On the Edge of Wakefulness

Chapter 18

The Mole grinned like a Cheshire cat as he flipped through the bundles of bills. He chuckled as Brandy rubbed her bare breasts against his back, as she bit his neck gently, murmuring, "Gonna share, Mo?"

The best part of the take though was Phillip Manning's spewing his guts on tape.

Humpty Dumpty.

"Yeah, babe, nothing beats this...the fuckin' feel of money, lots of it." He turned around and pushed his favorite whore down onto the bed, collapsing on top of her, nibbling her shoulder, kissing her used delicate body wherever he could. He didn't care about the mileage. When he got to her, she was always clean and ready. Always smelled of vanilla soap. Same with the dumpy apartment she lived in, impoverished but clean.

Fake red daisies languished in a fake crystal vase on the breakfast table. A tiny black onyx angel figurine prayed permanently on a crate-turned-night-table next to her bed. Her lifestyle didn't matter to him so long as she was there when he wanted. Maybe he would buy her some new curtains. Maybe he'd marry her.

For Brandy, the Mole was her favorite customer because he was the most affected by her – he seemed to trust her. He wasn't into hitting her or slapping her around or nothin'. She always told him he could but he never did. Never asked for freaky sex neither, nor did he ever stick the gun he carried into her mouth or anyplace else. But he shared things with her that others didn't, like the money, like about his jobs, his deals. She knew too that he didn't share like that with any other girls. He made her feel special. She glanced at the money about to fall off the bed with his vigorous thumping. Maybe I can ask for a little more tonight, she thought. Maybe he'll stay longer tonight. Maybe he'll share with me.

The Mole finished with a grunt and rolled off, suddenly noticing a bruise on her cheek. "What's that? Jesus..."

She turned her head away from him, "Don't worry 'bout it, baby. Happens all the time - you know that."

He knew it wasn't his business but still…the sight always made him want to hurt someone. Even if she did let men do that to her.

"Who?"

"Naah...ain't nobody…bumped into a door...come on...forget about it...s'nothin'."

He rubbed her cheek gently, taking her by surprise, affection always surprising her. "You sure been soft lately, Mo," she said. "Wha's up with that?"

"Don't know. Maybe I'm getting old. Tired of the same old shit."

"Didja kill that kid? This where the money come from?" None of her business, but still…

"Nah, it's only the first half." He gazed at her, smack in the eyes, pausing. "Not gonna finish the job. Fact...well...might have to get outta town in a bit. Forever, ya know?"

Brandy sat up quickly. "Leave? You gonna leave? With the money?"

"Yeah, need somethin' to live on." He stopped again, looking down her body, towards her feet, flashing upwards again, back to the bruise on her cheek. "Will you come with me if I split?"

"You mean like...live wi'cha?" She grinned like a little girl.

"Yeah...together. You could leave your work and we can, ya know...get married or somethin'." He looked at her real serious. She was right for him. She was scum like he was. Garbage. They could make their own heap together. Maybe they could actually have a baby and-

"Aww, Mo. I don't know...I'm used to this..."

"Getting hit? Ya know I'd never do that. You'd never have those bruises around me."

She couldn't help but smile again. "Yeah...I know. I tell you what. To you I say maybe baby. Meantime, think you can front me some cash, like an advance on our next few dates?"

He laughed and kissed her healthy cheek. "Tell you what," he said. "Let's make today's date a real expensive one. That way, you don't owe me nothin'."

She purred like a cat, "Sounds okay. Aw'right. Sure are good to me...don't know why. But'ja sure are."

The Mole got aroused again and turned Brandy over onto her stomach, holding her wrists hard against the sheets so he could rub himself against her luscious crack, a space he dreamt about sometimes, a space he liked to fill. Just before he took her, just before she yelped in a blend of pain and pleasure, he saw another cockroach crawling up the curtain, hanging by a sticky paw. Black and disgusting. He closed his eyes to it.

When he started to buck inside her heated ass, when he began to lose himself in the intense sexual gratification, he heard Brandy say in between breathy gasps, "Thank god for you, thank god you ain't that Phil..."

HELL.

