On the Edge of Wakefulness

Chapter 5

Kevin waited at a cafe in Fayetteville for Jedediah. Couldn't believe the kid knew Michelle was his mother. The two shared a secret, he said, and he understood from the time he was a kid about keeping that secret. Wild, unimaginable. Jedediah took a chance contacting Kevin, but said he needed help, was old enough, and the fact that someone came to their door on a mission which sounded like his own… well, call it fate.

Didn't have to wait long. Jedediah Chant breezed into the cafe, light-brown hair flying from having pulled off a motorcycle helmet that he carried at his side. He wore black jeans, a leather jacket over a sweater and black leather boots, well-used ones. Skinny still-to-grow kid except he had an air of age to him. An old soul, his mother would say. He spotted Kevin, nodded his head and sauntered toward him. Slid into the booth across from the waiting reporter.

"Hey. Really glad you could see me." Jedediah smiled, not a hint of shyness reflected on his face.

"'Course, yeah, no problem. Hey, don't you have to be 16 to ride one of those?"

He snorted, "No one around here asks."

"I'm still reeling. Michelle would have been maybe... 15 when she had you?"

"She was. Just turned. I wanted to show you something, a letter."

Kevin took a worn envelope into his hand, and took out the letter. The texture showed it had been read many, many times. Jedediah would have been close to eight when Michelle killed herself. The irony of the situation was not missed as Kevin knew that Todd's mother had left him when he was around nine. Kevin glanced briefly at the anxious eyes of Jedediah before he began reading. Those eyes… so much like Todd's, his mouth, his overall facial structure. But there was a softness there. Had to be Michelle's genes.

"My dearest Jedediah,

I need to take care of something so I will not be here when you wake up. Please know, my sweet baby, I do not leave YOU. I could never leave YOU. Be strong. Know in your heart that I will always love you. And I will always know in my heart that you love me and those thoughts will bring me back to you. I am so proud of you. I am so lucky you are my boy. If I can't come back to you, my love, my angel, hold my heart next to yours and know I will be thinking of you.

Love always,

Mimi."

Kevin glanced up, unsure what he was supposed to see in the letter. She loved her son. Got it.

Jedediah was fumbling a bit about his neck, and then pulled out a chain with a silver locket. He unlatched the chain and opened the locket, revealing small pictures of a smiling Michelle and a toddler who was most likely Jedediah.

"She left this necklace with the letter for me. I wear this thing all the time. Don't care what anyone says or thinks." No doubt. Kevin supposed he'd fared better than his father in the emotional well-being department. After all, he'd been raised in a fairly stable environment. But there was a sadness to him. Kevin couldn't put his finger on what made him think that. Just felt it. Like an aura.

He gazed at the locket, finally closing it and handing it back. Jedediah put the chain back on and stuffed it underneath his sweater.

"Okay," said Kevin. "What's here? What am I missing."

"That's no fucking suicide note."

Ahh… Manning genes in his talk. Kevin eyed Jedediah and read the note again. Certainly, the tone was a wildly different from Todd's letter. Even though Todd hadn't been writing to a person he loved, much less even liked, it was sure and confident. There was no hesitation in Todd's mind when he wrote the note. He would be stone cold dead.

"She was murdered," Jedediah said softly. "I just know it."

"Do your parents ... do they realize you KNOW about Michelle being your mom?"

"Hell no. It was a secret. Our secret. One I swore to keep, even after Mimi left. To tell it would have been like betraying her or something. You know?" He ran his tongue over his lips … looked warily around the café.

"What do want from me, Jedediah?"

"I want to know what happened to her. Oh and call me Jed. Everyone does."

Kevin quickly nodded. "Cops ruled it a suicide - your parents bought into it."

"That's 'cause they never got her. I did."

"You were only a kid. What could you know about her?" Jedediah didn't even dignify the doubt with a response and instead, signaled the waitress for a coke.

Kevin accepted the brush-off. "So this secret," he continued, "is that why you kept the letter? I mean, maybe if they read it, they would have pushed for a better investigation."

