On the Edge of Wakefulness

Chapter 9

"He's a funny kid, Cas. Talks tough, like Manning, but... he's truly alone. Kinda makes me sad."

They sat in his Banner office, both at their desks, turned in their seats, facing each other. They talked about Todd and his son. Kevin didn't doubt the paternity of Jedediah, especially after learning his blood type. Cassie had her own news, explaining to Kevin about the bribery scheme. He promised he wasn't involved and warned Cassie to triple-check her sources. These were criminal actions they were talking about, AND his family.

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not exactly. Left a message on my voicemail. Sounded tired, but upbeat."

The two swung back around to their work. Kevin thought about the message from Jed, not trusting the truth of it. Most likely, probably sleeping under the stars. Wished there was something to do for him. Kid didn't seem to want anything. Just had to hope he'd get in touch again. Had to think about how to tell Todd, too. Viki said, ask the doc.

"Georgianna Calhoun, where are you?" Kevin searched the lists of names in Chicago. Searched for marriage licenses as well. Kevin took a bite of an apple and kept hitting the "enter" button the keyboard, haphazardly, his mind unfocused.

Cassie in the meantime, worked on locating more information about Manning Management Corporation. She called the company directly, pretending to be a potential Llanview investor and was answered by a receptionist. She really chatted the girl up, playing dumb, playing the "just us girls" card. It worked.

"Manning Management mostly works through its subsidiary, Wormwood and Associates," the receptionist offered, "Works with… a Mr. Buchanan."

Cassie's heart jumped into her throat. The story of the Mole's was becoming truer. "I know Mr. Buchanan, several of them."

The girl paused, lowered her voice, "Tell them to be careful. Phillip's, um, kinda strange. We call him Lucifer. He's a brutal businessman and he's kind of that way with his personal life as well."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a girlfriend once, this Georgie Phillips? She was really stuck on... Lucifer. Come summer, they have this huge row, here in the office. He hit her. I then read she'd been murdered ... in your town as a matter of fact."

"I read about that. Jesus."

"I wouldn't be mentioning it but Mr. Manning's reaction to her death was so… unexpected. When he read about it, he laughed. Loudly. Like I said, be careful."

They hung up and Cassie turned to Kevin. "You're never gonna believe this," she began, but Kevin stopped her. He had his own discovery to share. It couldn't wait.

"Remember I told you Georgianna Calhoun was Michelle's best friend? According to these records, Georgianna married a Daniel Phillips. Phillips. Their marriage lasted about six months."

Cassie's eyes widened, "Oh my god. Georgianna Calhoun is Georgie Phillips. Who was also girlfriend to… Phillip Manning."

"Holy hell, Todd must have known her." He stared at the screen, thinking, figuring. Suddenly it struck him. "God, Cassie, you don't think he's involved in this bribery thing, do you?"

"Sam really hopes he isn't."

"You don't understand, I can't tell you any more!"

Todd paced back and forth in his room, frustrated, haunted. He was in his room, a place he rarely left because here he felt more protected, safer, more in control, as opposed to the consultation room. His eyes kept returning to Tim, as if on alert, waiting for an attack by his own doctor. He had begun to wear extra layers of clothing. Jacket over flannel shirt over tee shirt, multiple layers of socks… if he could have worn two pairs of sweatpants he would have.

"You've told me the hardest part, already," Tim said. "The intensity of the flashbacks has decreased. A great thing. Start at the beginning of that day."

"I can't find the words…," He groaned angrily, running his fingers through his hair and pacing, a ball of anxiety.

"I know, kiddo." Tim let out a heavy sigh at Todd's pain laid out so plainly. Every so often his patient would pull his jacket to him tighter, closer, folding his arms across his chest.

A pattern had begun to emerge since Todd told Tim about the rape. They would initiate their sessions with an attempt to go through the details, to no avail. They then would go over relaxation methods to help Todd better manage his anxiety. He still had flashbacks but none of the type he had on the day he first admitted the rape. He experienced horrific nightmares. The worst though: he couldn't stop feeling the physical pain of the experience. He felt beaten, bruised, damaged. Kept asking for painkillers. Tim refused, of course, the pain phantom, there being no biological cause for pain.

The sessions often drifted back to Michelle's death. Tim guessed Todd used her death as a means to express his grief over the loss of himself through the rape. It was easier for him to cry over her as opposed to crying over himself. But it didn't relieve him of the need to grieve directly for what happened to him.

They continued to work with the journal, shadowed figures still there, but now a fan, an airplane. All cryptic, unexplained, repeated. He showed concern for Starr's safety, imagining the same thing would happen to her. His fear though was that HE would be the one to rape or beat her or, worst of all, kill her in a psychotic frenzy.