Todd stared into the eyes of the innocent child who now held his wrist tightly. Youthful hazel eyes gazed at him as a flitting spirit whispered, "You will walk this path through Hell until you reach understanding and that can only be done through forgiveness."

Mere feet away, the river beneath the jagged cliffs roared wildly. The skies had quieted and only a dawn or dusk remained, which one difficult to tell. The boy touched Todd's face, causing him to inch away. Todd touched his own cheek and grew confused. He lifted his shirt and looked for the scar on his side, a remnant of his past, but found nothing. His arms no longer were cut up.

"Why don't I have any scars here?"

"Your body has been returned to a pristine state in order to reflect the purity in your heart. You have met one requirement already and that was not to give in to your Satan, to Peter Manning. You did not fall victim to his coercions, you fought what he said and denied his 'truths'. The next step is far more difficult for you: you must accept your own truths."

Suddenly, Todd yelled, fury flushing his face, his hands curled in tight fists. "How do I do that?! What does it even mean? And why do you hide yourself from me? Face me if you're gonna throw all these commands at me!"

She finally alighted in front of him and he at last could make out a faint image of a woman. The more he stared, the more real she became. She had long hair made of purple, pink and yellow flower petals, eyes the color of emeralds, a face as beautiful as a painting, and skin peachy cream with a touch of coffee. She wore a long gauzy gown of dandelion fuzz. Looked like one puff would send it into the wind. She smelled of the woods, a forest untouched by destruction. Cool earth. Alive. She smiled at him, her lips the color of pink coral, her teeth, pearls from the deepest seas.

Todd sighed, remembering his mother handing him her pearl necklace and telling him that he could distinguish real pearls from fake ones by the feel of them against his teeth. The fake ones were smooth, polished, perfect. Real pearls were gritty, rough, imperfect.

"The perfect ones are fake," he said. "The perfect ones aren't the real thing – they're not valuable. So this scar-less body of mine is not valuable, it's fake."

"You're misunderstanding the message. It is in the real pearls' imperfection that you find their value. The grit shows their history, the long period of cultivation. The waters in which they grew are rough and muddy with life and earth. Real pearls are perfect reflections of nature. Miracles."

Todd put his head down and rubbed his eyes, "I don't understand...this is all nonsense."

The spirit smiled at the little boy who laughed aloud and ran to the edge of the cliff, yelling, "Pure love breeds perfection of the spirit! There is perfection inside of imperfection!" He turned to Todd and said, "Your imperfections reflect the rocky nature of life. Your spirit is inside of you and is perfect, pure and pristine!" He teetered at the cliff's ledge, walking like a tightrope walker, toe to toe, and Todd's eyes grew huge with fear and he reached out to the boy, wanting to save him.

"He'll fall...stop him...he'll fall!"

The spirit wrapped around Todd's flawless body and told him without words that the boy would not fall. He was safe. Like Todd was. Safe and warm.

"Only your body on earth has scars," she said. "Your soul is clear. If you accept your imperfections and flaws, accept all the lessons you have learned from them, the scars will not hurt you anymore. You will reach a state of forgiveness."

"My imperfections." Todd laughed. "You make it sound like you're talking about being bad in arithmetic or being a bad speller. My scars go deep…way beyond... imperfections."

Jedediah studied the sleeping man who lay on top of the bed covers. A stranger who, like the caretaker of a cemetery, opened a crypt to a curious traveler and showed him the decaying corpses of Todd and Michelle. A stranger who told him about a girl being a witness to a brutal rape of a boy by his own father. A monstrous event that changed them forever, the effects of which went far beyond their small world at the time.

Jedediah was a hidden witness. Moments old.

Todd's eyes moved beneath their lids quickly; his mouth twitched and he ground his teeth, his jaw working. Every few minutes or so, he would moan or cry out, his body thrashing about in reaction. Then he would tighten his jaw again. Yet, still he slept. A cruel trick. His body too tired to wake up in order to escape his nightmares. He had turned to his side and was beginning to curl up protectively against the headboard of the large bed. He wore such a pained look on his face that Jed began to feel bad that he had taken away the drugs, that he in a way facilitated the nightmares to torture Todd by preventing wakefulness.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay up," he said aloud. He glanced at the time on a minimalist clock and was anxious for Tim or anyone to call because he didn't know what to do. As if the fates heard, the phone rang and Jedediah answered fast, the stress evident in his voice. "Yeah?"