"I tried to tell them she wouldn't leave like that, but …" He almost glared at Kevin, looking at him like maybe Kevin wasn't any different from all the rest of the assholes of the world. He spat, "I was just a kid, they said, what the fuck would I know?"

Ouch. Todd again, lurking in those genes. "Right… but the letter-"

The waitress placed the drink in front of Jedediah, who drank thirstily, like he'd been deprived. "They didn't listen to me, never do. They were so wrapped up in her absence, they barely acknowledged me even being alive. And yeah, it was a secret I couldn't tell. It was my letter, not theirs. They'd have kept it if I showed it. Unacceptable."

Kevin was getting a clearer picture of the 'stable family environment.' Not so much, maybe. Yeah, those parents would have kept the letter. Woulda made the kid think it was all in his imagination. He looked back at those harsh hazel eyes which stared at him. Damn.

"Where do they think you are right now? I know they don't know you're here."

Jedediah raised his eyebrows. Touched his nose like they do in the game of charades. "With friends, camping, running away again. They don't give a shit." Jedediah looked around and leaned forward. "I want to stay with you … you know, be your assistant with your project on Michelle. I can help you."

"What about school?"

"Got a rebellious nature. I'll catch up later."

Kevin narrowed his eyes, realizing something. "You a truant, Jed? This skipping school, not telling your grandparents where you are...a regular deal?"

The boy looked away, then finished off his coke in one long swig. Then asked, "You gonna help me or not?"

"I can't take the responsibility …"

"Fuck you, then." Jedediah got to his feet, heading towards the door… getting outside. Kevin scrambled. He didn't have his own kids but this one was reaching out and… damn. Cassie would be pissed. He threw money on the table. Figures Todd's offspring would be as hot headed as he was. Shit.

The air had grown cold, a polar breeze coming from the north. Jedediah had just kick-started his motorcycle and it rumbled as Jed held his helmet, readying it to put it on. The noise upset the calm of the street. Kevin had to shout to get Jedediah's attention.

"Kill the engine, kid … come on … kill it. Hey!"

After a moment of scrutiny, Jedediah shut the motor off, scowling.

Kevin shrugged, "What if something happens to you? I need some kind of medical consent. Something… right? You're just a kid."

Jedediah turned around and dug into a backpack that had been corded to the bike. He flashed an identification card that showed him to be eighteen years old. "No consent needed," he said. "I'm an adult according to this."

Taking the card into his hand. Had to hand it to him. Hell of a fake. "Where you'd get this?"

"You kidding? Rat on a supplier this good? No way."

"Why only eighteen? Why not go all the way with the twenty-one?"

"I can get smokes and dirty mags. Don't need alcohol 'cause it's not my thing. Plus … I need more muscle on me 'for I pass for twenty-one."

Kevin shook his head. ID wouldn't matter. If the kid got hurt, and it was serious enough, hospital would treat him anyway. Kevin couldn't turn his back. "Yeah, yeah, alright. Guess I found a new assistant. Welcome to the world of newspapers, Mr. Chant."

Viki sat in Tim's office, listening to the details about Todd's attempt to reopen his injuries the old-fashioned way. "How could he do that?" she asked. "Is it even possible to not feel that level of pain?" Viki couldn't get over the images in her head, the fear for Todd. His state of mind was beyond anything she'd ever dealt with. Even her own.

"I'm sure cognition is there," the doctor explained. "He just doesn't acknowledge it." He paused, "I have news. We received test results. They confirm my initial suspicion. He's been using methamphetamine, known as 'meth' or 'crank,' on the streets. Causes alertness, paranoia, euphoria, hallucinations, aggression, anxiety, loss of appetite, etcetera… etcetera. It's a powerful version of what you probably know as speed. Sound like him?"

The words dropped like a bomb. Clarity hit Viki hard.

"No," she said. "My brother doesn't use drugs, that's not who he is, but… it makes sense, what you're describing. What he's been like the past few months."

Indeed, his appearance and behaviour all through the hostage-taking at the cabin fit this explanation to a tee. He hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten, he was hyper, paranoid… dangerous. Todd was using drugs. Yes, it sounded right. But it did not sound like the man she knew.

