On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2

Chapter 16

Note from author: warning, this chapter is graphic, violent.

From his immovable bed, on top of the flimsy bed sheet and blanket, Jedediah studied the isolation room he spent the past week in as punishment. The room was small, whitewashed, lit by reflective lights which had gone on around 7:00 a.m. Padded fabric-like material lined the walls, making them safe for bouncing against and for throwing heavy-duty shit-fits against. One window offered daylight, high up and well protected from fists or heads. A "rubber room," Jed thought.

His mind drifted from topic to topic, always coming around to the same thing. Todd. He was dying to know what had happened with Téa, hoped the man was waking up in his own rubber room this morning. The problem, though, was that he wasn't permitted to talk to any family due to his "behavior problems." Whatever. He didn't give a damn. Fuck them.

All at once, the door clicked and Jedediah immediately flipped over, purposefully giving the visitor his back, showing only the bright red letters of his white tee-shirt. He then heard something being dragged into the room and set into place. Heard the clearing of a throat. A man, it sounded like.

"Jed, turn around," he heard. He knew the voice. It was Todd's doctor and he flipped back over, thinking something had happened to Todd. Seated in a straight-back chair, Tim smiled at him and, understanding the question behind the fear on the boy's face, said, "Things are still the same - he's still missing."

"I knew Téa couldn't get him back."

"He's pretty much out of reach from everyone for the time being. But I'm here to talk about you, to get you to start going along with the program here. It's not so bad, kiddo – I think you could get a lot from Mr. Eldridge, from the classes they offer."

Jedediah gave him the finger and turned back over. "I don't plan on going along with anything," he mumbled. "They can't keep me here forever – they're gonna have to give. We got a Constitution, doncha know. Due process and all that shit."

"Yeah, true, but when it comes to behavior in a locked facility… believe me, you're the one who's gonna have to give. They may be required to provide you medical attention, food, bathing facilities, education, but they don't have to provide a variety of privileges you might want, such as telephone use, library use, computer use. Visitors. You know they have a great library – great Internet access, the kind you might need to say ... look for evidence about what happened to your mother? Look for Todd? Maybe he's playing around on a computer someplace – maybe he's trying to connect with somebody that way. You never know. Did you know that every kid here has an e-mail account? It isn't private ... but it's access to the outside world."

Jed heard Tim – he did – but it was all bullshit. On the other hand, Todd was smart – maybe after a while, he'd want to do something with his time, work a little. Maybe he would want to play around on a computer ... maybe. If he could lay off the dope long enough to sit up.

Tim continued, "I'm actually pretty good friends with Charles, your ... Mr. Eldridge. I spent some time practicing here when I first got to Llanview. He's a good guy, Jed."

Jedediah sat up and glared at Tim, "A good guy?! A guy who damn near killed me is 'a good guy'?!"

"You spit at him. That's bound to bring out a man's tougher side." Tim knitted his brows, tilted his head, "You know, I get that you're upset about this whole thing. But you can't assault officers, you can't do that to anyone. It's a misdemeanor at best, felony at worst. You ... are being a stubborn, unthinking, ill-tempered snot."

"Fuck you!"

Tim shook his head and crossed his arms assuredly. He sat patiently, not saying anything, gazing at Jed who quickly lay back down in a huff. They remained like that a bit, Tim making Jedediah feel increasingly uncomfortable. Jed popped up again, "What the hell do you want? You want me to be a good boy? You want me to go along with this fucked-up program? Why should I?! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! IT WASN'T MY HEROIN!"

"Ah. You don't belong here, so you're not gonna follow the rules."

"Awww you're so fuckin' smart, aren't you?! Well guess again, ASSHOLE! You couldn't keep him locked up! It's your fault he's a junkie! YOURS!" Jedediah then let out an aggravated yell, punching the air with his fist and repeatedly kicking at the mattress beneath him.

Tim crossed his arms and rubbed his face, watching the kid stew. The pain he was experiencing was so plain it broke Tim's heart. Jedediah didn't want to comply with rules, not because he thought he was innocent or wrongfully incarcerated, but because he felt so helpless, so out of control – to get thrown into isolation over and over made Jedediah feel powerful. Fighting constantly gave him that almighty sense of control. It made getting punished his decision. It put him in charge.

"It's okay to hurt, Jed," Tim said softly.

Jedediah turned to him, "I don't hurt! What kind of shitty response is that?! GET ME OUT OF HERE! DO SOMETHING ABOUT TODD!"

"We're doing our best, kiddo, we really are. But it's going to take time." He sighed and then added, "Point is, we get it. Morally speaking, you didn't do anything wrong."

"You're damn right! It's HIS fault I'm here! AND YOURS!"

"It's okay to be mad at him."

"MAD?! I'm not mad at him! I'M MAD AT YOU!"

"You can be mad at me, too."

"I wanted to help him, the stupid shit! And I get put in here for it!"

"I mean, it's all really crazy, it doesn't make any sense."

Jedediah turned quickly, putting his bare feet on the floor, tired of Tim's insistent calm.

"No, it doesn't make sense!" He yelled. "IT'S SO FUCKED UP! IT'S SO FUCKED UP! AND I HATE YOU SO MUCH!" Jedediah got to his feet just as Tim expected, but unlike Todd who wouldn't hesitate one second at seriously attacking Tim, Jedediah didn't advance on Tim, he just continued to rant, "'CAUSE YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS HARM REDUCTION GARBAGE! You're the one who got him HOOKED!"

Tim nodded, pushing away that tiny inner voice of guilt, seeing that Jedediah was shaking as if he was cold, shivering despite his wearing sweats and a tee-shirt. "You have every right to be mad," the doctor said.

"Mad! I'm SO MAD!" Jedediah screamed childlike words, tears filling his eyes rather than fury. "I HATE HIM!"

Tim said, "I know."

"No you don't! NOBODY KNOWS! I HATE HIM! I HATE THAT JERK FOR GETTING ME IN HERE! I TRIED TO HELP HIM!"

Jedediah screamed again, putting his fists against his eyes to stop the tears and stop the relentless fear he felt for so many things, finally letting himself cry angrily. Furiously. Sitting back down on the bed. "I just wanted to help him!" he cried. "Why wouldn't he listen to me?! WHY?!"

