On the Edge of Wakefulness
Chapter 15
The End of the Road bar always gave off waves of resignation, its attendants no longer seeing options in their futures. The Mole was different. He always had choices, paths he could follow. Slithering his way through life, he dealt drugs, committed crimes for hire, and generally did what he could to survive. But he had grown tired of crawling among the vermin and wanted the moment of glory. He sucked down a cold beer, having made up his mind as to what he was going to do. No blackmail, no murder. Just bring the Emperor down.
At the sound of the entrance door swinging open and then shutting again, he turned sharply, seeing Cassie Buchanan coming toward him. With someone else. He turned back around cautiously, not sure who she was dragging along.
"Hey," she said.
The Mole didn't say anything, continuing to drink the beer, slowly.
"It will do you no good to ignore me. This is my husband and he's a reporter, too. So talk."
"You and I had a deal. No tag-along's."
Kevin sidled up close to the Mole, "Listen, you asshole, whatever you got, I got a right to see. You're accusing my family of being corrupt so I want to hear it from you - directly - to be sure the shit you have is real."
The Mole chortled, "Whoo-hoo… you a tough cookie, ain't ya?"
"Stop the shit. What do you have?"
"Cass, why didn't you tell me you were married to one of THE Buchanans?" He took another sip of his beer.
"'Cause it was none of your business," Cassie said. "So get to it. You called me. What do you have?"
The Mole waved his hand in surrender, "Major payola, baby. I can prove Llanview's almighty are mighty dirty. In bed with the best of them: Phillip Manning. Checks, ledger pages, all showing money being paid to the Buch's, and a letter from the Judge himself. Implicating the Commish."
Kevin and Cassie looked at each other a moment. The Mole glanced around the bar, assuring himself that no one risky was around to hear him, and said in a soft tone, "There's something else."
"Don't hold back," Kevin said.
"Solicitation for murder. Phillip Manning's after this kid." He hesitated, making a sudden connection. "Hey, you know him. I saw him walking with you, near the looney bin, yeah...taller than you, light brown hair, medium length, wears biker boots..."
Kevin's face creased in bewilderment, "Jedediah?"
The Mole nodded with a wry smile. "Yeah, Jedediah Chant. Related to you?"
"Phillip Manning wants to kill him?" Kevin enunciated his words, making sure he understood what the Mole was telling him. "WHY?"
"I don't make it my business to ask questions. I just do what I'm hired to do."
"Jesus! He hired YOU to kill him?"
The Mole gave one nod with a shit-eating grin, "Yeah...and I'll have a tape to prove it. One more call to confirm the job from my 'special' phone and he's cooked. So who's the kid?"
"I thought your job didn't include asking questions," Kevin growled.
Cassie grabbed Kevin's arm, "It's okay Kevin...we'll take care of it. We'll call the—"
"Cops? Naaah," the Mole said, that grin still there, annoying as hell. "Not yet." He made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth. "Don't do it 'til I got evidence. Besides, you don't know who he's got working on the inside. Someone'll tip Manning off and then we'll end up with a dead kid and a dead Mole, i.e. ME. With no fuckin' evidence."
"You want us to sit back?! Are you insane?!"
"Look, I'm the best safety net you have 'cause unlike you, I can keep an eye on Manning."
"Why're you doing this?" Cassie asked the Mole.
"I got my reasons." He tapped the empty beer bottle on the counter, asking for another. The bartender brought one to him, taking away the empty.
"So hand over the stuff," said Cassie. "I have the money."
"Here you go." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. Cassie opened it and glanced through the papers, looking at Kevin. He took the envelope as Cassie handed the Mole a wad of cash.
Kevin was glancing at the papers, their significance hard-hitting, damning. "Oh God, Cass..."
"Let's go," she said. "Uh...take care of yourself? Any changes with Phillip, you let us know. Hear me?"
"No problem, babe."
"Don't call me 'babe'." Cassie snapped, leaving the Mole behind. He finished his beer and got up, throwing money on the counter.
