On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 26
I see you, you know, lying on your back, your legs still kicking, hoping for a way out of the filmy, impenetrable cage. Buggy hopefulness, scampering desperation. Despite your disgustingness, cockroach, I pity you because you are so helpless in your black-shelled upside-down entrapment. You squirm and spit and whimper green-blooded pleas.
Does it hurt, oh ancient insect, to be so caught, to be so vulnerable to my power over you? Do you wish for death, or do you wish to be let out to run and hide in the filth while you wait out your destiny? It would be nice to be released, wouldn't it? You would be home. You would be triumphant in the feel of polluted familiarity.
Warm, inviting squalor ... love me ... love me ... you would say. Warm, inviting squalor, let me love you. Again. For always.
But I cannot let you go, ancient one. I cannot release you into your beloved muck because you have asked for it. It is what you want and as such, I do not want to give it to you. The day you revel in purity, in light, in cleanliness, will be the day I allow you to go home to the dark.
Todd clicked at the de-labeled glass jar with his fingernail and drunkenly grinned at the bug's frantic waving of its limbs, the bug finally trapped after exhausting every possible way of escape. The cockroach must have been drugged, he thought, to be so sluggish, to lose to a barely-functioning predator. Or maybe it was near-dead.
Over the crystalline cage, he saw three people lying on rotting-out mattresses and couches in varying stages of their own heroin highs, all looking the same to him despite their differences. Across the room, he saw an old guy getting done up by an even older woman, the guy shaking his head at the miracle of her finding a good vein.
"Damn, woman, how you do that?" the old man sighed. "Took me nearly two hours this mornin'..."
"'Sperience, love, 'sperience."
Experienced the mostly-toothless woman was, like a phlebotomist, like a poacher with a double-barreled shotgun. Knowing the human body, knowing the ins and outs of veins and arteries and what they looked like from beneath damaged skin, she could locate ideal hidden shooting lines that had hidden the way rare snakes hide amongst thick drippy trees, slithering beneath layers of rotting, maggoty undergrowth, all those ins desperately trying to escape capture and penetration. Victims the veins are, Todd thought, to be held in place so their very purpose of existence, their souls, could be depleted through repeated physical violation, leading to their eventual deaths. Over and over, the heavenly needle will assault the delicate tissue and eventually will kill the vein by causing collapse, infection, scarring.
Hold the vein in place so it doesn't fucking move.
Kill… the vein.
"Yeah," Todd said softly to himself, silently addressing the woman, "That's what we do ... we're soul poachers." He grinned at the roach again, not moving from the floor of the run-down apartment that served as one of many shooting galleries in the depths of Llanview Hell. He'd been listening impassively to his own drug-induced, rambling analyses, drifting pleasantly, except his theories and analogies were beginning to confuse him, beginning to melt together into one squishy, disconnected mess. Sweet though, warm though. Pudding ... yeah ... maggoty pudding.
He chuckled to himself and continued to watch the cockroach.
"How long have we been here, buggy pal o' mine?" Todd asked in a scratchy voice, really not knowing the answer, tapping at the jar. He then rolled onto his back, one knee resting against the wall, and briefly studied a couple of markings on his wrist. They were blackish from his lousy injection technique: usually quick, done in anger or desperation, and always uncaring about the poor receiving vein.
Kill… the vein.
He let his arm fall onto his chest, closing his eyes. How many times had he dosed up here in this room since leaving Sister Rachel, she of the spirit-invaded and oh-so-hopeful? How much blood had he watched spill out of him with each hit? How many veins had he violated, killed already? How many times had he woken to strange hands on him, touching him, moving him, strange tongues wetting him, his own wetting them, his own hands on them, faceless people he just watched as he lay paralyzed, immobile, frozen, just like that black bug? And how many times had he heard himself gasp, heard them gasp, sounds he knew and didn't know, understood and didn't understand, as he lay fixed and drifting in his endless high?
How… many… times?
Whatcha doin', what are you…?
Shhhh… you jus' be quiet, son, you be a real good boy…
Oh no, oh, no, oh don't, no, oh, oh what are ya'… oh, oh, ok, oh-kaaay…
He was on a roll now, but nothing had been like the first shot. After having been deprived for so many hours, after having been so damn sick, the first time he shot up here had been like no other. Not even his first time at the China Moon had been THAT good.