The two struggled with this fear, Tim explaining it wasn't rational, that he had never done anything even remotely aggressive towards Starr. But it was a tough battle. He tried to explain that Todd was most likely projecting his feelings about himself as a child onto Starr. In other words, Todd was worried about "Todd, the little boy" rather than Starr herself.

Of course, in return for this theory, Tim had to deflect a journal from hitting him. Todd couldn't handle even the slightest comparison. She was not him.

"Don't do that to her," he'd cried out. "Don't!"

Today, Tim sat with Todd, assuring him, comforting him, reassuring him that he would get through this. Despite the agony, he was expressing feelings about the rape itself, as opposed to the loss of Michelle. Progress.

"But it won't let me go . . . it's like a bulldog that bites down and just stays there, clamped on me!" He moaned, exhausted, traumatized. "Why won't it stop?!" Not knowing what to do with his intense pain, he walked to the corner of the room, turned, and slid down to the floor, knees up, head in his hands.

"Because you haven't forgiven yourself for what you think you did to deserve that rape. You haven't forgiven yourself for the rapes you committed."

"Forgive myself? How can I? How can I possibly do that? Oh God ... I'm gonna be sick, oh God ... "

With that, Todd jumped up and sprinted to the bathroom, where he dropped to his knees and threw up. He then slipped to the floor and lay there. Pulled up his knees, hands up by his head, cheek against the cool tiles. Face hidden beneath a mess of hair. He gazed across the floor, focusing on a crumpled tissue paper next to the tub.

Tim stood at the door. "We can stop. I think you've had enough punishment for today."

Feeling weak and hopeless, Todd rasped, "You would know about that, wouldn't you? That's your job. Punishing me."

Tim laughed lightly. "No, no. Looks like it's yours, though. I'm working to help you get better."

"I'm gonna die here ... "

"Well, maybe. Hard to get food or water in that position. Come on. Let me help you up." The doctor moved to him, offering his hand.

Todd shook his head, "No ... don't touch me. Please, please, please don't touch me." He whimpered, the fear running deep. "I can't let you touch me."

Tim had noticed a severe setback in Todd's ability to let people near him, other than Viki. The admission of the rape essentially threw him back emotionally to a state of mind similar to that of a new rape victim. He was terrified of anyone coming close to him, touching him, even looking at him.

"Are you afraid I'll hurt you?"

He nodded, tightening into himself.

Tim squatted, saying in the gentlest voice he could muster, "Todd, I will NEVER touch you in a way you don't want. I will NEVER, EVER hurt you physically. I will not hit you, grab you, pull you or slap you. I will not abuse you, not sexually or otherwise. I will hold you only if you need to be made safe from yourself, but I will not injure you in doing so. Do you understand? Can you hear me on this?"

Tim's assurances, although obvious to a healthy person, were too kind for Todd and he cried at the promises, covering his eyes with his hand. He was not used to hearing these words from a male person as he only knew violence, hatred and rejection at the hands of men. Even his revered Sam Rappaport in the form of a blind eye. The pledges moved him deeply, just as they did the first time he heard similar words from Tim.

After a moment, Todd peered at his doctor with the immeasurable hurt of a broken child. Deciding to take a chance, he finally moved. Tim very gently and slowly put an arm under Todd's to get him to his feet. Todd stiffened at the touch but didn't reject the help.

They shuffled across the floor, Todd feeling wounded, his head dropping forward. Tim never let him go, leading him to his bed where he fell heavily, exhausted.

"Rest easy, buddy."

Todd wondered, as he drifted off, which nightmare awaited him. Which level of Hell would he be in tonight?

Todd walked alone on a dirt road, stumbling from fatigue. The sound of a coursing river soon distracted him and he looked to his left, realizing he stood on the edge of a tall, jagged cliff, deadly rocks far below in the current. He startled and jumped away, gripped by fear. A spirit alighted in front of him and said, "Do not be afraid. The river is a place of rebirth. The souls drift downwards and float along the river to their new destinations."

"Did I win? Is it over?"

"No, there are still things you need to learn. But, you did win a battle with Satan. You did not give yourself to him."

"But I watched him do that ... thing."

"You were not there. He only had a body, not your soul."

Todd didn't understand. "The boy, is he dead?" He couldn't separate the body from the soul.

"No, he is still very much alive." She smiled at him. He felt shy in her presence and looked down.

"Is this Heaven? Can I see my mother?"

"No, but she sees you. She loves you so much."

Todd got angry, lifting his eyes to the gentle spirit. "She left me. She shouldn't have done that. That's not love."