The kid cried for a long while, heavy broken-hearted sobs. Knees up, arms wrapped around them, face buried in those knees. When he finally started to burn out, nothing but weary sniffles left, Tim said softly, "It's okay to hate him, to be mad because he didn't hear you, because he refused to change for you. But it's also okay to love him no matter what. Love him when he's high, when he's not. It's okay."

Jedediah looked at Tim for a second, crinkling his face in confusion, his emotions sort of coming back into check. "That's sick," he said, sniffling.

"What's sick?"

"To want to be with him when he's high. I'm not a freak."

"To want to be with him no matter what, no matter his mental state isn't sick, Jed. To even want him to continue to use drugs because they make him feel good isn't sick. That's love."

"I don't love that bastard, I just want him well so he can help me find out about my mom and for Kevin's mom ... and ... and ... and his ... Téa ... I don't give a shit about him."

Tim nodded thoughtfully, "Ok ... so you don't care about him. When did you stop caring?"

Jedediah shrugged, rubbing his face hard, "I don't know. Maybe ... I don't know. I don't know ..." He stared tiredly at the floor. He was … tired. Too long at this business with Todd, too long in isolation, just plain too long. He wanted to go home but realized he didn't really have one. He sighed and glanced at Tim, refocusing on the floor. They lived in silence for a bit.

"He cares more about heroin than me."

Tim tilted his head to get a better look at Jedediah, who was still looking downwards, two fat teardrops rolling down his cheeks. "What makes you think that?"

Jedediah was quiet for another long while, Tim giving him his space. It worked. Jedediah said softly, almost in a whisper, "I knew it when I took the dope."

"What happened?"

"He kicked the bathroom door until it opened, calling me names and shit. When I flushed the garbage down the john, he grabbed me... " He paused. Swallowed hard. Sighed. "He shoved me to the wall." Jedediah instinctively rubbed the back of his head. "Slammed me against the wall a bunch of times, screamed at me. He wanted to fucking kill me." His voice dropped lower, the pain so terribly audible. "He hated me. He only loves heroin."

Tim covered his sadness at hearing this. Todd had crossed a hell of line. Not an unexpected move, though. Viki had told Tim that Todd had never abused Starr in any way and Tim had long concluded that Todd's fear of such a thing was unfounded and a complete projection. But then she shifted. Shared a worry for Jedediah. Said he dropped clues that something bad had gone down but wouldn't admit it. Tim had actually doubted Viki's take on it. She was right and he owed her an apology.

"You're surprised he hurt you."

"I guess so. Kinda."

"Even considering the first time you met him at the hospital? He was pretty out of control that night."

"I was scared then, yeah ... but somehow, I knew he wouldn't really hurt me. But this last time…. he had to work hard not to kill me. I know what people look like when they're pissed like that. I've seen it lots."

"You understand that what he did is the drug talking, yes? His illness has made him dependent on dope. Doesn't excuse the behavior – what he did was very, very wrong. I'm just explaining why it's happening."

"I… I know what you're saying … I just don't ... SEE it." At that, Jedediah covered his eyes and like the baby that he really was, the son that he was, he said softly, baring-his-soul truthfully, "I wanted him to love me ... to listen to me ... he's all I have."

Tim sighed, and said gently, "This is tough business."

Jed just hung his head, fingers intertwining repeatedly. After a few minutes, he asked, "Does this mean I have to be nice, now that I've cried my eyes out and said I hated you?"

"Nope," Tim said, smiling slightly, "...you can still be a snotty brat if you want. Just know it won't get you anywhere. The best thing you can do for YOU is to follow the rules, do what they say. Things'll happen that way. You'll change your situation, healthfully. By using all that energy positively, redirecting all those curse words you and your dad love so much, you can give yourself a sense of control over this very out-of-control situation."

"I can't help myself. When anyone tells me to do anything, I just ... get all ... itchy."

"I understand that, believe me, I do. But look what's happened. You've ended up in isolation as a result and can't get anything done."

Jed shrugged, hating to admit Tim was right.

"So," Tim continued. "When you feel all 'itchy', focus on what you DO have control over. If they tell you to wake up at 6:00, focus on the fact that you control HOW you wake up – that you stretch first or open your eyes first or wiggle your toes. Know that YOU decide the details, that you decide the thoughts running through your head. Same thing when it comes to class time. Know that everything you're learning is power, and power is something you can use. Nobody can take that away from you – there is always something within your control. And yeah, you don't have power over Todd or his addiction or his mental illness ... HE doesn't have control despite what he thinks. But that doesn't mean you have to fight the law or this center."

Jedediah thought a bit then turned to Tim, "I learned some things about Todd on Sunday - from a cop."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Details about stuff he did to ... a woman."

Tim nodded, "Marty Saybrooke."

"Yeah. Why did he do them? I mean, WHY."

The question was a big one. Complicated. Tim had to think about what words to use. "To release rage, to feel powerful. His sense of control was taken away from him at a really young age so he fought back in a similar way, in a sexually violent manner mostly. It's rooted in the sexual abuse he told you about. That's it in a nutshell... " Jed was quiet. "Does that… answer your question? There aren't any easy answers."

"I guess so ..." He had another question on his mind. Hard to ask, hard to put into words. He didn't want to get Todd in any more trouble.

Tim picked up on it. "You know, you can tell me anything. I'm here for you."

Jedediah stared at Tim. Chewed on lip. Looked up at the window. Finally decided to just spit it out. "Is it weird that Todd did stuff with that girl in front of me?"

Hesitating, Tim furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when I was at his place, we kind of got into it, ya'know … he was high, no question… but… but when I lay down on the couch, he got into bed and… I could tell things were going on. Breathing and moving and... stuff… and it was dark and I'm sure he thought I was sleeping I guess, but… I was still there, you know? It didn't bug me … but …"

"Are you talking about something sexual going on?"

"Yeah. Don't tell anyone … it wasn't a big deal … I didn't really see anything … but what is that?"

Tim asked gently, "What do you think it meant?"

"More evidence that he doesn't care about me. That he's kinda very fucked-up."

Tim leaned back on the chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah, it's a very fucked-up thing to do. We're talking distorted judgment, a distancing, a collapsing of boundaries. He's not rational right now thanks to the drugs and of course, thanks to his illness. Nothing you did made him do that."