"Dr. Graham here, is this Jed?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"How are you doing?"

The sound of rescue almost put Jedediah in tears but he managed his emotions, brushing his hair out of his eyes, glancing at Todd. Get some control, Chant. "I'm a little scared to tell you the truth," he said. "It's been… a really bad night."

"Where is he now?"

"Asleep, sorta. Kinda fitful."

"How long has he been sleeping?"

"Thirty, forty minutes. Something like that." Jedediah swallowed and took a deep breath.

"His sister Viki and I are coming over. Ok? Got any questions?"

"Um...wh-what do I do? What if he wakes up and wants to go or...something?" Jedediah kept checking Todd, looking at the blazing cuts. And that was the exposed arm; what was underneath the bandages on the other side? God.

"If he wakes up, just talk to him the best you can, but don't endanger yourself. If you think he's getting aggressive, get out of the way, go into another room. Lock the door. If he wants to leave, you let him go. We'll find him."

They hung up and Jedediah decided to clean up the room, to pass the agonizing wait for help. The closet was easy; he shoved the clothes in and closed the door. Then he moved to the main dresser made of teak with a slight curvature along the front. No fancy cuts. No ornate hardware. Clean. The first two drawers were inconsequential: underwear and socks. Greys, blues. Blacks. So he gathered the matching items on the floor and put them away.

When he hit the third drawer, however, he saw the contents to be more personal. Life. Bindings. Jedediah saw sunglasses, a watch, an empty ring box. He noticed some other such items on the floor and picked them up, putting them into the drawer. A woman's silk scarf. A tiny book on eastern philosophy. An old Bible. Again, pocket-size. On the floor there was another thick book with a worn brown leather cover. Jedediah picked up and saw that it had pictures carefully glued onto thick ivory-colored paper pages. One picture per page. Black and whites of his daughter, Starr, taken in various places at different ages. Captions on the bottom, meticulously written in blue ink, explained bits about the photos. Simple words. Jedediah assumed it was Todd's writing and read a few of them.

"At Viki's. In the kitchen. 4 mos. Her name is Starr."

"Home. With her mother. 1."

"With her 'baby'. Cabbage something. 2."

"Just us. 29.4. By the water."

The last caption he read was below a picture of Todd walking with Starr on a lake's edge, both shoeless. Pants rolled up. Hand in hand. Walking away from the camera. Todd was looking down at his daughter who was looking up at him. Admiring what she saw. Perfect Angel Daddy. He wondered who took the picture.

In the back of the book, unglued, un-captioned, were pictures of Téa. One was of her sleeping in a bed. Yeah, really fuckin' weird. His moved forward. The others were candid color shots. She was smiling in most of them. One of them caught an angry expression on Téa's face across what appeared to be a breakfast table. But something about it showed humor. She wasn't really angry. A shared joke. A private joke. A marriage.

He put the book away and continued to tidy up the clothes and other things, guessing where they belonged. He kept coming across small items of obvious meaning to Todd. A matchbook with a date carefully printed on it; bamboo chopsticks lying next to a folded up take-out menu with another date written on the back. A stack of crayon drawings from his daughter tied with a typical yo-yo string. Several small but unopened, wrapped gifts. No cards. No indication as to who they were for.

All indications of secret affection. Hidden so no one would know the things and the people he treasured. Something Jedediah knew a little about – he touched the pendent from Mimi.

Shhh. Don't tell. Don't tell them just how much I love them. Monsters don't love. Satan doesn't know love.

When he was done putting everything away, he noticed that at the very top of a tall chest of drawers, the one where Todd had hidden the drugs, a hidden drawer lay open slightly. More secrets. Jedediah looked at Todd still sleeping restlessly, still twitching and protesting, then turned back and pulled out the drawer. Jedediah about fell to his knees when he saw her writing on several pieces of paper. Unfolded. Old. Creased heavily. Smudged ink. Letters lying on the felt mat of the drawer. Mimi's writing. Without touching the notes, he tried to read them, but could only make out the top one. "Angel, let's meet at 12:30 in our usual place. I love you and miss you every moment that we are apart. Your Chant." Mimi. Jedediah rubbed the words with his thumb. Mom. A rush of pain ran through him, leaving in its wake intense loneliness. Intense grief. He slid to the floor and sat there a while, recovering. Trying to pull himself together.

