On the Edge of Wakefulness

Chapter 12

Beneath a light blanket, Todd lay sleeping on his back in complete relaxation, limbs spread, features slack. The small desk lamp was on because he'd grown afraid of complete darkness. He made good on his promise to take the sedatives offered by his doctor, so he could sleep undisturbed by haunting memories.

Sam Rappaport stood on the other side of the bed. He'd come this quiet evening to see Todd for the first time since his suicide attempt and also to deliver the news that the forced hospitalization order issued by Judge Campbell got dismissed. Todd could now leave the hospital if he chose to do so. The doctor's harsh reaction back in his office had taken Sam by surprise.

"Thanks, Mr. Rappaport. Now you've left me with the interminable job of convincing him to stay! You realize how difficult that's going to be?"

"Yes, that's why I want to be here, so I can help him understand why he should stay."

"Your comfort, the way you say that...tells me you don't understand his condition. Fact is, if he walks out tomorrow, he may commit suicide. Or lose his sense of reality and get into an accident – hit by a car, beaten in the streets, a million things. Or he could overdose on that methamphetamine he likes so much."

"I'm more than aware of his condition, doctor, but I couldn't let that violation sit there on his record. It was unfair to have his record dirtied by a crooked judge!"

"Well, maybe you could've waited!"

"I had to take advantage of a legal opportunity – if I didn't do it today, I would've lost leverage. I ... just couldn't let him be hurt anymore. You know I found him along with Kevin Buchanan, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"Nearly losing him was like nearly losing my own son."

And so the doctor let Sam into the room knowing their business relationship and a bit of their personal one. Todd wouldn't be aware of his visitor, but even if he did awaken, the imposition would most likely be forgotten or have little to no impact due to the heavy sedation.

As they stood over Todd, Sam began to tell Tim of another night long ago in hushed tones.

"It was his birthday. I'd just put my own kids to bed and I got the strangest phone call. Someone was trying to talk but ... they couldn't, or wouldn't, and then they hung up. I don't know why but I sensed it was Todd. I went over there right away, justifying that I was popping by to wish him a happy birthday, to drop something or other off for him. Yeah, a happy birthday."

Sam lightly touched Todd's shoulder but let go, knowing how sensitive he was to that kind of affection. He sat on the chair next to the bed. Tim was still on the other side, merely watching and listening.

"When I walked to the door, I heard shouting, but didn't recognize the voice. I mean, Todd was this quiet, respectful kid. I'd gotten to know him, I thought, pretty well 'cause of the coaching I'd done. I told you he was on the junior league football team?"

Tim nodded.

"He was so good for being so young. Tall, strong as hell – not strong enough it turned out." Sam gazed at Todd, before fumbling with his watch. Off, then on, then off again. Finally, he shoved the silvery, clanging thing into his pocket.

"I followed the voice to the living room. Todd had his hands around his father's throat and a look on his face that was ... unrecognizable. That sweet, growing teenager was gone, obliterated. In his place was a murderous ... man. Calling his father a bastard and threatening to kill him."

Sam rubbed his face with his hands. "God, his voice was strained ... splintered, like shattered glass or ... or shrapnel. Changed forever." He looked at Tim, who was once again studying his patient, saddened at hearing the follow-up to a tragedy.

"He might have killed his father," Sam went on, "if he'd just been a little stronger, a little bigger. When I finally separated them, I got a good look." Sam breathed in deeply. "His ... his jeans were unbuttoned, no shirt on, bare feet. There was ... blood on his side. I couldn't tell where it came from. His eyes were glassy and I just ... Jesus Christ ... I denied what I saw. I assumed in my ... stupid head …the blood was a bloody lip or nose..."

Sam stood up and went to the window where he stared blankly. The room was silent, a tomb of trapped memories.

"Peter," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Now he had a different appearance than Todd. He was angry but ... victorious. He'd won something, a bigger battle." He pursed his lips. "When Todd walked away from me, refusing to leave with me, he limped, he was ... slightly bent over and was ... Christ ... delicate. He was so hurt. But I couldn't process the gravity of it."

Sam closed his eyes, knowing how much he had denied and how much responsibility he bore for turning his cheek. "How could I have let him go? Why didn't I call the police? I'm the one that should be in that bed – I should be punished."

Tim watched Todd and saw that he moved slightly, a shifting of his knee, a turn of his head. He settled again.

Sam continued to account for his sins, "I didn't see Todd for a couple of weeks. I tried to, but either his father ... or he himself ... would stop me. When I finally did see him, he was ... different, aloof. He started to get into trouble. I remember a teacher commenting, calling him a 'real troublemaker.' Over the next few years, he got into one scrape after another. I still coached him but ... things were never the same between us. I asked him about that night, once, and the reaction I got was ... shocking."

"In what way?"

"The violence of it. We'd had a hard game – he'd gotten hit, but played well. Anyway, he was taking too long getting dressed so I went into the locker room to check on him, thinking maybe he was really hurt or something. He was alone, dressed, sitting on the bench in front of his locker and just staring. Worried me the way he sat there. I walked up to him, mentioning how well he did."