"We kinda got into it though – I was really mad – I pushed him, I mean, literally."

"That's not what did it – that's not what why he decided to act out sexually without regard to you. This isn't your fault in any way. I know he cares about you – he very much does – but he's not able to show it in a healthy way right now. He can't really see beyond himself."

Jedediah looked at Tim and shrugged.

Because Todd's behavior skirted the edges of a mild form a sexual abuse, Tim was concerned about the incident's impact on Jed. "How are you feeling about what happened?"

"It's just one more thing, ya' know? I'm fine. I mean… it wasn't a big deal. I just …"

"You needed to tell someone because it hurt."

Jedediah nodded, sighing, "Just one more thing. Think I'll really stop caring about him any time soon? Think he's told me in enough ways I should just…walk away?"

"You're too good a kid to stop caring – just can't help yourself. It's okay, though. It's a good trait to have. Within reason, of course. You need to take of yourself, though. Don't forget that."

Jed flashed a questioning look.

"Jed, your safety comes first. My suggestion when it comes to Todd is to be very careful – he is capable of hurting you, he will do it. Without analyzing him, I can't tell you at what point he'll stop."

"Would he rape me?"

Tim lifted his eyebrows, reflecting on Todd's history, on his varying mental states, on everything Jed had told him. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wanna know."

"Did he do something to you?"

"No. No… I just wanna know."

"If he hurt you, Jed, you really need to tell me."

"I swear he didn't… it was just the fight in the bathroom."

Tim eyed Jed a moment, before responding. "People do all kinds of things, unpredictably. I can't say absolutely he'd never do something like that for the same reason I can't predict any human behavior. I can only talk about chances, likelihoods, probabilities."

"And with him?"

"I'd say it's unlikely. He's never shown himself to be a child sexual predator in any way. The incident with Brandy comes from a different place – the motivation is different. Most likely. What he did was still wrong, but it isn't symptomatic of an interest in … children or… his children. The anger he's shown to you is very much defensive anger, or anger intended to provoke you into fighting with him, or leaving. I don't see any indication that he somehow likes or needs to have control over you. Unlike his father who sought out opportunity after opportunity to overpower and dominate him."

The room stayed quiet a while, Tim making mental notes and so, so sad for Jedediah. Unfortunately, the truth was, he doubted Jed would make a break from Todd. This kid was hopelessly intertwined with his father. He could only hope that Todd voluntarily stayed away from Jed.

"Anything else?"

"No, I'm all right."

Tim smiled, letting Jed sit a bit. Waiting. When the kid didn't say anything, Tim figured there really wasn't anything else he wanted to say, or rather, nothing else he was willing to say. "Okay. I've given my number to the Center, told them that anytime you need me, you're to be allowed a call. Any time of the day or night. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"So do we have a deal on the other stuff? You'll work on the more positive aspects of ... control?"

"I can't make any promises but ... I'll try to be good."

Tim smiled, "That's all we can ask."

Jedediah got serious again, "I don't like being called a criminal."

"I'll tell Charles not to call you that. We know you're not one."

"Do you know what happened on Sunday? With Téa?"

"Yup."

"How'd it go, I mean, other than the fact Todd took off again?"

Tim squinted, "How do you think it went?"

"Did Téa beat Brandy up?"

Tim laughed aloud, "No ... no ... both survived. It was pretty tense, though."

"You think Téa'll come see me? I was kind of rude to her back at the jail."

"Sure she will. You got a lot of people who care about you, so ... behave."

"Whatever. I'll try to be better. I'll try."

Tim laid a heavy hand on Jed's shoulder. Said, "You take care, kid." He stayed while Jed met with a still severe and frightening Eldridge. Jedediah was a little better; he didn't say, "no," didn't spit, yell or curse. He even took his new room assignment gracefully and readied himself to mix in with the general population, something Tim and Eldridge knew would be a challenge. The kids in Juvie Hell and the general staff were tough, all offering new opportunities for control theft, for ... Jed to get all itchy over.

When Tim left, leaving Jedediah in his new room, Jed's thoughts drifted to Todd, but not to Todd's anger, drug use, nor the way he looked when he shoved Jed or when he burst through the bathroom door back at the China Moon. He didn't think about the noises in the motel room either. What he thought about was the couple of times Todd trusted Jed – the two times when Todd hopped onto the back of Jedediah's motorcycle. In doing so, he had handed control over to Jedediah. For someone who had to have "this much" control and power, even choosing extreme violence to prove just how much he had, Todd had given Jed a special gift. He let Jed drive – let him make the decisions as to whether to turn left or right. Both those times, Jedediah could have dropped Todd off at the next available cop stop, could have dumped him at the hospital. Knowing that possibility, Todd gave Jedediah his trust.

Momentary maybe but special nonetheless. So maybe Jedediah could do the same. Sit back and to a certain degree, trust the doctor, trust Eldridge. Hand over some control to the center.

Maybe ... maybe.

Blood splattered across the yellowed wall of the Manning living room and Todd groaned wordlessly at the euphoria, seeing the redness along with bits of brain matter. The baseball bat hopped in his palm as he got a better grip on it and he swung again, hitting Peter, fracturing the skull noisily, feeling it crumple beneath the wood. God, it was so damn good to do this, radiantly good. Like whooshing down a roller coaster kinda good, screaming from the top of a mountain kinda good.

Oh yeah ... yeah ... fucking good.

Over and over, Todd kept at it, emitting primal grunts and yells while beating the hell out of Peter long after he was dead. Sheer out-of-control rage was the best ... even better than heroin because it was real and true. Todd slowed his efforts for a second while he absorbed the fact that he finally figured out the kind of purity he had inside of him: pure hate.

Oh yeah ... you wanted pure, oh Great Spirit of mine, well here you have it. Whack. You wanted me to embrace my perfection, you got it. Embrace this.The perfection of destruction, the perfection of blood and muscle, unclothed by skin, unsupported by bone. Pure hatred constitutes godliness. Isn't that right, oh Great Spirit?

Bless me, bitch.