Tim peeked through the window in the door to Todd's room and saw he was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was unquestionably depressed. The intervention was draining, his flashback episode particularly severe, and all of it was followed up with the check-in trauma. Throw lack of food in there and Tim was surprised Todd wasn't in worse condition.
"Hey there, kiddo," Tim said. Todd didn't say anything as he watched his doctor move closer to him. "Feeling up to a visitor?"
"Who?" he said, barely a whisper.
"Téa."
Todd turned away, closing his eyes, his face creasing as if something hurt. In a faint voice, he said, "I don't know. After today...I-I-I...don't feel very well. I kind of washed up and still feel shitty." He rubbed his stomach and swallowed.
"Maybe you'll feel better talking to her. Sometimes, people who know you well can offer understanding that a doctor can't."
"What if..." Todd shuddered, remembering the feel of Téa saving him from his waking nightmare, holding him. The black images, though, continued to haunt him. They were so real. So alive. Unlike him. "The walking dead..."
"It's okay...you're not dead, Todd. And if you want to see her, I'll be right there...you can meet her here or in the activity room. It's close to dinner - you want to eat together?"
"Oh, no...I...no...no..." Too many memories associated with eating together, too many shared meals which were sometimes their only moments of peacefulness. Quiet and soothing. No. Too painful. He held back some tears, weepy again, damn it. He suddenly wanted to touch her, but he was so afraid of all the badness inside. Pure evil, he was pretty sure. But still he wanted her. Her scent, her softness. He shrugged his shoulder, just barely, not wanting to acknowledge his need for her. His fear of and for her.
"Ok," said Tim, "I'm taking this as a 'no' at seeing your wife."
"No," he whispered. "I want to see her." Immediately, his chest hurt, that tightness compressing his lungs. Hard to breathe. Cold. He felt himself rocking but didn't think he was making himself do it.
"Oh, hey..." Tim got close to him. "It's all right. Count to ten and breathe easy. Come on." He could see that Todd was trying, looking at Tim who was smiling a kind smile at him, encouraging him. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he then said.
As he was getting up, Todd grabbed Tim by the shirt, pulled him close and said through gritted teeth, "I said I want to see her. Don't tell me I can't."
"Let go of me."
Todd let go and seemed to regain himself.
"Make no mistake. I'll pull the plug on this meeting if you're aggressive in any way, shape or form. I'll also pull it if I see the meeting is hurtful to you. Understand?"
Todd nodded, sinking back down again into himself. The bleakness taking over again. Quieting him. Softening him. He picked up a cup of water on the table next to his bed, drinking it slowly, letting the water slip down his throat. He breathed deeply, wanting to feel more in control, more with it. Reality was tenuous, but he wanted to see her again, needed to. An image kept coming back to him: the punch. He wanted to know for sure that he hadn't destroyed her. He looked down and then back up at Tim, "Ok."
Tim went to the intercom and informed the nurse to get Téa to the activity room.
The two made their way slowly down the hall where Todd stopped at the door to the activity room. He saw Téa sitting at one of the tables flipping through a magazine absently, her eyes moving across the pages, never landing anywhere long enough to actually soak in anything. Still beautiful like from earlier, still there. Alive.
She looked up suddenly and took a breath as she saw Todd gazing at her, a listlessness to him. Tears immediately sprung into her eyes. She had never seen such sadness before on him. She had only been privy to his anger, his pain, but not to this. He didn't move, just continued his examination. Tim came around him and intercepted his vision. Téa could not hear what he said but she saw Todd turn a little as if to leave, rubbing his head, confused.
Finally, he started to walk toward her, leaving Tim behind, and as he got closer she could see that he had lost weight. His face was thinner, his sweater hanging more than she remembered. Clean-shaven, he looked younger, but the despondency aged his gait: there was heaviness in his steps and he hunched his shoulders slightly. So empty. She smiled at him and then looked away as she wiped her eyes, preventing the wetness from spilling, from troubling him further.
"Sit down," she said.
He looked at her mouth, her lips, and shook his head slowly, apologetically. "I think I should go back."
