice wavered, but his gaze could not. "You can't."
"I have the experience, putting down sonofabitches like you." Neither could hers. "I have the motivation." She pushed the barrel into his chest.
He felt the cold steel. He felt…everything.
"Just, please don't take Miranda away from AJ. He needs her. They need each other. I don't remember much about that night, but the hate….the confusion….I know that so well. We both do. And we always tell ourselves it'll be different for them, because they're the ones who pay the price, aren't they?"
JR closed his fingers around the barrel. Settled the target over his heart.
"Let it end here."