On the Edge of Wakefulness
Chapter 6
Kevin and Jedediah sat at the small table in the Fayetteville hotel room munching on take-out food, both subdued after visiting the last place Michelle had been seen alive. The young charge waited patiently for the conversation about his real father to begin. Kevin didn't know how this kid figured he knew something. But he did and Kevin didn't feel like lying about the possibility.
Where to start? Disclaimer. "Listen, I'm wary about saying anything because I'm not 100% sure he's your dad. Still want to hear about him?"
"Yeah, I do."
Kevin took a deep breath and eyed Jed directly. Putting his sandwich down, he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. When he cleared his throat for the third time, he interlocked his fingers, elbows on the table, as if in a business meeting. Only instead of an old man heading a corporation, he was facing young, hopeful eyes.
"His name is Todd Manning. Ever hear of him?"
Jed shook his head, no.
"He owns a newspaper in Llanview, Pennsylvania, a rival paper to mine. He's my mother's half-brother. Some time ago, I learned he was a very good friend of your mom's. They went to school together in Chicago. Quiet kids, loner types. Didn't cause trouble. But one day … things changed. No explanation. Your mom left town, and Todd… he changed." Kevin sighed.
"Like how?"
"He went from not causing trouble...to causing trouble." He paused. "You look like him. Incredibly like him. He's thirty years old, smart, rich …" Kevin leaned on his elbows. "He's a real bastard, Jed. But even so… he isn't well right now."
"He's sick? Like dying or something?" Disappointment began to register on Jedediah's face even though, God knew, he was fighting it.
"No, no, no, nothing like that." Kevin swallowed hard. What does he divulge at this point? Why did this have to be so damn complicated? "Uh... Todd's mentally ill. He's in a hospital. It's serious."
Jedediah sucked in his breath, got up from his chair and walked to the window which only gave him a view of a few passing cars and a very dark West Virginian night.
"He was hospitalized a bit ago for - for -" Kevin couldn't say it. Couldn't say suicide after what this child had been through for half his life. "A breakdown," he concluded.
"Is that it? Is that the worst?"
Kevin paused, undecided, settling on vagueness. "Depends on your perspective, I guess. I'm not gonna lie. We've battled a lot since college. In fact, my investigation into your mom's story was... well, I hoped it would turn out bad for him. Hoped it would hurt him. I could tell you I hate him."
Jedediah turned back around, curious. "But you're not gonna say that?"
"Meeting you, learning about your mom, being forced into a very strange bond with him recently... I don't think I hate him anymore. I want to find the truth about Michelle... but not to hurt him."
"Why, then?"
"I think it might help get him better? I don't know. I thought at first he might have done something to your mom. I'm not sure anymore."
"You thought this guy hurt her?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
Jedediah eyed Kevin a moment. "No way. If he had hurt her, she would have told me." Sat back down at the table. "Do you have a picture?"
"I don't have one on me, but I can link up with the paper files, and you can see what he looks like."
"Ok."
Kevin did just that, pulling up Banner file photos of the Dark Prince of Llanview, and there were plenty. None showed his "good" side. He avoided mugshots or those of him in shackles on his way to the courthouse for yet another arraignment. That would have to be dealt with at a later time, if and when Jedediah learned about his father's criminal past. Jed might not be so confident that Todd hadn't hurt Michelle.
For now, he focused on Todd the business man. Better than mugshots but not by much. A roving reporter for the Banner managed to get a snap at the courthouse after a particularly heated day of trial during the custody battle with Blair over Starr. A perfect shot used to support a scathing article about his court antics. Classic grey Hugo Boss suit. Longish hair. The look on his face was typical: pissed-off, menacing. Hard hazel eyes right at the camera. An undeniable strength in that flash of swagger.
Immediately, Jedediah saw the powerful resemblance between himself and Todd. He glanced at Kevin at the surprise of it.
"I know. You are his spitting image."
Jed then stared at the picture a long time, never having seen his own eyes gazing back at him before. He touched the screen, trying to reconcile the "angel daddy" his mom had described all those years and the cold-looking man he saw on the computer. He didn't see a joyous figure dancing to godly music by the light of the moon. Instead, he saw a night creature who stalked innocents on a moonless night.
Yeah, a real bastard. He still did not believe Todd had hurt his mom. Kevin said… he had changed. That meant… this man might have still been the angel she described. Something changed him after they'd been together, maybe.
Kevin sat quietly, debating whether he should have revealed so much. He thought Todd would have killed him with his bare hands if he knew Kevin was the one who opened the door to his world for a child. Jedediah looked at Todd's picture a few more seconds before closing the computer.
"Thanks," he said. "I get your hesitation but...he's my dad. I know it, here." He patted his chest, his heart, a simple show of faith touching Kevin deeply and compelling him to issue a final warning.
"This isn't a fairy tale, Jed. Todd's lived a harsh, nasty life. I can't tell you that you won't be immensely disappointed."
"I know."
Kevin wanted to say, you don't know anything even close to the reality, but didn't. They had a rough path to walk in front of them and it would begin in the morning.
