On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2

Chapter 3

Hell.

Todd felt himself sliding quickly through the mud of his nightmare, slicking past tree roots and rocks, worms and bugs. He had let himself go, let himself sink deeper into the muck. When his feet poked through the bottom of this causeway, however, he landed with a poof on top of his parents' marital bed. Found himself in their gold-wallpapered bedroom, tinged with avocado-green fabrics. And he kind of laughed because he had expected the volcanic cave, the melted rock, the moans of other Hell occupants. He had expected Satan himself, that shivering, black, insect-ridden monster. Instead he had landed in his childhood home. He regarded his perfect scarless body, clothed now, washed clean by his trip through the mud.

He sat up and looked around. Then spat, "Just another picture of hell, yeah? What's the matter, Peter, did the volcanic shit get old for ya? Gotta come up with something new 'cause you didn't get to me the last time? HUH?! You FUCK! "

After a moment, however, he stopped his bitter rant. Reflected for a couple of seconds. That's when he heard the grunts… the pained, whimpering grunts. Then it was silent. Soon a muffled struggle thumped its way into the bedroom. Then silence again.

This isn't new...it's ancient. It's a vision you know well.

Night in the Manning household was a hell darker than any sulfur-smelling, fire-burning, lava-filled fantasy his imagination could create. He became aware of his mother sleeping next to him, the sight sending a shock of both longing and revulsion right through him. He reached out to touch her arm, to rouse her, but then understood she already passed out. Todd quelled a surge of nausea because it was on these nights after she had drunk and drugged herself into unconsciousness, that Peter inflicted the worst kind of punishment on his child. The noise from the other room arose again.

Todd did his best to shut out the symphony of pain that insisted on pealing its way into the bedroom, to him. But he couldn't.

An empty gin bottle stood on Barbara's night stand, a glass lay overturned on the green carpeting. Letting out a deep sigh at seeing his mother, Todd scrambled over her, ending up on floor on bent knees. He stared at her peaceful face, at her drunken blindness.

"Mom," he whispered, touching her brown mussed hair. Her high cheekbones. He touched her slightly parted lips. Kissed her cheek. Lingered that way, nose to nose, smelling her perfume. God, he had loved her. Why could she not have been stronger? He also saw her bruised upper arm. They probably had a row tonight, a raging, screaming, hateful one. Peter had hurt her again. She had it right, though. Being both alive and dead was an excellent means to an end.

"It's nice this way, isn't it, mama?" He said softly, still touching her face. "To be out cold, not hearing what's going on right under your nose? Not feeling it. It's so good, yeah?" Yes, chemical bliss. Something he had been wanting, too. Give me magic pills, Doc, so I don't have to feel these memories anymore. He kissed her again, straight on the mouth, whispering to her. "I love you…" But at the end of the kiss, he bit her lip hard, feeling fleshiness in between his teeth and tasting blood. Hissed as he pulled away from her still-dead self, "And I hate you."

Todd stood up and glanced out the partially closed door. All shadows and wall and green carpeting. He pulled the bedroom door fully open, one hand holding his stomach because he knew what he would find once he hit his old room. He was driven to go there. In the past, when talking about the house in which he grew up, he always described his room as being "way down the hall" but it wasn't. It was mere steps, really.

Todd stood outside his bedroom. Arrogant bastard, he thought. Didn't even close the fucking door on these nights. A shirtless Peter was zipping up his pants, smirking at the boy in the bed. The noise made his stomach lurch. He'd do it on purpose. Make it a noisy closing of his pants. Like triumph.

Zzzzzippp…..

Todd could only stand there and observe. Mute and paralyzed.

"I hope you remember tonight's lesson," Peter grumbled, waiting for an answer.

"Homework first, then toys," a quiet voice answered.

"Good. What was the other lesson for tonight?"

Silence. The boy in the bed didn't know. Peter got real close. He grabbed him in between his legs…grabbed the delicate goods, "That you are impotent."

Todd closed his eyes tightly, the kid silent and still even though he was in pain. Impotent. Powerless, Peter meant. He slammed hands to his face because shut lids weren't enough to not see this shit. But after a moment, he had to look again. He lowered his hands. He used the boy's calm to calm himself. To be able to look. To remember. The scene was a long-buried scene. A typical scene. Todd breathed.