When Peter's body finally lay in a pulpy mass at the base of the wall, there was this minor let-down, a crash of disappointment that it was over. He leaned against the wall and gazed down at the body, noticing a pool of blood beneath his bare feet. Felt the liquid squishing in between his toes, slimy and gooey. He tried to step out of it, tried to clean his feet on the rug, but the slithering stuff wouldn't come off. In fact, it was spreading.

He felt it running up his ankles, thighs, hips, and stomach; saw it jump over to his hands, creeping up to his face and neck. Shaking the blood out of his eyes, he glanced again at the mess before him. Bewildered, he bent over slightly to get a better view.

The body was thinner than he remembered. Peter was ... thinner, almost ... youthful. All at once, the red mush of a head turned to Todd and opened its eyes, white amidst pulsing, raw muscle.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" it crooned. "Don't you love me?"

It wasn't Peter Todd was destroying with his unleashed violence, but Jedediah.

Todd shot up in bed with the last of a scream still in his throat, sweating and breathing fast. He looked around in a panic, checking himself for blood, checking to see if he was dressed, seeing just his sweat pants. For a few seconds, he had no idea where he was and wondered where he'd put Jedediah's body. Then it dawned on him that he was in Brandy's studio apartment. That Jedediah wasn't entirely dead – he was in kiddie jail.

Thanks to Todd.

Calming down only slightly, he glanced at a plain ticking clock on the night table and saw that it was near four. Based on the light breaking through the lacy curtains, it was obviously four in the afternoon but he had no idea how many hours had passed, how many days. He had a vague knowledge, however, that in fact it had been nearly a week since Jedediah had been sent to the detention center. In and out of sleep, in and out of self-imposed refusal to connect with the real world, Todd had managed to cut himself off from everything. Hiding beneath that damn vulture's wings over his body with claws buried in his back.

He rubbed his face and his chest – couldn't totally blame the heroin. Nope. Truth was, he'd completely and utterly lost his mind. Insanity had taken over.

Scrambling out of the bed, he looked around for Brandy and saw she was gone and it scared him, made him nervous. He paced a bit, still feeling the dream all over him, inside of him. He tried cleaning himself up by washing his face and brushing his teeth ... he even showered quickly, hoping that would help but nothing did. He couldn't find his clothes so he put on the same sweat pants from before, still feeling like he was covered in Jed's blood.

All Todd could think was that he killed his own son – killed him in his nightmare and in real life. And not just Jed, Starr, too. His babies.

I made promises, vows, I told Satan to his face that I would never turn my back on my children and here I am, turning my back tens times over, actively murdering them. But I can't stop it so come to me, Princess of Perfection, kill ME first so that I won't see the rest of the destruction ... kill ME with your love ... first.

"God," he moaned, sitting finally at the breakfast table, with his head in his hands, a headache now ravaging him, that powerful vulture having refused to let him go. The door opened and he heard through the roosting haze, a twittering voice, chirpy and light. He didn't recognize it – it just wouldn't connect.

"Hey, baby, you're up! I just knew you'd come around today. I brought us a late breakfast, special!"

The sparrow-like girl put down something on the table – he could hear the rustling of a plastic bag and the setting out of ... stuff. "Let's see," she cooed, "we got pears ... and some waffles in a box ... and some coffee ... and look! I kinda went all out and bought some real maple syrup 'cause I know you probably like that kinda thing, real fancy ...and real butter ..."

Todd peeked through his hands at her and mumbled, "It's too fucking bright in here."

Brandy stood still and tried to help his mood, saying, "You can't fight the sun, baby ... even through them clouds it still comes and you ain't gonna ruin our breakfast with all your bitchin'! 'Sides, you been sleepin' for like a week ... you just didn't want to get up. Even the little bit of dope I been giving you everyday hasn't gotten you up. I missed you. We have to celebrate!"

"A week of sleeping?"

"Yup, something like that. In and out – don't you remember nothin'?"

He shrugged.

"Today ... is ... Wednesday. Hump day!" She giggled and then said quietly, mostly to herself as she fussed with the things she bought, "I never did understan' that silly name..."

"Shit," he grumbled, hiding behind his hands again. Finally dropping down on the table entirely, his cheek against the fake wood, his hands enmeshed in his hair, pressing on his head to chase away the pain. His legs hurt. Damn cramping in his gut. Brandy walked behind him, leaned close in on him, placed her hands carefully on his shoulders, and said softly, "You want somethin'? You want me to make you feel good? If we maybe - go slower - you know ... maybe ... you won't have no memories or nothin' ..."

"You want me to do you after all those assholes did you? How many times you get fucked this past week? What ...fifty times? A hundred? No fucking way."

Brandy stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, looking at the brown, flattened carpet. She chewed on one of her nails and held back a tidal wave of hurt and embarrassment at Todd's cruelty. She knew he didn't mean what he said. He was just ... achin', 'cause he needed more dope, a bigger dose than what she'd been giving him so he wouldn't feel sick. That was all.

"Okay," was all she could squeak out. She silently walked into the kitchenette, grabbing the two coffees she'd bought. Sipped one and then put them both down, not hungry or thirsty or feeling like giving much of anything anymore. She walked out of the kitchen, unaware of Todd's eyes following her.

He turned to watch her as she sat on the bed, smoothing out the sheets. A sickening feeling ran through him, a familiar feeling, something pure.

Pure hatred constitutes godliness.

She rolled over onto her stomach and grabbed a pillow to her. Sighed and stared at the clock on the night table. Looked sad and injured – a sparrow with a busted wing, an abandoned cat. Todd saw that she was wearing casual clothes, non-work clothes: jeans with some cheap hiking-type boots, a sweatshirt over a turtleneck shirt. Normal. Something in her settled him. The hatred receded … a wave back into an ocean of waves.

He groaned loudly and fingered the waffle box, looking over at Brandy to see if she reacted to him. She didn't.

Johnny-girl, don't you get it? We're whores. We're dirty and used and my body is as disgusting as the others. Want me to show you? I'll show you.

"Leggo my eggo," he said, pushing the box off the table. Hearing it flop on the floor.

Brandy looked at him and shook her head, burying her face into the pillow.