Cassie sat in front of her laptop in the Llanview Public Library doing research on eminent domain, the process where a city condemns property for public purposes, for community improvement. She hoped to determine where Wormwood and Associates would come in. Where would Bo Buchanan fit in? What about Kevin? She hadn't spoken to him since the previous morning, not ready to talk openly. Not ready to lay out her worry that maybe the story about Todd was meant to cover up the truth about Georgie Phillips and the Buchanan bribery involvement. Her instincts told her Kevin wouldn't do that. On the other hand, she couldn't deny his drive or his obsession with "getting" Todd.
Suddenly, a chair next to Cassie scraped against the floor, attracting the attention of quiet readers, and Sam Rappaport slid into it.
"Sam … what … hi?" She smiled in perplexity, using her pen to scratch her head.
"I followed you from the Banner. Needed to talk to you."
Cassie could smell alcohol on his breath, surprised. She never knew the accomplished lawyer to drink. "Lovely," she said. "Thrilled at the safety net that surrounds me."
"I overheard your conversation with the Mole."
Cassie's eyes widened in shock… she thought she'd been so careful.
"No, Cassie, don't worry. I'm on your side."
He glanced around, surveying the patrons. Leaning forward on his elbows, he explained in a soft voice, "I've been representing Carlotta Vega. The city's been trying to condemn the area where her diner is located and we've been running into a brick wall on this. Thing is, I thought Judge Campbell was dirty. Thought maybe we could help each other. I'll take care of the legal end, you'll take care of the going-public part. Together – maybe - we can clean up Llanview. A little."
She looked thoughtful, considering.
"It's a worthy cause," Sam said, hoping she'd agree. Truthfully, he'd gravitated to the Wormwood story because he couldn't handle what was happening to Todd – or himself. He didn't think he'd ever recover from the suicide attempt. Every day since, Sam drank himself into a stupor at the End of the Road Bar and it had to stop. Cassie's conversation with the Mole offered a way to get off the bar stool.
She smiled, saying quickly, "Ok. I'll share with you what I got, provided you share with me."
"Deal."
Satan lifted his foot off Todd, who lay quietly on the ground of his island in the sea of lava. He raised his head weakly, his face stained with bloody tears.
"You're wrong. I don't belong to you." His voice was barely a whisper, strained. Pain tortured his entire body. Where he got the strength to form words was a mystery.
"You go on thinking that, little worm. You never had the strength to fight me. You will never have the strength. You will always lose."
"No, I'll win because I love my beautiful daughter, Starr. That'll save me. I'm not like you. I'd never hurt her. I would die first. I would let her kill me first."
Having no comprehension of Todd's twisted thinking, Peter Manning roared, "You are a JOKE! When your daughter grows into the whore she will surely become, she will rub her pierced nipples in your face and shake her tattooed ass. She will challenge you at every turn. She will spit at you when she learns of your past. She will hate and despise you. You will want to beat her. You will HAVE TO."
"I'll never hurt her. Never, never, never." Heartbroken tears rolled down Todd's cheeks, agony consuming him.
Satan's body shook with revulsion at Todd's challenge to him so he kicked him solidly in the stomach, pushing him close to fiery shore. Todd moaned and dragged himself away from the fiery lava flow, moving closer to his tormentor.
"You are nothing. You are less than nothing. You'll not be able to stop the evil that's within you. You couldn't do it with Blair or Tea or any of those women you raped. You will not be able to stop yourself with your precious Starr!" Satan kicked Todd sharply in the back. No sound came this time. He arched his body, the pain no longer measurable. He heard the moans of condemned souls and felt the heat of the lava on his face.
Peter spoke. "You see, Todd, you stole my life from me. Instead of gold, Victor Lord gave YOU to me, a pussified runt destined to steal what was mine. I served that bastard for years, getting nothing but few thousand bucks a year. Stuck with you until you turned 25. Hell with that. I wasn't going to be serving no damn Lord heir. So I made you my whore because you had to pay."
Satan brutally kicked Todd all over, everywhere, the pain blinding him, paralyzing him. Deep red blood fell from his eyes where tears should have been.
"Know this," Peter hissed, "I will continue to make you pay, you sorry son of a bitch."
Todd was condemned. He belonged to Satan. He looked up at the heavens and reached his hand toward the comforting blue where clouds drifted like a child's dream.
Michael, the orderly, in doing his usual late-night rounds came to Todd's room, at last. When he looked through the window, he couldn't see the patient. So he unlocked the door. When he reached the bathroom, Michael saw Todd huddled in the shower basin, violently shaking and covering his head, obviously terrified. Sweat soaked his pajamas and tee-shirt, his feet rubbing against the tiles, as if he could dig himself deeper into… anyplace other than here.
Approaching carefully, Michael said, "Hey, man, take it easy, be cool. You're ok, you know. No one's gonna hurt you. Whatever you're seeing … it ain't real. Let's get you outta here, okay?" He'd seen this before, he knew the routine. So he kept up the assurances, kept speaking in the same gentle tone as he inched closer to Todd. Soon, Todd settled, fighting less, and looked at Michael.