The spirit caressed his soul to soothe him, and in response, he felt sleepy, dreamy, his eyes closing and the anger numbed for the time being. As he was being lulled by the spirit's magic, he became aware of the screams of the condemned and the tortured and he jerked his eyes open. His heart pounded, consumed by a need to run, to hide. He looked for an escape route, finding nothing.

"If I'm not in Heaven, where am I then?"

"A corridor out of Hell. You have just begun your climb. But there is still time to understand, Little One. You rest now."

Jedediah had no problem landing a job as a night janitor at Llanview Psychiatric Hospital. Got a bed at the local men's shelter. His supervisor appreciated his willingness to work hard without asking for much. He didn't push the fact that "Jed Lawrence" had no social security card and said he would wait for a copy. The kid suggested under-the-table pay. "Less paperwork, yeah?" The guy said… only until the card comes through.

First job: bathroom duty. He would have access to all areas of the hospital.

Fuckin' brilliant.

Jedediah had worked several nights with no luck. He kept his eyes open on each floor he worked and saw no one, heard nothing that would get him closer to finding Todd. He had not, however, checked the patient list on the hospital computer and that was his main objective tonight.

Near two a.m., Jedediah finished up with the second floor bathrooms. This floor was the drug rehabilitation section and pretty much operated during regular hours. The patients slept at night and worked through their problems during the day. Jedediah walked the floor and spotted an empty office with the lights on and computer running. The night-shift orderly had taken off for a moment so Jedediah decided to chance a sneak-peek.

He didn't have any problem getting into the patient list and slowly went through it, scanning an alphabetical listing of names. His heart sank when he didn't find Todd's name. Then he noticed a separate menu for the lock-down ward. Clicked on the list. Scrolled through. His heart skipped. There it was. "Manning, T. Todd, Lock-Down, # 5 (under court order - violation of probation), Timothy Graham, M.D."

Violation of probation? A shock ran through him, but before he had time to digest the information, Jedediah heard the elevator doors. He quickly moved out of the office and into the safety of the hallway. His heart was beating so fast and so loud he was sure everyone could hear it. Licking his dry lips, he took deep breaths to settle his jittery nerves.

He found him, he thought. He found Todd Manning.

Jedediah dragged his bucket and mops and rags to the top floor of the Hospital and saw the doors to the lock-down ward. He had just checked with the supervisor on tonight and made like he was dying of curiosity, "I just want to see."

The supervisor winked and said, no problem, kid. Have at it. Jedediah carried his access card and punched in at the door. A buzzer sounded and he walked in.

First thing he noticed was that this floor didn't look much different from any of the other floors except the rooms had large windows to the hallway. There was a full-time nursing staff with orderlies, even at this late hour. He waved and they smiled back. He slid his wheeled bucket down the hall and looked at the numbers on the doors. 11. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6.

His heart rate started to speed up again and his palms were sweaty, but he stayed true. Room 5. Jedediah tried to look cool, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, finding it clear. A light was on in room 5. He peeked into the window.

He took a breath. He was looking at his father. Holy SHIT. Todd Manning.

The man with long golden-brown hair sat on the floor with his back against the bed. His head tilted forward onto his knees which were drawn up to his chest. His arms hugged his bent legs. Jedediah chewed his lip. He looked back at the nurse's counter, attendants still busy.

Jedediah studied the man in the room. Suddenly, he yelled something in frustration and Jed jumped a little. The person rubbed his face with his hands and rocked his head back on the bed behind him. He then stood up slowly. He was tall and lean and slightly… frightening.

Jedediah looked back again and still no one came. Todd's tee-shirt and sweats hung on him loosely. Both forearms heavily bandaged. Todd walked to the outside window and stared into the black for a long while. He turned around, all mystery and secrets. Stopped and looked directly at his uninvited observer through the window, clearly surprised at the intrusion.

Jedediah froze. Seeing that face from the laptop, but not as menacing as he recalled. He could see a trace of beauty his mother referred to. Those eyes and that mouth. The scar on his cheek though… Todd looked at Jedediah, squinting slightly, considering him. He looked at him for several long moments. He then deciding the intruder wasn't worth the energy and went to his bed. He lay down on his side, his back to the hallway window, his knees drawn up slightly. Jedediah took a breath and stepped back, knowing he had invaded Todd's privacy but jubilant anyway.

My father…looked at me.

Just at that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder and started. Michael smiled at him, "Don't you know it ain't polite to stare at people, especially these folks? This ain't a zoo, kid."

"I'm sorry, I...I was just surprised to see someone awake at this time..."

Michael eyed him a couple of seconds. "I was gonna check on him about that. Get a move on, yeah?" He smiled at Jedediah, encouraging, keenly aware that this janitor was very young. He should be sleeping comfortably in bed at this hour, he thought.