"Did he respond?"

"Not right away. After a second he said, 'Bet Peter's real proud, huh?' I used that to segue, asked about his home life. He said fine. Then asked straight out, 'What happened that night, pal?'"

He paused in his story, curling up his hand and touching the sheets of the bed with his knuckles. "I wanted to be relieved of my guilt, I wanted him to tell me it was just a fisticuff that happened, that the blood was from a punch to the nose.'"

"No such luck."

"No. He said, 'Don't ask me, don't … fucking … ask me.' I told him he could tell me anything but that just made him angrier. He accused me of wanting something from him, as if… as I was trying to… Then he started to push me, pounding my chest, until I was up against the lockers. He was yelling, 'don't touch me,' over and over. Every time he said it, he pushed me against the lockers. Then a fist came at me, but he hit the locker by my head. Hit it maybe ten times, twenty. I didn't move an inch – I let him vent. He finally stopped and just stood there, unfocused, and then … walked away. Limping, bent over, delicate… just the same as that night."

Tim murmured, "A body memory."

Sam eyed the doctor, nodded and whispered, "Don't touch me." He patted the sheets again.

"I didn't see him after he left for college. Then I heard about the rapes and all that other stuff and GOD, somewhere… it all just clicked." Sam turned and looked at Tim. "I say this only because you're his doctor. We both share a common ... obligation of silence."

"To some extent."

"Dr. Graham, I concluded he'd been raped by his father. I asked him about it this past summer before his arrest. He didn't admit it, but he threatened me, warning me not to share my theory with anyone. He got pretty crazy then, too."

Tim looked at Todd, still sleeping peacefully. He'd long accepted the fact that turning one's cheek to child abuse was a common reaction, one ingrained in humankind. Still, he felt sorry for the guilt Sam obviously felt for not having taken Todd away from Peter, not that he could have, necessarily.

"Sam, you couldn't have stopped what went down that night."

Sam closed his eyes, realizing that Tim just confirmed his theory. "Then it's true. He was raped by his father."

"Yes."

Sam closed his eyes, letting out of heavy breath. After a moment, he asked, "Is that what he's dealing with? Now?"

"Among other unfortunate things that he's experienced in his life. He has his own rapes to contend with, for instance."

"'Other things', 'for instance'? Are you saying there was ... more ... abuse?"

"You think a man gets to the point where he can rape his own son without having already beaten him down to where it's even possible? The lines of respect and normal conduct had already been blurred for Peter. He'd already crossed them."

"Not sexual abuse, though. Right?"

Tim gazed at Sam for a second too long, essentially giving Sam an answer, and Sam collapsed at the desk chair, his knees unable to support him anymore. He had to accept the facts as they were.

"Listen," the doctor said, "you did what you thought was the right thing. It doesn't do any good to feel guilty. Taking away a child from his parent is ... near impossible, short of hard proof. You know that. Chances are Todd wouldn't have testified against his father. He denied anything happened for all his adult life and would have denied it then, too. Besides, Todd doesn't need your guilt. What he needs is your support and, most likely, he'll need you to accept his anger at you. He may very well see you as having abandoned him to Peter. That's reality. You're going to have to be tough if you want to remain in his life."

Sam looked across at Todd who was stirring. "I don't know if I can be that strong."

"Then I recommend you leave him alone." Harsh words but true. Tim turned, Todd trying to open his eyes, moving around a bit. Calling for Sam. He'd heard his voice, the familiarity pulling him out of his sedation. "Yeah," the doctor admitted, "Sam Rappaport's here. Want to talk to him?"

In a drugged voice that made Sam nervous, he spoke back. "Yeah, yeah ... he liked me."

Tim smiled, "Of course he did. I think he still does."

Todd lifted his head, unable to see at first, but finally focusing on Sam who stood next to his bed.

"Hey, Coach." He lay back on the pillow, weak and sleepy.

At hearing the name, "Coach", Sam felt an incredible ache for the child he'd been unable to help. "Hey, pal. It's great to see you."

"Tim has me all whacked out ... hate it ..." His eyes were not focusing well and he kept trying to open them wider, thinking they were closing.

"I know you do. But hey, you look good, like they're treating you all right."

"Oh yeah. Real good ... did you know I have a kid?"

"Of course I do. Starr's a wonderful girl-"

Todd rolled his head, his face crimping with frustration. "No, no," he grumbled. "A boy kid. A boy."

Sam looked at Tim, confused and then saw Todd slip back into sleep again.

Tim smiled briefly. "Our young friend here has a son. 16 years old."

"What?! Has a paternity test been done? How do we know this isn't some con out to collect money – Todd's wealth isn't exactly private information."

Resting a hand on Sam, the doctor said, "Todd consented to a paternity test already and the results should be here in the morning. I'll tell you more outside."

Sam got the message to settle down. "When do the bandages come off?"

"Well, the right arm which was more severely injured will remain bandaged throughout the physical therapy he'll be getting. His other one ... isn't covered. Todd took care of that this morning, ripping them off. Just angry, as he has every right to be." Sam shoulders dropped, listening to Tim. "The scars aren't very pretty right now, but they'll eventually fade."