"Come on, lemme help you."
After a few long moments, Todd reached out and grabbed the orderly by his arm, Michael grunting because the patient dug in good. He was a strong man, Jesus. Michael pulled Todd to his feet and they walked into the dimly lit room. Todd never let go until he hit the cool sheets.
There, he curled up once more, crossing his arms protectively against his chest, as if expecting something to shoot out and hurt him. That's when Michael noticed scratches on Todd's neck and on the visible portions of his arms. He was pretty sure there'd be more markings elsewhere and hoped they weren't too bad, hoped the guy didn't get a hold of a knife or blade.
"I need to get you out these wet clothes, okay? Looks like you've run a marathon."
When Michael reached for the drawstrings though, Todd kicked out wildly, his teeth bared, eyes full of madness. Silent, silent fear. Michael stepped back hard. No way, no how.
"Okay, okay. They'll dry."
When it was clear Michael wasn't going to impose anymore, Todd curled up again, his feet rubbing against the sheets. Eyes open, bouncing around the dim room. He scratched his neck again, a deep scraping motion. More marks. When he did that, though, he calmed somewhat, the movements lessening, the fear on his face fading. Michael paged Tim, the patient's condition serious enough to warrant a visit, even if he had to come during his off-time. He knew the Doctor was being paid by Viki Carpenter to give all required time to Manning and that meant: CALL.
By the time Tim arrived, Todd dozed off. After getting an update, the doctor moved Todd's hair out of the way to look at his neck, to check the damage. Todd jerked at the touch, opened his eyes suddenly, staring straight at the doctor. Hands up, out, warning Tim.
"You want to talk?" Tim asked.
Like with Michael, Todd didn't respond, but did focus on Tim, his stare intense. The room was quiet, the hospital quiet … almost to distraction. The windows were blackened by the late hour, no lights visible from the city. Traffic had died down to nearly nothing.
"I'm not going anywhere," Tim said softly. He dragged a seat next to the bed. Sat heavily. "Got me all to yourself, my friend. Nobody to pull me away." Todd didn't avert his pointed gaze, one so deep Tim almost believed he could hear his thoughts. He looked into those light eyes full of pain … seeing a sharp turn from the man who'd pulled out his own stitches earlier.
"What's scaring you? What do you see?"
Shuddering, Todd tentatively reached out. Tim watched the fingertips… landing on the edges of the doctor's sleeve… "You can say anything. I won't judge you."
Shhhhh…I can't say these things aloud … I can't speak of them.
Fingers grabbed onto the sleeve, tightening, pulling him closer… closer … so quiet, he was so silenced.
"What happened? Where's that fire you've been showing me?"
Beads of sweat dotted Todd's face, single strands of hair pasted to his skin. He parted his lips as if he wanted to talk…
"Say it," Tim whispered. "I won't hurt you."
Tears rolled down Todd's face and he ran a finger on the back of Tim's hand.
An H.
An E.
An L.
P.
Help.
Tim sighed in a kind of relief, looking into those sad eyes. "Yes," he said. "I will help you. That's what I'm here for."
He released Tim, digging himself into the sheets again and hummed, only now it was voiceless. He kept his eyes wide open, watching … watching … ever watching for monsters. Tim figured Todd had reached the rock bottom of this particular level of hell. Sat for a long while… waiting for sleep to overtake his patient.
Satan looked down at a silent and unmoving Todd Manning lying on the volcanic floor of the island. He nudged him to see if he would move, like the nudging of a stunned mouse by a satisfied cat. The wailing of souls-beyond-saving pounded across the vast stretch of Hell. They were going to spend eternity bemoaning their fate. The young creature at Satan's feet, bleeding and broken, was not beyond saving however. He wasn't dead physically and thus had a chance at the one thing he craved: redemption. The question was how to get it?
A low chuckle came out of Satan's throat. "That will not happen under my watch," Peter assured his true master. "I'll be here for the reckoning. I'll see to it."
Throughout the rest of the night, Todd remained dead-silent, not a moan or a whimper. He finally fell asleep and, in the interest of accessibility, Tim decided to stay over in the doctor's lounge for a catnap.
A little after daybreak, he returned to Todd's room. There, he reviewed the file notes and studied up on experimental therapy techniques. He wanted to be there when Todd woke up in order to build some trust and a sense of reliability. Although Tim was hopeful about the breakthrough, he didn't make it into more than it was. As the old adage went, for every step forward, there'd be ten back.
The peace of the early morning ended when Todd shot up in bed, pushing himself hard against the headboard as if trying to escape. His hands were up, holding something back. He was breathing hard, almost growling, and his gaze penetrated the space in front of him, not even noticing Tim. The doctor straightened up immediately, putting the files on the floor next to him.
"Whoa … over here … you're okay … nobody here but me." Todd's eyes flew to Tim now, saying nothing, still in protective mode.
"There's nothing to be scared of, I'm not going to hurt you."