"If you want," she said as she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His heart sunk when he noticed she did not wear their wedding band on her hand, but then his eyes focused on the ring hanging on a necklace.
She could tell he was looking at her chain. She explained in a soft voice, "I wasn't sure if we still considered ourselves married." She held it in her hands. "I was so worried about you when I heard..." The tears sprouted again and she tried to hold them back, worked to keep them in check. And although they stayed put, her voice gave away her pain. "I am thankful to see you...alive...Todd." She squeezed those stubborn teardrops back.
"If breathing means 'alive' then I guess I am."
She looked up at him and their eyes met briefly. He diverted his gaze, focusing on the wedding ring.
"Is that all you're doing? Breathing?"
"Sometimes not even that."
Without thinking she reached out to touch him, to touch his arm, and he stepped back hard. He let out a sound of frustration at his uncontrollable fear. The image of his hitting her started to tease him again, accompanied by the mocking laugh of Satan, and he shook his head to chase them away. He grabbed a chair in front of him and leaned on it, breathing deeply to stop the pictures, rocking a moment. Dark eyes looked up at her, now, and Téa's palms began sweating.
"Tell me," he huffed. "If you aren't sure we're married...why are you wasting your time?"
She felt it starting with him, that pushing, that stabbing at her in self-protectiveness. Tim saw the shift but decided to wait it out. He was close enough though to bring Todd down if he decided to act out the budding rage.
"Because I don't want to leave you alone...because when I read what happened to you, I was reminded of how I've always felt about you. I was reminded of what we could have had. Of what we lost. Of our connection."
She saw him shake his head in denial, his face continuing to show that anger of his, that old reliable friend. His knuckles were white with the strength of his grip on the chair.
"Connection...connection...I don't connect - nothing connects with me. The only connection I know is my fist with...you..." He emitted a low sound, tinged with anxiety.
"Oh God...that's not true, Todd. We had so much..." The sadness started to come, the tears finally breaking through, like they really wanted to. "We loved each other...we love each other. I know it, I can feel it. I left to save you. To save us. I'm here because I wanted to be sure you knew that."
Save-able. I'm not save-able.
"You were saving me by leaving me? Oh...Tea..." He dropped his head and she saw his face crease with emotion.
"I'll always love you. Know that."
"You don't love me. You love someone who lives in your imagination, a chance of him that was around before Georgie...before I remembered the truth."
"So who are you, Todd?"
He raised his eyes again, looking at her directly, "Someone who is incapable of forgiveness or love." He chuckled with resignation. Hopelessness. "Someone who...belongs in hell with all the other rapists. You know that's what I am...a rapist. Right, Tea?" She saw that fiery rage in his eyes as he stared at her, as he challenged her. Todd wanted her to squirm beneath him, to panic as she felt his squeezing of her convictions, of her beliefs.
Téa shot back at him and said, "What does that mean, a rapist? Because I don't think that's what defines you."
Todd let go of the chair. "One who violates, one who forces himself on unsuspecting females by force, one who plunders and pillages. That's what I do...best. And you're a witness to it...I pillaged your dignity and plundered your self-respect. If I'd had more time, I'm sure I would have managed to rape you in the more traditional sense."
"No, you wouldn't have. I know the truth. I see it in you. Nothing you say will change my mind. I will not forget the times you said you loved me. I will not forget the moments of your reaching out to me, your lips...on mine, gentle and pure."
He snickered. "You really are the delusional one here...I can't be pure..." He grinned at her, wanting to horrify her, shock her. "God, Tea, my father raped me. He did…all kinds of things to me. And in turn I did it to others. I am not pure. Satan initiated me into his world and I...I belong there."
Téa stayed fast and true, refusing to play along and run screaming from the room like he wanted. "That doesn't take away your purity," she said, "...oh, no...not at all." She saw him weakening in her steady hold on him, in her unwavering assurance.
He tilted his head like a cat who has just noticed a butterfly wafting across his purview. The spirit that was leading him through Hell was in her face and her voice. Come, come with me, Little One.