The boy… he was naked on the small bed. Short blond hair beginning to turn darker. Skinny limbs tense and flat. Hands in white-knuckled fists. Feet digging into the mattress. His eyes were fixed on the monster above him. Peter was hunched over the bed and it was clear he kept on squeezing… cruel eyes on the kid. A game of chicken.

He was dazed by the sight of himself on that bed. And he realized something there in the stillness, in the lack of reaction to the pain, Todd realized that his natural defiance had spread even to these nights. Peter used sexual abuse as punishment for perceived and real wrongs during the day. He never just came in the room for the sake of getting off… no, there were always lessons associated with the activities. Sick, sick… lessons. Todd found himself laughing. Efforts to break him… well, they sometimes failed.

Like now.

Peter stood up, releasing his son. He considered another step. His face was ugly, a mask of hate and frustration. Todd then stopped laughing because despite the defiance… Peter always won. He reached back to slap the boy's face and Todd turned away. Hearing the hand on soft flesh, a slap hard enough to get the boy to finally make a sound. A grunt only though. Something the boy couldn't control. Sheer physics forced the noise out.

Peter brushed past Todd, heading downstairs, leaving the child alone. As soon as the boy heard the sound of Peter hitting the downstairs entryway, he tenderly checked himself in between his legs. Todd's face crumpled in pain because he remembered his ritual check to be sure his father hadn't swallowed his genitals. He was always afraid of that. One reason he tended to shy away from oral sex as an adult. Instinctual nonsense. Tonight the boy was checking for intactness after the extra parting shot.

The boy wrapped himself up his blanket, speaking softly to himself in a slightly animated way. Todd couldn't make out the words at first. Then he remembered. The boy was pretending, mimicking a pilot's words at shooting down the enemy, "To the right... no... to the left... he's right there... shoot... shoot!" A boy's make-believe whispered gunfire followed. The child watched his red airplane hanging on the fan and played make-believe as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just been horribly violated, but merely awakened by a small noise. By thirst. Mama, can I have that drink of water? Can you hear me? Todd leaned against the doorway, feeling sick, like he was going to pass out. Like his mom had already done, blessedly dull to the world, not wanting to feel, not wanting to know.

Todd then saw the boy get up from the bed and walk to the dresser. He pulled out some clean pajamas. There were bruises on his body. Places where Peter had pressed on him too hard. The boy hopped into some pajamas and studied the little figures on the fabric. Tiny rockets. Sat on the bed, expressionless and quiet. Not looking at anything. Soon he crawled under his covers, holding his hand tightly in between his legs to prevent any further thievery. After a while, he fell asleep. Todd remembered it was never very deep. He tended to waken to his father's stumbling steps back up to his and Barbara's bedroom. Then he would slip into a light slumber again.

Todd slouched against the doorframe and felt the familiar, loving breeze indicating that the spirit was around. "I don't want to remember this. Why do I have to remember? I don't want to mourn for this. It's all such...bullshit."

"It"s part of the process, part of your leaving Peter behind. It's part of your accepting what happened and understanding what role it played in your life. It leads to forgiveness."

Todd glared at the spirit, "Stop throwing that at me! You make it sound like it's all me! I WAS PUT HERE! That BASTARD should be on his fucking knees begging MY forgiveness! Not me asking! NOT ME!"

"But he can't. He's been condemned. He is beyond that kind of humility. The only one who can seek it is you. You are not lost."

"I don't want to feel this anymore. I am sick...sick of this depression, sick ... sick ... sick ..." Todd headed to his mother's room. Saw Peter lying on his back. Also passed out. They knew the best way out of Mansion Manning. Drugs. Anesthesia. That was the answer. She had it right. Chemical bliss.

Got the magic pills, Doc?

The spirit jingled about him, the tinkling sounds of glass ornamentation. Fragile and delicate. For a moment, he lost himself in the prettiness of it, in its musicality. But he broke away from her pull, snarling, "What the fuck do you know? You're not even alive. You're dead just like everyone else. Nothing but a figment of my pathetic imagination."

All he heard was her twittering, "You need to believe in love. Accept these memories as part of you and it will lead to fulfillment. It will lead to a healed heart and spirit. Don't listen to Peter. He is only as strong as you make him."