The memory of it made him shiver still, made him smile in that peculiar nobody's-really-home fashion. The price, though, had been too high, the cost of that come, that orgasmic explosion of silence. He pulled his coat closed and curled up tighter than a pillbug.
Shhhhh ... shhhhh ... it's just a messy pile of words and images and limbs ... messy, filthy sludge. Stay real still now, don't you move. Do you like that, ancient insect, do you like that? Taste the hell, see the hell, live it.
Hooo boy, look at you.
How many days had gone by since hearing Téa cry for him? He had almost forgotten the sound of her despair, the look in her eyes as he'd stared up at her in the hospital waiting room. Almost forgotten but not quite. She had been so colorful, so bright, against that sterile environment, but like mishandled art, mistreated art, the image was fading away, melting away.
How many times ... how many days ... how long ... had it been?
He surveyed the cockroach again and imagined that this was how he had been loving Téa from the very beginning. As an outsider looking in, he had caught her in a jar, on her back. She had been his emotional prisoner. Still was.
Or ...
…had he been beneath the glass looking out at her? Was it him who was stuck and helpless, being punished? Or maybe it was both. Yeah, Todd Manning, victim AND torturer. Ahhhhh, it didn't matter. It was all getting jumbled again, the drugs not letting him follow through with his comparisons, analogies. They simply drifted away and he smiled at their balloon-like disappearance.
Up, up and away, he thought, "torturer" in a red balloon, "victim" in a blue one, "Téa" in a bright purple shiny one. Those shiny ones last, he thought, those kinds last.
He sighed, licked his lips. Drifting into the deep blue sky ... purple brilliance ... where would she go? Where would his purpled angel go?
The wall was cool against his fingertips. How many days ... had it been? Again and again, banging enough dope to spiral himself into that perfect place. He didn't care what it took, didn't care that since he started doing dope, he had to exponentially increase the doses in order to feel his mother's unconditional love, her arms around him. Didn't care the violations, the damage, the strangers. God, GOD, that steady blue-lipped sinking into her steady heartbeat made him cry when he was straight. It was precious and perfect and only then was he truly able to forget everything he hated about himself, about his life.
And so long as he could still reach her, reach that heavenly place, it didn't matter where he was anymore, it didn't matter the dirtiness of the floor or the infested couch or the disgusting bathroom and vile water. It didn't matter that when he looked at the wall he hugged, that he'd see black letters, red ones, scratched-in ones, saying, fuck this, or eat my that ... or ... or ... I was here, I exist. It didn't matter that he'd hear the occasional child of the dope addict in the background of his high, it didn't matter that he'd hear laughing or people ranting incoherently or threatening others or threatening him.
It didn't matter the touchings either, the wrong… wrong… touching that he just watched like it wasn't happening, that he just wiped away with his hands on his pants or on the dusty floor or on someone else's clothes..
It ... didn't ... matter. When he shot up, he was in heaven, he was home.
Love me, love me, oh warm, inviting squalor. Let me love you in my breathless way. Breathless, solidly breathless.
"Hey, baby," he heard out of nowhere. Brandy kneeled close to him and lightly tugged his arm. He smiled at the sound of her and he moved compliantly, lazily sitting up.
"Come on, baby, I gotta place we can stay at," she said gently. "I got some money and bought some stuff for you. Let's get outta here."
Todd with unfocused eyes gazed at his Johnny-girl, at the emptiness on her face, then at some never-before-noticed bruising around her neck. He touched the shadows and said softly, "Whatcha do, sister? Whatcha do?"
Brandy put her hand over Todd's and looked away, "Ain't nothin'. Come on ... it's been too many days, baby, you gotta rest, you gotta give your body a rest. Come offa this a little." She lowered her voice, adding, "You can't fight folks when they do things to you, baby, and you ain't built for that. You gettin' too weak here. You can get this way at our new place."
Todd laughed slowly, not quite understanding her, then leaned forward and whispered thickly, "You mean ... people are gonna beat me up?" He lightly bit her earlobe and she lifted a shoulder because he'd tickled her.
"Baby ... come on," she urged, smiling at him. But her eyes were nothing like smiling. She tugged at his jeans, fixing the loosened buttons. "Oh god, baby…we gotta go…"
Todd did nothing, though, lost for a moment in a renewed flow of serenity washing over him. Then, "Where you been, Brand? I was lookin' for you ... did ya' leave me here? To get ... beat up?" He spoke but didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on something across from him, his eyelids then drooping.