"Bears ... and pears ... don't dare share 'less you snare their mohair ... and shame them to dis-repair," he said, pushing the can of pears off the table, it clunking onto the floor, rolling along a tad. Brandy rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Todd got up at last and wandered to the bed, lying on top of Brandy. Hugging her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I feel really shitty today. It was nice of you to get a breakfast. Even if it is past four." He kissed her neck and rested against her and she lay quietly beneath him, waiting for him to do something like start to have sex because that's what happened so often with others. They usually were mean and then they had sex with her. So she waited. But she also knew she'd offer herself up to him again. 'Cause ... that's what she was made for.

Contrarily, as Todd lay on top of her, it wasn't sex he wanted. It was heroin. More and more, he associated Brandy with it. Her fingers pushing down on the plunger, her hair hanging as she mixed stuff up for him, her smile as she came at him with the syringe. Being close to her made his mouth water, made his whole body cramp with unsatisfied need. An image of her doing him up cut through the darkness of his depression and he kissed her neck again, pressing himself against her prone body. Fucking with the Princess – letting the Princess love and kill him. Closing the door on Téa.

Shhh ... stay out, woman, you have no idea who I am. I'm a child-killer. I'm a rapist. I'm condemned. I'm dying and you should stay far away ... so you won't see. Stay innocent, Téa ... stay perfect ... and ... and ... protect Jed. Protect Starr.

Like electric shocks, thoughts and images of Brandy's work activities interrupted his reverie about being high, about the dope making him better. Jedediah's beaten body from Todd's dream intruded, too, the fact that Jedediah was in the detention center. God only knew what they were doing to him and at that, Todd pushed himself off of Brandy. Shivered with a deathly fear of what they WOULD do to Jedediah there. Brandy watched him – he could see her, but he was trying too hard to prevent himself from going into full-on panic mode to say anything.

Fly away, little bird, and let me go with you. Carry me underneath your feathers as we climb up into the clouds and the air and the blue and yellow high above the purple majesties. Shhh ...

"Paulie's missin', baby," she said, hesitantly stroking Todd's face as he stared blankly at the ceiling light. "I keep callin' and he ain't answerin'. We're all out of your stuff. I'm scared for him – this ain't never happened before."

Todd lazily dragged his eyes away from the light and looked into Brandy's. "We're all out?"

"Yeah, baby."

"I'll fuckin' kill myself if I don't get a hold of some shit," he grumbled, the panic over Jedidiah way subsiding, buried just as suddenly as it had come on.

"I know. We'll get some, I promise. You feelin' sick?"

"I think I already said that to you…I told you I'm feeling shitty, i.e. SICK."

"Sorry, baby, I'm just thinkin' about Paulie all of a sudden."

She looked at him closely, studied the scar on his cheek. His nose, his lips. She fearfully touched his beard, no longer a goatee. "I gotta get some cash," he said, maintaining his gaze on Brandy. "We have to find Paulie. Something ... something."

"It's okay, baby. I ... I can make you feel good, too. I can, ya' know. No matter that I been around, no matter. The same thing come of it, you still feel good. You still come."

"I know ..."

"Come on, baby," she purred. "You were real nice the other day ... it was real nice. You real pretty like that, you real sexy ... you got a nice cock, baby, fillin' me all up … and you really liked it, I know you did. I just know that bad thing won't happen again. That was jus' 'cause of other things. And you liked what we did better than those hand-jobs. I can tell you want more, even in your dark all this week, you get me touchin' you but you want to be climbin' on me. Come on baby, let me do what I'm good at..."

He watched her, listening to her dirty talking, the usual talk she did. A heat beginning in the center of him radiated outward but it wasn't a good kind of heat. She leaned in carefully and rubbed her nose against his cheek, touching his shoulder lightly, lightly moving her hand down his chest, down his stomach to his crotch. Rubbed him on top of his sweats until he was hard and when that was clear, she smiled and said in that soft voice of hers, "I knew you'd like that, baby. You real nice this way… isn't this better? Ain't it better? Oh yeah, you like this."

It was all she knew, the only comfort she understood. She sat up and took off her sweater, took off her boots and socks, her shirt and bra. She started to unbutton her jeans but he stopped her. A hard hand on her wrist. He looked at her small breasts, his tongue running along his lips. That heat…that heat…spread like blood all over his body…going everywhere.

She was scared of him, he could feel it, and he fed off it like another kind of drug – he took in how she didn't touch him firmly, the tone in her voice, the way she looked into his eyes. Every few seconds her eyes were on his, checking him. Checking to see how good he was feeling. Like how one would touch an animal… or an abuser. Todd shook his head… something in that…

… familiar….

She leaned over him again, rubbing her breasts against him, touching…touching his chest and his face again. Reaching down to keep up his excitement. He lay back against the pillows, the heat coursing through him, making him hungry to hurt her. God, he was the abuser. He was Peter and Peter was him. And she ... oh she was asking to be abused just like Todd had. She wanted to be abused because that was the thing with whores.

They liked to be abused.

"Come on, baby," she purred, "you wanna fuck me, yeah? You so hard… oooohhh… you got me wet jus' thinkin' 'bout it..."

Sick, sick, sick, you … sick masochistic … bitch.

He suddenly took hold of her by her upper arms, ignoring her surprised gasp, and threw her onto her back. He wasted no time getting on top of her, getting in between her legs, pressing against her, making her feel his weight. Instead of using the mattress for leverage… he used her arms to hold himself up. He glared at her. Looked at the shadows and creases in her expectant face, looked at downturned mouth, lips tight and upset and like about to cry, looked at a rabbit twitch of her nose. Then at last he landed on her scared eyes muddied with the truth. And he thought of himself, wondered if those scared eyes were how his looked when Peter got to him. Wondered if Blair or Téa or any other woman he'd ever been with saw those scared eyes, wondered ... if ... if those scared eyes were evident to total strangers.

With a grunt, he got to his knees and unbuttoned her jeans, yanking them down part-way. He touched her sex roughly, gritting his teeth, and then shoved fingers into her, Brandy tilting her head back involuntarily at his act. He bent down and got close to her …

"Is this what you want?" he growled next to her ear. "This what you want me to do? Like all those others, like all those other fuckers?" He kept shoving his fingers inside of her, feeling that metal hoop with his thumb and wanting to rip it out to mark her just the way the guy who did it in the first place marked her. And she just took what he gave her, lying there like it was nothing. God he hated her, he hated everything she stood for. She was nothing but abuse personified, like him ... like him. Everything she did cried out for abuse, so, yeah. He felt his erection throb, eager as hell, because he was surely going to give her what she asked for. Just the way he asked for it, just the way ... just that way.