Todd gave the room a once-over and after some moments began to calm down… only slightly. Tim approached, asking permission to take his pulse, to measure his rate of breathing. Amazingly, Todd allowed it, although he did flinch at the doctor's touch.
"You know who I am?" Tim was holding Todd's wrist and watching the seconds pass on his watch. He then placed his hand lightly on Todd's chest, still focusing on his watch.
Todd nodded his head slowly, trembling still.
"You know you're at the Llanview Zoo, yeah?" Todd quirked at that, tilting his head… questioning with sad eyes … and Tim smiled, "You got me. We're at Llanview Psychiatric Hospital." Todd looked away, eyes out the window.
"So what's going on here? Not talking."
Todd looked down at his arms, quiet. Tim had seen this before. Most likely his patient had muted himself as a means of avoiding painful memories or feelings. If he couldn't talk, he couldn't reveal the underlying traumatic experience. He'd shared too much perhaps. He'd shut himself down.
"You hungry? Thirsty?" Todd nodded once more, but then began looking around, as if he were checking for hidden enemies, glancing down around his bed, and moving his body further into the pillows and headboard. The breathing upped again … he quickly returned his gaze to the doctor.
"It's all right … you're safe. Don't worry."
Keeping hard eyes on Tim, the moments of panic seemed to pass. Tim then said, "I want to take a look at the scratches under your shirt, okay? May I do that?" Todd shook his head frantically, again moving himself against the headboard behind him.
"I promise I won't touch you … all I want is to look." After a moment, Todd nodded slightly. Watching as Tim carefully lifted the shirt, Todd sucked in his stomach muscles as if trying to avoid any physical contact. Careful not to touch any skin, Tim looked at the scratches and noted that while deeper than the ones on his neck, they weren't serious and didn't need treatment.
"Can you tell me why you hurt yourself?"
His patient just looked at him. Silent. Tim knew though some of the context from the orderly's observation. Todd had been caught up in a delusion of some sort, a waking nightmare of sorts. When he scratched himself, the tension or fear or hallucination seemed to lessen. He was trying to distract himself, to regain control over his body, his mind.
Tim crossed his arms, studying his patient who was busy smoothing the sheet beneath him. The question was… did he feel pain with the scratches. Up until now, Todd had not been feeling pain, or rather, wasn't acknowledging it. If the scratches hurt, then THAT was forward movement.
Right after he covered Todd back up, the door opened and Todd jumped back again, the fear returning. He slammed himself against the headboard, hands out… face showing real fear.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. Just the nurse."
He didn't quite relent but he relaxed a little, eyes trained on Tim again. There was the slightest belief in what the doctor said. A good step forward.
"Come on in," Tim told the nurse.
She brought in a tray, coffee … juice … toast. Scrambled eggs and bacon. She put the meal on a table with wheels, rolled it to Todd so he could eat in bed. The door swung closed with a hiss, Todd keeping his eyes on the door for some time before picking at the food with his fingers. He tasted a bit of each offering. Rejected it all. He took a sip of the coffee … put it back down. He pushed the table away which caused the cup to tip over, orange juice spreading across the tray. He touched the spreading liquid, licked his fingers. Blinked a couple of times at the taste. He dragged his fingers again in the liquid. Raised his shirt and ran his wet fingers over the scratches, tracing the lines. No doubt, the acid had to sting. And his facial expression showed it.
Burning blood lines … ought to be deeper, redder. Ought to cover me. I want to feel that pain, make me come with that pain, oh yes, yes, because it's my body, Peter … MINE. I fucking own it. I decide when to kill it, maim it, mark it up all pretty and shit.
Like me now, bitch?
Todd wet his fingers more and moved his hand up to his neck under the shirt. He caressed the red markings there, holding up his hair with the other, closing his eyes. The damage, the pain of the acid-grazed scratches, mesmerized him… an elation, an ecstasy at the control over his body that he still had, over a thing that nobody could stop. He dropped his hand, pinched his nipple hard under his shirt. His lips parted, exhaling a gentle breath.
Tim pressed a hand on Todd's arm, hoping to interrupt the dreaminess, trying to pull him back to the here and now, to no avail. He was causing himself pain, definitely feeling it, and his reaction was distinctly sexual, something Tim had not seen before. The scratches that he'd inflicted on himself did NOT have this quality to it. At least… not that the orderly noted.
"Does it make you feel better when you self-injure?" The doctor sighed. "Oh where are you, kiddo?"
Tim stuck to the same line of questioning, approaching the self-harm in its most common form, what he had assumed the cigarette burns were, except this wasn't the typical self-injury. This was something else and it said that pain… was extremely complex for Todd. He wondered if the burns then had also been sexually charged acts as opposed to releases of tension, or punishment, or distraction, or delusion.
More secrets, a larger maze to navigate. It felt heavy.
Todd leaned back against the headboard, his skin flush with a fine sweat. He ran his tongue over his lips, wetting them. His hand dropped to his crotch. Squeezed ever so slightly, shuddering ever so slightly. That delicate parting of his lips. He let go, pulling his hair back once more, sighing a little more heavily. Whatever he was feeling was passing.