"I'd never leave you. I was just workin' ... gettin' a place for us. You was safe a while, I thought, but ... they done noticed you. I'm so sorry…"
Todd sniffled a low sorry for what, and leaned back against the graffiti-stained wall, closing his eyes finally, letting himself fall into a transitory condition of non-being, her voice humming along with the hum in his head.
Days ... it had been days of hanging out in the divinely dim rooms. Brandy had called it a "shooting gallery" because this is what people did here: they shot themselves up in artistic misery, in black and white, in color, in three-dimensional sculpture. The subjects shot themselves to their versions of heaven by injecting, sniffing, smoking, ingesting, anything and everything. And each activity was a moment of peace captured within a blood-splattered memory-dashed canvas straight out of hell ultimately creating a gallery of freaky images, unspoken truths, bound screams of ecstatic agony.
A shooting gallery ... ha ha ha ha ...
Brandy settled in next to Todd, contemplating the grey sky outside a grimy window, resigning herself to waiting out Todd's high. She then closed her own eyes, dozing a little. After some time, he roused, reached over and rubbed her arm through her jacket. She wasn't in work clothes now. Her hair was stuffed into a wool cap which he slipped off, her long hair toppling out. It looked damp. Leaning over, he breathed in her scent and furrowed his brows because he couldn't smell the vanilla, couldn't smell her cleanliness that she usually obsessed over.
"Whatcha been doin', sister?" he asked dreamily, nuzzling against her, his mouth grazing her bruised neck.
Brandy averted her gaze and said, "Been workin'." She caressed his head a while, then eased him away. "Let's go, baby," she repeated, smiling thinly at him.
He chuckled, but kept touching her, finally pushing her down to the floor and climbing on top of her, his boots clunking against the floor.
"You letting them hurt you, Brandy?"
He kissed her sloppily, thinking of her as that overturned cockroach, as that scrambling insect that hoped to be saved, too. Hoping for release. But where his salvation was in the form of heroin, where was hers? How did she expect to be saved?
"Baby, baby," she said, putting her arms around him as he fumbled with her, as he made some useless attempt at initiating something like sex. But he soon stopped toying with her and just rolled to the side, the heroin pushing him through another wave of slow reality. He looked around him as the place fogged up, as he slipped into that place of half-existence again.
Brandy sighed in relief at Todd's thankful drifting. They needed to get out ... she was tired ... he needed to sleep, to eat. They all had water from the barely functioning bathroom but that was it. She suppressed a sob, dying inside. He had no idea how unsafe he was, no idea the people here, the things they'd been doing. Toby had let her know. He laughed and let her know details. He was cruel in his telling.
They needed to be cleaned up. Something, that is, akin to being cleaned up. It had been so long ... days ... days ...
Brandy and Todd soon looked at each other in knowing silence, two barely-alive children, two lost souls knowing the price they had paid, deep inside knowing, and the continuing cost.
Days ago she had dragged him here, sick and in pain. She was desperate for him to get better. They then had to deal with getting the drug pusher to open the door so they could negotiate for what Todd needed. L'il Toby was the "owner" of the gallery, so to speak, a friend of a friend. Toby was a huge African man who, it turned out, had a sick sense of humor when it came to addicts. She didn't know. She figured all would be good since the friend said so. She was wrong.
Toby liked to be cruel to addicts, liked to tease them, liked the power over them. They were his entertainment. He kept asking Todd what he had to offer, kept asking him to prove he wasn't a cop, stringing Todd along. Todd had been holding onto Brandy protectively, had been doing the talking, had been doing his damnedest at not appearing as sick as he was, much to the enjoyment of L'il Toby. And through all that Todd had revealed a definite weakness: Brandy.
Finally, as the torture grew dull, Li'l Toby agreed on a price, at least with regard to the cash. Then, he added a "tax." Said, "You got it, you ain't no cop, tha's cool. You can come in, you can hang for a while and use my shit for your offered price ... with one more thing ... one last charge."
Swallowing hard at the tenuous nearness of salvation, relief, Todd had asked, "What you want?"
"I want your woman for a while," Toby had breathed heavily, grinning and eyeing Brandy.