"Meth's a drug on the rise," Tim said. "It's just now hitting our region and it's going to be a big problem. The high lasts a while but the effects are horrific. We can't yet determine the depth of the abuse, however. It's possible the drug use is a by-product of an already-present psychosis or the drug caused the psychosis. A bit of a chicken and egg thing. We have to wait and see."

"I don't know what to say… Todd is a man who likes to be in control of things. It surprises me that he'd take such risk, using a dangerous drug. He runs a large newspaper. Really well I might add. But then… I don't know about his private life, what he does on his off hours. I don't. I have seen him drink too much. I don't know. I'm shocked." Paused. "Can I see him?"

"No. He's too unpredictable. Goes from stillness to being wildly violent in minutes. He got rough with one of our female orderlies so I'm sticking to people who have the physical ability to handle him. And this is because he's still in detox. We got a few more days. He'll be chemically controlled when the time is up."

Chemically controlled. Like he was an animal. Made her ache. She wanted to talk to him, comfort him, offer herself as a friend and "mother" to him. But she knew he wouldn't want it. For the first time, she really felt his self-imposed isolation. The sadness of it. Nobody could touch him. Reach him. It was killing her. Her emotions suddenly overtook her.

"I...I have to go. I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

She abruptly left Tim's office, much to her own disappointment in herself. With Kevin being out of town, with her being alone, Todd's crisis was too much to bear. She wiped the tears from her face and bit her lip to stop herself from crying more. She was going to lose him to his sickness. Her own past was too real again. Victor Lord had reared his ugly head in her life which had finally attained a certain level of peace.

No surprises she split. Tim had plenty of experience dealing with traumatized families and although unusual in the circumstances, this was no different. He did learn something from Viki that helped explain the earlier confrontation: Todd was a man who liked to be in control of things. Tight, impenetrable control. And as such, Todd had made up his mind, deep within himself, that he was not to be helped, that he could not be helped. And so long as he was in control of his own dominion, he could threaten his own body with harm, drugs, whatever it took… to show he was in control.

A hard case. However, it was only a matter of time before the torture he was putting himself through would have to end. He had not reached rock bottom of this cycle yet.

Tim looked at the time. He needed to go see Todd for their first official session together. He had been awake, mobile, and at least today, less violent.

Show-time.

Todd paced like a caged animal in his room. Back and forth, back and forth. Smoldering, jittery, no place for his thinking to go. Thoughts swirled in his head so fast he couldn't keep track. Satan burned inside of him, slithering in and out, using his veins like a goddamn metro. Fucker. FUCKER! He kept shaking his head to move it out, kept shaking his body to jerk it out. He wanted a cigarette because that quieted things. Always did. He cringed at the sensation in his body. Scratched at the remembered burns on his stomach through his tee-shirt, scratched at his cock that had burns, too. Where was a cigarette when he needed one? A match will do. Fucking anything. Goddamn knife got taken. Goddamn stitches got put back. He looked for loose shit… anything sharp. Thought about just ramming into the wall but didn't because he knew those bastards would come out of that wall and tie him up again. Try to fucking BATHE him again.

FUCKERS!

Behind the glass, Tim watched his patient. He noted that while Todd appeared to have moved beyond terror and unawares, this was hardly better. He wasn't eating and was still threatening everybody around him, threatening himself. Tim took a breath and walked inside the room. The click of the door got Todd to look at him. He stopped pacing a moment. Glared at Tim. Tilted his head like a wolf.

In a soft voice, Tim said, "I just want to talk."

He gritted his teeth and spat, "Fuck you." Started pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth. Doing that thing where he shook his head, then his body. Peculiar.

Tim moved closer. "Todd, why don't you sit down and breathe. Count to 10. Your anxiety will decrease. I promise."

"Don't give me that shit!" He briefly pulled at his hair, hard, with both hands in aggravation. Shook himself. "You're not gonna put me under any of your spells or whatever it is you do!" Went back to his pacing.