"Can I see them?"

Tim looked at Todd, deciding, reflecting on the possibility that he could choose to leave the hospital. Sam needed to understand that he had to stay, he had to see just how critical this was. He then lifted the blanket very carefully to avoid disturbing his patient, just enough to uncover his forearm. As he did this, he didn't see any sign of wakefulness. He nodded to Sam to come closer, offering the chair beside the bed. He knew this was a way for Sam to face his own Hell, his own pain. To see Todd's scars, to see the results of what Peter did to him, would prove the continuing threat. Tim moved out of the way, leaning against the wall by the door.

Sam took one glance at the injuries and gasped, "Holy shit." Reaching out, he lightly held Todd's wrist with one hand, above the ragged scars, the violence of it breathtaking. With his other hand, he covered his eyes, tears slipping out and rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry ... awww Todd. God damn it."

Sniffling, he sat in the chair, still holding Todd. Seeing the cuts was horrifying – he couldn't believe Todd had done that to himself.

When he looked up, he saw that Todd was staring at him. He then chuckled drunkenly.

"Did we lose the game, Coach?"

"No, pal, it's not over yet. We have a few plays left."

"Mmm. But you made me pass ... when they were blitzing – they nearly killed me. Shoulda pulled me out, shoulda benched me, Coach."

Sam closed his eyes and looked down, the tears still dropping. "I wish I had. Next time, eh?"

"Not gonna be a next time – I'm ending the game." He laughed eerily, drugged. "Ain't no more plays for me." He closed his eyes and once again dropped off to sleep.

Tim watched and heard, letting Sam recover. After a few moments, Sam got up, patting his friend on the shoulder and replacing the blanket over his arm.

"I guess tomorrow we fight like Hell to get him to stay?"

"Yeah." Tim looked one last time at Todd, "Sleep well, kiddo."

Téa Delgado Manning tugged her jacket tight as she stepped onto the train in the middle of New York City, on her way to Llanview. A night train. She tucked her bag above her seat. Sat and looked outside at the darkness. Before long the city was history. She'd chosen not to fly because she wanted time to prepare for Llanview. The article about Todd haunted her, a punch to the gut, still.

"NEWSPAPER PUBLISHER ATTEMPTS SUICIDE. Todd Manning of Llanview, Pennsylvania, famed publisher of the regional newspaper, The Sun, is reported to have attempted suicide in his home following his acceptance of a suspended sentence for an incident revolving around the murder of a local resident. Manning is reported to be in stable condition and is recuperating from his wounds following emergency surgery. His physician, Dr. Larry Wolek, was cursory in his comments. According to anonymous sources, however, Manning allegedly cut himself with an unspecified type of blade resulting in significant blood loss and muscle damage. Manning achieved notoriety by being convicted in a gang-rape of …."

The article went on to describe Todd's incredible rise to riches and power. No picture accompanied the article, thankfully. She could not bear to see his piercing eyes, a gaze that seduced her, terrified her, tore into her heart because he never failed to show her the endless pain that screamed inside of him.

When she first saw the article, she was sure her crying could be heard through the walls of the small co-op she rented near her abuelita. His madness had been slow in coming… culminating in the hostage-taking and his punching her. As sure as the sun would rise in the morning, she had told Sam, one or both of them would end up dead. She left for New York quick as light.

She was coping, she was moving on.

But the news of Todd's brush with death brought it all back. She spent the last six or so weeks in mourning, suffering in her unknowingness, not wanting to talk to anybody from Llanview. Feeling alone and isolated in New York City, she kept wondering where he had committed this unspeakable act. She kept trying to picture him slashing himself. The kind of depression required to do something like that mystified her. And so, at last, she called Carlotta and found out some of the uglier details. She cried into the phone when Carlotta told her how Sam had found him.

As Téa watched the passing lights shining through the darkness, there was only one thought that ran through her, one that cut into her like the blade that Todd had used on himself…

I love you. I love you. I will always… love you.

Hell.

Todd stood staring at the blue sky above him, the sounds of Hell's residents having quieted at last. He looked down at his body and saw that it was perfect and unscarred. He studied his arms and felt his cheek. It was all gone. At that realization, a child ran past him, laughing as he skipped down the road. His blond hair lifted with each step and his giggles echoed all over. He wore shorts and a bitty tee-shirt that showed his belly. He couldn't have been more than four years old. The boy turned a few circles and finally stopped in front of Todd, looking up innocently.

"Hey, mister. When I get big, I'm gonna fly away like those huge black birds!"

"You mean the crows?" Todd asked the boy. "How come not an eagle or something like that?"

"'Cause they make so much noise! And I can't make that much noise at home 'cause it'll wake daddy! But Mommy says that one day we're gonna live somewhere else and I can make all the noise I want to!"

He started jumping up and down, whooping and giggling. He finally rolled to the ground and lay there staring at the clouds. Todd gazed at the little boy and started to cry, remembering him. Knowing him. He heard the spirit flit around him again, caressing his broken soul, soothing his tears.

