It's a bit of a mind trip sometimes watching PV 2.0 and then writing alt-PV. There are a lot of differences, but a few parallels as well. I guess I was a little in sync with the new, now-old writers on some things.
In this week's installment of alt-PV, will the identity of Leo's gun-toting mystery woman be revealed?
Could be ; )
####
The gloves didn't fit, but few things in his life did these days.
The kid's back had been turned - his attention focused on the small phone - since Caleb had entered the ring. He had resisted the urge to go knock that piece of plastic from the boy's hand, to severe that connection with the man he knew to be on the other end of the line.
Caleb tapped his sparring partner on the shoulder, and the kid tossed the phone onto an outside towel and turned, grinning. "You ready to get –" The dimples, his mother's legacy, immediately disappeared.
"I'm ready, Asher," Caleb said evenly. He had successfully – or unsuccessfully—held back the other word threatening to spill out: son.
"My name's Miguel. Always has been, always will be."
He hadn't claimed the last name yet, and for that Caleb was grateful.
The young man looked around the ring. Behind him. Anywhere but forward. "Where's Ray? We were supposed to be doing this."
"Ray, like most people, I've discovered, has a price." He held the words back again, the ones that would push this further. Words, he'd also discovered, had that way about them.
"Whatever, I'm out of here."
A man of few words. At one time, it had been a small validation of their fragile connection.
Caleb raised his glove. The kid's shoulder settled against it.
"I'll give you one chance to get that thing off of me, old man."
The corner of Caleb's lips gave a little at that, and he shook his head. "I'm kinda new at this." A truer statement than he'd like to admit. "Just a few minutes. And hey, you've got a free punching bag."
The kid pushed back and Caleb steeled himself for that first roundhouse. Instead, a pair of tight gloves roughly brushed against his own.
"Fine."
Caleb put his hands up. For defense.
Or offense.
####
"Damn –" She pursed her lips together and exhaled slowly, because that's the reaction proper women were supposed to have. They weren't supposed to swear.
"Call me, please. We need to talk about this."
And they most assuredly were not supposed to want to hang their brothers up by their...heels.
Nina took in the image on the phone. It was recent: his buttoned-up, no-glasses best. The company profile image. It was then she realized that this was the only picture she had of her little brother. It had replaced the small snapshot of a tiny newborn making a challenge to the camera. Their father's scowl, and she'd thought it a fluke at one time.
Until now. Until she, once again, watched another family (another family in which she had crafted her own tenuous stick figure, complete with briefcase) implode before her eyes.
She vanquished the image, the brother, with one prolonged press. If only most things were that easy - that uncomplicated.
Her strides down the corridor were more purposeful. Unhesitant. She still had one shelter, one safe haven, and she would do anything to shield it – to shield them - from the shrapnel.
'Anything?' It was the voice of her challenger, her cross-legged devil on the shoulder, and somewhere, someway, it had assumed the unmistakable, infuriating tone of David Hayward.
Nina extended a hand that had clenched into a fist. With effort, she relaxed her fingers before opening the door.
Jackson, ever-faithful, sat vigil by his daughter. And beside him, equally vigilant, sat his ex-wife.
He rose up, buttoned his coat, and turned away. When he turned back, the redness rimming his eyes – the concession – was gone. Replaced by a weak smile.
Nina accepted the brief kiss on her cheek with a dishonest smile of her own. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. It's just -"
"I know, I understand." The smile offered only the smallest betrayal. "How did things go at Cortlandt?"
"They're….as stable as they can be." It was as honest as she could be, and the answer seemed fitting in many ways. "But that's not important right now. How is she?"
Jackson looked down at his daughter, and the betrayal became just a little stronger. "They're….they're still running tests, but you know doctors, only rivaled by lawyers when it comes to stalling and double-speak."
The room's other occupant approached subtly, not her usual manner. Nina would love to claim Erica Kane had just faded into the background. She would love to gift herself that one little, inconsequential, important white lie.