He sniffed and looked around, eyes landing on the doctor as if nothing had just occurred. He rubbed his lips with his fingers, then the back of his hand.
Tim continued his questions, as if nothing had just happened.
"When you self-injure, it feels good, but the bad feelings come back after a while, don't they? What you get, doesn't last." Meaning that no matter what his pain response was, all the varying responses, sexual or otherwise, they all pass just the same.
Todd took that in and shifted in the bed, hard up against the headboard. Eyes fast on Tim's.
"I'd like to teach you something," the doctor said. "The start of a technique you'll eventually learn how to do really well. Can I tell you about it?"
Todd's eyes darkened. His mouth turned into a frown. Eyes off the doctor, on the sheets. Hard breathing now.
I'm condemned. Can't you see? Come here … come closer to me … let me show you how fucking condemned I am. Let me rip your heart out with my bare hands- cut your eyes out with my fingernails – eat your entrails straight from your gut.
Come closer, come closer to me.
Todd put his hand up, like trying to quiet the doctor, his eyes closed, shaking his head. He grunted and rubbed the side of his head and drew his knees up, cringing with his whole body, and Tim thought he was trying to quiet noise in his head. Looked like so many other patients with delusions. So the doctor grabbed Todd's free hand, holding it firmly, securely, and called for him, "Hey, kiddo, Todd, look at me, can you do that, look at me, come on..."
After some moments of steady urging, Todd seemed to calm, his body relaxing and his breathing normalizing. The doctor smiled at him, still holding his patient's hand. "There you go, good… you're here, yeah? All is just the same as before. See?"
Todd looked around, pulled his hand into himself. Both hands now on the mattress. He looked distressed, afraid, unsure of what was happening, eyes on his doctor.
"It's okay, Todd... everything is okay. Your brain is playing a lot of tricks on you."
Shaking his head, he started to cry, a terrible silent cry.
"I know, I'm so sorry. This is tough work, slow work." The doctor held his hand again and just let him express his frustration, let him cry as much he needed. They sat for a long time, until the stress was less. Until it seemed the doctor didn't need to hold his hand anymore.
Tim then asked if he could share some assistance. "I have a method of dealing with self-injury, if you do it when you're anxious, or afraid, or under some other kind of stress. Can I talk about it?"
To Tim's surprise, Todd gave a gentle nod.
"Well, when you think you need to hurt yourself, I want you to lie down or sit, wherever you are, and totally relax your body." Tim exaggerated a slumped position, noticing in the periphery of his vision a trace of a smirk on Todd's face, a blip of amusement. It faded though, fast as it had come on.
"I want you to think about lying on a beach with the waves crashing in front of you or think about a beautiful symphony on a spring day in the park or breathing in the cool air in the middle of peaceful forest. This is a type of meditation. Every time the need to hurt yourself pops up, practice clearing your mind. Concentrate on the images I'm telling you about. In time, you'll be able to lessen the anxiety, lower the volume. The need to self-injure will lessen."
Tim continued to explain the process but then during the gentle instruction, he noticed Todd's expression grow incredibly sad, eyes rounding, his face falling, his body weakening. He kept up the same soft tone of talk though he knew his patient was checking out again.
Broke Tim's heart at how difficult it was for him to stay connected to reality.
Todd closed his eyes, the gentle sound of kindness foreign to him, unfamiliar. The doctor's voice, his kind face, his careful touches…it was almost painful. It was cool air in a forest, a spring day in a park, the easy waves on a beach, He could live in it, he could survive in it. But he knew it was as fragile as a spiderweb, blown away all too easily, disappeared by Peter in an instant.
The echo of Peter-Satan's voice bounced around within him, "You're nothing but a pathetic loser! You can't do anything right! You're stupid and ugly… and I wish you'd just die. I'm going to make you pay, Thomas Todd Manning. Your mother will NEVER come back for you. She despises you and would rather do anything else than be with you."
An image blew up before him … bloody, painful … so fucking painful …
Todd gasped and his eyes flew open …instantly in a state of terror, unable to breathe. He touched the air in front of him, hands out in absolute self-protection, his mouth opened as if to scream. Nothing came. He slammed himself against the headboard and was frozen there. Completely unseeing. He did take breaths, tight, thin breaths.
Tim straightened, studying Todd, recognizing a catatonic episode. He passed a hand in front of Todd's eyes, and saw no reaction. Tapped him. Slapped his cheek a little. No response. Tim tried to move him, forcing him out of the position, but he was strong, dug in deep, maintaining a persistent stiffness of his muscles. In all of his years of psychiatry, he found catatonia or disassociation the most fascinating method of self-protection. The patients who did it… were incredibly smart, creative, real forces of humanity. Their brains were amazing machines. And it was all done to save themselves from whatever they viewed as their enemy.
Some to their own end. Some would shut down and never regain consciousness, starving to death.
"What upset you, kiddo? Can you tell me? What did you see?" Lifting his watch, Tim counted the minutes. Meds would help this. Just a couple more days of de-tox. They couldn't go by fast enough. "You must be exhausted."