"You do what you want, baby," she said, her voice coming in small grunts with each invasion.

"Shut-up," he growled as he pushed his sweats down, exposing himself. He grabbed hold of himself and stroked fast because he needed to be closer to do what he had to do. "Just…shut the fuck up…" He jerked the sweats off entirely, then her jeans, scratching her thighs as he did that. He grabbed her by the arms, and flipped her onto her stomach so he wouldn't have to see her rabbit-scared eyes. Pressing her head against the mattress, he spread her legs apart with his knee. He then spit onto his hand and slathered himself. He got inside her quickly, thrusting into her as hard as he could, getting her to yelp like a dog getting hit by a car, the sound shooting right to the darkest part of him. He groaned at that shot of adrenaline and slammed into her again, the hate blinding and intense. He eyed her ass, delicate skin reddened from his hips hitting her and that furthered his high. He pistoned into her, madly, raging, the bed noisy and her neck bending awkwardly into the ratty pillow, and she reached behind, reached for his head, his hair, anything, but he turned and with his teeth managed to grab a finger and bite down until she screamed shortly into the sheets which he didn't like so he slapped his hand on her mouth… and it was all he could do to not push her face into the pillow so he'd never have to hear her again or see her again… and he kept up the rocking, his hair swinging, his head back, teeth bared and then… GOD… then he dropped his head and he ejaculated hot into her, spasms powerful and sickeningly sweet, relieving, relieving… memories slithering up his back, around his neck … choking him … strangling him …

... and he collapsed on top of her, her body wet with sweat beneath him, smelling of sex and iron and the vanilla that seemed to come from her skin, like she produced it herself, a smell that was making him sick. Spasms still shook him and he groaned at their intensity. Minutes later, his nose runny and muscles liquidy, he raised himself up and tilted his head, using his hand still on her mouth to turn her face towards him to look at her. The hate was receding again, the high starting to fade into nothing. And when he did look at her, he saw the change that had come, a familiar change in her pretty, marred face. She had slipped away in her mind. Drifted outside of own body so she could deal with Todd's violation. He could see it and he recognized it – he knew that separation.

Pretend you're in the plane! You fly away, Angel. Round and round ... until you're so far away - so safe and protected. Shhhh ... nothing can hurt you from inside the red plane. You listen to your mama, you fly ... fly ...

Just like Marty … and the others.

He jerked his hand away from her mouth and sat up abruptly, reality smashing into the current of his mind, a new layer of perspiration springing adding to the already-there wetness and his lungs tightening up. The blood doesn't wash away. It just sticks to me. It won't go away.

"Brandy!" he blurted out, turning her over onto her back and grabbing her arms, lifting her limp body to him and searching for her frantically as she stared past him and breathed smoothly.

"It's alright, baby..." she said softly, dreamily. "Ya'do whatchu want - that's what Brandy's here for. Lemme be what your woman ain't – lemme do what she won't."

"Oh Brandy…fuckin' shit…shit…"

He laid her back down and gently patted her, whispering things to her, caressing her face, her chest where her heart was supposed to be because whores didn't have hearts, nothings had ... nothing.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry, come back ... I'm sorry ... sorry ..." He held her and started to cry against her thin upper arm, "Brandy – I'm sorry – I don't ever want to hurt you ... please ... I didn't mean what I said … what I did ... don't go away ... don't ... do that ...please-please-please-please-please ..."

She turned to him and whispered, "You di'n't hurt me – ain't nothin' out there that can hurt me."

Todd wiped away his tears roughly, "You're wrong – I can hurt you, I did hurt you and I'm sorry ... I'm just a sick bastard ... and ... and ... and when I hurt, I hurt back ... and I always hurt ones who ... uh ... who're next to ... me ... and I better go ... I can't stay here ... because ... because ... I'm a rapist and a ... sick ... sick ... sick sickie ... and ... I kill babies and ... and ..."

"You shush ... I get stupid sometimes and ... it's all messed up with me ... an' ... I don't know when to stop ... so ... I'm mixed up with ... with ... you ... and Paulie missin' an' ... an' ... I don't know nothin' ..."

Todd pulled her to him, putting his leg over her. He put his head right next to hers, pressing her against him, wanting to protect her, to smother her with himself so no one could hurt her, none of those jerks on the street or the ones she brought here. No cops or other hookers or freaks or kids experimenting or anything. Or him. Above all, him.

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry ... god ... god ..."

Get me high. Let me back in, Mama ... let me crawl into your lap so you can stop me from doing anything ... so you can stop me and hide me and let me only feel good and loved and safe and ... and so everyone else will be safe ... and ... and ... let me not breathe anymore. God, let me come home.

They lay that way a long time, wrapped up in each other, in different worlds… and yet not. In the end, after thinking on everything, they were mostly mystified. Why? Why, they wanted to know? Why did they have to be done the way they'd been, the way they continued to be? Why did anyone have to hurt them? Why them? What about them as children made them so vulnerable to being damaged, so irreparably and violently damaged?

Why ... why ... why?

There were no answers. Instead, as Todd and Brandy half-kissed and half-touched, as they came back into themselves, trying to heal their festering, weeping wounds, their queries were received by a pool of silence. Their questions jumped in and splashed about, spitting out chunks of their lives, questions rollicking and frolicking in the waves of torture and abuse, in the blurriness of a forever murky pond called ... why.

Why … indeed.

When the room at last quieted, when the questions finally drowned in the depth of messed-up sheets and gut-wrenching sweat and tears, out of nowhere rumbled a voice across the floor and over the bed, bumping against the two nothings resting in their misty misery.

"Good god," it said, "who the fuck died and when's the fuckin' funeral?"

Todd and Brandy raised their heads at the gravelly voice and looked towards the door.

They both smiled in a similar fashion, twinned exhausted grins ... it was the Mole, Paulie Smith to the rescue, coming through the unlocked door. Like some kind of bizarre scrub-headed Santa Claus in front of two ruined children, Paulie reached into his pocket and brought out a couple of crisp-papered packets, waving them in the air. "Were you all lookin' for some of this?"