Jedediah took one last glance and pushed his bucket and mop and rags down the hall, on to clean the bathrooms, on to relish his discovery. Before he got far, however, he heard the door to room 5 open and couldn't help but take a few steps back to peek into the window again. He could hear Michael's deep voice and watched him talk to Todd who still lay on the bed.

Todd yelled, "Go away!" He waved his hand at Michael, trying to push him away, then said something else, but Jedediah couldn't hear what it was.

He then saw Michael squat to Todd's level and ask him something.

After a moment, Todd nodded, and Michael stood up and walked out of the room, catching the kid again. "I'm sorry, curiosity is killing me?" Jedediah offered this as his only excuse.

Michael shook his head, smiled slightly, and Jedediah decided to take advantage of his kindness. "So… what's wrong with him?"

Please, please, give me a crumb.

Michael looked back through the window, wanting to offer information, wanting to offer a lesson to the curious cat in front of him. There was something about Jedediah that was immediately likeable and something… familiar. He didn't know what it was. Michael walked a ways down the hall with Jed beside him.

"Like a lot of other people, he's depressed and is havin' a hard time dealin' with that. He gets frustrated and can't sleep."

"Ok, I get depressed sometimes, dude, but I'm not locked up. Why is he here?" Michael narrowed his eyes at Jedediah.

"He violated probation and this was a better alternative than jail. Something I hope you will never be familiar with."

"You mean to tell me this guy's a criminal?" Jedediah's voice was light but the words hit him like a rock.

A pause. "Well, yeah, if a criminal is a guy who breaks laws and gets sent here by a judge. Look it ain't a big deal and it's really none of your business, now is it?"

Ok, Jed thought, not a big deal. I'm breaking laws right now. Maybe he didn't pay for parking tickets. Maybe a lot of parking tickets.

"I guess not." Jedediah smiled and raised his eyebrows. "So you gonna strap him to the bed?" Michael couldn't help but laugh.

"Kid, you watch too many movies. I'm gonna ask the nurse to get him some meds to help him sleep. He's willin' and we want him comfortable. So now, git."

"All right, all right, I get the picture." Jedediah gathered his things and headed to the bathrooms, content to be near Todd, content to mull over seeing him, finally. Jedediah was too enthralled, too amazed at his luck to really consider what he just witnessed. He was too surprised to recognize that he had glimpsed into someone's Hell.

Todd was entangled in the same old dream, he could tell. He saw himself put the telephone down and smile because Michelle was coming over to be with him, to have sex with him. To love him. He tidied the living room so it would be presentable. He loved her so much his heart hurt.

In the dream, he feels momentary panic thinking his father is going to come home, but remembers Peter said he was going to be late. The dream quickly deteriorates and Michelle is beneath him, writhing, moaning. He is breathing heavily, deep in between her wide-open legs, thrusting into her. Sometimes, the only sound he hears is his sexually excited breathing. He feels an approaching orgasm. And then, in a flash, he's on his stomach beneath Peter's weighty body, unable to move, unable to breathe, being strangled by Peter's arm wrapped around his neck, and then he realizes he's being raped.

The most disturbing part of the dream, though, the thing that always hurls him out of his sleep into his waking Hell: Todd is enjoying himself, feeling that same approaching orgasm.

Today was no different.

Michael's voice came through faintly, calling him away from the nightmare that had seized him once again in its grip.

"Todd, wake up! You're dreamin'! Come on, dude!"

From a place of half-sleep, he heard his own screams and felt his body thrashing on the bed, feet tangled in the sheets. Suddenly, he felt the headboard behind him, growing more awake, sweating, breathing hard. He immediately felt an erection and it disgusted him, it confused him.

Michael tried to get his attention, "Todd! Hey!"

He thought he heard someone calling him, but couldn't make sense of it. Sounded like background noise, a television left on, a radio. He grabbed his crotch, grunting, his mouth pressed into a slash of upset. He then slammed his head against the headboard... because he didn't have any fuckin' cigarettes. Yeah, prior to his suicide attempt, Todd would have lit up with his fathers' lighter and burned his cock, his belly, all to warn Satan that he had control over his body and that he would win this battle.

Michael immediately held his head, "Stop! Don't do that!"

Enraged, he looked into Michael's eyes, fully aware now of where he was. His left hand curled into a fist and he abruptly swung, barely missing Michael who nimbly jumped away.

"Don't fucking touch me, you FUCK!"

"I'm sorry, but I had to stop you!"

Shaking still from his nightmare, breathing hard, Todd glared at Michael from behind the long hair in his face, an almost imperceptible growl coming from him. Michael couldn't help but see the caged creature from before.