Tim understood the jab. "I'm not here to do that. Do you want to know what I am here to do? Do you want to know what you can demand of me?" Not hearing a response other than a sarcastic snort, he went ahead with his opening arguments while his patient continued to pace back and forth, glowering.

"This is your recovery, Todd. Not mine, not your sister's, nobody's but yours. You have the right to direct your own recovery. You have the total right not to accept my help. You can choose another doctor. You can be afraid, or angry, or feel whatever you want. You decide when you want to confront those fears or the anger you have. This is your deal. You're in control."

Todd eyed Tim and shook his head hard, grunting. He focused on the shadows on the carpet as he walked. Light poured into the room from all over it seemed, from no single place and no single source. Nothing like what was inside of him. Nothing there but black filth and evil. He was immune to the sun's light. He put his hands out, not feeling any heat. See? Immune.

Focus on your job - killing Satan. Don't listen to that man, he's tricking you. They say you're in control. What horse shit. Soon as you act up, they'll tie you up and fuck you hard.

"You can talk or not talk, about anything, at any time, as you wish. You can ask for help in healing, without having to accept help with everything. You can keep your secrets until you're ready to share them. You can question me or anybody that is here to help you. You can take action to stop something that you don't want." Tim spoke softly and clearly, assuredly and confidently.

Secrets? The ones crawling around my feet, biting my toes, clawing at my ankles. They're nothing! I pick one of them up and bite its head off. See that blood over my hands? THEY ARE NOTHING. I am nothing.

Todd's pacing slowed to a near standstill, his back to Tim, and he stared out the windows. Looked at his hands. Tim could see he was shaking. Could hear the ragged breathing. He was beyond agitated.

Focus, focus. He's working with Satan. Don't listen! Show him the decapitated rat! Show him the uselessness of the interrogation. Show him your control. Show him.

Todd turned and glared at Tim. His head was dipped, dark eyes looking up. Fists at his sides. Tim prepared to be bowled over by this guy. Damn it. An orderly was right outside, ready to come in if it got hot. Tim firmed up his stance, looked right into his patient's eyes. Said, "You have the right, Todd, to be touched only with, and within the limits of, your consent. No one can touch you unless you want to be touched. No one will hurt you. No one."

Touching … touching … shhhhh….. control it all!

Todd shuddered violently at Tim's words which clearly found their way to him. They meant something. Oh yeah, those words had hit him with a force. He closed his eyes briefly and his lips parted. The anger had evaporated entirely. A different person stood there in the light by the window.

Please take me from here, please save me. Don't you know where I am? Don't you know what he is doing to me? He's killing me.

PUSSIFIED, PUSSIFIED! You weak, punk-ass BITCH!

Todd sighed, retreating into that quiet. Tim wondered if it was the recitation of rights but what part? The touching, the hurting, what part? He pushed the envelope. Continuing.

"Nothing you say to me will ever go beyond me. Not into any public file or any reporter's notebook or family or friends. Not into the ears of anyone without your consent. Finally, know that I will never have any other relationship with you other than as your therapist and healer. I will not abuse you."

Abuse.

Todd opened his eyes at the word. Trapped in hell. A deep sadness welled inside of him. He shook his head, shaking his body. Slowly resumed his pacing. He scratched at his chest. He needed the pain. Focus. Focus. He curled his fingers into a fist and dug his fingernails as deep as he could into his hand, attempting to draw blood.

I can bite the heads off rats …

He heard Tim's words again start to come at him.

"Todd, talk to me, please. Do you know where you are?"

About a minute passed. He said, "Here. You've trapped me." He spoke slowly, spacey, as he walked the floor.

"Do you know who I am?" Tim asked.

"You call yourself Tim and tell me you're a doctor." Todd stopped pacing and gazed at Tim, the edges of anger and strength returning to his voice. Sadness in his eyes had given way to fear.

"Who do you think I am, then?"

"A witch or a devil, maybe working for Satan. That's why you keep me alive. Because you know if I finish my work, he'll be dead. And you'll be out of a fucking job." Todd shook his head and rubbed his hair roughly in frustration. A wordless sound rumbled from his throat. He stood there staring at Tim, that same fear there. Whatever edges of anger had been there had now faded again.