But she offered up another half-truth instead. "Erica, it's nice to see you."
The tiny woman before her offered a bright smile, and Nina wondered briefly what half-truths and little white lies sustained it. "And you as well, Nina."
"Erica had an appointment with her doctor today, and she came by to see Greenlee."
Nina nodded, smiled, kept the lie going. The fact that Jack felt compelled to offer an explanation…
"That was very kind of you, and I certainly hope that things went well with your appointment."
Erica exchanged the briefest of glances with Jack. A glance meant for only two. She smiled again and nodded, making Nina wish more than anything that they could dispense with all of the fake pleasantries.
"And I hope – no, I am confident – that the issues between Cortlandt and Chandler Enterprises will settle in time."
The uneasy silence that followed the final placating smile lasted only seconds longer.
Erica excused herself, and Nina had one compulsion of her own, one small acition implemented just before the other woman had closed the hospital door completely.
Pulling away from the kiss with her husband, Nina tried her best to ignore the loud clap.
David Hayward's parting pearl of wisdom, however, was driven straight to the front of her mind…her awareness.
As she took Erica's chair, and her place, between Jack and his daughter, the echoing words were impossible to ignore:
"Take what you want."
####
The truth shall set you free.
He'd never had much use for that particular little quotable quote.
Hell, he'd probably sneered at its colossal irony on more than a few occasions.
But damned if staring down the barrel of a gun didn't change one's perspective in a flash.
And right now, his truth only had one face.
Leo held up one arm in surrender and with his bad arm slowly reached into his shirt pocket. His hand grasped the picture that had been resting against his chest, his heart, for the better part of ten years.
With more deliberate care, he pulled it into the open and placed it on the desk. The edges may have been worn and the old-school printing ink slightly faded, but the smiling woman contained, uncontained, within its borders remained as vibrant as the day he'd made his first bet with her: a bet he'd both lost and won.
The woman across from him reached out and drew it towards her, but the gun never lost its focus. It was almost as if she'd just been waiting for the opportunity – the need – to arise, and that rattled the hell out of him.
"Who is this?" she asked after an endless pause.
This time, Leo didn't measure his words. He, for once, banked on the truth. "She's the reason I'm here. I think you can save her life."
He no longer expected her to raise the alarm or send in a few bruisers to drag him away. On some level, he knew that was probably the last thing she wanted. On a deeper level still, he felt that he and this woman might have more in common than either one of them ever imagined.
Including an absolute willingness to use deadly force, if needed. He kept that in mind as he continued. "I'm going to mention two names, and I think I know what your reaction will be. But please, please resist the urge to blow my brains out until I've finished what I have to say."
She mulled that over before replying, "Shoot." The slight blush signaled her regret over the unfortunate choice of words, providing the only thing close to a light moment.
Leo allowed himself half a smile before saying the words: "David Hayward."
The ever-so-slight eyebrow raise signaled.
"Project Orpheus."
And the first tremor – no, jerk – in that steady trigger hand confirmed.
####
"No, no. This one will do." She had bypassed the chic and the sleek in favor of the simple and sophisticated. Erica Kane at her muted best.
For her part, Opal had opted for a basic ginger with only the barest waves. Her proper businesswoman presentation.
Erica laid her purse on the Glamorama's front counter, but Opal quickly pushed it away. "Now you know it's on the house: Gal-Pal Special."
Said gal-pal smiled in response, but the gesture didn't reach her eyes like it usually did. "Thank you, Opal."
The statement felt like more than a courtesy for the cheap wig, but Opal wasn't sure about pressing the issue. She settled on a different topic, one that might still answer the questions tugging at her. "Why the new style?"
Talk to me.
Erica settled into the closest styling chair and fixed her with a pointed look. "I'd rather hear about you."
Don't push it.
Normally, she'd be more than happy to oblige her friend's sudden turn as listener, but at the moment Opal wanted nothing more than to forget about all things Opal Cortlandt. It was a problem, she sensed, Erica was dealing with too.