"Yes, Little One. That is you. Barely in kindergarten, a year early. So smart and so ambitious! Imagine dreaming you could fly and make all the squawking sounds you want. Imagine wanting people to see and hear who you are. Imagine not being afraid."

"He killed that boy, over and over again. I'm not even human." Todd cried as he saw the boy counting the clouds floating above him.

The spirit caressed his cheek and his body, warming him, making him feel good. In an instant he felt joy, love, and a sense of peace. But seemingly logical thoughts crept in. "I can't have those good feelings. He ruined everything for me." He saw the boy sitting and staring at him. The little boy smiled at Todd, unafraid, open, confusing Todd. The child should have been running.

"You are not ruined. There is still love inside of you," the spirit said. "Can you forgive that child you see in front of you for raping those women? For being abused by his father? For lashing out at people in order to release his fury?"

"He didn't do that, I did!"

"No. He did. He is you. The little boy lost his innocence and did things he ended up paying for, nearly with his life. Many times over he has paid. Forgive the child."

Todd couldn't. Looking up at the sky, he cursed that child and said he was sorry for the life that he'd have to lead. The boy started to cry and the sounds of his broken heart ripped across this level of Hell, deafening and haunting. The sound of fleeing birds accompanied the boy's wailing.

"Too bad for you, boy," Todd spat.

From outside Nora Buchanan's office at nearly 1:30 a.m., the shuffling of papers and the opening and closing of drawers could be heard. Good thing nobody was around to listen.

The Mole let out an aggravated sigh, "Georgie Phillips, where's your secret file? Where is it?"

Georgie worked here for a while and the Mole knew she liked to hide things under people's noses, liked to squirrel away her little goodies in obvious places. It had been her private joke on her victims, as if to say, "Idiots." She'd been one of Phillip Manning's flunkies, one of the few the Mole liked.

Rubbing his head, he plunked himself down on Nora's desk chair, putting his feet up on her desk. Lit another cigarette. Glancing around, he went through a mental inventory to determine what he missed, whether there were any unopened drawers, unrifled file cabinets, or skipped piles of paper. He got up and walked the perimeter of the office and realized he didn't examine the side drawer of the credenza.

"Smokin'…," he murmured.

Opening it, he saw Nora's personal tax files, spanning at least ten years. They were all roughly the same size except for one, thicker than the rest. The Mole grinned and picked out the file.

At first there was nothing, but tax forms and then the contents switched. There were original ledger pages documenting cash payments from Manning Management Enterprises to Buchanan Corporation, Judge Austin Campbell and several others. Nearly five mil in payments. There were several notes from Phillip, planning and arranging his scams, message slips from various Buchanan family members, and a handwritten letter from the Judge.

The Mole whistled. This was the real thing, major payola. He was practically giddy at seeing what would be the end of Phillip Manning's empire. Now there was only one choice left, he thought. Do I topple the empire or do I get rich by blackmailing the Emperor himself? Could be asking for a bullet.

He closed the drawer and walked out of the office, his hand on his gun. Just in case. With that, he heard his cell phone ring out and grabbed it quickly, quieting it. Whispering loudly, "Yeah?"

"Got a sock in your mouth?"

"What do you want, Manning?" Fuckin' Phillip.

"Do you want the job or do I have to get someone else?"

"Haven't made up my mind yet. Still checking out the opportunities. Offer still stands at $500,000?"

"Yeah."

"Seems like a small amount for a kid. Takes an iron stomach, you know. Bad publicity if I get caught."

"Fine, make it $650K. You have 24 hours to make up your mind or the offer is withdrawn."

The Mole closed up the cell. Still giddy. Still facing a choice.

Téa knocked on the door of Llanfair, worried about how she'd be taken, whether she'd be viewed as a kind of Jezebel who abandoned her man in his time of crisis. The little girl who questioned and second-guessed her every move was very much a part of Téa today, always. Although the early hour of 6:30 a.m. would be disruptive, she decided to toss all etiquette to the wind, in true Todd-style. Her anxiety had gotten the best of her. The door clicked and Viki peeked through the crack, then pulled the door open and smiled broadly. Said softly, "Téa."

Téa smiled back, letting out a sigh of relief, but remaining on the doorstep, sudden emotion at seeing Viki hard to manage. Seeing her was like seeing Todd because of their connection, the love they shared, love that hadn't come easy to either one.

She bit her lip, tears threatening to fall. Viki then laid a hand on Téa's shoulder and said gently, "Thank God you're here. Thank God." Viki pulled her into a hug as Téa softly cried into the warm embrace. After a moment, they separated and Téa dabbed at her eyes as she was led into the house.

"I couldn't stay.. one of us was going to end up dead at each other's hands."

"I know," Viki said. "He told me what happened, that he hit you. Leaving was understandable. You don't have to feel guilty or wrong for what you did, not at all." She smiled compassionately at her unexpected guest. "Let's get coffee."

They walked into the kitchen, brightly lit by the first sun following the storm which had been dousing Llanview for several days.