Todd heard Peter's voice behind him, a deep low laugh. The two men stood in the doorway, watching the boy in the bed once more. Sleeping that light sleep. Peter mimicked the spirit, "Don't listen to Peter…" More laughing. "Am I strong, boy? Am I still in your head, boy? Do you want to sleep the good sleep, boy?"

"I do."

"Then always listen to me."

Take from me, that's what Téa had told him. Take what you need. Like he hadn't already stripped her of all that made her who she was, as if he had not humiliated her at every turn, at every corner of their doomed relationship. He could still feel her arms around him from the other day, could still smell her, that clean, flowery scent. He had kissed her, to try to remember. To try to feel good. And god, she felt good. It DID feel good. But he got scared of the closeness. Afraid for her. He felt like bugs were crawling all over him, the maggots having escaped the dead child at his feet. He had slid away from her after a while, arms and hands up, cringing. Slid out of her tight hold of him.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry...

Are you okay? Did I hurt you?

No, no… no, not you… go… go save yourself… the boy, the rotting boy is here...

I don't need saving, Todd. I'm okay. I'm safe, I'm fine.

Save yourself… save yourself… save yourself...

The crazy had come on hard and fast and Tim had to come to the rescue. And Téa left. She left. As she should have. As was needed. He wondered if she was going to come back to see him. She promised she would. But then, that was only two days ago. Why would she come back so soon? Why did anyone still come to see him?

Another part of him wanted her to stay away. To protect her.

Todd opened his eyes to the wintry afternoon sun shining into the recreation room, his hands at his side, unconsciously rubbing the rough fabric of the sofa into which he was slouching. Viki's chicken-soupy talk slathered over him and he tried to take her words in. Tried to absorb them. Turning to her, he looked at her mouth and then slowly reached up and touched her lips, realizing she stopped her prattle when he did that. He pulled his hand away, muttering an apology. Words began coming out of her mouth again and he once again watched her lips move, entranced by her voice, her calm and peacefulness. She quieted when he put his head on her shoulder. She kind of gasped when he did that. Surprised.

Take what you need, Todd. It wasn't just Téa he had taken from, he had taken from all of them, all those women. And it wasn't just taking but a pillaging. He had raped them, violently, hatefully, with everything that he was, with all that goddamned power Tim had talked about. It made taking from Téa very difficult, very conflicting.

She is granting you permission. She loves you and she accepts you. She's forgiven you.

But the problem was that when he allowed himself to be comforted by her, when he allowed Téa that close to him, he always remembered the times he hurt her. He felt certain feelings when he touched her. He imagined...doing...things.

Take what you need. She has you forgiven you your transgressions.

There's that damn word again, he thought. Forgiveness.

You can't forgive what I did. I can't. What happened to me...is no excuse. Don't you get that? I have to live with this carcass of a child on my back, I have to bear it. He died because of rape. Then...I turned around and chose to murder innocents in the same way. I knew the pain I'd cause and I did it anyway. And I did it better 'cause I did it with even greater hatred. I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Viki asked, her eyes soft and gentle, her tone warm. Like a mother. One who didn't abandon him, who could love him. He stared up at her, peering out from beneath suffocating, paralyzing despondency. He couldn't shake the sadness, the sorrow for the loss of himself through all the traumas he endured. Including the ones he was responsible for.

And all those colorful pills they were pumping him full of weren't helping, either. Blue one, white one. Changing colors. He'd just open his mouth and in they went. Just like other things.

They knew the answer. Lying in bed, chemically relieved.

Todd cleared his throat, battling for a moment a sudden, powerful impulse to get into contact with his pusher, Paulie. He could hear the offer, the deal, the ease of delivery. He had offered something different than the meth. Meth hadn't brought him any peace. And nothing here was working. He took a breath and shoved himself to the other side of the couch. He needed the space. He felt raw, naked.

Viki eyed him patiently. Ever-present… patience. In a barely perceptible voice, he asked, "You say that Téa still loves me. That I'll get outta here. You say that my daughter still loves me. Don't be naive. Don't insult yourself. Negative... negative... negative on all points."

"I'm not naive, I'm being honest based on what I see."

"How can they love me. Look at me. Stuck. Sick."