"Do you know how you got here?"

"I don't...I don't know ..." Confusion settled in. He rubbed his face and head, trying to clear his mind, perhaps. Trying to shoo away voices maybe.

"Have you been taking anything, Todd, to help yourself, maybe? Any drugs?"

"I don't know, I don't understand what you're saying. You're so smart, why don't you tell ME what's going on."

"I don't know."

"Isn't it obvious?!"

"No, tell me."

"He made me who I am! He made me hurt them, he did. So he has to pay for it. He hurt her and he hurt ... he hurt…"

Todd scratched his chest, his breathing becoming more and more strained.

"Who did he hurt?"

"What's happening to me? Why is he doing this to me? WHY?! WHY?!" Todd looked desperately at Tim, his face reflecting pain and confusion. He couldn't reach the doctor. His words were spraying into space, bits and pieces lost in the air. Nothing but spit. He was alone and condemned. Todd looked at his hands and bandages and turned to the window again. He gazed outside for the longest time.

"She was so beautiful," he suddenly said. His eyes glossed, seeing something other than the grass and trees outside. The faintest of smiles brushed across his lips. His right hand reached out as if he were touching someone's face. "She understood me. She called me - ME - her angel. Imagine that? She said she loved me."

"Who, Todd?"

He stood still, unresponsive, having slipped into a kind of catatonic state. Tim called his name, getting no response.

Then Todd whispered, "I am nothing." His eyes rolled up and Tim jumped, just in time to catch his patient as he collapsed into a heap. He lay still in Tim's arms, eyes open, staring into… nothingness.

End of session.

Cassie Carpenter looked up at the End of the Road Bar's eternally blinking "COCKTAIL" neon sign. Pushing open the door, she entered the dingy wood-paneled establishment and had to squint to get used to the dim light. She noticed a slumped man at the bar supported by a tall stool that had seen better days, and a gum-chewing male bartender wiping down the accessible counter-space. With her business suit and matching purse and shoes, she looked a fish out of water.

As Cassie's eyes moved across the rainbow of glass liquor bottles, she spotted yet another lone figure at the end of the counter. He stood with one foot on the dirty floor and the other on a long metal bar which ran along the bottom portion of the counter. His face was mottled with evidence of a long-lost battle with teenage acne, lines deeply indenting a face which was hard and untrusting. His hair had been shorn, leaving only stubble, an image of a marine gone bad. His clothing was unkempt and he wore old leather shoes revealing a man who operated in the… lesser… parts of Llanview and its surrounding communities.

He turned his head at the approaching footsteps of a daring reporter. "Welcome to my world." He returned his gaze to a half-full shot glass, an amber liquid awaiting its death.

"Hope not. But for a man named 'the Mole' this is no surprise. Let's just get to the brass tacks. What information do you have for me on Angel Square?"

"Payment, Miss Carpenter?"

Cassie shoved a wad of bills into the Mole's large, fatty hand. "No need to count it - it's all there."

The Mole turned around to face his interviewer, stuffing his pocket with the money, his beaten-down visage visible in the low lights of the End of the Road Bar. He looked around, sharp eyes ferreting out potential dangers, the bartender having conveniently stepped into the back room. The slumped man continued to lie still on the counter, no sign of having come out his coma.

"I've been hired by Wormwood and Associates to find stressed-out owners in the Angel Square district. I give 'em names and circumstances, they give those names to specially picked city people. They condemn the properties, buying out the owners for prices way below market value. Specially-picked judges approve it all. City turns around and sells the properties to Wormwood through a string of corporations and boom, city makes money and Wormwood will ultimately own all of Angel Square. Wormwood does this all over the country."

"I want names and proof of the Llanview officials involved."

"It'll cost you."

"I'll pay extra for the hard proof. Names are free."

"Bo Buchanan and Judge Austin Campbell."

"What?! Bo's our commissioner. He was implicated last year and totally exonerated."