"I said I'm sorry. Just trying to help. You ok? Want anything? Something I can get you?"

"Just leave me alone … go tend other freaks ..." Todd snarled his words, blinking away his fear, calming down slightly. He didn't dislike Michael-in fact, he'd grown to rely on him a lot. He wasn't thrilled though about having the goon show up at the tail end of his gruesome obsession and finding him with a fuckin' hard-on in his hand.

"I'll go when I see you're okay and that you won't hurt yourself. If you do, we'll have to restrain you for your own safety. Not to punish you but to protect you."

Having no choice but to surrender if he wanted privacy, he slid back into the bed, feeling hopeless. He continued to fight his compulsion to self-harm, a forceful desire. Cigarettes had been goddamn effective. He didn't want restraints though. He grumbled, "When's Doc coming in?"

Michael looked at his watch. "Usually comes in around ten. Unless there's problems. Want me to call him?"

Todd shook his head, closed his eyes. Relieved when he sensed the erection was gone.

Back to hell.

The river was loud and distracting, the dark and hungry waters making it a strange place to find hope.

Forgiveness.

He kept hearing the word and couldn't figure out who he was supposed to forgive. Peter? Satan? His mother? Oh yeah … himself. An impossibility – he'd be stuck in hell forever.

"You're to forgive yourself, your mother, Peter, Sam, all of them, none of them."

The spirit was suddenly on him, floating through him, under him, around him. He couldn't see her, but could feel her. He was keenly aware of a woodsy fragrance, green and clean. Pure. Innocent. I am none of those things, he thought. He crumpled into a heap, unable to walk further. The roar of the river continued to torment him, to tease him. Drowning would be so much better than this.

"And why is that, Little One?"

"I caused things ... to happen to me and to other people. I do that, it's what I do – I'm a creator of misery."

"You were a beautiful boy, bright-eyed and bubbly. That's your true essence. You give love easily and freely."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I was never like that - I cried too much and Peter kicked me. I ate too much and Peter took food away from me. I talked too much and Peter slapped me. I breathed too much air and he suffocated me."

Peter's laugh drifted upwards and wrapped itself around him, around his neck. Todd struggled for air, strangled by sounds and the memories.

The spirit intervened and loosened Satan's grip on him, admonishing Satan's brief escape from the lower depths of Hell. "Be gone!" Todd breathed in a sudden rush of air and rolled onto his back. There was no pain here. There wasn't any joy. There wasn't much of anything.

"Remember yourself as a child, remember your ability to love and to receive love. You must."

He looked up again and tried to remember his true self. It seemed a joke to him.

After reading Michael's description of the nightmare in the daily log, Tim looked through the window at Todd just waking up. It was about 9:00 a.m. The room was relatively dark due to the rain clouds outside, stormy weather coming. He saw his patient moving and Tim opened the door, ready for an earlier-than-usual session. Todd turned to watch the doctor's approach but then sunk back into the linens.

"Morning. Michael tells me you wanted to see me."

Tim sat in the chair next to the bed, Todd looking troubled. His patient nodded, curled up in pillbug mode, his eyes barely clearing the blankets. The doctor was knocked-off-his feet pleased that his patient reached out – a fantastic shift in dynamics.

"Wanna tell me about the nightmare?"

Todd shrugged a little and lifted his eyes to the doctor, not knowing quite where to start. It was disgusting.

"Since we're dealing with a dream, why don't we try to break it down into pieces, make it not so frightening."

Todd glanced down below the covers at his folded arms. Kept hearing the voice that encouraged him to trust Tim, to rely on him, that he was Todd's way out of Hell. But he was terrified to give the nighttime images life, to bring to light his abhorrent, warped reaction. He never spoke of these types of things. Not even with sex partners.

Fuck.

He had to share though because this was going to get him thrown into restraints. Repeatedly it would get him restraints since it kept happening and he'd self-harm like fucking mad to stop it every time because it worked. Hurting himself worked, so he had to do something.

After some moments, Todd scooted up and sat back against the headboard. Eyed the doctor. He was wavering between furious hate and mortifying embarrassment. His voice came out as a hair above a whisper, as he tried to explain.

"It's not just the dream ... something h-happens to me that ... I d-don't understand."

Immediately Todd started to breathe heavier, the anxiety increasing, racing through his system. He hid his face behind his hands, feeling disgusted, sickened. Ready to abandon the hope for alleviation. Hurting worked… maybe he was stuck with restraints.

Fuck.

"I can't s-say it." He started to cry, profoundly ashamed. Tears came so easily these days.

Tim leaned forward, reminding him that he was safe, "Remember, nothing you say bothers me. I'm not disturbed by anything, Todd."