Todd had balked at THAT price, listening to some strain of humanity left in him despite the intense pain, and had turned to walk away. No ... no ... he had grumbled, the humiliation of the "negotiation" stinging him enough, his brotherly love of his sister forcing him to make a half-hearted attempt to leave. But the sickness was making him ready to give her up. His departure had been slow, reluctant.
Brandy then made his choice easy, stopping Todd, telling him it was okay, she was okay, it didn't mean nothin' to her 'cause this was what she was. THIS was who she WAS! And if it was going to get Todd to where he needed to be, well then…
…so be it.
They had scrutinized each other in those few minutes outside the doorway to heaven, the wood frame practically glowing like proverbial pearly gates guarded by Li'l Toby, and Brandy smiled at Todd and wiped the sweat from his face and held his shaking body. And then, true to form, in the radiance of the wintry morning, Brandy sold herself for several days worth of drugs for Todd, and access to the bathroom. Several hours of pain and degradation for several days of nirvana, all for her brother.
So be it.
And as Todd stripped himself of his jacket and some other layers of clothing to scramble for a good vein, as he listened to the grunts of his sister and the moans of the pig on top of her or wherever the bastard was, as his body slammed against the wall in the most relieving rush of his entire life, he found himself watching whatever thread of decency he had left inside of him fly out the window of that shooting gallery. As his mind went in one direction, whatever goodness he had inside of him disappeared into another.
It could have been worse, he had thought later, cuddled up against that filthy back wall, he could have sold not only his sister for a little peace, he could have sold himself, too. Yeah, he'd already sold his soul, but he hadn't sold his body. At least ... not yet. No, no, he hadn't sunk to THAT depth, that depth of fiery hell.
Right? He hadn't done that, right?
Shhhh… you jus' be real quiet, son, real still, you be a real good boy…
He scratched his head, and fiddled with the buttons on his jeans, his mind shutting off things, pictures and tastes and smells fading into oblivion. Hey, at least he wasn't selling his children, his wife. And after all, Brandy was only a whore, she was a nothing who had no feelings, who felt no pain, who had no future, who had already been ground up and spit out. If someone found value in what was left of her ...
…well ...
…so be it.
It sounds kinda like you. Natch, it sounds a LOT like you. Might as well give up that last supposed bastion, that delusion of a hard line, give it up with full knowledge and intent. It's not like there's much to protect anymore. Hahaha…you liked it. You loved it. You fucking asked for it. Can't you hear yourself? The groaning, the hard breaths, the biting of salty skin, the shudders against another shuddering body? And all that… wetness.
Who cares? Who really gives a shit?
You… got… high.
With another sniffle, Todd touched Brandy's cheek, then her neck, moving on down to her stomach, and whispered, "It was just the once, right? You didn't have to do more with that pusher, didja?"
"Jus' the once, but don't you worry 'bout nothin'. Let's go."
"Brand', did he do more than just fuck you?"
"Don't you worry 'bout nothin'. I got in touch with Paulie. Everythin's all right, now." She didn't want to say aloud what he had lost. How he had paid. She prayed he'd never really know. She tearfully petted his jacket, pulling it tighter to his body. "Come on, baby…"
Todd listened to himself talk and somewhere inside of him realized he didn't recognize the voice, the words. It was like listening in on a movie with your eyes closed or a conversation through walls. The inflection was different, the tone, the complete lack of emotion. The meaning behind what he said was lost. Don't matter no how, shit was shit was shit. They were both halves of a single whore, halves of a single street junky who would do everything, anything, for another fix. For a little peace. What did the metamorphosis matter? This was his destiny, THIS was his salvation.
THIS was worth it.
After a while, Todd and Brandy got to their feet and left that place, walked past the other spaced-out people, walked towards the door.
But just before they left, Todd went back and let the cockroach go, flicked it with his fingers to get it moving once it was upright. Soundlessly, it scurried away along the wall into grimy oblivion.
"Bye, old friend," Todd said thoughtfully. "Hope you find what you're lookin' for."
When Téa shook out her wet hair, straightened up, and looked into the slightly fogged mirror, she was surprised at the face of the woman who stared back at her, a face highlighted by her cream-colored fleece robe. There was something in her dark eyes that had not been there before. She touched the glass with her fingertips, making lines in the silvery mistiness, touching her reflection. Age? Exhaustion? Or was it being burnt out at chasing down Todd's pain, chasing HIM down? What is it, she asked, again?