Gotta be alert. Gotta watch for Peter.

He promised.

After a few minutes, Jedediah's eyes wandered back to Todd. If only Mimi knew what happened to 'our Angel.' He wondered if she knew about the rapes he committed. He wondered if her "suicide" had anything to do with her knowledge of those rapes. The time was about right. Todd would have been on the run from prison at the time she left. Jedediah's mind went back to his speculation that Todd had something to do with Phillip Manning and his killing of Mimi. He still had to talk to him about that.

Suddenly, he heard the doorbell coming from downstairs. Jedediah let out a heavy sigh, stood back up and closed the secret drawer. He wasted no time and headed downstairs.

When the doorbell rang, the sound stirred Todd. Keys...Peter...he's here. He shot up, slamming hard against the headboard. In his dreams he was seven and pinned to the bed, unable to move. Awake, he was lost, not able to figure out where he was, or what part of his life he was stuck in. A couple of breaths and he understood... the Penthouse. Cold comfort. The dream had been vivid and disgusting and he touched himself, knowing what he'd find. Instinctively, habitually, he reached to the night table and yanked open the drawer, finding his cigarettes and his father's old lighter. He pulled them out, shaking the box so the cigarettes fell helter-skelter onto the bed covers. Trembling, he stuck one into his mouth and tried to light the lighter. But he was sweating so his thumb kept slipping. Pictures in his head flashed, shocking him, making him jerk with tension.

Come on, come on, light up, you motherfucker. I need to feel it.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, trying to gain clarity. Nothing changed.

Wait. I'm not supposed to do this...why do I know that? What day is today? When is the trial? I'm going to prison. I'm going to die in prison.

The lighter popped out of his hands and he patted the covers, finding it again. When he tried lighting the lighter once more, sun off the mirror caught his attention and things began to pull together a bit more. Wait... wait... I'm supposed to be in a hospital? Looking down though, he wasn't in hospital clothes. No, he was dressed in street clothes and feeling like shit, so he figured he was mistaken. He must be coming off the meth. A flash of Téa sticking the lighter in his face made him angry, a flash of Peter reminded him his cock was still hard. The confusion wouldn't pass. His transport to another time was in full force.

The lighter came to life at last and he stared at the flame a second, his thumb feeling the heated metal. He carefully lit the cigarette and took a few puffs, then tossed the closed lighter to the floor. He exhaled roughly and, with the cig dangling between his lips, he unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down to expose himself. Pushed up his t-shirt. Need the pain...need to kill what Peter did. His head hit the headboard when the lit end hit sensitive skin, the intensity and relief of the burn…beyond measure. A sting of tears reached his eyes but defiance stopped them cold. More pain would finish it. He gritted his teeth and pressed the cigarette to skin again.

My body. Mine alone. I have control over it. I can do whatever I want to it. Not you.

He didn't hear the soft talking of people coming up the stairs, didn't hear much of anything other than confused placements of time. He lay back in the bed, the smoke in his hand. The pictures didn't stop though, becoming an endless raking of his mind. Such detail. Such realness. He hunched over, readying the cigarette for another go, his belly this time. He lifted his t-shirt and stuck the hem in his mouth to get it out of the way.

How you like me now Peter?

As they walked closer to the bedroom, Tim thought he smelled cigarettes but figured it was his imagination. Jed, after all, said he just left Todd and he was asleep. But suddenly he knew differently and sprinted down the hall with a huff, ahead of Viki and Jedediah. They shared a glance and Viki stopped Jed, turning him around, the two heading downstairs.

Once in the doorway, Tim saw that Todd was about to get busy with the cigarette. He called out in a gentle but loud voice, "Hey, kiddo, what's goin' on?" Todd stopped dead in his tracks, glancing around the room, the disorientation obvious in the paranoid way he scanned his surroundings. Tim walked very slowly to the bed and spoke gently to his patient, "Todd, it's me, Dr. Graham. Why don't you give me the cigarette?"