Moved out of her shock, Brandy jumped out of the bed and hopped into the Mole's arms, kissing his face and his mouth, saying, "Baby ... baby ... where you been ... I was so worried 'bout ya' - it ain't like you not to answer nothin' ..." He chuckled at her desperate affection, holding her in his arms, but he noticed the intense sadness, sadness he'd never seen on her before. She was a mess.

"Hey ... hey ... why the tears, Brand?" Paulie said. "And jesus, get some fuckin' clothes on."

"It ain't nothin', Mo' .. it ain't nothin'," she said, landing on the floor, still hugging him, tight, tight as anything.

Paulie glanced over her at Todd reclining on the bed, a single sheet not covering him all too well, and furrowed his brows, "What's going on, dude?" He looked as bad as she did.

Todd smiled slightly, not particularly feeling like sharing his afternoon with Paulie and also sensing a strange twinge of ... jealousy. He wasn't sure over what, wasn't sure who was jealous of whom, but he did feel it.

"Where ya' been, man?" he said coolly, trying to be ... well ... cool in the face of his obvious insanity. "We been hatin' life without you."

"Got mugged – had to check myself into a goddamn hospital."

Brandy gasped, "Oh my god, baby! Where they hurt you?!"

"My head ... shit. Bad concussion, broken ribs, the fuckin' works."

Brandy hugged him some more, "You stay for breakfast, okay? We got some special stuff. I missed you ... oh baby, my poor baby ..."

He looked at his watch. "Uh…Brand…it's almost fuckin' nine o'clock. Can't have breakfast at nine in the fuckin' night."

Laughing, Brandy, said, "I told you it was special!"

"Yeah, babe, yeah," Paulie said, looking at Brandy while she looked back at him.

Todd turned away at that. He didn't know what was up – he just knew he needed to get at Paulie's dope and get better. Dragging the sheet to cover himself up, he walked over to Paulie who gave him the once-over, grumbling, "Fuck, Manning, you are NOT takin' care of yourself."

"Give 'em to me, I'll pay you back." Todd only watched the bags in Paulie's hand – no eye contact – nothing. Just watched the bags and Paulie took notice of it, purposefully moving them about, watching Todd's eyes not leave the heroin.

"You want these?"

"Yeah ... yeah," Todd nodded, every muscle fiber in his body screaming for the heroin in front of him, every brain cell, every electrical impulse, everything. The dope was all he could see and hear. Thoughts of Jedediah's incarceration fizzled away, thoughts of all the people he'd been hurting left, thoughts of his horrific treatment of Brandy, all thoughts of his past, his present, his blatant lack of a future, everything disappeared in the anticipation of using regularly again. He swallowed a mouthful of intense craving and finally looked up at Paulie.

"Please," he said.

Paulie sort of smiled, sort of didn't, finding Todd's addiction ... sort of ... blackly humorous. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone get sucked in so fast, so deep. Granted, it had been near a couple months of high, high usage. And sure, he'd heard of this, he knew of it, but had never actually witnessed it.

"You know," he said. "I gave you my personal bag of shit some time ago and never got it back. You have it?"

"No ... I fucked that up. It's ... it's at my daughter's house ..."

"And where is that?"

Todd eyes went to the drugs again, following the packets in Paulie's hand, "Um ... south Llanview."

Paulie grinned, thinking of doing something for kicks, just to get back into the game, to make up for his pathetic loss to Phillip Manning, to being knocked over by him. "I tell you what," he said. "If I give this to you – no charge, no debt, right here, right now, we'll do you up real good – I even have a nice clean syringe – if I do that for you, then you take me to this 'South Llanview' house. We'll ... get the pouch back and ... have a look-see. Maybe there's some shit I can pick up at the house to make up for what you owe me. And then some for all the shit I'll give you this coming week – maybe for more. How's that?"

Todd looked at Paulie, the slightest bit of reality, or decency, or something, breaking through his desperate wants, "You want to steal from my own daughter's house?"

"Hey, I know the deal, I know who your daughter lives with – I know the notorious Dorian Lord has all kinds of ... goodies."

"I got plenty of my own money – plenty to make up what I owe – for what I will owe, man. We don't have to do that."

"You mean, you're going to walk into a bank tomorrow to get some green."

"Well – yeah."

"And get arrested. Sent to the 'sylum where they give you such good drugs."

Todd swallowed hard, remembering all of a sudden about the fact that there was a warrant for his arrest, for a psychiatric evaluation, about the loving gesture of his wife to have him picked up.

Téa, I'll breathe with you, I'll die with you. If I could ... if I wanted to, you'd be the one. It'd be you and only you.

Brandy chimed in, moving close to Paulie and doing what she did best, "I can get money for him – you don't gotta be draggin' him nowhere! You know what I can do ..."

Paulie eyed her, a small grin showing how much he missed being with her.

Shaking his head, Todd said softly, "No, Brandy, no more … I got this." What Paulie said was true, though. If he walked into his bank, he'd be picked up so fast it wasn't even funny. But it was worth a shot because he needed cash, damn it. And if he didn't get it, Brandy would get it for him and he couldn't deal with that because he knew he'd fuckin' take the money she would earn. He'd let Brandy whore herself for him. He'd already done it once, what would stop him from doing it again?

Nothing.

Plus ... plus, he couldn't steal from Dorian. That was ... beyond ... beyond everything. He may have been a rapist, but a thief he wasn't. Right? Right.

So ... that was it. The moment he sensed a delay at the bank, he'd be out of there. But at least he'd make an attempt at normalcy. "Look," he said, "lemme try to get cash first. My own money, yeah? If things don't work out ... then ... then we'll think of something else. How's that, huh?"

Paulie shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fresh needle. Looked at it all shined up in its sterile packaging, raised his eyebrows at Todd who was stuck still on the heroin, and smiled, "Okay, okay. Try the bank first thing in the a.m."

Brandy sighed in relief, so glad that Paulie backed down because she didn't want Todd to suffer. She scooted close and gave Paulie a hug, "Baby... you the best."

Todd grabbed the two bags of heroin and the syringe and proceeded to make himself a fix in the kitchen, the sheet dropping to the floor because he didn't give a damn about coverage now that he was going to finally get a real hit.