It's despair, she concluded. His, hers. Tears began to well, but she forced them back.
Despair was another word for, hell.
And there was no question that she'd been in hell back at Brandy's place, touching and being with Todd, being a part of his life for that short time. She had been in hell at the hospital, too, sitting next to him, his drug-infused eyes looking up at her so sadly, his questioning whether she still loved him, and then the coup de gras, watching him slowly lose control, lose his connection with reality around him, hearing him battle his way out of the emergency ward.
Despair.
She took a breath and closed her eyes, the scents from her shower filling her lungs. They weren't vanilla-based. Anything, but vanilla. Shhhh ... she said as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to picture Brandy, but not being able to stop herself. Vanilla... that child-woman covering herself up in something sweet, something edible so she could be eaten up, eaten alive, along with her twin.
Vanilla covered boy, vanilla covered girl. Tasty and sweet and perishable.
Edible.
Running a comb through her hair, Téa thought about her day. She'd decided to get some kind of personal renewal. She was going volunteer at the local needle exchange unit several days and several nights a week. Sister Rachel Bronson, of course, was thrilled. They needed the extra help. Not only was there work available n the mobile unit itself, but they also needed help with community outreach, and the shelter. It would be something, a way to deal with the helplessness.
And they were all so helpless.
Téa stopped asking where Todd was. Stopped wondering. It had been over a week since he disappeared into the thicket of Llanview. Nobody had seen him, not the police, not the people Kevin had questioned, nobody. Kevin had done the searching because Téa hadn't the heart nor the energy to step outside the Penthouse. For days, she hoarded her pain and anti-depressants Tim had given her. She never actually took any of the pills though, flushing them down the toilet, the thought of taking in any chemicals making her physically ill. She could have used them, though. In truth.
The next morning after Todd had run, Viki had let Téa know that Jedediah had also disappeared into the darkness. He had escaped the juvenile detention center and there was no sign of him either. Like his father, Jed was forcing the people who loved him to leave him to his fate, to his own destiny. They had the police on that of course… Phillip Manning was out there. Did he already get him? Were they just looking for a body at this point?
"Oh Jedediah," Téa sighed, leaning forward on her hands, bent over, hunched like she was in the worst kind of pain.
She looked around. She stood in the very bathroom where Todd had tried to kill himself. Kevin had described what had happened ... in morbid detail. She turned and leaned against the counter, trying to picture the copious amount of blood, a cut and dying Todd, naked on the tiles, in the steam in the bathroom.
She stepped into the shower stall and sat with her back against the glass door. She touched the tiles. Everything was so clean, spotless, memory-free ...
... except for the crack in the shower door.
Reaching her hand to it, Téa ran fingertips up and down the miniscule line that went from floor upwards. He had broken it with the sheer force of his falling body. The repair guy said they'd have to get new doors altogether. It was on order. But the guy had looked at it and said… "It's like he was blown at the glass. Like something threw him." He had shrugged… "this is heavy glass, like a car's windshield. Was he in a fight?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
He most likely had in fact… thrown himself at the glass with everything he had. She couldn't even imagine what he had been seeing, feeling...
With a deep breath, she hauled herself to her feet and left, beginning to make her way to her bedroom. She froze though at some sounds in the living room, sounds coming up the stairs. She heard the rustling of jackets, footsteps, heard a ... giggle? That told her it wasn't Todd and Brandy.
She stepped carefully along the hallway to the top of the stairs, glancing down, just as the intruders disappeared into the kitchen. She saw color. She walked downstairs, glad to be barefoot.
Her heart was pounding.
A female voice was talking, then a male one. The refrigerator opened, then shut, and the woman laughed again. It was quiet now ... and then Téa heard the woman say, "Not here, you goof!"
Then the male person laughed softly and Téa shut her eyes at its familiarity, at the strain of sadness in the laugh, and at its undoubted boyishness. It was Jedediah she realized, along with a female friend of his.
THANK GOD. He was safe.
She crossed her arms and shook her head. Walking to the entrance of the kitchen, Téa leaned against the doorway and, unbeknownst to Jed and Summer, watched them, listened to them. Just waiting for them to notice her.
"You didn't get that much stuff from the store," Summer said in a concerned voice, sipping a can of Coke from the refrigerator. "I told you I had enough money. You should have bought more."