"I see your progress. I know it doesn't feel like progress, but it is. I was here once, too, you know. Where you are. And I did get better. It just takes time."

Progress. I've moved from being psychotic, to not feeling, from being able to maintain my distance from that slaughtered boy, to being beneath granite slabs of grief for him. I am lying on top of him, the way Peter used to lie on top of me. The two of us squished together. God, please take away this pain.

"There's no end to this," he whispered.

Viki reached out to him and tried to put her hand on his shoulder but he jerked hard against the armrest of the couch. He'd quickly gone to his no-touching state. She smiled gently at him. "You just keep doing what you're doing. Keep writing, keep talking. And know that I love you, that I'm here for you, that Téa is, too. Lean on us."

"Nice you can say you love me... without laughing... but... I'm not allowed to be loved."

"Who doesn't allow you?" Viki asked, perplexity crossing her face.

"Me. When someone gets close... they get hurt. Even the ones I don't mean to hurt." He shook his head, "Whatever. Doesn't matter." Closed his eyes again. When he heard a recognizable beep-beep from the television, he watched. Watched the cartoon playing, watched the survivability of the coyote. How he always came back no matter what. He watched how the roadrunner always had the last laugh. The funny thing was in all actuality, the roadrunner, the innocent-appearing roadrunner, was the abuser. He was the cruel one because he pretended to be the victim, pretended to be innocent. The way Peter did. Faking innocence and societal importance. Who me? The coyote, the stupid bruising coyote, thought he was smart, thought he was tough with all that canine drive. But he was the one who ended up in parts in the river bed. The way Todd ended up. The cartoon was a blend of disguises and masks. Un-truths, hidden agendas. Lies.

"Poor idiot," he said aloud.

"Your daughter doesn't like this program, either," Viki commented.

"I know. She likes the Power Rangers, especially the pink one. She likes it 'cause you always know who the bad guy is. It's big and ugly and..." Todd was overcome suddenly with an intense rush of hurt and he turned away, hunched into himself. The quietest whimper came from him.

Viki sighed, "I'm sorry. I know thinking about her hurts." She wished he would cry but she knew his depression was so severe that to cry was a near impossibility. It required too much energy, too much of a letting go. After a moment, he seemed to breathe easier. He watched the television again. Emptily.

Viki turned to the sound of someone approaching them and was pleased to see Tim. Concern for his patient was written all over his face, but he smiled anyway, "Hey there, kiddo. How's your visit coming?"

Todd didn't respond to him, his eyes still glued to the bouncing, noisy images in front of him.

"He's still pretty sad," Viki said. "Doesn't want me touching him today. I've just been talking away, but he doesn't seem much interested or very open to suggestion. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" She chuckled a little. No response came from Todd.

Nodding at Viki, Tim stepped in front of Todd and squatted down, Todd looking at him at last. "I'm changing some of your medication - in a couple of days you should be feeling better."

"Nothing helps. I'm ...stuck. Waiting... waiting to be shot down...Doc."

Tim gave Todd a compassionate gaze, one he so often gave to patients he saw during the day. Evaluating what he was looking at. Todd moved his head, sort of motioning that Tim was in his way. Turning to see what he was watching, Tim said, "Ahh the roadrunner." Looked back at Todd, "They sure need help, don't you think? A good mediator."

Todd shrugged. They had had an unproductive session in the morning together, Todd being quiet and non-responsive, scribbling in his journal wordless, black jumbles of lines. Tim tried to get him to explain what they meant, to tell him what he was thinking, but he only stared back with dolor, with that hopelessness. Finally, Todd had closed the book and started searching through his things, looking for something. Not telling Tim what he was on the hunt for despite being asked. He just kept opening drawers, rifling through his clothes lethargically. Obviously not locating what he wanted, Todd then had crawled back into his bed and went to sleep, sleeping through lunch until this afternoon when Viki had arrived. He had turned down food during the visit despite Tim's insistence.

"I have an idea," the doctor said, on his own search for what would affect Todd. "I was thinking that you really should see Starr. What do you say to that?"

Viki nodded in agreement, enthusiasm spilling over, "That's a wonderful idea. I'd be happy to bring her."