"I'm really glad you're here." Viki glimpsed Tea's pretty face, wondering what Todd's reaction would be at learning his wife had returned. She poured a cup of coffee for her guest as they sat at the heavy wood kitchen table. She sipped from her own cup.

Téa then asked the inevitable, cup in hand, warming her hands. "How is he?"

Viki sighed and recounted much of what he'd been going through, finally shocking Téa with the mention of Jedediah Chant and the drug abuse. It was hard to hear. Tears slipped down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she said. "You said I shouldn't feel responsible but I keep thinking I could have somehow prevented this."

"No, Téa, at best you might have only delayed what's happened. He's contending with a horrific trauma, one that happened many years before he ever came to know you, one he's denied for half his life. Almost everything he's ever done has come about because of this denial."

"What happened to him?"

"He needs to tell you that. I can't be the one." Viki took a long sip of her coffee and looked at Téa. "Why are you here? What are you expecting from him, from yourself?"

Téa returned the concentrated gaze of her sister-in-law. "Truthfully, I don't know. I just had to come." Her voice caught on a surge of varying sentiment. "You don't know how cruel I was when I left him… God. I knew he was sick, but..."

"Téa, he hit you. You should have been hostile."

She instinctively rubbed her forehead lightly, rubbed the place where he'd clocked her, remembering where she'd gotten him in return. With the shovel. Gripped the coffee cup.

"It's so hard to deal with someone so damaged," Viki said. "Believe me when I tell you it's just as bad for the damaged person. You want so badly to be loved and cared for, but your mind stops everything. A wall thousands of miles thick stops love from coming through. You just can't hear it. You just can't feel it."

"What should I do?"

Viki could only shrug. "Do you know what happens to impenetrable walls? Over time hairline ruptures do appear. But if there's nothing on the outside trying to break in, like water or sunlight or... love, they'll just close up again." She smiled warmly, sadness in her eyes, "He looks for you."

With all the energy she could muster, Téa said, "Well, I guess you've only confirmed why I'm here. That if and when those fractures appear, I want to be on the outside. I want to be part of the light he needs, if he'll let me. Please know that I have never stopped loving him."

Viki whispered, lightly touching Tea's hand, "Good."

Todd had been sleeping for over fourteen hours, soundly and nightmare-free. Pursuant to instructions, the morning nurse let Tim know that Todd was moving and appeared to be coming around. Tim wanted to get an immediate read on his mental status as well as tell him about the release – something he was dreading because he knew what Todd would do: leave.

He glanced into the window of his room and saw Todd fully awake, still in his bed, with his left arm up, studying the cuts there and touching them, expressionless. After rapping on the door, Tim walked in. Todd didn't seem to react to his entrance, continuing to study his wounds.

"I don't feel it," he said after a moment.

"Feel what?" Tim grabbed a chair and moved it next to the bed.

"Healing. I'm as messed up now as I was when I first got here. You'll never let me out." Todd brought his arm down, covering his eyes with his hands then rubbing his face. He looked hard at his doctor, sullen. Just as Tim thought, this was going to be a rough day. He was rested though, much more present.

"You can't see the healing because you're too close to the picture," Tim explained. "You've made incredible progress. Let's start with you telling me the first clear thing you remember about being in this hospital."

Todd only furrowed his brow, upset just under the surface.

"Come on, give it a shot." He watched as Todd's eyes roamed the room and landed at the bathroom.

"There, I was there." Todd pointed with his finger to the remembered spot.

"What happened there?"

"I was...in the shower and Michael was there. Helped me to my bed. And then you came and...you told me you couldn't give me meth..." He closed his eyes, grimacing, pain rushing through him, "I asked you to help me. I think?"

Tim nodded his head, "You spelled the letters out on my hand. HELP. What about before? What do you remember before that?"

"Before...?" He struggled, trying to piece his hospital stay together. Sitting up, he rocked his body, his self-soothing thing. "Before … before …"

After some moments, his features softened, looking almost sleepy, and then he closed his eyes briefly.

"The shower," he whispered. A slight moan came from him, his eyes closing again, his head slowly drawing back and pulling his whole body into himself, hugging his knees. His breathing got short. He then took a deep breath, and another, calming himself and though Todd was managing a painful memory all on his own, which was good, Tim got frustrated that he was still so easily moved into the world between reality and his past. Damn it.

"You're doing good. Staying here. Can you tell me what you remember?"

He lazily spoke, describing what he saw.

"I cut myself in the Penthouse bathroom, in the shower. I had to do it – Peter was there, I don't know how...I just remember...but he's dead...I don't understand." He breathed deeply, fighting the sensations, the physical memories of his experience. "I...uh...hit the glass doors and fell. I hit something and...then the...thing with Michael and you. And everything since then. That's it."

He swallowed hard and wiped at his eyes, which were a little teary. The feel of the knife against his skin kept coming back, reminding him of other cuts he'd gotten in his life. He rubbed his arm because he felt the tearing of his skin, muscle, and his sanity. His hold onto reality was so fragile, like spider webs. One swipe and the connection would be gone. He reached out and touched the side table, running his hands across the wood. Then he smoothed the linens. Finally, he touched his face, his hair, and his body.