Brandy and Paulie were talking in the background, but Todd didn't give a damn about what it was they were hashing over. All he cared was that he was going to get better – he was finally going to do himself up right – the way he wanted, the way he needed. To wash away the blood all over him – to be in control again – to go home. His new home with the Princess of Peace.

When he prepped the dose he wanted, he walked over to Brandy's bed and set the syringe on the night table, Brandy's voice and Paulie's serving as a strange score to a strange film noir, one in which he was the star. An unrecognizable star, an unknown. He didn't know who he was anymore, but at the moment he couldn't care less. Didn't give a damn because he was right where he wanted to be: about to shoot up one more time and that was almost better than actually doing it. Arms permanently sore, he decided he'd have to hit somewhere else, quickly glancing over his waiting body. After a few moments of shivery, antsy consideration, he planted his foot onto the night table having noticed a good vein on his ankle. Good enough ...

Todd picked up the syringe, completely unaware of anything anymore. Unaware of the suburban breakfast scene in front of him, unaware of Brandy's chit-chatting and sticking the waffles into the toaster, unaware of Paulie drinking Todd's microwaved coffee. All he saw was that wonderful needle, the wonderful liquid inside, and for-sure salvation. He stuck the needle into the vein, had to do it a couple of times, and after getting it in right, after seeing the blood, he pushed down on that plunger.

Oh…. shit. Holy mother of god...YES.

He pulled the needle out, the rush of the drug running through him like a motherfucker and he moaned softly at it, rocking backwards onto the bed, the spike in his now-clutched fist. Blood ran out of the pin-prick on his ankle, and he didn't care.

"God," he groaned, staring at nothing, gasping at the quickness of his flight home.

Do you see, mama? Can you see me flying? WATCH!

"I can most definitely see you! You are the best pilot I know ... the best Red Baron in the best airplane. I knew you could fly, Angel."

Look at me! Does it scare you? Nothing's gonna happen, mama!

"I know nothing bad can happen while you're in that plane - I love you. You're my precious Angel, my precious baby."

Look at me, Mama, look at me fly.

Brandy brushed Todd's hair out of his unseeing eyes. He'd crawled up onto the bed entirely and curling up against the wall on his side. He whispered, "Precious."

"Yeah, yeah it is, baby," Brandy said in a faint voice, a sweet sugary voice. He hmmm'ed at the sound, hearing her then say, "You just be there – you got a right to be there." She kissed his parted lips and pressed her forehead against his cheek, closing her eyes for a moment. "You so loveable, baby ... you so loveable."

"Precious," he repeated, looking through her. Brandy could see how happy he was, how soothed and comforted he was. All the anger from earlier was gone, all his fury, all his pain, all his wanting to hurt her, his wanting to hate her, to hate himself. Whoosh, like a burst of wind pushing a cloud away in the sky, the heroin revealed the hopeful green of his eyes, the clear, glassy breeziness, and the golden sunny-ness of his soul. The heroin closed out the blackness in those hurt eyes, leaving only tiny pinpoints, trace evidence of the storm that loomed always.

"You got a right to be this way," she kept saying to him, to whoever judged him, lying next to him and ignoring Paulie's grumbles.

Soon, Brandy saw that Todd had closed his eyes and was beginning to not breathe, taking long rests in between breaths. Easily he'd do it - no suffering, no struggle. She held her breath with him, placing her hand on his bare chest, feeling his warm skin. When she thought too much time was passing, she blew in his face, patted his face, and he would take a breath. It went on for some time, this breathing, not breathing, Brandy breathing and not breathing with him.

Paulie finally walked up behind her, looking at the ruined people on the bed, snarling, "God – why does he do this – he doesn't just get stoned – he throws himself into a fuckin' avalanche. I hate this shit. How can you take it?"

"Paulie, you leave him alone, you don't understand nothin'," Brandy said. "'Sides, I know what to do – it's just been more'n a couple of days since he done himself up for real – so he ain't used to it..." She blew into Todd's face again and he took another breath. He wasn't entirely gone. She knew he was aware of what she was doing – he just needed to be reminded to breathe was all. And he always did. Like a newborn baby with his nervous mother – he always took another breath for her.

Let me not breathe with you, Princess. Just one more milligram - and I won't.

"Heh..heh...heh..."

"What's so funny?"

"You."

"I'm not funny."

"Oh Son...you are funny. You make me ... piss my pants you're so funny. Roll in the aisles, laughing my ASS off ... you're so funny."

Todd looked around and could see only fog. The voice he knew, though. He shifted on his feet. "What are you doing here? Where's the ... the ..."

"The what? The Godly-Kiss-Ass Spirit? The one who always argues with me ... the one who thinks she's ALL GOOD ... and ALMIGHTY ... and TOUCHED BY THE LORD?!"

"Yeah ... her."

"She's crappola. I strangled her and dumped her goodie-two shoed body into the ravine of Wolves. Such a lousy lay, too, so stiff and unbending."

Todd dropped his head, staring at nothing because there was only blackness. Said nothing.

"Heh, heh, heh ... I gotta tell you, the best part of this is watching you do to your kids ... what I did to you. What did you say to me? 'They can beat me, spit at me, kick me ... hate me. But I'll never do to them what you did ... I'll never turn my back on my kids.' Isn't that what you said? What you cried to me?"

Todd got to his knees. "I'm yours," he said.

"That's right, Angel-boy. You're mine. All mine. Always were, always will be."

There was nothing like the sound of Satan-Peter's laughter. Nothing like the way it bounced off walls and bumped up against Todd's body. Nothing like the way it was spat upon his face and dripped down his chest. There was nothing like the humiliation of being dragged back home after escaping so freely. Todd remembered what it felt like when he had run away to his mother's cabin. Then facing his father in the living room. That smirk. That laughter as the cabbie left him on the doorstep. That's what he felt like now. He'd been lifted out of the depths of hell by the spirit, but here he was again. Facing Peter.

"It's so good to be king," he heard the monster say.

So Todd stayed on his knees before Satan-Peter. Because he was nothing. He'd submitted to his father's whore, the Princess herself, and it would have been alright had Todd not fallen in love with her. Now it was all he wanted and if he had to be taken by Peter to get to her, well, so be it.

Heh.

To be continued….