Tim sat back in his chair and rubbed back his own hair. Watched the time. He read a little. Worried. They'd have to take action if it went on too long. Almost twenty minutes passed according to Tim's watch, and he saw his patient's eyes shift, a lick of his lips, and a uncoiling. He pulled his hands into himself. He turned his head to study the man before him so willing to help, so eager, so there. Then he hid his face behind his hands, drawing up his knees, one foot on top of the other. Childlike.
I cannot tell, I cannot tell. I thought I could be saved, but I can't. I'm ruined, destroyed and condemned. I've been crushed.
The withdrawal wasn't enough. He slid down onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, arms, hands, feet, everything pulling inwards. He did so gingerly, careful not to hurt his cut arms.
I cannot tell. I cannot tell. Shhhhhhh…
Tim stayed in the chair next to Todd, who had since closed his eyes and covered his head with his bandaged arms. Today… he is feeling things. Real pain, sexual sensations, fear, sadness, humor, comfort. The fast cycling, while difficult, was incredibly promising.
In her office, Viki stared at her wedding ring which she now wore on her right hand. She was so lonely sometimes for Sloan Carpenter, her husband who passed away several years ago. She still longed for his company and love even though it had been years since he had been in her life. Of course, she still longed for the one true love of her life, for Joe Riley who'd died many years ago, longer than she cared to remember.
Todd was foremost on her mind, however, achingly so. Up until this morning, he wasn't recognizing anything or anyone so she still hadn't actually been able to be with him. She wanted to sit with him, talk with him, make up for missing his messages to her, his messages of death. Perhaps, this afternoon she'd be able to do so. She'd grown to love him and was amazed he was the same young man who'd walked into her home so long ago, that striking boy who had hidden agendas and who would eventually embark on a violent rampage across the countryside.
The phone rang and Viki hoped it was the hospital with more news–but was glad anyway at getting Kevin.
"Oh thank God," she said, "Why haven't you called? How's your research coming along?"
"Well, I've learned...quite a bit." Kevin stood at the pay phone and watched Jedediah a ways away flip through a magazine as he sat at a table in the hotel restaurant awaiting breakfast. Kevin proceeded to run down the events of the previous days, outlining what he'd found out about Michelle from Beatrice and the police records.
Viki, in turn, gave the rundown on Todd's condition. Kevin hadn't really wanted to ask, but admittedly liked hearing about the glimmer of improvement. He decided then to go ahead and drop the bomb.
"Um… so mom… uh… Todd's got a son, pending DNA testing. But we don't really need one….he's the spitting image of Uncle Todd."
Viki was more than a little surprised at hearing about Jedediah – however, as was her way, she turned it around into something hopeful. Maybe learning about this boy would be good for her brother, maybe he'd feel compelled to wake himself up out the sleep he was in … maybe, maybe, maybe.
Give it time.
It was a new day.
Viki sat next to Todd's bed as he lay quietly on his side. Tim had shared the difficulty Todd was having at staying present and connected to reality. He was in and out, cycling through intense reactions within minutes of each other. It left him drained, and sleepy, and… fairly out of it.
This was the first time she'd seen him up close, personal. He broke her heart. He was like a child. Quiet, quiet. He wouldn't get out of bed. Too weak, too sick, too broken. To her shock, he touched her hand gently, fingering the gold band. Never before would he have touched her in this way. Again, like a child. He grimaced when he laid his arm wrong. Tim was right. He was definitely feeling physical pain, a good thing.
But he was still silent as death.
"Sloan gave the ring to me," she said. "We loved each other so much. It hurts so much when you lose someone close to you. They become a part of you, and when they're gone, it's like losing a limb. But you do recover … you learn to live without that person … learn to love again."
When Viki instinctively tried to touch Todd's hand, he pulled back into himself, roughly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's the mother in me. It's so hard for me to sit by and not try to comfort you the way I did with my own children when they were hurt."
Todd stared at Viki, wearing an expression of annoyance for her having invaded his space. She smiled to herself - THAT was the Todd she knew. The sadness returned though. The fingertips back on her hand, her ring.
You're my sister and you know all about secrets, don't you? We're similar that way. How do you keep it from coming up over and over, like a loop, repeating, repeating? How do you cut it up into pieces so it's not recognizable any more? Shhhhhhh. Don't tell, don't tell.
"What's going on with you, where's the Todd I've known all these years? Where are you?" She said this more to herself than to the injured bird in the imaginary cage that lay in front of her so helplessly. Todd started paying attention to his own hand, his own fingers, comparing them to Viki's. She watched as his eyes moved from himself to her and back again.
Tim told her that Todd retreated into himself as a defense-mechanism, that he'd stopped communicating verbally so he couldn't talk about what had led him here. The timing was unambiguous. He'd started to say things, to give hints about a trauma that had occurred in his life. Possibly he thought he'd given up too much information so was punishing himself for having reached out.
A self-mutilation of a different sort.
"Do you want to take a walk to the consultation room? It's a beautiful day - the afternoon sun pouring into the room is so...uplifting."