"No, for god's sake, no. No...please...no...no." Todd whipped his head fast, so set against seeing Starr. "I'll have to watch her leave a-a-and she might cry. A-a-and it'll be upsetting to her, to see me like this. I say weird things and they might scare her. No, no, no… I can't do that to her. NO!"

"Okay, okay," Viki said, trying to calm him. He'd gotten very agitated, very quickly.

"Can you both just stop trying to take care of me? Please? Tim… please… please let me… just… feel the mourning. Alone."

Tim was surprised at Todd's subtle sarcasm, hoping it was a sign that maybe the bleakness was lifting. He thought there was a bit more energy in his tone but worried he might just be seeing what he wanted to see. On the other hand, sudden energy in the midst of depression could mean a final decision to end things. "Alright, I'll leave you until dinner. Now...you have to eat this time around. Remember our rules. You take care of yourself physically and I help you along with the emotional stuff."

"Whatever. Fine. Bye."

Number...what was Paulie's number? I wanna fly. I wanna feel that good feeling. For once. Just once. Then I'll get back on this fuckin' ride through hell. "Take what you need." I know what I need and you can't give it to me, Delgado.

Standing up, Tim then said, "One last thing. I'd like to talk to your sister about where you are in your therapy. Do you have a problem with that?" Todd said nothing. "I won't disclose any substantive items from our discussions… just give her a general report."

Todd looked over at Tim, looked at Viki, then said softly, "I don't care what you say. Tell her anything you want. Tell her everything...tell her what a freak I am…"

"You aren't that. I'm keeping it general. Would you rather me update her in front of you - would that make you feel better?"

"No," Todd said, but then… he turned to Tim. Said flatly, "I want better pills. Something to make me not feel anything."

Tim got thoughtful, serious. Furrowed his brows. "The meds I'm giving you will help over time. Give them time to work. Feeling the sadness is important, though. Hard work… but important."

"Fine, whatever. Go away." He returned to his watch of the television, again, unconsciously rubbing the fabric of the sofa once more.

Viki got up, taking a last glance at Todd. He didn't look at her. She crossed the room with Tim, following him. "What can I do?" she asked when Tim faced her, his eyes moving to his patient for a bit then back to Viki.

"What you're doing," he said. "Showing him you care, trying to engage him, encouraging him, being supportive. He does real well with you."

"Tell me what's happening, then. I mean, I think I know. I remember being in a similar place...but it doesn't take away my worry. I still feel helpless. Like what I'm doing isn't enough."

"He's at a very tenuous stage right now. The depression is severe. He's revealed things that have happened to him, recovered memories which are very difficult because there's no adjustment to them… no distance. He's grieving, he's angry, frustrated that there's no way to confront his abuser. He might actually be seeing Peter in himself so he does tend to turn inward with his anger."

"What do you mean he's grieving?"

"He feels a loss of himself, his independence, he feels the loss of himself as a child. He refers to the 'boy' as another person, actively mourning his death, presumably at the hands of his father. It's very difficult but there is an end. It will get better. Just… takes time. And time passes slowly."

It was Viki's turn to watch Todd a moment. "I know that kind of grief. Very well."

"I wish you didn't understand it in such an intimate way. I'm sorry you do." He paused, gazing at Todd in the room. "I'm going to be honest with you. He's reluctant to pull out of the depression. He was doing well with his journal, but today was something else. This morning… concerned me. He could become suicidal...he hasn't made threats or anything, I want to be clear on that. But I'm concerned he could try to leave again. I'm having the nurses keep a close watch, but there's little we can do, really, if he decides to leave."

She nodded, chewing her lip. "Can't you use the possibility of suicide? Of being a danger to himself?"

"Standard is 'clear and present danger.' He's coherent enough to defeat attempts by a court to say he's not; possibility isn't enough. Needs to be probability. And… no doubt, he's coherent enough to get his own lawyer to fight any attempt of forced hospitalization. But by all means, get your own lawyer, Viki. See what you can do."

Viki put her hand to her chest, as if she hurt. As if she could stop the sympathetic pain. She remembered the last time he ran, the near miss with Jedediah. What if nobody ran across him? What if he ran out of such dumb luck?

"I'll do just that. The lawyer."

"I'm going to keep talking with him, offering him options. Keep encouraging him. I'm working on a better chemical regimen as well to help with the depression. Bottom line… he makes his own decisions about how he wants his treatment to progress, about how he wants to handle his emotions."