She wore jeans which were too big, black, with a thick silver-colored chain acting as a belt, purple leather boots, and a thermal knit purple shirt. Her coat was on the floor. Radiant red hair shone beneath the bright lights, stiffened into red spikes. Old school punk. She was careless with the Coke can, waving it about, shaking it.
"It's all right, I told you," Jedediah said in response. He was opening the cabinets looking for something and one couldn't help but notice his hair, or lack of it. It had been shaved into a mohawk, brilliantly colored green. It flopped to the side, carelessly. He was wearing heavy black boots. His jeans were faded black, and, unlike his friend, he was still wearing his jacket, a dark brown canvas one, thick for the cold and long. The thing reached past his knees.
"I didn't need to spend your money," he said, a mischievous tone to his voice.
"You still could have-"
All of a sudden, Jedediah opened his jacket and, from the inside pockets, pulled out a good number of canned goods, a block of cheese, and several packages of soup mix, putting everything on the counter. He turned slightly to Summer and grinned.
"Oh my GOD!" Summer shouted. "Jed! I didn't think you knew-"
"How to help myself in a grocery store? Like I haven't been out on my own before?"
Summer walked up to him and hugged him, "You're such a thief." She quieted and then held him tightly. "You were right… you ain't no boy."
The moment hit Téa hard. With his show of stolen goods, Jedediah had laid himself bare. He was an abandoned child. And this girl, she understood. There was something between the two "kids" ... and it broke Téa's heart. Sometimes seeing love reminds one of its decided absence.
Jedediah had turned into the warm embrace and when he looked over Summer's shoulder, he spotted Téa. His eyes went wide as she smiled and waved her fingers at him. He cleared his throat and looked down, pulling away from Summer.
"We're not alone," he said. "Shit."
Summer looked up at him and then turned fast, seeing Téa, too. "Ohhh…," she said softly.
Jedediah shrugged guiltily as Téa walked up to the two of them, speaking like the lawyer cum mother cum drill sergeant that she could be. "Well, Mr. Chant, you're picking up some nice habits here in Llanview. We have escape from custody, shoplifting, truancy, and breaking and entering. Brilliant."
Jedediah swallowed and gave Téa a look that shot right through her. How much he looked like Todd; more than physically. It was a certain presence, a certain wounded quality to his expressions. She had to direct her gaze to Summer, "And you, aiding and abetting, I suppose? Contribution to the delinquency of a minor? You're 18 aren't you? Or 19? Kevin told me about you. Jed's 16. You get that, right?"
"I ...uh..." Summer found herself a bit tongue-tied. Normally, she would have been indignant because Jed… was an old fucking soul, but this was his territory so she followed his lead and kept her mouth shut.
"Well, you're gonna have to add statutory-"
Summer slammed her hand on his mouth, rethinking her seconds-before conclusion, "Hi," she said, "I'm Summer. I'm 18, yes. I'm a friend of Jessica Buchanan's. And you are…?"
"I'm an attorney, Summer."
"Right, of course you are."
Jed pulled Summer's hand off his mouth and grinned guiltily. "Summer, this is my... um... my dad's wife, Téa Delgado." He then directed his gaze to Téa, "I thought you'd be gone. I'm sorry. We were on our way back to the Center… and...and I thought to stop ... in case ... well ..." He looked at Summer as if asking her for the right words, or maybe for the strength to say them. "I wondered if Todd was here," he finally said.
"And you figured he'd be in the refrigerator? In the cabinets?" Téa asked, unsympathetically, or at least trying to be that way. How often she had imagined, whenever she would walk into the kitchen over the past few days, that she would see Todd's smiling face as he looked up at her, as he rustled through the refrigerator or rooted around in the pantry. Yes, actually, that's where he would be.
"No ... I kind of gathered he wasn't here ... by the look of the place. I was thirsty ... I wanted ..." He stopped. He was going to see what he could snag from Todd's kitchen, to stock up the trailer. He didn't have any money and hated to use Summer's funds.
"On your way back to the Center, huh?" She was staring hard at him.
He rolled his eyes. Shook his head in resignation. "No."
"Where are you staying then?"
"A friend's place," Summer offered.
"Well ... stay put," Téa said, reaching for the telephone on the wall, "while I call the cops to come pick you up." He had to be kept safe from Phillip Manning. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight.
Jedediah's face blanched, his eyes widened as saucers. "Téa... please don't, I don't want to go back ... I can't go back." She turned around at the desperation in his voice, at the fear, hanging up the phone.