Todd gazed at the doctor with no expression on his face, not even surprise. He studied the cigarette in his hand, his eyes following a trail of smoke drifting upwards. He released his bite and the t-shirt fell, covering him up.

"It helps me," he said. "The burn feels good. My dick's not hard anymore."

The last words were said through a tightened jaw, hatred on his face.

"That's not the answer, Todd, you know that. Did you hurt yourself?"

"Wanna see?"

"Do you need medical attention?"

"You touch me and I'll fucking tear your head off."

Tim nodded, unsure as to whether he was too late in preventing Todd from self-injuring. His patient was being purposely vague, making Tim feel sure damage had been done.

"Got it," he said. "For now I won't deal with that. But you need to understand what's happening to you. You need to break down the memories you have of the violence that took place. Separate them out. Remember we talked about the mind tricks? That the memory of being sexually engaged with Michelle caused the erection, not the rape?"

Todd laughed. "Oh, that's old history now, Doctor Graham. Old fucking history. Now, my dreams are much more specific. Now this...condition… is in fact caused by my dear old dad. Directly. Specifically." He leaned his head back, his hand dropping to his stomach, the cigarette still there in between his fingers, dangerously close to his shirt.

Tim took a deep breath and moved closer. "Give me the cigarette and let's talk about what it is you're seeing in your dreams."

"Fuck you." The cigarette dangled and a speck of ash dropped onto the bed cover next to Todd, making a small black spot. He looked at the new color there, his voice dropping, "You want to take this pain from me? Go ahead. It's all I have left. Nothing but pain. You want it? You want my pain?"

"Yeah, I do. Give some of it away by talking to me."

"What a bunch of shit. I keep talking and talking and talking. Nothing changes." The cigarette was starting to develop a length of ash. "I thought I had something with Téa. She held my hand, she said she forgave me. I wanted her to stay with me. I went to sleep with hope for a more normal life." He smiled slightly at the memory of Téa in the hospital. Even as unhinged as he had become, he remembered her love. He had understood that's what it was. Love. He sighed, closing his eyes. He remembered the feel of her body, the warmth, the softness under her blouse when she held him after he'd come out of that awful flashback. She loved him and he could see it like the light of a candle shining in a cabin's window in the darkest wood.

He wanted, though, to feel it.

Come home. I'm waiting for you. I love you.

Tim reached down and gently took the cigarette from Todd's weak grasp. Not seeing an ashtray anywhere, Tim just held it, not wanting to step away. "So what happened to that hope? Why do you feel...hopeless now?"

He opened his eyes again, not missing the cigarette, "Because he's come back for me. In my room last night, I saw him and felt him like never before. He punishes me for wanting to be with Téa."

"Is that why you left last night?'

"Yes. I kept seeing him, feeling him on me. His smell, his weight, everything. I couldn't stay in that room now could I?"

"I'm sorry you have to experience that."

"Experience it over and over."

"The rape?"

Todd chuckled, "I told you. Old news."

"So what are you remembering now?"

He shook his head, keeping Tim in his line of vision, "It's sick… what he does. I can't say it out loud."

"Do you want to write it? Draw it?"

Todd shook his head, "No. I can't."

"Ok. Ok. Answer me this in the meantime. Why didn't you take your meds last night? You should have been comfortably asleep. Had you taken them, you wouldn't have felt those dreams." Tim looked at Todd much like a schoolteacher, slightly disapproving, but with caring eyes.

"I didn't want to...let go..." His voice trailed off.

"Let go of what?"

"Téa ...I didn't want to stop hearing her voice...or lose the smell of her...I didn't want to sleep. I pretended to swallow the pills. When I finally got a little tired, it all started up. Like before, only this time...the nightmares were about something else...just as sick..." Todd sat up and rocked, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for Peter, looking for his tormentor. "Sick...sick..."

"Tell me what he did to you. Let me help you."

He kept rocking, his breathing becoming strained, ragged. After several attempts to talk, he finally spoke. "I can't...don't make me..."