Viki gazed on Todd, still watching, still as death. He needed to stay… he needed inspiration to stay. And she had no idea what that might be. She wondered if Tim wasn't so much as telling her a possibility of his leaving, but maybe… a certainty.

Asa Buchanan was stuck between a rock and a hard place, as they say. FBI Agent Jack Neederman's steely eyes and gravelly voice told him just how cornered he was.

"So you gonna tell me about Phillip Manning?"

Asa had pretty much lived his life on the edge of the law, always risking, always testing. Bullying weaker people than him and always winning. Unfortunately, Phillip Manning ruined his track record. Asa should have known better, but getting control of Angel Square was too tempting to pass up even if it involved a deal with the devil himself. Bribing city council members, conning weaker folk out of their hard earned money, and taking cash in exchange for his cooperation, all had been a price to pay to be the top dog.

Jack sat across from the large Texan in the temporary office at Llanview P.D., the subpoena for Asa's business records in front of him. The stack of documents Cassie had obtained from the Mole sat in a neat pile to the side. With his hand resting on the desk, Jack pushed the subpoena back and forth on the desk, making a rhythmic swishing sound.

Asa slammed his hand on top of the paper, "I want immunity before I talk."

"What is it about immunity in this town? Everyone wants to get off scot-free for their crimes. Why is that?" Jack did not release his gaze from Asa.

Leaning back on his chair again, Asa glared at the federal agent, "You say this Manning is bad, that you want him… that he's committed murder. That makes me think the cat's worth catching to you… so… I think you oughta cut me a deal. Assure me you won't prosecute my sons… and I'll talk."

"You want immunity for your sons. What about for yourself?"

Asa looked down, thinking of Renee, Bo, Clint. "I'm the one responsible for this mess… I dragged my sons into this. They don't know anything, they don't know the real deal."

"So you'll talk."

"In exchange for your promise to keep my sons out of this, yeah. And maybe I don't get jail time."

"Ah. Knew you wouldn't want prison." Jack started swishing the paper again on the desk. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. Mumbled a conversation with some other federal crony, making Asa wait. Sweat it out. Asa had no choice. If he kept quiet and continued along with the game, the feds were going to put him through a trial. And because Phillip was missing, he was going to pay for all of the sins, along with Bo and Clint. On the other hand, if he talked, he had Phillip to deal with, Phillip's insanity, Phillip's henchmen. But at least he'd have the government behind him. Perhaps others would follow his footsteps and talk, too. Asa always had the feeling Phillip was hanging onto his empire by a thread and all it needed to fall apart was a little tension. By offering himself up, he was assured that Bo and Clint would be kept out of it.

The phone got dropped onto the cradle noisily and Jack smiled at Asa, "You got yourself a deal, Buchanan. Immunity for the boys and no jail time for you, provided you give us solid evidence."

Asa eyed Jack, eyed the dingy walls of the office, the piles of paper. Wondered whether these were to be his last days of life. Would Phillip get to him?

"All right," he said. "Let's get started then."

Phillip Manning had spent his morning tracking Jedediah Chant himself. He figured out where he lived, following the little shit on his bike the previous day. So this morning, he watched the boy get into the car with Kevin Buchanan around 7:30 in the a.m., head on over to the Palace Hotel for breakfast, and then finally disappear into the confines of the Banner Newspaper. It was 4:00 p.m. now and Phillip waited outside the building in his rented car for an opportunity to befriend Jedediah, part of his larger plan.

Admittedly, it wasn't a good plan because he knew his hatred was settling in on him. He was losing control over his empire. The Mole, his long-trusted worker was not being very cooperative or very available. Several other workers were now hiding thanks to the federal rampage over at Manning Enterprises back in Chicago. He was a fugitive for god's sake.

There was something else, though. Pushed him over the edge of rational thought. He learned his paid-off cop, Daniel Logan, over at the Fayetteville police department, lied to him about the bones they found.

Lied that they had been confirmed as those of Michelle Chant.

He read an article from a local Fayetteville newspaper about hikers having discovered parts of a skeleton. Authorities said they belonged to a man rather than a woman. A pencil rendering of the guy was published. A man in his fucking fifties. Now, why would the son-of-a-bitch lie? Why would he have created this falsehood? WHY ELSE?!