"Not by a court he wasn't. The investigation was buried. That killing and the story about the newspaper guy took over. The public got so involved in that mess they forgot about what the poor girl was doing in the first place, blackmailing good ole' Bo Buchanan for bribery. She was right on the nose."

"So what, Georgie Phillips was a hit? Rachel Gannon confessed to the killing. Voluntary manslaughter."

"An 'accidental tourist'. Pure coincidence. I'm sure the Buchanans were damn grateful to bad timing on Gannon's part." The Mole downed the rest of the whiskey in the shot glass.

Cassie looked toward the door, mulling over the information. Was Kevin involved? Did Kevin cover up the real story with the sham that Todd Manning killed Georgie? She looked back at her informant, unsure of where to go from here.

"All right, I'll get you more cash when you come up with proof." Cassie turned and walked out the door. The Mole peeled a few bills from the wad which had been in his pocket and tossed them on the counter before leaving.

The slumped man listened for the door to squeak shut and waited a moment. He slowly raised his head. Glancing around, feigning confusion, he saw there was no one remaining in the bar other than the bartender who had since come back and was taking a spot-check inventory of the liquor bottles. Sam Rappaport shook the cramps out of his arms and a few incoherent words tumbled out. He stood up, losing his footing as he was still drunk, but not so drunk as to not have heard the entire conversation between the Mole and Cassie. So who was this Wormwood, he wondered, and what was going on with the Buchanans? He stumbled out of the bar and headed to his car. Hopefully he wouldn't get a DUI on his way to the office. He had work to do.

Todd lay on his side on his small island surrounded by the flowing lava, sweating from the heat and pain which consumed him. Satan's feet were all he could see and he whimpered at the spectacle of disgusting sores and blackness. He tried to move away but couldn't.

"You're a pathetic slug, son." Satan crouched down to look Todd in the eyes. "You know what you need, boy? PERSPECTIVE." The hot, foul breath of the gruesome devil-creature flowed over Todd's body. He fought an overwhelming desire to retch. He groaned, rubbing his head on the black dirt.

"Tea Delgado was a bitch. She pushed and pushed and basically deserved what she got. I would have done a hell of a lot more than punch her. Blair, too, deserved what she got. I thought the whole custody trial over your daughter was brilliant! You did a fine job on her. She was a real cunt. Lied to you about being pregnant the first time around, lied to you all the time. She only wanted you for your money."

Satan ran his sore-infested hand lewdly up and down Todd's body, Todd writhing at the touch and finally throwing up what little was in his stomach. Peter's loud laughter greeted him once the involuntary spasms came to an end.

"You're so dramatic. I remember YOU, boy. Gratifying. Years of it. I remember that last night. You remember? Not as gratifying. Should've killed her, should've killed you. I got my sweet revenge though. What's that line, revenge is a dish best served cold?" Peter-Satan laughed uproariously. "Get it? Cold, down here in Hell." Todd inched forward, trying to crawl away, his nails scraping the black rock island.

Satan straightened up to his full height and placed his heavy foot on Todd's back. Todd groaned beneath the beast's weight, the doomed slug caught by its predator.

Peter's words spilled out, "You are mine now. I will break you."

Todd lay on his back, tossing from side to side in a violent dream-state. He finally shot up in bed, recoiling at the sight of Tim. Hours had passed. He was perspiring, confused and breathed rapidly.

"Where...where am I? What happened?" He looked all around him, at the floor, the windows, the bathroom, the door, finally landing on Tim. Deep lines cut into his forehead, and he rubbed his hair out of his face. He grasped the sheets tightly in his hand.

"You're at Llanview Psychiatric Hospital. I'm Tim Graham and I'm your physician. Do you remember me?"

"Yeah, I remember you." Todd rubbed his face with his left hand and then stared at his arms. He licked his lips, thirsty, hungry. Where was his guy with his stuff? "I want to get outta here. What do I have to do to get out?"

Agitated, he narrowed his eyes at Tim, who'd been anticipating the furious beast to come around again once he regained his footing. Tim was surprised though to be hearing a little more groundedness.

"You've been committed by a court for violating the terms of your suspended sentence by attempting suicide. A judge will decide when you're ready to be released."