She blew a stray synthetic hair from her eye. "Well, I'm just peaches and cream – if I happen to forget the fact that Caleb and my Petey are throwing sticks, stones, and setting a few pellet gun targets on each other."
"I heard, and I know from firsthand experience the perils of climbing into a snake pit with Adam Chandler - I'm sorry, Opal. I didn't mean -"
Opal waved her hand, which was now sporting about fifty shades of nail polish. "It's okay. Well, actually , it's not. I just wish I understood what was going on in that boy of mine's head. Either of those boys' heads," she finished with a mutter.
"Haven't they talked to you?"
"Not a word." The words came out softer than usual; she felt the need to cover, and quick...to not show just how much -
"But then again, what else should I expect from my boys?" she offered with a fake grin
"Respect," Erica said without missing a beat. She rose up and placed her hands on Opal's shoulder. Her firend's usually animated face had never been more still.
Or more open. "Make them respect you, Opal."
Opal followed Erica's slow trek to another hairpiece hanging from a rack. The fiery red and the tight curls blazed from the dark corner.
With a cheeky, real grin, Opal turned back to her gal-pal and winked. "I think you just may be onto something."
####
"How far were you gonna let us go?"
The kid pulled back, reassumed his hop-dance stance.
Caleb moved a glove to his midsection. Defense. "What?"
"I just wanted to know if you were willing to let me sleep with my own sister to keep up your lie." He feigned a head shot but pulled back again.
"I was going to tell you if –"
He'd moved his glove and paid for it. Doubled over, with effort, Caleb reassumed his position. His defense.
"If what? If we fell in love? Good thing for you my brother took care of that ever happening."
"I'm –"
This time his chin paid the price. His teeth crashed together painfully. Still, he managed the words. "He's using you."
Asher's hands remained fixed in the same position. Confident.
Vulnerable.
"You know, Adam came looking for me once. Got to find out about that from my good ole' Aunt Marian. when she paid me a visit. Seems Mom made a deal with one of the neighborhood kids and passed him off as me. Guy was enterprising, though, I'll give him that. Took the money he got offered for some bone marrow and ran."
Caleb made another half-hearted jab at the boy's gloves. "Then you see - you know - you're only as good to him as what you can give him."
"Like father, like son." Jab.
"Is that why you're doing this? Trying to teach me a lesson?" Side-step.
"No, just honoring the only lesson you ever taught me. Run for the hills when the going gets tough, and stockpile your weapons." Right hook.
"You wanna know the main lesson I learned up there away from everybody? Appreciate what you've got." He ducked. "You're still my boy." Straightened. "My son."
"And you're still the bastard who killed my mother because Adam Chandler gave her what you never could."
Caleb threw his first real punch. Straight into the boy's gut. As his son doubled over, Caleb laid a glove on his shoulder once again.
He never saw the upper-cut coming. Asher stopped it midswing – this maneuver that would have provided him his needed TKO.
Asher raised up, tore off his gloves. "By the way, Mr. Cortlandt, I heard this unfortunate rumor about a computer virus at Cortlandt Electronics. I really, really hope it doesn't affect your bottom line."
And left Caleb in the middle of the ring. Still standing.
Still KOed.
####
The fact that the primary finger on the woman's hand was now hugging the trigger just a little tighter quickened Leo's words. "David is my brother, and I know about Orpheus because I was one of its benefactors, or victims, depending on how you look at it."
She remained silent, so he plowed forward. "Please don't hold the family connection against me. I know first-hand just how off-putting my brother can be to others."
"David was always kind to me."
Her first direct admission of a connection with David. Maybe, maybe he was beginning to earn her trust.
"It was the others –"
Her abrupt cut-off let Leo know that they weren't exactly to the bonding buddies phase just yet. He forced a grin, and a slight redirect. "Stem cells, huh? Who woulda thunkit? When I - when I had my accident, they were still just some fringe science experiment in Asia."
She managed her own ghost of a grin. "In my time, they were just science fiction."