The bitch must be alive.

Taking a breath, Phillip grumbled as he lit another cigarette, rubbing his very short hair. Holding the Marlboro in one hand, he took a bite out of a sandwich. Looked in the rear-view mirror at his newly bleached hair and shaven face. When he returned his gaze to the Banner, a grin slowly spread across his face.

Jedediah Chant was walking out of the building with a backpack on his shoulder, strutting like it was goddamn Christmas. Once he was sure Jedediah was alone, he hopped out of the car, locked the door, and shoved the keys into his pocket. He crossed the street and had to walk fast to keep up with the kid. Jedediah soon hit a red and waited for the light to change, his eyes drawn to a pretty girl across the street. He turned around to face a friendly smile and a friendly introduction, "Winter's comin' pretty quick, uh?"

The accent reminded Jed of the Virginia mountain folk and he was instantly intrigued. "Where are you from, your accent...uh...?" he asked.

"Weste'n Virginia, from da hills. Visitin', lookin' for some kinfolk o'mine." Phillip looked directly at the boy, looked at his light eyes, seeing less than abashed innocence. This boy carried with him a certain knowledge. Like he'd been burned and learned to keep his precious fingers out of the flame. Phillip, though, was calculating on a weakness he knew existed.

"I'm from West V," Jed said, a hint of caution in his voice.

"Thought so...you named, Jedediah, no?"

Jedediah's initial curiosity turned to straight suspicion, Kevin's recent nervousness over his being alone coming back. He looked around for others, ambushing types. Over the past couple of weeks, Kevin had changed from a cool friend to a friggin' nervous mother. Cassie was just as bad. They would hardly let him breathe, not letting him move around town. It was driving him nuts and they wouldn't tell him what their problem was. So he kept escaping them, driving them nuts.

"Who wants to know?" he said.

The man laughed heartily, a real belly laugh, "Da name's Nemo, Nemo Torn. I be a cousin o'yours, a cousin to your motha, Michelle."

Jed's heart leaped into his throat. The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a bracelet. "She gots a message for ya'. She say to come home to her. But you gotta go alone. No company, no tellin' nobody. Too dangerous. I'll take you to her."

Jed could hardly breathe and he looked away, completely at a loss. After a few moments, he dared to look at the bracelet. A laced gold one with a flat engraved piece in the middle. He knew what it said, knew it said, "Michelle." He remembered that bracelet, remembered playing with it when they would lie in bed together singing those songs and telling those stories. When she would look at him with her loving eyes and laugh in her special restrained way so Beatrice wouldn't hear them. So Beatrice wouldn't know of their secret mother-son relationship.

"Where'd you get that?" Jedediah huffed.

"Told ya'. It's from your motha'. She be waitin' for ya'. She sent me to get ya'."

"How the hell did you find me?"

"I be followin' ya. Since you showed up in da Fayetville. I done heard ya' talkin' to da reporta dat one day. I told your motha', den I followed ya here."

"Why'd you wait to talk to me? I don't understand."

"Shhh...chile, you don't got no worries wit' me. I take you to her."

"No… no… I don't believe you. She's dead… the papers said she's dead… that guy killed her… they're looking for him. I don't know you."

Phillip looked away, making sure nobody noticed Jedediah who was getting too heated, too upset. He was bound to attract some maternal bitch's attention. So far so good, he thought. Although Jed was nervous and itching to bolt, Phillip knew he had him hooked. This kid wasn't going anywhere.

"She be alive, Jedediah Chant. She be hidin' from da man dat nearly done 'er in. She ain't riskin' comin' to da city. But she want you home. She loves ya."

"Get the hell outta here…" Jedediah turned around hard, not knowing what to do, where to go, not ready to leave. Jesus, who was this guy?

"I'll give you time, time to think about it. You go on ahead … I know where ya' livin'. I'll catch up to ya'. No need to be 'fraid." Phillip gave Jedediah his nicest, warmest smile possible and took Jedediah's hand into his. Dropped the bracelet into the boy's hand, "She wants ya' home with her."

Jedediah took the bracelet and ran across the street, taking a last look at the stranger before he ducked around a corner. Dying inside, lost.