Todd shook his head, wincing, and curled tighter.
"It's alright. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
Todd calmed himself and after a while, with Viki watching over him, he dozed off.
She watched him sleep - his eyes moving beneath their lids, the occasional jerking of his muscles - and found herself tightening her hands into fists. She felt constrained, manacled. How she wanted to comfort him, her natural maternal instincts overwhelming. She wasn't used to being on this end of things. She was always able to help her children, able to love them into being healthier, happier. Clint probably felt this way with her, when she struggled with her own illness, when she was unable to be comforted.
Nothing like this. Todd's brutality haunted her. She looked at the scabbed scratches on his neck, looked at the bandaging on his arms, knowing that underneath the gauze lay deep cuts which had nearly killed him. She recalled the burns he'd inflicted on himself. She thought of the drugs. How did a person get to this level of self-hatred, to abuse themselves so violently?
He hated himself so much he couldn't tolerate the tender touch of another human being, couldn't accept affection or love. He recoiled from it as if it were acid – though if it were acid, he'd probably have accepted it. She took a breath to stop herself from getting emotional, forced herself to be thankful he was still alive, that the gift of time with him was still precious. With that, she sat back, waiting for him to let her in, and closed her eyes to the warm afternoon sun.
As Todd slept, images came to life in his mind, dancing about him like Indians in an old Western. He saw the lit fireplace, felt a soft female body underneath him and the rough fabric of a sofa as he rolled over, as she moved to get on top of him. She cooed loving words which glided across his skin, her tongue wetting his chest, his nipples, moving up and culminating in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. She thumped her hips against his … rubbing up and down, faster and faster … and soon a powerful orgasm spread through him like a storm, gripping the core of his being, his soul, his heart. He heard her gasping in time with his movements, then her own moment of passion. He heard the sound of keys in the door.
Don't tell, don't tell. You're evil and disgusting. You liked it. You asked for it. Shhhhhh, don't tell, don't tell.
Todd opened his eyes suddenly, his dreams real, pain ripping through him. He'd ejaculated … the last bit of an erection still there to let him know what happened, reminding him … laying it out for him. He looked around shakily, scratching his chest, briefly touching himself to confirm his condition. Sick, sick, sick. A voice pulsated in his head, pounding. You asked for it. You liked it. He sat up to a startled Viki and motioned that he needed to get off the bed, stumbling, almost falling, fighting the sheets.
"What is it? What's wrong?" She didn't know what to do, not sure how to get someone into the room. She didn't want to leave him, not even for a second. She stood up, tried to get close to him, but he was too upset and could hurt her, she knew.
He paced the room, hunching over slightly. He rubbed his head and began to cry, his face crumpling, tears flowing, but no sound. It was an agonizing sight.
"Todd, please tell me, what do you need?"
Oblivious to her, he dropped to his knees and crawled on the floor, awkwardly moving to protect his arms. They hurt so much, so blindingly much. At last he scrunched himself inside the closet, rocking himself once there, shaking his head, no, no, no. When his effort at soothing didn't work to stop the images, he hit his head against the wall, slow at first, but growing harder, more intense. He kept up the violent, rhythmic motion. It was so noisy in his head and he had to stop it … so noisy. His body betrayed him, his mind had turned on him.
Please stop the voices! The pictures! Please tell him to shut up, please tell him to go away! Please stop hurting me…. oh God, make it go away, make it go away.
Viki tried to stop him by calling to him. She got down to his level and tried to stop him, but he was too strong, too deep in a delusion. She ran out at that, calling to an orderly. Tim heard her and came sprinting into the room.
"I got him, it's all right."
He knelt in front of his anguished patient, holding his head so he couldn't move it, urging him to gain control.
"Relax your body, think of what I told you. Come on, kiddo, think of the beach or the symphony in the park, or just here. Think of where we are. Remember? Come on, whatever you're feeling, hearing, seeing, it will stop … concentrate …"
Todd jerked his head against Tim's strong hands on him, and he tried, God, he tried to think of something else, but the onslaught was non-stop, the images and physical sensations kept coming at him, pounding him, pulverizing whatever sense of self he had. He tried to focus except the reality of what was happening hurt so fucking much. It was tearing him apart … bloody and awful and horrible … a nightmare playing out … he was there again.
There.
"Ah it's not going to work," Tim huffed to himself. He struggled with Todd, trying to grab hold of him around his shoulders, around his waist, Todd being incredibly strong and damn determined to do things his way. At last the doctor got a grip, got good leverage, and pulled him away from the closet, pulled him into a tight hold, the only way to prevent Todd from hurting himself any further.
Held in place by Tim's strong arms and legs, Tim holding Todd's arms in a secure crossed position, as careful as could be, Todd jerked fiercely … fighting the relentless pictures and sounds and sensations … so real, so here-and-now. His own fourteen-year-old groans and screams scraped through his brain, fiery, scorching, the fade-out of noise coming, too, the moment when he couldn't scream anymore … and the pain … Jesus … the pain of it … it choked him.
God, let me die now. Don't let me finish this out. Save me. Save me...