"Here," he said to himself, crimping his eyes shut, "… I'm here."

Tim asked gently, "Do you know how long ago that was, when you cut yourself at home?" All he could think was that in a couple of hours, this very sick man would walk out the front doors of the hospital thanks to legal games. Made him incredibly sad.

"Two, three weeks ago?" Todd appeared truly perplexed. There was no consideration to the severity of his wounds, how impossible his imagined time frame was considering how much physical healing had taken place.

Smiling gently, Tim shook his head. "It's been over two months."

His patient reacted harshly. His mouth dropped open and his eyes watered. He'd lost so much time. It terrified him.

"What? When did it happen?"

"In September – very soon after your trial."

"And it's … November now?"

"Yup. We're looking at Thanksgiving soon."

He got up from the bed, slowly, resting before he stood and walked to the window. As he stared at the outside world, he wondered where he fit into it, wondered if he would ever know where someone like him fit into it.

"Why don't I remember before the Michael thing?"

"You can't remember because you were highly delusional and under the influence of your drugs. You were suffering from a psychosis caused by the methamphetamine. You said Satan was inside of you and that you had to kill him, which translated into you trying to kill yourself. Kill your body and you kill Satan."

Todd shook his head, "No, no...I remember that part. I...I..." He rubbed his hands on his chest, down his stomach. He turned to Tim, his face tense and tight. "Delusional? Like seeing things? Like...crazy? Thinking you're Satan or that he's part of you is considered 'delusional'? I've always felt that, he's always been a part of me. Why are you saying it's...delusional? Why?"

Damn you, Sam Rappaport. It's too soon, thought Tim.

"Your state of mind was considered delusional because of your level of belief in it. It went far beyond a feeling or loose metaphor. It was extreme and literal. You believed in a separate being within you. A physical separate being."

Todd began pacing. "What happened next?"

"You were at risk for killing yourself again. You had to be restrained. Then you retreated somewhat, becoming uncommunicative, talking to yourself. Again, not knowing where you were, why you were here, or who anybody was. And you didn't react normally to pain."

"What do you mean by that?"

He wasn't grasping this dialogue, this effort on Tim's part to show Todd that he wasn't ready yet for freedom. By the end of the conversation, Todd would know how far he had come and how far he still had to go. Hopefully.

"Do you remember removing external stitches on your right arm? All by yourself? With your fingernails?"

Todd raised his right arm and studied it, his hand running over the bandages. His voice came out soft and detached. Shaking his head, he groaned a little, trying to visualize it, almost recalling it, but not quite. "No…," he whimpered before walking to his corner, turning around and sliding down the wall, his knees up. He started to cry just as he hit the floor, but wouldn't let it out, gritting his teeth instead, turning to his anger instead of going with the pain.

"Tell me what's happening," Tim said softly. "What are you feeling?"

Todd looked up at the ceiling, his face changing, hardening, "Crazy...sick...insane..." The seeping fury colored his words as he ran through a few of the many things he'd been called over the years. His mind landed on one other image associated with the word, delusional, and he spat the name, "Téa. "

"Why do you think of Téa?"

Todd looked down at himself, recalling the last time he saw her in court when he received the suspended sentence. They barely spoke to each other – he was so out of it having already started using meth. A rush of addictive craving came over him at that thought, but he shushed it. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. He remembered Téa's pretty face that day, full of fear, hatred, and bewilderment, and …God help her, full of love even as she said her very last words to him.

He repeated them, the sound crystal, her upset ringing in his ears, "'Congratulations. You snuck out of another mess. You and your...delusions.'"

"She said that to you."

Audibly, Todd's breathing changed, the anger inching its way to the front. He clenched down and growled out his response. "Yes. And then she left, gone. Bye-bye, loser – ya fuckin' loser." He pounded his head against his knees. One time. "No more...I don't want to be this sick." Todd held his knees closer to him and tucked his head down, tightly, protectively.

Tim could still hear his ragged breathing as his patient walked a fine line between his rage and misery. Working to control his sanity.

"You aren't delusional anymore, you aren't considered a suicide risk. You've lessened certain fixations tremendously. You've told me so much about what happened to you. You're managing your flashbacks much better which you showed me today. You're getting better. You are healing."

"Whatever you say, Tim." A muffled voice spoke out from behind knees.

"I know you're discouraged, but a lot of what you're feeling right now is because you're going through emotions about your trauma which you've put off for years. You need to go through them, to experience them. It's a path, a long road out of your Hell."

Todd looked up at Tim at his last words. Familiar. "'A long road out of Hell'," he repeated.

Keep up the pace, my Angel.

"No...I don't think I'll ever get out," he groaned as he looked back down into his lap.

Tim took a deep breath not wanting to tell him about his being able to leave. This requirement just killed him – he didn't trust his patient to make the right decision, but there wasn't anything he could do about it – except convince him to stay.

"I...uh...have some news for you."

Todd looked up, "The last time you gave me news I went into a flashback. A really fucking bad one." He referred to Tim telling him that Kevin had called asking to see him – it had led to the reveal about the rape.