"Todd, someone hurt you so badly that you think these things. Have you forgotten Starr and the tender way you are with her? The nightly fairy tales, the gifts, the affection? Have you forgotten? I saw you with her. I saw the child in you. The connection with her. Oh, your spirit is pure, your love is pure."
Todd shuddered and put his head down, whispering words to himself. Nobody could hear him deny it was the spirit who spoke through Téa, that it had to be a trick of Satan's to make her say these things. Tricked into it. How could she say these things, otherwise?
The bliss of the fallen. Covered in the ashes of their victims' bodies. Ahh, 'Little One' you were always so fucking clever. Come to ME. I don't lie. I don't sugar-coat anything. Pure, pure as shit. Pure as my breath on you.
When he lifted his eyes yet again to her, he did not notice that Tim had stepped next to him and was talking to him, trying to call him out of his daze. He did not hear Téa call his name as he stared at the wedding ring dangling near her breasts. Forgiveness. Forgiveness. Forgive the child because he is you. He is pure. Forgive him and you forgive yourself. But he couldn't forgive himself for what he did to her, for what he did to all of them. All those hurts, insults and violations. All those deaths. Each hurt, a death of a part of himself. Until he was all gone; the walking dead.
Amen.
Téa was Téa and she was also all of the others wrapped in one. The lawyer in her was Nora; the challenging nature was Marty; the femininity was in the cheerleaders he raped and in Carol Swift; the sexuality was Michelle. Her power to forgive was Rebecca. So he dragged her through their relationship by the skin of her chinny-chin-chin because she represented all of them as they walked through the dark caverns of his life. He damaged her, assuring her inability to forgive, her inability to give him absolution for all his crimes against God.
Amen.
But something was wrong because here she was. Trying to forgive him.
"Todd, talk to me," Tim said. "Orient yourself. Tell me where you are." He only stood there, unfocused, his eyes darting back and forth.
Forgive me. Restore to me my purity.
If she was all of them, then she could grant him his one desire, his one hope. She maybe could forgive him. She could pull him out of Hell. Then he could die in peace. And finally go home to his mother, to Michelle. Yes. Yes.
Todd was shivering in the cold of his own despair and he reached out to Téa as he fell to his knees, his hands grasping her legs and mashing his head on the floor.
"Forgive me," he cried. "Tell me he's wrong, that you weren't taken by him, that he hasn't gotten to you. Forgive me, forgive me, oh God...forgive me for I have sinned, for I have raped and murdered. I want to be saved. Save me...save me...grant me absolution, so that I may dwell in the light, so I may be pure...pure...forgive me..."
He couldn't feel Tim trying to pull him up; he only felt her shoes and ankles beneath his grasping fingers; the tops of her feet beneath his lips. Begging blindly, deafly. Asking for forgiveness since he couldn't do it himself. Asking for her absolution of all his sins.
Mary, Mary, where is your little lamb?
"Forgive me...forgive me..."
Téa's tears fell on him, droplets of pain and mercy, as she bent down to him, "Please Todd, you don't need my forgiveness. Oh please stop, please. Tim..." She looked at the doctor in helplessness as Todd continued his agonized supplications for her forgiveness.
"I have sinned so bad, over and over I've sinned. Please absolve me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me..."
Tim kneeled down close to Todd and put his arm around him, "It's okay. It's all right. Come on back. I don't know where you are right now. Try to orient—"
Todd interrupted his doctor's assists, groaning as he pulled himself away from them to the wall. He sat back against it, breathing hard from his appeal, strings of hair in his face.
"No forgiveness for me. No forgiveness for me."
His face crumpled and he raised his hands to cover himself, to cover his vulnerability. Téa was sniffling back her utter shock.
"Oh my God," she sighed, "...what is this?"
"No forgiveness...no absolution...condemned, condemned."
"This is his struggle," Tim said.
Tearfully, she asked, "Can I get close to him?"
Tim looked at Todd who was still wrapped in his unreality, moaning softly his fading pleas.