The Mole arrived at the Banner to see if he could spot Jedediah, to make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid. He parked his car across the street and looked about, not seeing him yet. 4:45 p.m and he thought he might have missed him. Lately, the kid had taken to making himself too vulnerable, that Buchanan not being able to control him very well. And now the Mole was feeling like a goddamn babysitter.

He felt the jingle of his cell phone and reached into his pocket, pulling it out. "Yeah." He heard nothing. Angered, he growled, "Ya know, I don't have time for this shit. Is this Manning? Cause you're the only—"

"Yeah...yeah...Manning."

When the Mole had said, "Manning," he had meant Phillip, not Todd. It was the latter who was on the phone. Ironically, only Phillip and Todd had his cell phone number. He used a pager number with everyone else. Phillip had it because he paid the most, there always being a lot of work. Todd had it because he paid a lot for very little work and because he wasn't about to stand around waiting for a drug dealer to call him at work. Or at home. Strange irony, their names. He was pretty sure the two men were connected somehow, related maybe. Phillip refused to say.

"Todd… man...I've been thinkin' about you...how's it hangin'?"

"Ok...I guess..." Todd's voice was low, breathy, and the Mole had to strain to hear it. The guy sounded like crap. Ok, my ass, he thought. Fuckin' hospitals. They don't know anything about how to relieve pain. Nothin'. He always liked Todd Manning, liked his honesty. Whenever Manning bought product, he'd always kick in a little extra green, just for the Mole's trouble. Just for his silence. "To the grave, my man, to the grave," the Mole would promise, stuffing the money into his coat pocket. It was why he delivered the speed to the hospital that one time. Good times… delivering to the lock-down ward. Slid that shit right to Manning… right under the noses of the staff. Todd hadn't been all with it, then, but he managed that day. Managed well… considering. Todd didn't know him as the Mole, but as Paulie Smith. More or less the Mole's real name.

"So what will it be today?" he asked. "French fries? Coke? A little...Happy Meal with a lift? Or maybe you just need some peace, man."

"Yeah… what you said the last time… tell me..."

The Mole shook his head. His friend sounded real fuckin' bad. Yeah, he hated hospitals. People went in and never came out. "You need a piece of heaven, man, that's what you need. It's white and pretty. I can take care of you."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta... have say in this. Stuffing me with shit I don't know. Nothing's working."

Low and slow he talked, the pain palpable. Not right. "I hear ya'. You gotta take things into your own hands. Fuck these doctors. Don't know shit."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well then, we're square. Be in front of that fuckin' place round nine tonight and I'll pick you up. Set you right."

"You… want me to leave… here?"

"You still locked up?"

"Not anymore."

"Then what the fuck are you waitin' for? Take control of your shit, like you always have!"

"Like I always have."

"Hell, yeah. I'll pick you up in your own private limo, daddy-o. Hook you up with the prettiest princess you'll ever know. She'll rock your world like nothin' else…"

At the hospital, Todd was hanging on the patient phone in the hallway. Hanging on like it was all he had left. Forehead on the wall, phone in his hands, cradled against his ear. Viki had gone home at his insistence, Tim was making rounds. The nurses were watching him. The hurt had grown too much in the past hours. He could barely move, could barely eat. Could barely drag himself to the bathroom. He wanted something to stop the pain and the garbage Tim was giving him wasn't working. He ran out of patience. Didn't want to see the boy anymore. The one at his feet. Tim had tried talking to him, but he couldn't answer anymore.

"Go away," he had finally wrenched out to Tim. "I'm okay," he had lied. "Just tired."

The Mole repeated his question, "Well? You gonna be at the north door at nine?"

Todd looked at the nurses, looked down at himself, looked at his cut arms, looked at the clock. Téa was safe. Far away. She'd tried to see him an hour ago… and he just couldn't do it to her. Couldn't spread the maggots to her... so yeah, home, as she should be. Along with Starr and Jed. Viki would get over it. And... he could get some peace. At his say, at his own call. No more strange colored pills being shoved down his throat. The boy at his feet told him so. No more, no more. And so did Peter who stood right next to that dead boy. Who promised nothing but more hell...

"Yeah," he said. "Come get me."

God, take away this fucking pain, just take it away. Doc, I want to fly just like you said. But I only know one way right now.

To be continued….