Tim nodded, "Yeah … well, I'm hoping you'll take this news better. You no longer have to be in the lock-down ward. You're free to be moved downstairs to the regular rooms. Actually, you're plain old free to go."

Todd's head shot back up and he glared at Tim. "I can walk outta here? I don't have to be here? At all?" He studied Tim's face, his facial expression, his eyes, his mouth. He wanted to know was where the trick was, the trap.

"Your forced hospitalization has been reversed thanks to your attorney, Sam Rappaport." Tim watched carefully as Todd looked down, evaluating, balancing, thinking.

Tim sat next to him on the floor, in the same position, knees up, his arms wrapped around his legs. "You have some choices to make. You can stay here on an inpatient basis in the regular rooms. You can continue to see me or someone else on an outpatient basis. Or you can walk out of here and manage your life on your own."

Todd didn't look at him, simply repeating the facts. "I can leave. You're telling me I can leave."

Tim rubbed his face, sighing. "Yes, but before decide your next step, you need to know the paternity test results. Jedediah's your son. Congratulations, you're a father, once again. You now have two children who need you – and who need you healthy."

Todd looked around him, focusing on nothing, trying to ground himself. "Two children."

"You should also be aware that Téa is in town as well. Viki left a message this morning about it."

He felt a rush of her over him, her hair, her scent, her lips. Right behind those memories came her hatred, her anger, the feel of her silky skin beneath his pounding fist. He groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. "No..."

"So, what shall it be? Healthfulness or more of the same battle you've been fighting?"

Todd shook his head, "I don't know, I don't fucking know."

Tim stared hard at his patient, wanting to will the words out of his mouth. Stay, he demanded. Stay.

But then as if in slow motion, Todd stood up and said, "I want to go home. I'm not going to stay in no damn hospital if I don't have to."

The doctor sighed heavily, picking himself up off the floor. Took a few steps to the door. Turned and said, "If that's your decision, I have to respect it. I can only say that I'm highly against this choice. You're not ready."

Todd covered his face, pushing his hands against his head, and groaned. Tim was hoping he was weakening and tried to take advantage of the small window of opportunity, "Think of Starr. Don't let her grow up without a father. Think of Jedediah. He lost one parent. Don't let him lose you when he just found you."

Tim's attempt was rewarded only with Todd's sudden fury. He got to his feet, all six foot plus of him and a whole lot of power in that thin body. "DON'T! Don't use them like that! They are innocent! Don't play me like that! Don't!"

"'Don't do what? Don't remind you that you have people in your life who love you? Who need you to be here, healthy, together, fighting for them? Fighting for yourself? Don't remind you that you have a young man now in your life who is scratching his way to adulthood primarily alone? Who could use his father in his life? I mean it's up to you whether to be involved or not but...do you want to be absent?" As Tim spoke, he could see Todd wavering, arguing, battling, breathing hard, starting to pace.

But then he stopped and pronounced once again his plans, his desire, his demand. "I'm outta here."

"All right. Fine." Tim stared Todd down, speaking in his most firm voice, "The next few hours are yours, all to yourself. I'm not going to help with any flashback, or personal care. You want to be on your own, you think you're ready to be on your own, then getting washed and dressed in the first test. Alone. I'll work on the release. When I'm finished, you can leave. Do you need to call anybody?"

"No."

Tim turned and walked out the door. Immediately, Todd was suddenly afraid – more than that: terrified. He rubbed his hair and face and fought the pain in his chest. The tightness. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, and could hear the laughs of Satan, mocking him, teasing him. Daring him to do it again.

Aren't you funny, aren't you just a kick. Come, you pussy, let's get into that shower. I'm waiting for you…come on, come on.

"SHUT UP!"

Jedediah and Kevin ate the scrambled eggs and French toast gustily in silence as Téa stared at the two of them from across the table. She couldn't convince her eyes that this was Todd's son, a man practically. Jedediah occasionally looked up at her, in between bites, and would smile, one so much like his father it hurt her. Tim's early morning information about the positive paternity test results confirmed the obvious. Cassie sat next Téa and Viki stood at the kitchen counter finding a bit of humor in the whole situation. Even though she didn't feel very humorous.

Kevin broke the silence. "So...how was New York?" As soon as the words were out, he felt the glare of Cassie and realized how stupid his question was.

"Oh great, Kevin," Téa said. "Especially the part when I found out my husband slashed his arteries in my absence. Shouldn't have left him alone...silly me." Sarcastic tone, but true, heartfelt words.

"Sorry, Téa," Kevin said. All of them saw Jedediah stop eating and put his fork down. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and got up from the table, walking out of the kitchen. A collective sigh swept through the room.

"Now it's my turn to be sorry. Damn it," Téa said.

Kevin said, "I'll get him."

"No, please, let me."

Téa got up and went into the library, where she found the boy staring out at Llanfair's massive backyard.

"Jedediah, I'm sorry. Here you are, just getting to know him, and I...act very insensitive – I spoke without thinking how you might take things."

"It's ok – he's your husband. And he did a pretty screwed-up thing, cutting himself up the way he did. I'm surprised you're here at all."