Summer looked beseechingly at Téa and then said, "Ms. Delgado, there was some really bad shit going on at the Center. Believe me, I know, 'cause I've been there."
Téa eyed Summer. "I sincerely hope that you aren't the reason he escaped. He's in a lot of danger outside its protection. He HAD a chance to get his life on track. Now where do you think they'll send him? Hm? There are worse places."
Jedediah stepped in front of Summer protectively and looked at Téa, head knocking back a bit, an ugly… familiar… line to his mouth. Téa knew this vibe from earlier, back at the jail cell. She also knew it from Todd. Like father, like son. He narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Why are you doing this? You don't know me, you don't have any say in MY life. You... are nobody to me. I'm gonna leave and you… are gonna just... fuck off."
Téa glared at him and got real close, speaking in a low calm voice with every bit of venom he had offered HER, "Listen to me, Mr. Chant. I am doing this because I am sick and tired of dealing with people who refuse to follow the law or listen to basic common sense, or reason or rationality. I am sick and tired of chasing people down, especially wayward, SICK Manning MEN!"
He just frowned at her… she didn't stop.
"Do you have any idea of what you're doing to Kevin and Cassie, to Viki? How do you think we ALL feel after losing Todd... to have to deal with YOU, you spoiled rotten BRAT!"
Jedediah had definitely retreated. He was quiet a moment, looking a bit hurt, a bit angry, a bit guilty, at Tea's outburst. But then he furrowed his brows and asked softly, "Losing Todd? What... what happened? Is ... is he dead?"
Téa put her hands up, her features softening, "Oh God, I'm sorry, no, we haven't 'lost him' as in-, no, not like that." She saw him relax then, just a little, then she explained, "We had a chance to help him ... he was at the hospital, ready to get checked in ... and then ... everything went haywire and he panicked ... and ran. We haven't been able to find him ... I don't know where he is. I wish I did."
Summer looked down thoughtfully and came close to Jedediah, grabbing his hand, squeezed. Jed pulled away, though. Sat at a bar stool. Put his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. He tapped his foot, repeatedly, nervously. The two women said nothing.
"So he could be dead," Jedediah said in a low tone. "He could totally be dead… right now."
Summer was about to go to him and Téa shook her head, saying, "Let me," putting her hand on his shoulder, feeling his muscles tighten at the touch. "We can't think that way. That's Kevin's job - he's the negative one." She chuckled... but then continued, "I saw him, you know. After the motel, I found him on the streets. Well, we found each other. He... uh ... saved me from an attacker. Imagine that, sick as he is, he 'rescued' me." She paused a moment, noting Jed's lack of reaction.
"You were right. I cried and grabbed onto him and begged him to come home. Like you said I would." She smiled, but it quickly faded. "He's so beyond our help. He's given himself over to-"
"To the Princess," Jedediah said, completing Téa's sentence. He put his hands down and glanced up at her, his eyes like Todd's, wet with pain. "Don't call the cops on me, Téa. We can figure out something else, don't you think? There were some kids at the Center. They want me dead. Jumped me, pulled a knife on me, for money."
"What?"
"This one kid? He said that Phillip Manning offered to pay him to kill me. I mean ... they didn't tell me it was him, but they didn't have to." He chuckled sadly. "I'm worth a lot of money... dead ... to some asshole I don't even know."
"Madre de Dios," Téa mumbled. She sat on the other barstool. Laid a hand on Jed's arm. "Did you tell anyone about the threat?"
"I didn't have time. I split that night. Those ass-wipe kids, they were damn serious. I fought a little, the guards threw me in isolation. Soon as I got out ..." He made a motion with his hand, like an airplane, "Took off." He paused a moment. "I'm sorry, I know Viki and Kevin were worried. I'm sorry."
"Jed..."
"Look, I'm safe. I'm staying in a trailer outside of town. It's cool ... and ... really anonymous."
Téa looked at the mohawk. "Anonymous?"
He smiled and rubbed what was left of his hair, glancing at Summer. "I had to change my appearance."
"You sure did that."
"Those jumpy clubs are pretty fun," he grinned.
Summer chuckled and Téa shook her head. "You've been going to clubs?"
He shrugged and nodded, "I needed something to do. Jumpy ... it's fun."
"Jed ..." He grew serious and that sadness crept into his eyes again.