Todd sniffled, the frustration obvious, "I know, I know ... that doesn't help ... because it disturbs me."

Tim couldn't help it but he wanted to smile. What an incredibly accurate expression of how his patient felt. He'd progressed so much. The doctor assured him, "Just tell me single words about your dream. I'll help you along - we can sort it together."

Todd was shivering. Maybe, this way, maybe. He remained quiet for a minute, fighting his anxiety. Then, with a nod, a momentary pressing together of his lips, he said, "Michelle ... um ... under me." He whispered the last words, resting his head in his hands, unable to look at Tim. Rasped, "This isn't working."

"No, you're fine. Michelle's underneath you. Like in your flashbacks. You're kissing her? Right?"

"Yeah." He had more to go in this game of hide and seek where he was always the loser.

"Good, see? Where are you?"

"H-home."

"Keep going. You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah ... uh ..." His face suddenly looked like he was going to cry, "Tim..." He looked at him, pleadingly.

Tim got closer to him, right at eye level. "It's okay. Remember, you're safe with me. How old are you in your dream? 14?"

Todd nodded.

"What happens next?"

Todd drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Uh … under ... uhh ... him." Todd really started shaking again and breathing harder. "Oh God ..."

"You see the rape."

He nodded and continued to cry softly at the images he was remembering, taking the blankets and pulling them up around him. He hated the fucking tears but he couldn't stop them. Just like so much else.

Hurting works, hurting works...

"You're doing great. So first it's you and Michelle kissing, she's 'under' you and then you see what your father did to you. He's raping you. You are 'under'… him?" Tim had a feeling he knew where Todd was going based on Michael's report.

"Yeah ... uhh ... he's—"

The next word, Tim could hardly hear, a breath of a word, "...inside."

It was a detail he actually avoided. He assumed the word 'rape' explained it all when a male raped another male. Details were difficult but necessary. He needed to say the words to reduce their power. But today wasn't the day to work on that so Tim did it for him, as he promised.

"I understand," Tim said. "He's put his penis inside you, into your anus."

The words played on his face, the memory of this forced violation. He nodded, finishing, "That's when I wake up ... and ... uhh ..."

"And ... you wake up with an erection or you've ejaculated."

Todd needed his doctor to say the words, because he couldn't. He gritted his teeth and started rocking, comforting himself, hiding his face again, mortified. "Yeah ... yeah ... you gotta help me. I'm sick. I think … I like what happened to me … I must have ... and that's really sick ..."

"Don't judge. Let's just figure this out. Your physical reaction isn't a surprise and it's not what you think. Ok? It's not sick." Leaning in close to his patient, elbows on his knees, the doctor went on, "I'm going to try to explain it. You can fill in the blanks or correct me if I mistate anything."

Todd continued to rock himself, not looking at Tim, but offered the slightest of a nod to the plan.

"First off, your dream about kissing Michelle is obviously a memory. The memory of it creates an image in your brain and it arouses you, you're excited from kissing her. You were excited at the time, and in your dream you're equally excited. That's normal. You're dreaming about a kiss. And you're young. The response is… natural. You get an erection, you might even ejeculate from it. But then your brain makes certain connections to another memory. Your dream changes and you are now beneath 'him'. Your brain has skipped over the actual events between the kissing and the rape."

Whimpering, Todd nodded.

"He's raping you, you said… he's on top of you, inside of you. A violent act of assault, meant to overpower you, meant to show his power… over you. It's not a sexual act, Todd. But you know that, don't you?"

Todd stopped his self-comforting movements and just listened. He knew rape was not a sexual act. Because he lived it as a perpetrator.

With these words, he started to drift away as images flashed across his mind, blood on the girl's cheek from his bitten lip, the girl's body jerking to get away, his hand covering her mouth and smothering her screams. He saw the gaudy orange print bedspread on which they lay with its repeating print of waving green palm trees on small sandy islands in front of a smoldering volcanic mountain. He then felt his own body trying to get away, heard his own muffled screams, tasted blood in his mouth from his tongue which he bit when he had been pushed down by Peter. He felt the heat of the fire in the fireplace.

Shuddering at the images, his eyes having closed involuntarily, his breathing rate having increased, he tried to focus on Tim's voice. He listened hard to Tim explaining stuff. Didn't matter what was said, it was the voice Todd worked to grab onto.

Suddenly he gasped and his head shot up, his arms and legs jerking, as if he had just awakened from a dream.

"Todd?" Tim looked carefully at his patient who stared back at him, frightened. "Okay, you with me?" He nodded and took a deep breath, calming himself. Tim smiled, seeing Todd had avoided a flashback by himself. "Good work at keeping in the present."