Tim took a deep breath, frustrated. He was so close. It was right there. Damn it, it had to come out - he had to talk about it. So Tim decided to get tough with Todd; let's not dwell and console ourselves with our dirty little habits anymore.

"Todd, by keeping these memories to yourself, you're keeping Peter alive inside of you. And look what that does - you continue to hurt yourself - to sabotage your getting well."

Todd didn't respond, a bull waiting for the matador to stick him.

"Did you burn yourself again? Your penis? Your stomach? What parts did you mutilate today? Do you want to keep doing that to yourself, allowing Peter Manning to continue to abuse you?"

"FUCK YOU! WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!"

"What do I know? I know he's dead but it looks like you're picking up right where he left off. Beating the shit out of yourself since he's not here to do it. You're remembering things, I know, ugly things. Let me help you with them, kiddo...come on..." Tim's face softened, seeing the pain on Todd's face, boundless hurt and rage in his eyes. The shame.

He looked down at himself and lifted his shirt slightly, running his fingers over the scars of old burns he had on his stomach. Reaching further down, he felt for a moment the place he'd burned, grimacing then sighing. "I did it just enough...just what I needed."

Tim said sadly, "I see."

"But I wanted more. I wanted to hurt myself more. To...cause real damage." He rubbed his hair, taking in the room, the view from the windows. His voice was soft, dreamy, even. He lowered his jeans slightly, looking at himself. "I'm trying to figure it out...trying to understand what's so fascinating about…body parts…why do they mean so much? To rapists, to abusers? What is it about using a…body part…that gives so much power to somebody? I could have taken the beatings...the tortures...the mental games. I'd probably be a...doctor today. Coulda taken anything but that. 'Cause that...fucked me up and fucked me up good."

Tim listened, silently, not wanting to interrupt him. He was on the cusp of revelation, but the conversation stopped. Todd drifted, his eyes not focusing on anything, his expression one of being far away. He stuck his hand deep into his jeans, in between his legs, and scooted down on the bed, onto his side. Getting into a semi-fetal position, he was protecting himself from…what? He stared blankly.

"Todd," Tim said softly, "Come on, you're so close – don't disappear." The time passing seemed eternal. The doctor didn't move, hardly breathing. "You're safe here," he promised. "Nobody's going to hurt you if you tell."

Moments clicked past and Tim thought maybe it was over. Maybe…he'd retreated. Tim sighed, looking at the burned out cigarette still in his hand. He put it on the nightstand, noticing that his patient was now staring at him.

"Always happened at night," he said quietly. "He'd come to my room. And… touch me. Punishment, he said." He closed his eyes, rubbing his head against the bed. "I'm too young… nothing … happens… when he does that."

"What does he want to happen?"

"It."

"An erection?"

With an even quieter voice, Todd said, "No… more… he wants more."

"He wants you to ejaculate."

Todd nodded ever so slightly. "He tries everything to make that happen. But it never does."

"Everything?"

"Hands, mouth...himself. His..." He couldn't finish his sentence, his mouth closing and his lips twisting in disgust. "He shows me what his does."

"When did it start?"

"I was 7. 'til I was 9. He gave up when...when..." Todd looked down at his body, his legs. "I'm old now...drained, stripped. I don't have anything anymore."

"Kiddo, stay with me… tell the rest of your story… release this pain of yours. He gave up? He stopped touching you?"

Todd started to shake violently, terrified at the memories of those agonizing visits, the frustration of Peter and the humiliation that would be heaped on the young child. There were silent beatings afterwards when Todd couldn't perform. He wasn't allowed to make a sound lest he woke Barbara, his mother. Mother. Everything after was cut off. A blur. The abuse stopped.

"God..."

"You're all right. You're safe."

Todd looked up, tears waiting to come out, not wanting to.

Don't let this hurt out. It will never stop. Don't. Don't.

Instead, he let out a sound of smoldering rage and buried his face into the pillow, groaning into it. Then he got to his knees, and with all his strength, he pounded his fist into the headboard, two more times, fast and hard. Splitting the skin of his hand right open.

Tim grabbed his arm, holding it back, not letting him hit again. He put his arm around Todd's shoulders and pulled him away into a modified hold.