Todd stared at Tim for some seconds then slammed closed his eyes, shook his head, jerked his body and groaned, "No, no, no, no..." Started to rock his body. Pictures immediately flashed in his head. They flashed by too fast to distinguish, disturbing nonetheless. He tried to cover his eyes and ears.

Stop them. Stop them . . .

Tim came close to the bed. "Tell me what's hurting. Please let me help you."

Todd weakly pushed Tim out of the way and dragged himself out of the bed, groaning, "I'm in Hell. He has me. Don't you understand?" He moved in a circle, round and round the room. "I'm dying." His head hung down, his arms loose at his sides.

"What makes you say that?"

"She's dead because of me. She saw . . . she saw . . . no, no, no."

"Who's dead?"

"Michelle's dead because of me …," he whispered.

"From what I understand, from what Viki told me, she jumped to her death many years after knowing you. You weren't there. She made her own choice."

Todd looked at Tim, "BECAUSE OF ME!"

"How?"

Tears welled and then rolled down his cheeks, his face creasing with bewilderment. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know . . . " Sorrow turned to anger, Todd punching his fist into the air, pacing again to shake off pain beginning to engulf him.

"Todd, count to ten and breathe deeply. Concentrate on the counting, meditate about something you know and like. Tell me about Michelle. You told me she was beautiful. Tell me about how she was beautiful to you."

He breathed deeply, calming himself. Listening to Tim. The ache he clearly felt etched itself across his features, especially in his eyes. He stared at his healer. "Her hair was long and soft. She had these . . . freckles . . . on her face. She had these eyes . . . the.. the color of mine. Pretty on her." As Todd described Michelle, the lines of pain seemed to smooth themselves out.

"Your eyes aren't pretty on you?"

"No...I'm ugly and sickening and I'm a slug." The grimace returned.

"Who told you that?"

"Satan."

"I have a feeling Michelle didn't see you that way. Your family doesn't see you that way either."

"She didn't see me ... she … no, she's dead. She didn't see me after, after-"

"After what?"

"No, no, no, no, no…" Todd growled from deep in his throat and eyed the floor around him. Rats at my feet, I can behead them. Raised his eyes to Tim, familiar darkness came out again. "No more questions. No more." He surveyed the room and began opening the drawers of the dresser in the closet. "I need my stuff, where is it, where is it?" He looked under his bed. "I can't find it. Tell me where you put it."

"What stuff?" Tim suspected Todd was referring to a stash of drugs. He ran his hands through his hair impatiently, the anxiety level increasing again. "Look, you're my doctor and I need medicine. I gotta have it... gotta have it because I don't want to sleep anymore… so I gotta have it or I will break every fucking bone in your body! Where is it, GODDAMN IT?!"

"Where's what?"

"You know. You KNOW!"

"Your drugs?"

"Medicine."

"How long have you been using methamphetamine, Todd?"

"Shut up! Don't look at me like that! Judging, judging … always judging. You don't know what it's like to hear him all the time! To hear his voice in my head! The medicine ups MY voice, gets me going to shut him up! Keeps me awake so I don't SEE him. Now… now… give me a phone so I can get my shit. You have to do this – I need it – please, you have to give it to me!"

"I have something else to help quiet this voice you hear. Will you try it?"

"Will it keep me awake?"

"No-"

Todd's face fell, frustrated. He was trapped under lock and key and now not even those divine packets of powder could help him. He was going back in hell as soon as his eyes closed. Shaking his head, every bit of him vibrating with pent-up energy, he yelled, "Get OUT! You can't help me! It's too damn late ... it's so fucking late …"

He made his way to his bed, climbing in under the covers. Lying on his side under his doctor's watch, he curled up and hummed rhythmically to himself, repetitively smoothing his hair, engaged in a kind of self-soothing.

Tim sat back, somewhat pleased with the progress, little it was. The detox was working. One thing new, a revelation ... he used the meth to stay awake. Which meant, most likely, the drugs were being used to deal with an already present illness.

Keep talking, my friend.