Todd sat for a few minutes, regaining himself, trying to get back to where they were. Then, he said softly, "Y-you were telling me a-about a rape ... being violent. Being… about power."

"Yes, it's a violent act of power. You want to talk about that dream of yours some more? You okay? We can stop for a while."

"No ... I wanna understand … what's happening to me..." He put his head down, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, waiting.

"All right. I think your body and brain are playing a rotten trick on you. Your body is still excited from your dream about Michelle, and it carries into the violent part of your dream, your memory. You were very young and this took place during an intense sexual period in your life. You were learning for the first time maybe, about the good things your body could do, and Peter decided to fuck it all up for you."

Todd didn't respond for a few long moments. Then he shook his head, slowly. His muffled voice corrected, "I knew a lot already. First time with a girl … but not …" He looked up, shame coloring his features.

There were a couple of ways to interpret Todd's meaning. One was a truth he may not be ready for. Rape like what he experienced doesn't just happen out of the blue so the doctor chose to deal with the less terrifying interpretation.

"Yes," Tim agreed, "of course you knew certain things. You're 14. Most young men masturbate by such a time, a good thing. And now you're with a girl, learning things about your body in a new way, a loving way. It's natural that you go to that wonderful memory. But… it coincided with something awful."

Todd shrugged, face hidden again.

"Now, rape is a violent act, but your body may have had some… reactions-"

"No! Not to THAT!" Todd threw his head up fiercely, ready to pounce Tim.

"Wait! Hear me out first! What I'm saying is that in your dream, you may be taking sensations you felt with Michelle and fusing them to your memories about the rape. You see Michelle underneath you and then you are underneath your father. Do you see how you have made the scenes similar in you mind? You've merged them. So you feel excited about Michelle and then you feel the same about the rape but you don't really! It's only a trick."

He calmed and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe, maybe.

"Now, listen. Just LISTEN. There's something else. A biological reality. Don't respond, don't react. Can you do that for me? Just listen?"

Todd nodded, wary.

"Our bodies are riddled with nerves and sensory triggers. We can be stimulated simply by touching without regard to motivations or intent or our emotions about it. Did you know that many people who've been raped experience orgasm during the act? Men and women. It doesn't mean they liked what happened to them. And I'm not saying that happened to you. I'm saying that a body will simply react to physical stimulation. Again, it doesn't matter the nature or motivation of the stimulation, it just happens and it's not always controllable."

Todd stared hard at Tim, something in fact triggered. His face changed as if he suddenly realized something. Seeing the change in his expression, the doctor decided to risk another example, one he was very sure of. He'd wanted to wait but Todd himself was opening this door.

"Likewise, boys will get an erection even if fondled inappropriately by an abuser, merely by the physical stimulation." Tim looked carefully at Todd who continued to stare at his doctor, directly, deeply, without blinking. He was hardly breathing.

"But you know that, Todd, don't you?"

Todd did not move, his eyes not leaving Tim's.

"Your father was a cruel man. He did terribly wrong things to you and you've been stuffing it away, shoveling the memories into a deep, deep pit. And your brain has been protecting you from those terrible memories. But like stubborn weeds, the memories grow and sprout, crawling their way to the surface until finally they break through. You can chop them away over and over but they keep coming back until you dig them out by the roots."

Looking down again, Todd rubbed his mouth with his hand, a distant look on his face. "I need water."

Tim handed him a cup that was on the table next to Todd's bed. Taking the cup, he drank too quickly and water spilled, the coldness dripping onto his lap. He yelped and jumped out of the bed, turning around to look. He stood staring at his bed, his eyes bouncing around, as if something were there. Tim got up and walked slowly to Todd who immediately put his hand out, warding Tim away.

"No, don't come close to me. I need to be here, I need to watch for him."

"Watch for who, Todd?"

"Peter ... I can feel him. He's coming to get me. I've said too much." Todd was breathing fast again, his eyes wide and watchful, glazed over… not seeing what was real.

"No one is coming. Peter's not here. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you."

"He knows what happens to me with those dreams. He knows everything, everything!" Now he looked at his doctor.

"Todd, the reaction is purely physical. It's not your fault that it happens and it's not a sign your enjoyed the rape… or any other abuse Peter Manning inflicted on you."

"Oh no ... it's always my fault ... MY FAULT!" He hit his chest with a closed fist, the rage beginning to bubble over. He started to shiver once more and a low sound rolled out of his throat. He held his head in between his hands and began to breathe heavily. "My fault ... my fault."

Tim tried to get his attention, but he wasn't responding. "Todd, listen to me. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault."

"It's my fault ... not his. Not his ... not his fault. Mine."