"I hope we'll all get through this. Then maybe we can really get to know each other."

He turned back around and gave a shrug of his shoulders. Sadness in his eyes, and like Todd's – his eyes couldn't hide what was inside when the inside got too loud.

"Hey, that's...great," he said. "But I don't think I'll ever get to know him." He looked out the windows, wondering what was going to happen to him. Now that he had "found" his true parentage, he'd never felt such confusion over who he was in his entire life. The irony wasn't lost on him. Find your roots and lose yourself.

They hadn't heard the phone ring or the fuss going on in the kitchen as they spoke. Kevin came rushing into the room, "Uh...we gotta run – Todd's free to leave the hospital and he...really wants to do that. Tim just called and asked for some back up from Viki and Sam. I'm going to go with – to hang out – support for the intervention team."

"Leave? Is he…okay to do that?" Téa crinkled her eyes, her hand out in a questioning pose.

Viki walked in, looking for her purse. "No, Téa – he's very ill. This isn't good."

"You two should stay here," Kevin said, eying Jed and Téa.

"Sure … let us know … what happens."

"Yeah."

Within seconds the room was abandoned, leaving Téa and Jed in a kind of stunned silence. Jed scratched his head, then said softly, "Didn't you want to see him?"

"Yes."

"So we just gonna sit here…and wait?"

Tim was pacing in his office, buying time, waiting his patient out, a game most definitely. Todd got through the bathing and dressing without incident – simple sounding, but a major accomplishment. Sometimes it was easy for the orderlies to get the job done. On those days, he cooperated because Tim sensed he wanted the water, needed to wash away the memories, the sickness. On other days it was nothing short of warfare. Undressing was difficult and he often had flashbacks associated with the process itself, the water scaring him, the lack of control, his crippling vulnerability. But even on the easy days, he needed someone to watch the door, to make sure no one was going to hurt him.

So again, Todd having gotten through the process alone was significant.

Tim smiled when he saw Kevin, Viki and Sam at his office door. Sam looked like death warmed over and Tim figured he'd had a bad night following the visit with Todd. Jedediah was there, too.

"Okay …we've got a quite a crew here," Tim murmured as he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, his curly, strawberry-blonde hair popping out wildly today.

Viki asked, "Can we do it? Are we really going to be able to convince him to stay?"

"Don't know," Tim said truthfully. "Depends on how effective you are in showing that you love him, care about him. How good a picture you can paint to make him understand how much help he still needs. It's tough for me to do. I spend all my time telling him how much better he's getting, how everyday he's improving. Now I have to tell him how fucked up he is? So I'm relying on you guys for that." He caught a raised eyebrow from Viki and added, "Excuse my language, I've spent a lot of time with your brother lately."

She faintly smiled at him, a moment of lightness in a long while of despair.

Kevin jumped in, sarcastically, "Oh let me tell him the many ways he's still so fucked up. I know he'll buy it from me."

"Listen, today might be rough on everyone. I'm going to try 'shock therapy'. Yes, he's fragile, but he has to know if he can deal with stress independent of assistance. All of you will have to stay strong."

"Jedediah," Tim continued. "You might want to stay here in my office or take a walk. Your Satan's here today and he wants out."

At that moment, Tim realized he didn't know the pretty brown-haired woman who stood behind the others. He leaned his head a little to the left trying to see her as she was somewhat hidden. "I don't think we've had the pleasure," he said.

"I'm Téa Delgado...Manning. I'm Todd's wife. At least legally."

Tim's face broke out into a smile. "Wow…Téa. I've heard your name mentioned. It's nice to meet you."

Téa swallowed hard at hearing his salutation, the pain in her heart pushing its way out again. "Is that a good thing?"

"I think you being here … will be very good." The smile had faded from the doc's face – he'd gotten serious.

Jedediah chimed, "And don't worry about me. I'm just along for the ride. I missed my old stomping ground."

Nervous laughter floated through the room and Téa bit her lip at his Todd-like sound and sense of humor. Téa and Jedediah decided they were going to wait in Tim's office until the crisis was over. They understood that very shortly Todd would either be transferred to a downstairs room or would be driven home to the Penthouse. They all prayed he'd agree to stay.

At that point, Todd had been permitted to occupy the consultation room under the guise that he was still waiting for his walking papers. Tim wanted to give him more breathing room for what essentially was an intervention to save his life.

In minutes, the four of them were at the door to the consultation room – Sam, Kevin, Viki and Tim. Viki teared up as she saw her brother pacing manically back and forth, rubbing his hair back in obvious fear and angst. He wore clothes she had brought for him, jeans, a black knit shirt, his hoodie jacket. He had his favorite black leather boots. He'd lost so much weight. His hair was long still, but he was clean-shaven. He looked young. Kevin hadn't seen him in a while… and despite his street-ready appearance… his normal look, he recognized him straight away as Jedediah's Satan, a persona he knew well.

And just as the crew got over the surprise of seeing him, Todd stopped his pacing cold, the light of Hell flashing in his light eyes. He growled…

"Well, what the fuck do you all want?"

To be continued...