"Ok, ok...I know," Tim said, breathing hard with exertion, straining to hold Todd down. "I know this is hard. I know."

Todd struggled to pull his hand free, growling still, at this unsaid torture. He would seem to quiet but then the fighting would pick up again. Incomprehensible noise was all he could manage. Tim glanced at his medical bag and strongly considered giving him a sedative. There was too much anger and Todd didn't know how to let it go.

"You're okay," the doctor said, "It hurts, I know." Then the sounds of anger turned into convulsive sobs and Tim continued to assure him with his kind words, finally able to release his hold of him. As Todd shifted and moved and curled up on the bed, Tim lightly touched Todd's head, feeling the perspiration, the heat. He backed off because touching was dangerous, especially with Todd in his current mindset.

Through quieting tears, Tim heard Todd say, "She left me...she left...my fault, mine."

"Who left?"

"Mama."

"When did she leave?"

"I was 9 - she left me a note. Just a note. That was all...just a note..."

"That wasn't enough, was it?"

"My fault..."

"How was it your fault? She was a grown woman, you were only a child. You had no control over that."

Todd didn't move for a long time. Then he slowly got off the bed and began pacing back and forth, stumbling, barely having the strength to keep walking. He wiped his tears away roughly. Shivering with anxiety. His hair in his face, dark circles under his eyes. He worked at buttoning his jeans when they started to slip, getting only a couple done.

"My fault," he repeated, weakly hitting his chest with his fist. "My fault...mine."

"Try to explain," Tim prodded. "Tell me why it was your fault she left."

After a few moments, he slowed down his walk and with a dead stare at Tim, he smiled crookedly. "Explain. Explain the obvious, the not-so-obvious. There is perfection in imperfection, Dr. Graham. Pure love breeds perfection of the spirit. Purely so. But what does pure evil breed?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"It breeds me. Me."

Todd stared hard at the doctor, trying to make him understand. Trying to find the right words. His eyes drifted away to the windows, to the sun coming in. Todd watched the shadows on the carpet.

She saw us. She walked into my room and saw my father...sucking me. Can you imagine that? Finding your husband…with a boy? Your own kid? The next day, she left. She left. Never another word to me. Never a 'My God, what was he doing?' Never an, 'I'm sorry I couldn't stop it.' Never an 'I'll find you.' Never a promise to save me. Her eyes said it all. 'You...whore.'"

Todd laughed aloud at an irony Tim wasn't aware of. The irony of an accusation he'd once used in a venomous rage.

"'I' was the monster's whore! 'I' was! Now do you see that it was my fault she left?"

Downstairs, Viki and Jedediah sat quietly on the couch downstairs. Her hands had touched the clothes folded there and she remembered the afternoon she came to Todd, offering to stay with him, foreboding in her heart, but bending to his pushing her away. If only she could turn back time.

Jedediah told her all the events of the previous night up until he took the drugs from Todd. As they spoke, she saw it in his eyes. Knowledge. A loss of innocence.

"What happened, sweetheart?"

On the verge of tears, Jedediah swallowed hard. He looked at her face, lined with a few wrinkles. She looked like a mother to him, ageless, really. Trustworthy. Honest. "He told me what happened to him. And my mom. He told me his father raped him and that my mother saw it and that she was beaten by that… that..."

Viki closed her eyes and put her head down, feeling so sorry he had to hear the story. Sorry that his view of his own life would be forever changed. She touched his face, his young beautiful face, marred now with his knowing of a terrible truth. Todd's truth. His mother's truth.

"I wish you could have been protected from that," she said. "I wish you didn't have to see the aphids on the rose bush..."

"No, it's okay. I think...maybe...I'll be a little more 'patient' with him. Like you said. I'll wait for the sun… and the water."

She smiled and gave him a tight hug. He let her and it felt good.

Asa Buchanan angrily slammed down the phone, muttering, "Who does that boy think he is to mess with me?!"

"Phillip Manning. That's who 'this boy' thinks he is. And it is YOU who shouldn't be messing with me."

He stood in the doorway of Asa's office, smiling evilly with shiny, black spiky hair glimmering in the morning's light coming through the windows.

The Dark Prince had come a'callin'.

To be continued...