But the show always finished, always played through to the credits.
This has been a Peter Manning Production.
"Come on, Todd," Tim huffed, "… it's okay …you're safe, nobody's going to hurt you anymore. You're safe here, here at home, here with your sister, here, here, here..."
Tim struggled to control the flailing patient in his arms, Todd sweating and hot, his head pressed firmly against Tim's broad chest, then thumping madly once again. He had kicked his legs out, and now his feet rubbed into the carpet, rubbed at it so hard, they were raw, tiny bits of blood spreading. A couple of orderlies stood in the doorway ready to help, but Tim didn't ask, didn't want it.
Long minutes rolled by, Todd fighting so very hard, a fight for his life…
"Think kiddo, think of other places… the park, the beach, the forest, the symphony… come on, kid… come on…."
Other thoughts did start to peek around the corners in Todd's mind. They popped in quick and receded again, like hummingbirds. They twittered their way in through cracks in the miles-thick and miles-high wall Todd had built to protect his broken soul, the same wall that kept him trapped. He begged them to come in, to come into his Hell, just like the doc suggested.
And they did.
Tim could tell something was changing, the tension starting to decrease, the violent motions beginning to slow down, to lessen in their power – at last.
"Okay, okay," Tim rasped, looking at Todd's long legs stretched out, twitching still but no longer scraping his feet. "You're ok. It's over, all over." Todd had his eyes open, panting, looking into the distance with an unfocused gaze. His lips parted in a tired, just-been-through-something way. He was wet all over… from the sweat, from tears, from everything his brain had put him through.
"Okay, okay," Tim whispered, "Must be a perfect day at the beach."
In fact, truthfully, Todd was with Starr, his beautiful Starr, at the park. She was smiling and blissful, riding a carousel, going around and around. Her hair was long and flying all over the place, two front teeth were missing – the word, "Love," sparkled on her pink t-shirt. She was a princess – HIS princess. Todd pushed the carousel to make it go faster and her giggles massaged his shattered heart as he laughed with her, watching her hang onto the metal bars so she wouldn't fall. Crinkling his eyes, he saw how the sun lit up the world in the most serene light, glinting off the benches and the monkey bars and the swings. Brilliant. He grabbed hold of the bars and pushed some more, sand flying up when Todd jumped away after giving a particularly hard push. Starr laughed so hard she could barely breathe, screaming into the air, "I love you, Daddy!"
It was wonderful.
She loves you - she's thankful for you.
All the while, Viki had held her hands to her mouth, watching helplessly, tearfully. She was so relieved when Todd relaxed fully and slumped into the doctor, drained. Tim took a breath, waited a couple of moments, and then moved. He adjusted his position. With a heave, like a circus strongman, he got low and then picked Todd up in his thick arms. He carried him the few feet and laid him down on the bed. Todd stayed on his back, not having the energy or the groundedness to curl up in defense.
Tim felt the back of Todd's head, feeling for injuries. Felt wetness. Sure as shit, the kid had hit himself hard enough to draw blood. Not bad… but enough. He feet too, the sides rubbed raw. He also noticed the trace wetness at Todd's belly and crotch and recognized that it was an emission. He walked to the bathroom, washed his hands. Dampened a washcloth.
After cleaning the wounds, Tim turned to a devastated Viki, asking sincerely, "Are you okay? That's not easy to see."
She answered tearfully, "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help him." Viki closed her eyes, the tears stinging. "It's different on this side."
"What happened exactly? Can you tell me? We can wait a while, if you want."
Although still in shock and wishing she could just crawl into the closet like Todd had, she repeated what she'd seen, talking all the while with her eyes firmly on her brother.
"He's fighting a memory of some sort, I'm sure of it," Tim said, glancing at Todd. "Might have been dreaming about it. So he woke up, distressed, then … a flashback got triggered. This is putting a new light on the other attacks he's suffered – probably all flashbacks." Tim walked closer to Todd and lightly stroked his forehead, studying his patient. "It's a bit like a seizure … he's going to sleep for a while, recovering."
"Tell me how to help him," Viki said. Sadness swam in her eyes.
"All you can do is keep doing what you're doing. I'm not sure if you picked up on this but I think he listened to a relaxation technique we discussed. Do you know what a big step that is? It wasn't all that long ago when he was totally delusional, not responsive to anything I said. Today, he heard me, used the technique. It's a good thing."
"But if he won't talk and if he's having these sorts of memories...? How will he heal?"
"What's happening is still a step forward because the memory is coming out, as opposed to staying locked up. And it's coming whether he likes it or not, whether he's talking or not. And THAT can lead to healing." Viki walked back to the chair, scooting it closer to Todd. "He's not going to stay silent. His voice… is going to return."
The doctor left her, after she assured him that she was fine.
After some time, Todd came around and slowly turned his head to look at his sister. His face weakly questioned her presence and Viki understood.
"I'm here because I love you, Todd, because you are loveable."
He watched her… rolled over. Away from her. Stared at the walls…
No, no, no… I am nothing.
To be continued….