Kevin and Jedediah went to the New River National Park, arriving just before dusk. After hiking a bit, they both stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the river beneath them. Michelle's supposed jumping point. They were quiet as they contemplated her last moments prior to jumping. Or falling. Or being pushed.

Jedediah was an exceptional kid, unique, possessing a wicked sense of humor, and vastly intelligent. He claimed to be in a home-study program for "special" kids like him, kids who had no desire to attend classes – in other words, habitual truants which managed to pass certain tests. He claimed he couldn't be happier and was performing much better in the new "home study" program. Said he was going to graduate in June and had every intention of hitting the road on his bike as soon as he was done. Wanted to get emancipated from Beatrice and Charles. Did the research. So being with Kevin like this, away from everything, was perfectly okay.

"It's really no problem, man. Don't sweat it," he assured his mentor.

Kevin knew about these programs, though, and he suspected Jedediah was barely holding on. Moreover, he suspected there wasn't any home program at all – usually, such kids attended a half-day program at a continuation school. Jed was probably skipping the few classes he had. On the other hand, if refused to help Jed, the boy would probably be on his own anyway. Kevin couldn't escape the feeling he was dealing with a runaway train. Nothing to do but hang on.

As he focused on the water, the younger man with his worn leather boots recounted the games he and his real mother used to play. She was so young, just out of her teens, and he remembered how she giggled at his child-like jokes and made-up stories.

"Mimi, I saw Superman at school and he carried me to your school today. But you didn't see me. But I saw you and you were asleep on your chair!"

He could easily recreate in his mind Michelle smiling at him, her sweet boy, "Really, how do you know I didn't see you? I could hear you outside my classroom! 'Mimi!' you shouted! You silly goose!"

Their conversation would erupt into a frenzy of more giggles. Those memories haunted him as he studied the quick-moving current hundreds of feet below … as he watched the rocks getting pummeled. A fallen tree tried to break free, but was trapped, creating a waterfall. The sun was setting, painting an intense orange glow across the horizon.

Jedediah's voice broke through the hypnotizing roar of the river, getting Kevin to turn to him.

"My mother used to say that my dad was an angel who came to earth just to meet her, to create me. She said I looked like him and that she had loved him with all her 'being.'" He smiled a little at the memory. "I used to question her all the time about 'my angel daddy'. She invented these stories and I still remember them." He chuckled at his childhood remembrance, even though he was barely a child himself.

Kevin cringed at the idea of Jedediah learning about his… angel daddy. Shit.

"She told me he loved music and would dance with her at night to music only they heard. She'd tell me it was music from God, from Heaven. She would light up when she talked about him. Said he had golden hair, and eyes the same color as hers and mine and he was beautiful. I'd get mad at her when she said that 'cause you know, men aren't 'beautiful' but 'handsome'. We had the same argument every time she told me the story. Pretty stupid stuff, huh?"

"You're lucky to have had a mom like her, even if it was for a short time." Kevin watched the boy front of him, a fascinating mix of what he knew so far about Todd and Michelle.

"Yeah. Beatrice never understood us. Seemed she was always mad."

"I don't blame you for giving the big fuck-you to Beatrice and school and all adults. I bet if I had grandparents who refused to acknowledge my own mother or me as her son and then as a real kicker, having to lose my mom …. I'd be pretty upset too."

Kevin studied the young man who didn't react much to Kevin's talk. By this time, they were both seated on the damp ground waiting for the dark to overtake them.

Jed said, "I chill by riding my bike and hanging out with my friends. But … I don't throw my life away 'cause I know my mom loved me and I know whatever happened to her wasn't a rejection. I know that. She didn't kill herself. She wouldn't have left unless it was forced on her."

Kevin wondered if Jedediah was only trying to convince himself of all he said.

"So, do you know who my dad is?"

Kevin flinched, just not expecting the obvious follow-up to their conversation. What was he going to say? Kevin didn't have any words at the moment.

"Let's get back to the hotel and we'll talk about it. I don't have hard information for you, Jed. Only guesses, only damn guesses." He turned the flashlight on and they headed to the car.

Gonna be a long night.

To be continued….