"Please, please don't report me. I'm so free this way." He smiled when he said that, his eyes sparkling, and Tea's heart clenched with pain. Todd often said that he wanted to be "free." That word meant so much to children like these, children caught by a system, trapped by their pasts.
Téa glanced at Summer and was surprised at the emotion on her face, the knowledge. God, another lost soul? This was an impossible situation.
"What do you want me to do, Jed? Tell me."
He stood up with a heavy sigh, taking a glance at Summer before looking at Téa. "I want you to pretend you didn't see me," he said "Let me go."
"Let you go to what? To get killed by Phillip Manning? To ... to your jumpy clubs and anonymous life?" Téa couldn't help it; tears bubbled in her eyes. She stood up and held his still childlike face in her hands. Neither noticed that Summer had wandered out of the kitchen to leave them alone. "You're a baby, muchachito. You have people who love you and would do anything for you. Are you afraid of that?"
Jedediah said nothing, his eyes not moving from her mouth as she spoke, as if he was trying to really understand what she was trying to say.
"You may feel nothing for me," she said. "But I feel for you. YOU. Todd loves you even in the short amount of time he's known you. He hurts inside for you."
Jed flashed a bitter look.
"I know he was rough with you but that was a cover, that was his addiction. Not his truth. He loves you. And because of that, you mean the world to me. He's not here but I am. I'm breathing ... I'm here. I want you to be free, so much. I want you to live life, to ... jump... in those 'jumpy' clubs, to dance, to play... to make love, to love. But I want you safe and protected."
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at Todd's son, as she felt the last remaining vestiges of smooth skin beneath her fingers, the last remaining bit of evidence of his youth. He watched a tear roll off her cheek and he touched it. She lowered her hands and they were quiet a while.
He broke the silence after some moments, saying in a faint voice, "Nobody ever really cared about me, other than my mother. Who wasn't allowed to tell anyone who she really was to me. Nobody gave a fuck where I was when I would leave that house after she died. Beatrice didn't care. She said she did, she'd yell at me but it was bullshit. All she was about, was shame. She hated her own daughter for getting pregnant... for having ME. She HATED her. She hated me."
Téa was quiet as he studied her face, her tears. He showed the pain he felt only in the sound of his voice. His eyes didn't water, didn't tear up. No ... Téa had the feeling he'd cried all the tears he had inside of him a long time ago.
"But maybe I was an ass to Beatrice. You don't really know me. You can't really love me." He laughed, and it was bitter. Had the weight of the world in it. Jesus, he sounded just like Todd, so much she had to look away a second or two.
"I don't have to know you," she answered. "I see you. You are your father's boy and some things just come with the territory. I know how you got here, I know about your conception and the nightmare that was like some ... sick ... black ... backdrop to your being created. But guess what?"
Jed shrugged haphazardly.
"When I see you, I don't see that nightmare. When you act like an ass, I see through it. I see all the good things that Todd is made up of ... and I can only imagine what your mother must have been like. How lucky you are. How special you are."
Jedediah stared vacantly at the marbled floor.
Téa sat next to him and held his hand. "You don't have to steal food, you don't have to steal love, Jed. You have it all right here. HERE."
"What are you saying?"
Téa sighed and, realizing she was putting at risk everything she ever worked for in her entire life, said, "I will hide you. Stay here while I work out an alternative for you that's better than that damn 'Center.'"
Jedediah smiled, albeit guarded. "I can trust you?"
"Yes, Jed, YES. You can absolutely trust me. I won't turn you in so you can be assaulted. Hell with them!" He laughed openly now and Téa smiled in response. Like Todd, oh his laugh was contagious when it came from his heart.
He nodded and looked up at her, suddenly appearing embarrassed. "Téa... about Summer..."
Tilting her head slightly, she looked questioningly at him, waiting. "The statutory rape charge?"
He smiled guiltily, "Yeah… um…"
"Do you need a sex talk?"
He smiled and closed his eyes, rubbing his face as if he was tired. "It's kind of late for that … can she just stay in my room?"
"Can you give this old lady a break and do the separate room thing for tonight? I really don't want her to get in trouble at this point."
He nodded his head and smiled again. "Ok. Um…I'm cool with that. Thanks, Téa." He then just hugged her, the tightness real, the affection true. He couldn't help it. She had surprised him.
To be continued….