"Sure, just move slowly," he said, but touched her, getting her to stop first. "Téa, he obviously needs your 'forgiveness'. I don't know that you can give it to him. Don't say it unless you really mean it." Tim looked hard at her, he knew of what he spoke. "Do you understand?"
Meaning she had to leave it all behind. For real. Was she ready to forgive him for the things he did, for the things they did to one another? Was she ready to forgive herself? She got to the floor, sitting next to him against the wall. His tearful entreaties stopped after several long minutes. Calmness seemed to overtake him, finally.
"Todd? Can you hear me?"
In a quiet voice, he said, "I'm not...crazy."
"I know."
Todd then gazed in front of him, at his life which lay in pieces before him, shattered. "Your being here...tells me what I did. The time I hit you, the times I made you cry. My memories are more alive than I am but they trick me sometimes. I think that I did worse things...worse damage. So I want to know that you forgive me for everything. So maybe when the memories lie to me, I can remember your forgiveness. And I can tell the memories...that they can't control me because you...forgave me." Tears ran down his face, into his mouth, dripping downwards.
She put her hand to her mouth, trying to stop more tears from coming, from messing this up, from clouding these waters with her own drama. He was still so broken, so twisted up inside. She had to offer her forgiveness, no matter what Tim said. How could she deny this relief to him? She took his face delicately in her hands.
"Listen to me, carefully," she said. "I forgive you. Know that. Breathe that truth." His eyes found hers, but didn't stay there, moving to her mouth as she spoke. "But my forgiveness isn't enough. You need to forgive yourself, too. Your father hurt you, over and over. He made you see yourself as impure, as evil. But you aren't. You are precious."
He looked away from her and sighed heavily. "My...own forgiveness." Without looking at her, he shakily touched his hands on top of hers. He pulled hers down and held her hands. Like two children, two innocent souls intertwined.
Tim got up and left them sitting against the wall, holding hands. Comforting each other and knowing the trick of forgiveness. Granting it with a few words, but leaving the other wondering about its truth, its reality.
A trick. A game. A draw.
Pure evil does exist. One rarely recognizes it, however, when such purity presents itself. Oh, one might think she's looking at elements of evil, portions of evil. But never pure evil. Brandy the whore had no idea that the man who had just punched her across the face was Satan's worker. His apprentice.
Phillip Manning shook his fist out and growled at her, "Don't you ever ask me my business. You shut up. You don't talk when I fuck."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She said, out of breath, rubbing her cheek, stretching her jaw. The pain was mind-numbing and she teetered between kind of liking the feel and miserable self-sorrow. She pulled herself back up to a sitting position on the bed in her little apartment, the curtains blocking out light from Sixteenth Street, the dirtiest part of the city, home to whores, addicts, criminals, and lots of poor folk. Breathing fast, her heart raced.
"Just tryin' to be romantic," she said softly, her voice thin as a spider's web, "...'scuse me."
"'Sir'. Excuse me, 'sir'."
"Sir. 'Course. Sir."
Llanview is such a quaint place with quaint people, Phillip said to himself, glancing at the briefcase of cash he needed to deliver to the Mole. The cost of doing business. One must keep one's hands clean. Clean and pure. He snorted as he grabbed Brandy's long black hair and pulled her to him, forcing his tongue into her spicy mouth and pinching her nipples hard. Getting into the fuck. Had some fun with her because she had a girl's body. Thin. Small breasts. Rib cage visible. Breakable. Easy to hurt. Accepting of the hurt. Not as fun as a person who fought but fun nevertheless.
She closed her eyes, the sting of his punch beginning to really hurt, all numbness gone and her cheek swelling. She wished she was with the Mole instead 'cause he was pure of heart. He treated her real nice. This guy had a bad soul – empty cold eyes. He could kill her and she gasped at the reality of it. Blackness would come. And that scared her a little. What would it be like to not be alive? One tear slid down her cheek as she got slammed against the mattress. Another slap across the face. The numbing she experienced always made her not mind the pain so much. Made her feel super alive in a weird way. Sometimes.
Although… when it came down to it, this was all she was good for. Brandy was nothing but a whore.
To be continued…..