"Well, David's always been a visionary. He'd be more than happy to tell you that himself."
She frowned. "He was an idealistic college kid. I got that."
Well, one thing Leo surely never expected to hear were his brother and the word 'idealistic' in the same sentence.
"They used him."
He waited for her to close up again.
"They used me."
He chanced it. "Who?"
And to his ever-lasting surprise, she answered. "I don't know their names, or even their faces. Most of them were just shadows, ready to take, ready to steal, ready to taint something positive and make it into something sick and dark."
The flicker of a lightbulb above them matched the flicker of creeping realization in his brain. And by God, how he wished it hadn't.
"His investors?"
How he wished he didn't realize the one potential investor who would know all about David and his ideals.
She nodded, part of her still in the room, part of her back there. He had his best opportunity to snatch the gun away now. He didn't. A part of him was back in his own hell.
"I think they must have told your brother that I was moving away to start a new life. And in a way, they were telling the truth, because a new life was exactly what they had in mind. They had already tried to wipe away any trace of my old one." The flickering light wove her face in and out of shadows. "They used one of their best and brightest young recruits to arrange my husband's unfortunate death." That ghost of a grin returned. "They had to work with what they had when they got me instead."
Those words pulled him back. "Your husband?"
Her eyes were now full of the past, and every emotion that went with that past. "I haven't seen him in three decades. He was the last face I saw before I closed my eyes - -before I woke up to my new reality, and his is the face I try to forget before I close my eyes every night."
Quietly, she sat the gun on the desk, beside the face of his own no-forget.
The muscles in his throat were clenched, painful. He asked the question for which he already knew the answer. "Why did you stay away?"
She looked at him with momentary wonder, probably puzzled by the fact that she was laying her whole ife bare for a complete stranger. To Leo, though, the feeling remained that they were both exactly where they needed to be, in this moment.
"After they took me away from Pine Valley, I became the promise: the living symbol for all of their greater, or lesser, ambitions."
"The ultimate guinea pig?" he guessed, his mind rolling with the waves in his stomach.
She nodded again, slightly. It was affirmation enough. "I don't even want to think about how many days, nights, months, years I spent in that bed - half-alive, half-dead. I held on any way I could. One time, I even imagined I'd reunited with my brother in heaven. Those snatches of hope, of life, kept me going." She released a shaky breath for both of them. "One night, by some miracle, I managed to slip out, get away. I don't know how much time passed after that, how much more of my life I lost before I found myself dazed and disoriented in this big city."
"Baltimore?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise. "You've been here all this time?"
She once again grew quiet, and this time, he felt no need to fill in the gaps. "I knew that if I went back home, I could end up hurting them. Disrupting their lives at best, and placing them in danger at worst. So I…"
"Stayed away." Those gaps were crevices he knew too well.
When he had refocused again, he wasn't taken aback to find her eyes trained on him. "I tell you mine, you tell me yours."
Leo let out his own stuttering breath. "My story begins, and ends, with her." He leaned forward and placed his hand on Greenlee's picture. "With your treatments, did you ever experience any difficult side effects?"
"Yes."
"And when was the last time you experienced these effects?" He held that breath this time, only releasing it when she answered. "A few years. I think they gave me something that built up a resistance."
"That's what David had hoped. Some of his patients are experiencing the same things you and I did, but more intensely. They could –" He struggled to rein in the panic seeping through his voice. "They could be in a bad place if we don't help them." He did not school his hand as it rested on the picture again. "including my wife." Nor did he correct the designation he had assigned Greenlee.
The familiar stanger's eyes rotated between the gun and the picture. "You think I can help?"
Meeting her gaze, he responded with one word: "Yes." A silent plea.
She answered by picking up the gun, locking it in her desk, and reaching her hand across the desk.
He accepted the handshake.
"I'm Leo by the way."
Her hand was warm, alive. Its own affirmation.
Her renewed smile was unsure, topsy-turvy, but somehow right.
"And I'm Jenny."