Tim stepped over to the intercom, not taking his eyes off of his patient and called for assistance. They had a plan in place for the rage that was coming. Tim wasn't sure if this was it, but he wasn't going to take any risks. In seconds, Michael and one other orderly stepped into the room quietly while Tim walked over to Todd.

"No, Todd, it was your father's fault. PETER MANNING's FAULT. He abused you, he chose to do those things to you. Children cannot fight that - they don't have the physical ability, the social power, the emotional ability to say no. They don't choose abuse. And neither did you. You didn't choose to be raped… or any other abuse. It's NOT YOUR FAULT."

At that, Todd lifted his head, his eyes black with fury, his face consumed with hatred, an animal about to attack. His hands curled into fists. Fast breaths now. The doctor took a couple of steps back. He glanced at Michael who winked, knowing what the hefty doctor was going to do.

"Yeah, you got it, Todd. It's MY FAULT, me, Peter Manning. I raped you. I did that. I abused you. I wanted you to know how powerful I was. You see me, don't you? Peter Manning. Yeah, you do. THIS was all on ME."

Todd was shaking with fury, his breaths not just fast but noisy and soon he was growling like a dog, a feral animal. His lips pulled back, teeth showing, saliva seeping. He saw Peter Manning.

He lit up, finally yelling, "YOU BASTARD! YOU SICK FUCKING BASTARD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME! I COULD KILL YOU!"

He bore down on the doctor, raging against what had been done to him. He smashed into Tim, pushing him against the window of the room, the strength beyond comprehension. Like a goddamn lineman. He was completely out of control now, envisioning his father in Tim and absolutely attacking him. Doing what he would have wanted to do way… back… when.

As planned, Michael grabbed Todd by the shoulders, dragging him back, Tim getting behind him to hold him. With help at controlling whipping fists, he was able to restrain him in a tight hold, on the floor, against the wall. Todd let loose, shrieking curses, understandable only at first, the screams devolving to wordless roars. He fought a bloody battle, writhing, kicking out, biting, choking… not as a victim, but as killer.

He was killing Peter in his mind with everything he had.

Tim was a strong guy too, able to hold Todd this way, Michael and the other orderly holding his legs, keeping him safe. The doctor kept him fighting, saying, "Yeah, you show him. Show him how mad you are. Tell him. How wrong, how unfair ...so fucking unfair."

At Tim's direction, with great effort, the team got Todd into restraints on his bed, there being no choice. He screamed and thrashed against the straps in a hallucinatory hellish onslaught. It would last until he couldn't do it any longer. No sedative because he had to release anger against his father if he was going to get better.

Tim sat down on the floor against the wall next to the door, mimicking his patient's favorite position. He listened to Todd's savage fury, watched the terrible fight he gave Peter, knowing he still had a long way to go before he'd be done with the hate.

It broke his heart.

The view from the eightieth floor of the World Trade Center building in Chicago was incredible on clear days, when your head was unfettered and the path in front of you lay open, ready for the taking. Phillip Manning stared out the window at the gorgeous cityscape. His uncle Peter would be proud. He leaned back in his leather chair – one of those monstrous ones, heavy and black - hands behind his head, desk behind him, massive and imposing, as well. The office was large and sparsely furnished. He didn't need much; a phone, a computer, a few well-placed men with uzis to take care of any non-compliants.

Phillip sported a classical nose, eyes the color of coal, and slicked black hair that had a natural tendency to be spiky. High cheekbones attracted women and a strong chin made entrepreneurs take him seriously – he always maintained perfect skin, keeping a clean-shaven look. He never missed an appointment with a masseuse, a manicurist or the woman with the pink tattoo of a heart on her shoulder who gave him skin facials.

His eyes though, while appealing in shape, were unfeeling and cold. Dead eyes, someone once commented. Fuck them, they don't know dead. They attracted attention, he knew – his glare intimidated people into doing what he wanted them to. He'd smile and be charming, but he was the devil-incarnate with a rap-sheet evidencing it, with unreported crimes proving it.

A receptionist shuttled in a letter specially delivered from Fayetville, West Virginia. She carefully handed her employer the letter and walked out the door fast. Phillip tore open the express envelope and read quickly.

"No fucking way."

Suddenly, he stood like a raging bull and swiped clean his desk of everything. A delicate glass vase, eternally empty, crashed against a side window and shattered. He stood over the desk, leaning on his hands, vowing vengeance.

He had loved Michelle in his own way. It was not his fault that she couldn't see his better qualities and refused to be with him. She deserved to die for that and for loving that bastard who stole his family's fortune: that bastard, Todd Manning. And now he learned they had a child? The boy will have to die as well, then.

Jedediah Chant had to die.

To be continued….